Italians are genetically coded to open restaurants serving local delicacies of their respective regions wherever life commands them to stay. Andrea was obviously a full-blooded Italian since he too wanted to run a diner with the help of his Colombian friends. Funds constituted the principle obstacle, but Andrea had an idea… He bought a kilo of pure ‘coke’, so called ‘piedra’ (rock); the best kind Colombia produces for the American market, and planned to smuggle it to Italy. Mixed with a kilo of some other neutral substance, the parcel would produce 2 kilograms worth of 70,000 dollars, a hefty sum of money for Andrea. But, it could also get him 25 years under the Italian penal system or god knows how many years in a Colombian ‘can’!
On the night before his departure, Andrea appeared increasingly nervous. He even canceled our usual guitar session outside of his room. I did not see him again that afternoon or the following day. Someone with more information told me that Andrea had stayed up the entire night preparing the ‘stuff’ for the flight. He had divided the ‘coke’ into small quantities, subsequently wrapped them in five layers of rubber and plastic, sealing hot the ends with the candle flame. The hiding place: Andrea’s belly and anus.
I often wonder whether today Andrea is any closer to having realized his dreams. Since I never contacted him after his departure, I can only hope deep inside that he’s a happy owner of a small Italian joint in Cartagena. As for you, I would never recommend to earn cash this way. Some people simply lose touch with reality in Colombia.
It is more than easy to run into deep problems with addiction in Cartagena. I cannot deny that the city conceals another dimension, a sort of black matter that can be felt on the spot. The tropical sun, a relaxed nature of Colombian people, and music naturally provide for a happy-go-lucky feeling. Add ‘coke’ and you feel like a king.
As a traveler, pushers will constantly approach you in the streets, bending over backwards to please you in every possible way. The price for the ‘powder’ is so low that the temptation becomes irresistible. It is customary that the pushers deliver the merchandise directly to your hotel door, wrapped in a cigarette-box, with a red ribbon tied across (some of them at least!).
If you ever decide to go for it, be very careful and avoid making deals in the streets lest the police bust you around the corner. Many dealers work with the police in a very ingenious scheme. Once you are caught with a small amount, you will never be under threat of going to jail but you will be asked politely to bail yourself out. An amount betwixt 50 and 150 US dollars is customary but it is quite a price for being foolish.
The police are funny about the possession of drugs in Cartagena and elsewhere in Colombia. If you have no cash in your money belt, they will drive you to the nearest bank or big hotel where you can change your traveler’s checks and hand them the money. One English guy paid 50 dollars for his Saturday night party, after which the police drove him back to his hotel and returned his drugs, telling him to buy the stuff from them next time.
Backpackers hooked on ‘coke’ often times make a sad scene in Cartagena. You can recognize them right away by pale and skinny faces, running noses – so called “Colombian cold”, and unpredictable behavior. Nearly every day local newspapers run a photo of some rowdy traveler who in his rage demolished a pub or threw stones at a window display. You don’t have to go that far, even though “when in Rome, do as the Romans do”. With its rich and fascinating nightlife, Cartagena can offer you the charm of old ages and the temptations of the new era. Keep the balance right and you will be fine. Besides, as a traveler, you’re better off keeping low profile anyway!
I remember the afternoon of my departure from the city. The bus whizzed along the beach, just outside of the majestic walls, taking me south toward the highlands. Cartagena glittered in the late afternoon sun, a golden fort with the tree crowns shooting upwards beyond the walls. My eyes caught the cannon upon which I sat at every sundown. It pointed toward the horizon at an invisible, imaginary enemy from the past.
I was a resident of Cartagena for two unplanned weeks during which I had found my regular breakfast place, a dinner cafe, and bars in Boca Grande where salsa sets the tune for the night. I even befriended three local men, the best pals, whom I hear chuckle over their cold ‘cerveza’ in our corner bar where we used to meet. They are probably still there, laughing their life away with the street traffic, three ‘costenos’ par excellence. If you happen to see them next year, say “hello” from me and ask them to share their views with you regarding Colombian women. You would never expect anything so thought provoking and enlightening from 70-year old men!
In Cartagena I found freedom. For the first time in my life, I let off all the checks and balances in my body. I looked up high to the sky and low to the ground. I stepped over the horizon, leaving it behind.
Read the whole adventure!
Part One
Part Two
Part Three