Adjectives such as seductress, enchantress, and temptress don't come close to describing Cartagena. We fell in love with her at first sight. It was the middle of the afternoon and only tourists were about her streets taking in her colonial charm. The inner core of colonial Cartagena has been restored and the old houses and buildings radiate their beauty with fresh, vibrant colours. Canary yellow, orange, reds, blues, and greens predominated. If that was insufficient to overwhelm the visual sense, the potted flowers hanging from balconies and lampposts by the hundreds would be sure to do it. The beautiful red geraniums, yellow pansies, and pink begonias adorned the streets like lights on a Christmas tree.
In reality, there are three Cartagenas: the historical centre just described; the modern suburb of Bocagrande, replete with high-rise condos, hotel towers, and high-class restaurants and cafés; and the rest, pretty nondescript, where most Cartaginians live near the poverty line. Mercado Bazurto, a huge bazaar where one can find everything imaginable, typifies this part of town. It is a dirty place and the area where they sold fish and meat was the worst. The stench went up to the high heavens. Flies were everywhere, feeding off the meat and the fish and the blood that dripped on the floor.
Cartagena is also about its people, a mixture of Blacks, Mestizos, and Caucasians, who developed a culture that is unique and distinctive from the Bogotanos that run the country. Cartagineans have a joie de vivre that is infectious, and can only be compared to that of New Orleaners, or whatever the inhabitants of New Orleans are called. They are musical, artistic, and mostly poor: they enjoy life and take adversity in stride. The people that came to the beach daily to sell massages, fresh fish, home-cooked meals, and even garments always had a smile on their faces, even when we weren't interested in buying. Their attitude was c'est la vie.
We didn't choose to be in romantic Cartagena for Valentines Day, known there as the day of friendship - dia de la amistad. It happened the other way around. It came when we were there. When the sun drops below the horizon and the city lights go on, Colonial Cartagena changes from a captivating beauty queen dressed in her sexy bikini and long hair in ponytail, to a seductive beauty queen dressed in her skin-tight evening gown. At night she puts on her makeup, lets her hair down, and flirts with her visitors. On Valentines night her sensuous charm was magnified many times. That evening, when we walked out of the restaurant into the street, which was full of life, it was like stepping into a magical place: we felt ecstatic.
In honour of the saint, whose day we were celebrating with millions of others around the world, we chose a nice restaurant for dinner: one with more ambiance than what we had become accustomed to. The restaurant was full when we arrived and we had to wait for some people to leave before we got a table. A large group had reserved an entire section to celebrate the engagement of a young couple. "How romantic that they would do that on the day of lovers!" exclaimed Milva.
We ordered a large platter of fish and seafood, along with side dishes of vegetables, and a bottle of sparkling wine. We had a scrumptious meal, the atmosphere was jovial, and the entire place pulsed with energy. "What more could we ask for?" I thought. No sooner had the thought vanished, Silvio stood up at the table and started singing a romantic song to his wife. Soon it became a duet. They must have sung that operatic aria together numerous times because they knew it so well and sang it with passion. Their voices resounded throughout the restaurant, and everybody listened with delight. There was a round of applause from all the patrons and they curtsied in acknowledgement. A few minutes later, the waiter came with a bottle of sparkling wine and explained, "This bottle is with the compliments of the manager. Enjoy it!" None of us had to drive, so we indulged until the second bottle was finished. When that happened, Pino remarked, "Silvio, it's time for another song." We all laughed and thought it was time to move on. It was a good way to end an exquisite dinner.
After dinner, the street looked so different. It had taken a new life. It was closed to traffic, and troubadours had attracted crowds. Couples, young and old, strolled along holding hands, or arm-in-arm, something we don't see in north American cities, but still common in European ones. Jazz music permeated the air: it was intoxicating. Almost everyone we passed was dressed in colourful and elegant garb - not that of the carnival, which was colourful, but far from elegant. Love was in the air. Young couples would just stop walking for no other reason than to kiss. Cupid must have been extremely busy.
Our stroll took us to the Charleston Hotel across Plaza de Santa Teresa, where we had started from earlier in the day. We sat on the hotel patio and enjoyed the music of the live jazz band while sipping more sparkling wine and indulging in some delicious desserts. My wife turned to me with eyes that seemed to say, "Kiss me, my fool," and so I did. And then I whispered in her ear those three little words that she used to hear more often when we were newlyweds; but after forty years of matrimony, I am ashamed to say that they had almost left my vocabulary. Was it the wine, the music, or the party atmosphere that had worked its magic on us? Or was it the seductress?
It was a really lovely evening. The temperature was warm; and a gentle, balmy breeze added to its allure. The spirit of Saint Valentine had permeated the city. Even as us old folks were preparing to leave, the younger crowd was rolling in taking our place and livening it up even more!
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