Missing Person

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Goddamn, I knew I should have learned more Spanish. I am sitting here in El Dorado Airport and they hardly speak a lick of English. How cool a name is El Dorado for any airport by the way. It makes me think of Conquistadors and lost cities of gold. When I got off the plane there were zero signs in English, not even one word. The customs form was entirely in Spanish. I just guessed that the correct answer to most of the security questions was no and hoped I wouldn’t be sequestered away for mistakenly admitting to bringing in narcotics. I told the customs agent that I was el professor. Makes me sound almost respectable.

Long story short I managed to get through customs and I am now lounging in the domestic terminal drinking my secundo cervesa. I had just got my bearings when I ran into Pedro, a Colombian guy who was next to me in the line at JFK. He was returning home to Colombia for the first time in 12 years. We got to talking about how neither of us knew what the hell was going on. He was connecting to Cartagena as well.

We decided do grab some food and beer. I had a dish with chicken, red beans, and rice. They also gave me something I had never seen before. They gave me plastic gloves to eat my fried chicken with. I freehanded it anyway. Tommy No Papers has never been scared of a little chicken grease. We then proceeded to check out and comment on all the Colombian girls in their oh-so tight-jeans. I think I am going to like Colombia. Overlooking the fact that it is pissing down here in the Colombia highland city of Bogota.


Meanwhile a short time later in Cartagena......

Well from what I can tell I am in the pit of Cartagena. That is one thing that sucks about arriving at night, you have no idea where you are located. This area, Getsemani, defines dodgy at first glance. I can think of more than a few of my friends that would freak out at a place like this. Then again, I can think of some who would not. You guys know who you are. I actually got bumped down the alley, yes the alley, to a different hostel. My room only costs $5. Not bad. I was supposed to meet Pedro for a late night chica ogling session. I do not see that happening now.

The street that my hostel is on is extremely narrow and edgily atmospheric. There are all sorts of strange characters wandering around. On my way to grab some dinner one came up to me and offered me something, but since I don’t speak really speak Spanish I haven’t a clue what it was.

I walked up the alley, sorry street, and found this hole in the wall restaurant, Corconado or something. I walked in and sat down amongst a whole bunch of table of Colombians, and one table of hippy types complete with their cliched dreadlocks, woven pouch, and even the stray dog that inevitably is following them around. I ordered three cervesas over the course of the meal, which I decided would be carne apanada. I even found myself talking in my somewhat limited Spanish to the waitress. She must have been baffled by my appearance because she blew me a kiss on my way out.

One last thing, while I was eating my dinner this different hippy character, to the point of looking homeless, walked in dragging some kind of cart behind him. He went over to a corner, adjusted something, and left. When I got back to the hostel I saw a sign for a 49-year-old Italian man who had been missing for 6 months. And I am not making this up, it was the same guy! What?

This entry was copied from the journal I was carrying on me. Miracle occurred the photos are up.

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Photos

Hello Colombia
My first Cervesa to christen my Colombian adventure

Calle San Andreas
My current neck of the woods

Hotel Familiar
This hotel wasn´t exactly familiar.

Comments

[jamie]

yes i guess i would be one of those people who would have thought "oh fuck where have i come".ha ha but i still wish i was there.