Gracious living, then and now.

We took a winding, scenic route to the old city, and the minute we could see in the walls, it was clear that there was no way the bus was going to fit into the streets. We’d be walking, which was just fine by me.

While the old city is walled and had cannon mounted at one time,

and is  a historical artifact in its own right (although not, like the fort, designated a world heritage site by the UN), it’s still in use, and cannonballs are now used for decoration rather than defense.

The walls, where the soldiers barracks used to be are now tourist stalls,

and we walked down past the stores and up onto the walls of the city, where we saw the guard kiosks.

Al and I were totally unprepared for the aggressive sales we found in Cartegana. Street vendors were all over the place, and while they respected your “no”, there were always more of them. And it is a bargaining culture – they offer $50.00 and you counter with $10 and worked your way to a compromise that satisfies both parties. We’re not bargainers, Al and I, and we were really uncomfortable with the fact that not only the street vendors were aggressive and bargainers, so were the propeitors of all the stores – we stopped in some of the more upscale tourist shops in the new city and found the same thing. They stand outside the stores, trying to talk customers in, and once you’re in, salespeople follow you around until you leave the store. When I tried to look at emeralds (to admire, not to buy, but boy, I saw some nice stuff!) I was shadowed by a clerk, who kept trying to show me things she thought I’d want. She wasn’t being rude or hard sell, she was just there, always, no matter where in the shop I went. Very disconcerting for me, since I don’t respond well to that kind of attention. And the prices weren’t fixed even in those stores – the listed price was a starting point.

But in old city, most of the shops were closed for the day and except for the street vendors, we were able to walk and look and listen to our guide describe the city, what it had been and what it was now. We saw the place Marlon Brando had stayed while filming in the old city back in 1968, and admired the feel, look and scents of the place. It’s a living museum. The buildings inside the walls are now hotels, condominiums, city administration buildings, shops, café’s and nightclubs, as well as churches and cathedrals, but the look and feel of the exteriors is preserved and it’s got a lovely, warm (that has nothing to do with temperature) charm.

This would be an upper class dwelling, as it’s three storied.

 

 

 

 

 

 

This is middle-class – two stories

 

And also middle class – two stories.

The area was originally divided into poor, middle-class and upper class buildings, and it was easy to tell which building fit into which class – single story buildings were for the poor, two story were for middle class and three were for the rich. Every residence had a walled courtyard, no matter how single story they were.

This used to be a private house, three storied, and is now a hotel. It’s an incredibly upscale area with condo units going for around $1M US or better. We’re looking through the entry into the courtyard. Directly across from the main entrance is the entrance to the stables, which formed one of the wings of the house – stable on the ground floor, living area above it and a private, walled garden of your own.

There had been a number of convents, monasteries and churches in the original city, all of which were either hotels or condominiums now. One is now a museum, and the city’s cathedral is also in old town.

St. Pedro Claver Church

We stopped at St. Pedro Claver Church, named for the local saint, who is known as the slave to the slaves, the Apostle of the Blacks and is the patron saint of seafarers. The church houses his relics and has the museum in the monastery attached to the church. The church building has been there since before St. Pedro’s time (he arrived in Cartagena in 1610 and died there in 1654) under a different name. It was renamed for him after his canonization in 1888. The courtyard (or cloister) was lovely – walled on one side with the monastery, and on the other by the church, it was shady, large and relatively cool. There were paths around gardens that housed palm trees and local plants (many of which we grow in tiny form as house plants – I saw sanseveria, coleus, and several other types I can’t name.) There were two street vendors with tame parrots – colourful fellows, who would sit on your arm for a fee. Right up until one of them tried to bite the fellow holding his mate!

We entered the San Pedro church and were able to get a look at St. Pedro’s relics. He was a Jesuit priest who made it his special mission to minister to the slaves of the area, and since Cartegana was such a major port, there were always slave ships bringing people from Africa to work in the mines in South America, or to be sold for transport to the Carribean and Central America. Ten thousand a year.

Altar in the far background, the relics are below it in a glass walled coffin.

He would climb into the ships and begin his work before they were even offloaded, and continued ministering to the slaves in and around the city for over 40 years. It’s estimated that he ended up baptizing over 300,000 people in his lifetime. When he visited slaves on the plantations and at the mines, he refused the hospitality of the owners and overseers and instead stayed in the slave quarters. Needless to say, he annoyed the local authorities (including his bishop), because he advocated for more humane treatment for the slaves, but city authorities bowed to popular demand and gave him an elaborate and public funeral.

The relics are housed beneath the altar in a glass sided coffin, and he’s robed magnificently – probably far more richly than he ever was in his lifetime, considering he died neglected, starved and beaten by the ex-slave sent to care for him in the last years of his life.

