bicrom abroad

the weather's holding; the weather's holding reeal nice. i'm typing up this post sitting in the blazing sunshine on the terrace of our hotel, in between quick dips in the small but perfectly formed pool, feeling, in general, a little bit smug.

cartagena is working out very nicely at the moment. the main attraction is the old walled town but it isn't so much a collection of things to see so much as a whole area to be wandered around, absorbing the trademark picturesque balconies crowding above the cobbled streets flanked by brightly coloured buildings, some showing the gaudy signs of recent care and attention whilst their neighbours look on wistfully enclosed in dilapidated walls. we have been getting up in the morning, going for a quick amble, lazing by the pool during the hottest part of the day before heading back out in the late afternoon as the sun sets and the cooling breezes make their welcome arrival.

cartagena feels incredibly secure, a testament to the dozens of uniformed officers on every corner. the plus side of this is that it allows vicki and i to go on our trademark mooches and pop up in random markets without feeling remotely uncomfortable. the downside is that it means that, every morning, a carribean cruise spews out a barrage of well meaning americans who tramp about in large tour groups intently absorbed in their audio guides, breaking concentration only to take myriad snaps. a little bit annoying for the travel snob in us, but a small price to pay for the security which makes this exotic town accessible to them, and explorable to us.

we've done some good meandering and had a sunset beer at the cafe del mar on the old city walls. the oddest experience so far however has to be our excursion to the volcan de tatumo, a oversized anthill filled with bubbling mud. having cheated a little and requisitioned a car rather than taking an organised tour, we were fortunate to arrive before any tour groups, thus allowing us to enjoy the mud in glorious isolation. well almost; we were at all times surrounded and tended to by various eager colombians, watching our sandals, taking photos for us, even giving us a nice rub down in the mud. to be fair to them, everyone had to make a living and they were not aggressive or pushy at all: being waited on (a generous description of the collection of services they provided) however was still a little bizarre. being in the mud itself was an unsettling, though not necessarily unpleasant sensation; it is so viscose that it completely supports your bodyweight, protesting only occasionally by way of a bubbly sulphurous belch. the pool is actually a couple of thousand feet deep but you don't need a floor, you just splash, scramble and inelegantly flounder around marvelling at the support provided by the gloopy mess which happily envelopes you. once done we were led down to the bank of a pretty little river into which a couple of colombian old dears led us and gave us a proper, swimming costumes off, washing. mudded, cleaned, we happily traipsed back to our car content with an odd, but oddly satisfying, experience.

a mooch to the other end of the old city tonight before finding some plaza on which to have a beer and a bite to eat. only a couple of days left, but cartagena feels like the kind of place where you could lose yourself for weeks.