Dear friends,
We had a few stressful moments on the flights from Chicago to Miami to Cartagena. Nothing terrible considering the state of air travel these days.
We met our dear friend Nathalie in the Miami airport as planned. She took the red-eye from San Francisco. And we all boarded an Avianca flight that took us down the keys, over Cuba and Jamaica, to Cartagena, Colombia.
Cartagena is a jewel. But the old city, a favored destination for many Europeans, is surrounded by miles of shanty towns with nothing but dirt roads. The Centro Historico is filled with fancy upscale stores and boutique hotels, but poor Cartageneros are plentiful.
Last night we took a carriage ride through every plaza in the area. We really just wanted to get to Plaza San Diego to a ceviche restaurant. But the driver must have thought we wanted a grand tour and he kept pointing out historical sites. Between our pitiful Spanish and his Cartagena accent, we understood nothing. We smiled. He pointed to the sites. And the seven blocks to the restaurant ended up being a twenty-minute ride through a beautiful, brilliantly lit quarter of the city at night.
Some news from home: I see Mark Kirk has lied about more than just his military experience.