There was more to see and more to do – of which we’ll learn tomorrow, and we’ll find out what problems the kitchens on the ship had at dinnertime. In the meantime, enjoy the day!

Don’t look like a tourist.

I have to admit, I was a little nervous about visiting Cartagena after we received the security warning the night before we docked. The note didn’t say anything we didn’t already know, and the things they suggested should be standard procedure when you’re traveling. Don’t flash wads of cash, don’t wear lots of jewellery and be sure what you do wear isn’t ostentatious, try not to look like a tourist, look after your belongings and keep track of your handbags, cameras and other accessories.

We do that most of the time anyway – neither of us are big jewellery people, we never carry big wads of cash (at home or away), and whenever possible, I try to avoid carrying a purse or handbag (both at home and when I’m traveling – I hate having my hands cluttered up with stuff). We carry wallets in places it’s hard for other people to get to (or at least places that would look and feel really odd for some stranger to be groping into), and if we have the camera with us, it’s constantly in our hands.

But no other place had prompted the ship to issue a warning to us about potential problems in the places we visited, so I was a bit nervous. We were on an excursion, so I assumed we probably wouldn’t be assaulted or attacked outright (safety in numbers and that sort of thing) and we weren’t trying to get around the city on our own, either. Which actually turned out to be a good thing, since we docked at the container port, and as far as I knew, there were no really good ways to get into the city itself.

I was a bit more . . . cynically amused about the advice to try not to look like a tourist – I mean, really! That’s what we are. How can we not, when we’re not native to the place and don’t know the accepted dress or deportment? How can we not, when most of us are paler (or a lot redder) than the inhabitants, and what was most evident in Cartagena, we don’t sweat like them? Really. That should have been a dead giveaway to anybody wanting to prey on poor innocent tourists. It was amazingly hot that day, and within five minutes of walking anywhere, most of us were soaked with sweat – we looked as though we’d been trying out for wet T-shirt contests. Our guide and the local people around us were sweaty, yes, but it was dew on their faces, and the usual underarm circles, not like they’d just climbed out of the pool! Kinda hard not to look like a tourist when we’re dripping salty water everywhere we go!

I didn’t worry much about it once we’d met our guide and were on the bus heading into town. The trip was a historical tour through a city that was over three hundred years old by the time Victoria was settled by the Hudson Bay Company in 1848. Cartagena was founded in 1553 by the Spanish and before they figured out that maybe they needed some protection, the British managed to capture the city at least once (they tried tricking the governor out of it in 1568, but he didn’t fall for it). Sir Francis Drake took it in 1586, and the local governor ended up paying a humiliatingly large sum of money to get it back. Its location, value as a port and magnificent harbour ensured that Drake was neither the first, nor the worst of the city’s attackers.

So, they built San Felipe de Barajas Fort. It’s also known as a “castle” but it’s not really – I suspect that’s a misunderstanding. Yes, it’s Castillo de San Felipe de Barajas, but not in the sense that we understand castle. This was pure and utter military defense.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Unless they were soldiers assigned to the place, nobody lived here – even the governor lived in the walled city itself. It’s built on a hill that overlooks the town (or the town as it was when it was built)

The old city – the part the fort was designed to protect is to the left of the large island in the middle foreground of the map. The island is known as Bocagrande (big mouth) because of the large opening to the harbour on its right. (The small opening on the left of Bocagrande is now built over by roads.)

and is riddled with tunnels designed for defense and to get from one part of the fort to another without the enemy seeing or knowing you’re there.

Attackers who tried to negotiate the tunnels ended up facing a barrage of gunfire with no ability to respond.

Can you imagine being an attacking soldier and having to go into that?

 

 

 

 

 

That tunnel slopes down. Defenders stand at the top of the stairs, firing down. When you’re in the tunnel, you can’t see the end of it, so can’t fire on the defenders.

 

 

 

 

 

Several of the tunnels had side gaps, kind of internal guard houses where defending soldiers would stand. If you had no light (we had electric lights, but I can imagine how dark it would be with candles or lamps) you would be shot dead without ever knowing what hit you.

There was a stretch in here with no light. I had to feel my way along, and just as the wall disappeared, our guide spoke from directly beside me. Had I been an attacking soldier, I wouldn’t have been aware of anyone there, or of the shot that killed me.

 

 

 

 

 

The view from the top of the fort is magnificent,

and I figure it’s only surpassed by the view from the monastery on the mountain further inland. (Still functioning as a monastery, by the way).

After spending part of the morning climbing, ducking through tunnels and generally having a wonderful time, we boarded the bus for a trip to the oldest part of the town, the part that the fort had been designed to protect.

The low section of the city in the very far background is where we’re headed in tomorrow’s post, and the tall buildings on the extreme left background are on Bocagrande (also known as “New City”).