8 to 13 November 2015

November – sorry far behind… Happy New Year everyone!

Arriving at Bogota airport, the difference to Havana its immediately visible. The air is cool, the airport is new and shiny, advertisement everywhere. And free Wifi! I am back online. I want to jump, clap my hands and hug the person next to me. The guy looks irritated at my beaming face and I decide not to go for the hug.

Next difference is the enormous traffic jam. It is 6pm Saturday evening and the city is blocked. The taxi takes numerous ‘short cuts’, but we still take nearly two hours to get to my hotel. I thought that the cab driver was doing the rounds to get the miles on his taximetre, but during the next days I discover that every single journey in Bogota takes about 1.5hours or more. Without a metro or train system, the city has a massive traffic problem. Is this what awaits a capitalist Havana?

At least there is free way the next morning when I pick up my dad at the airport at 4:30am. The plane from London landed an hour early, but dad was the last one to come out as his luggage didn’t make it. I profit hugely as the compensation money pays for my Colombian handbag the next day. It’s yellow leather with other colourful patterns and butterflies. My sister’s verdict is ‘ethno’, but I think she is just jealous.

I had booked a boutique hotel away from the Bogota trouble. In this little oasis, set up and run by Martha and Frederico, mother and son, dad anxiously asks me on the first morning: “Du bist jetzt aber nicht aber auf einem Spartrip oder so die nächsten zwei Wochen, gell?”, meaning whether I was going to insist on a low budget during our time together. Hell no! Didn’t he know that my life motto is “Weil du reichlich gibst, müssen wir nicht sparen” (we don’t have to save, because you give richly), taken from hymn number 170 of the German Lutheran hymn book. Unfortunately, this means my savings have gone dangerously low. A financial rescue plan, funded by the Germans, is currently agreed upon.

Anyway, I was fully on board with having a good time and so we booked the beautiful boutique hotel ‘Casa La Cartujita’ in Catagena in the Caribbean north end of Colombia for four nights. It was fantastic, everything, the hotel, the town, our activities…

Arriving at lunchtime, our Casa organised a city tour for the afternoon. Niko guides us through all of the historic centre and the neighbouring, poorer Getsemane, providing extensive information in good English. This is rare, I am surprised how little English people speak here, even the younger generation. Niko is my dad’s age and his story reminds me of Abuelo Rubén in Mexico (Blog Viva Mexico). His parents got a plot of land in the lush, tropical countryside close to Palenque, a former free slave town. When their eight children grew up, they reluctantly decided to leave their paradise and move to Cartagena. In the 60s it was a run down town. Niko’s older brother got a housekeeping job in the Jesuit convent. This was fortunate, as the Padres offered free education to him and the other children of the family. His brother became a lawyer and Nico studied history at the University of Catagena. The family also profited from the housing boom that set in after 1984, when Cartagena was declared UNESCO world heritage site. The price for the small colonial house they had bought in the historic centre rocketed. Maybe this is why Niko knows about every property price in town and praises great investment opportunities.

We see so many cute little shops with beautiful handicrafts on our tour that we spend the whole next day walking through every street. We devise a strategy through the grid system in order not to miss any shop. But even two great German minds get confused sometimes and we can’t find the jewellery shop where we saw the nicest necklaces, which dad wanted to buy for my stepmum.

On day three, we take a trip to the Islas De Rosario to have some tropical beach time. Mainly so dad can send some photos of him to his team in Nyon, Switzerland, against the backdrop of clear blue water and white sand. Unfortunately, we just have three hours on the island. With a snorkel tour and lunch, there is limited time to enjoy the beach. You really need to stay overnight to make the most out of it.

But we have better plans for Thursday: there is the annual parade of the aspiring Colombian beauty queens in Cartagena. It’s a four day event and Miss Colombia is then coronated on Saturday. It’s a perfect day. We spend the morning relaxing at the pool and roof top terrace. It is so hot that my phone shuts down and tells me it needs to cool off before I can use it again. In the biggest midday heat we then position ourselves at the historic city wall (it took 200 years to build) to watch the parade down at beach promenade. We have a good view even in second row because we are at least a head taller then most Colombians. It’s a spectacle. The main fun is to spray foam or throw coloured cornflour at people that pass you. I quickly purchase a foam bottle and join in. First victim: dad (see pictures).

The day gets even better, when we find out that Colombia is playing a world cup qualifying match against Chile that evening. We secure a great seat at a bar that has a large outdoor screen. Beer, food, buzzing atmosphere, football. Love it. When the match starts, dad and I are nearly rolling on the floor of laughter. The Spanish commentator is too funny. From kickoff, it sounds like a machine gun has gone off with all the rolling “R” and non stop comments. Chile scores first, but Colombia equalises in the second half. They celebrate it like a victory.

We round off the day by joining the main party in front of the exhibition centre. The atmosphere is jolly good. People dancing wildly, falling from the benches and spraying beer. Dad and I increase the average age considerably. The Colombians are very sweet though and integrate us straight away into their group despite our age and lack of dance skills. I have to point out for the hundredth time that dad is my dad and not my husband! During the entire two weeks of travelling together, not a single person thought he was my dad, everyone assumed he was my husband. Great compliment for my dad, I think, less for me!

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