Cartagena, Colombia post old city, which saw many galleons from Spain anchor there to unload and load the gold slaves. We come to Cartagena for its history and its beauty but also to find a way to reach the nearby Panama. We explored the trail aircraft but it proved quite expensive for an hour and a half flight. We still have two options: one, along the coast by bus to Turbo to get as close as possible to Panama and then take a multitude of small boats to reach Colón in Panama, it would take four or five days. Two, find a sailboat that reaches directly Colon Cartagena, with a stopover in the islands of San Blas. We hope to find the answer in the streets of Cartagena, where there will certainly be people to inform us, this passage is a outstanding issue since we left, because there are no roads linking Colombia to Panama. There is a forest and inhospitable tropical refuge for many drug traffickers, guerrillas and others more or less frequent depending on how adventurous you want to introduce into his journey. Under cover of night we landed near the ramparts of the old city. With our backpacks we are experiencing, the sole slamming the pavement and the nose in the air and admiring the beautiful hotels in which we will not sleep. We come through the front door and we head into the neighborhoods most popular. We arrived on a street alive, salsa music from small shops, sidewalks full of people still talking and others to stumble or already collapsed with their dear and loving bottle of rum. We are far from the historic downtown streets already deserted by the vendors of all kinds, where only someone
are tourists still pass under the lights of the lampposts. No problem we find our hostel travelers. No sooner have we had time to launch a "buenas noches" reminds us that the receptionist a "hello, do you need a room?". With humor you might have answered "Yes, if we can! Pay in dollars?". I do not like much that we respond in English alors que l´on a entamé la conversation en espagnol. Nous aurons l´occasion de rediscuter de cette forme d´impérialisme culturel dans un autre épisode. Revenons à Carthagène. Une fois posé nos affaires dans notre chambre sans fenêtre, nous repartons en quête de notre pitance quotidienne. En passant nous voyons sur le comptoir de l´hôtel une annonce pour un bateau qui part pour le Panamá dans deux jours. Nous appelons et prenons rendez-vous pour le lendemain avec un certain Marco à l´accent bien québécois. Nous grignotons quelque ACPM (Arroz Carne y Papas Maduras c´est à dire le plat typique colombien, riz, viande et bananes mûres) dans un petit resto à la lumière crue. A short walk to get out and admire the beautiful homes that haunt the old city and we throw ourselves under the sheets. noon as expected we find Marco in the hotel lobby talking to a guy in English tinged vocalise post-Soviet who is also interested in: Slava. All together we head toward the port, we board a small motorboat not quite brave to join the boat, a twelve meters. Do not long for us to decide the solution on the Caribbean cruise and abandon that of Backpack trip through the forests of Darien. Rendezvous with Captain Marco in two days on the dock a few cubits his sailboat.
We hold these days as he must for anyone traveling in foreign countries. Visit the old town, walking along the ramparts facing the sea, passing through a contemporary art museum to vomit. At a breakfast in a place where they serve nothing but the CMPA in the morning, we met two tourists and of course once again we realize that it is easier to bond with other travelers with the locals. Between tourists we have shared histories, we Butinone the same places and sometimes we recroisons, while for the locals that we are people of passages, here for three or four days at most. So beyond "what country are you from?" and other forms of politeness, there remains much to say, sometimes with luck we can talk about politics or football sometimes even Sarkozy! And yet, Colombia is perhaps the country in which we created as many links with the locals. Even try to spend some time in some places, we travel too fast, he should be able to stay at least ten days to begin to intrude into the real life of the country and move this layer to which we stop most often. So as expected we bind ourselves with a few passengers in transit ephemeral and we end the evening on a small place where kids play "futbal" while discussing the oldest sitting on the benches at the foot of the church. A small grocery store allows everyone to provide beverages and other treats. We will make many return to us for this divine drink that loosens tongues for thousands of years.
And inevitably the time comes for us to go to the marina. We find Slava and we ship in a small taxi deposited us near the dock. Four other people waiting, we
s welcome, we present ourselves. Morgan quickly Foam Marco (a French Montpellier) arrives with the boat and load our business to put them on the boat. For our part, we remain dockside until Captain Marco to go buy something to live on the boat for five days. We comply with two good carts, I pass the details of racing, your imagination is fertile enough to imagine the content. We ship one after the other on the small boat to reach the boat. Captain Marco Morgan, Slava Russian, two Colombian relocating to Panama, Erik American, Kalin and Jason the british and us two worthy representatives of the French Republic. We weighed anchor and take direction due west. Farewell beloved Colombia.
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