Day 111 - Oh what a night!

I'm very happy to report we've all beat whatever bug had us down for the last couple days.

Oops, I was kinda out of it the past couple of days and forgot to post this whack video I shot out the front of the hotel in Bosconia. A Panamanian group was busking. Just listen to the rhythms -- it sounds like home. It was a call-and-response bit with the lead being sung by a very senior woman made up in her Carnaval finery.

We rode straight and fast from Bosconia right up to the coast.
In Ciénaga, where the road branches North East to Santa Marta, we took the Western route to Barranquilla.

The town is built on the edge of a saltwater swamp right along the coast. The road only shows on some of my maps. The marshy plains is sadly, home to a sprawling collection of shacks and ramshackle homes. This is the most distressing looking slum I have seen yet on this trip.

We made into into Barranquilla in the early afternoon. You know the time of day when the sun is at it's maximum intensity. When it's so hot that if you even think of moving a muscle, you start to sweat.

That is my favourite kind of weather. And, of course, Tim's worst nightmare. Ahhh..we can't win 'em all :)

We had trouble connecting with May, and so ended up NOT heading to one of the hotels she suggested.

We had stopped at on a side street after determining the GPS was determined to guide us to a 0-star "hotel".

Alongside of us pulls us a pair of cops, riding in their usual style, 2-up on a 125cc Honda.

Our helper

The cops ask me what we're looking for and I say a decent hotel.

They discuss it for a minute then tell us to follow them. I wish I had remembered to turn on the video for the next 10 minutes. These cops led us through their city -- down 1-way streets, through 2 clearly marked illegal left-turns, and finally riding on the sidewalk for the entire final block before finishing at ... wait for it... the Hotel Canadienese.


Tim and I smiled. Troy, the Aussie of the group, had more ammunition for his Canadian Conspiracy story he is building..

Turns out the hotel is not really that good. The furniture is not structurally sound (don't ask how we know --- trust us, this), the windows onto the main street below are paper thin (all the better to hear every single car horn in a 12-block radius).

We resolved to find a new motel in the morning. Troy was ready to checkout less than an hour after we unpacked.

Dinner

We took a taxi to the restaurant where we had agreed to meet May. The ride to la Cueva was supposed to cost $4,000 COP, but the freakishly large taxi driver (did I mention they all drive a Chevy product that is so small it makes a Nissan Micra look like a Hummer?) wanted more.

We resisted the urge to bargain our way into paying more.

The restaurant is one with a lot of history. Between our first round of drinks, and the arrival of the meal, we were led into a small theatre in the back to watch a short film on the it's origins.

Essentially since the 1940's the place has functioned as a meeting place for intellectuals and artists.

Gabriel Garcia Marquez

The great Gabriel Garcia Marquez was perhaps the most notable of Colombian writers to spend copious amounts of time there, essentially liming with his peeps. In his Noble Laureate work, "100 Years of Solitude" he even immortalizes some of his La Cueva compañeros.

The dinner was lovely.

We took another taxi to Rueda de Cumbia to check out the preamble to Barranquilla Carnaval.

This was true, true Carnival -- instantly recognizable to any Trini. The street was filled with thousands of people. In the middle of the intersection, a truck was parked with musicians playing some jumping beats on African drums accompanied by other percussive instruments.

Every time the band struck up a new tune, the crowd danced round and round the truck in a thickly knotted circle of feverish bodies.

This is my element.

Your boy put down one set ah wine on them bonita Colombian mujhers, and I'm happy to report, represented T&T properly.

Tim and Troy did their part to rep Canada and Australia. Their results were pretty much ad expected :)

We left that joint after just an hour, and headed for our final destination for the night - La Troja salsa bar.

This is a historic spot in Colombian salsa history, and such is being preserved just as it has been since the 50's, even though the entire neighborhood around it gentrifies.

There are only 2 whorehouses left on the street.

Here we basically partied till out butts fell off. For those who know me, that probably sounds like a 10-minute affair. In reality we kept at it until about 2 AM.

The crowd took a shine to us. The DJ even played Sparrow's "Mr. Walker" as a dedication to yours truly.

At some point in the night, the Carnaval spirit crept into the proceedings, and we let loose with powder flying everywhere.

Ahh.. Once again, a good time was had by all :)

Many photos still to come in from the other cameras present. Be sure to check my Flickr Photostream for the additional pics in the next day or so.

Still Goin' Toco...