I wasn’t really sure what to expect when going to Colombia. All I knew was I found a $139 one-way to Cartagena which was enough for me to want to see it (I mean I wanted to see it anyway, but a cheap flight is a cheap flight; thank you Skyscanner). I did minimal research on where to stay (and drunkenly booked a hotel room two nights before the trip), and flew on Friday January 13th (my mom said, “No wonder it’s so cheap! It’s unsafe and you’re flying on an unlucky day!”).
Five hours later, I landed in Cartagena. I had been told that English is pretty rough there and I should prepare with some Spanish. I asked the barback from my job to teach me a few useful phrases and he wrote some things down for me, however my white girl dialect was a pretty quick giveaway that I didn’t know jack shit. I got in a cab to go to the hotel and could hardly even communicate to where I was going to. He tried to charge me and I didn’t understand what the hell he was saying, and also wasn’t super familiar with the exchange rate yet (I had just landed!). This was an amateur mistake on my part, but what better way to learn than full immersion / getting ripped off by locals (this cab driver in particular didn’t rip me off…but more on that later).
I got to the hotel (I usually stay in hostels to save money, but I was happy to treat myself) inside the Old Walls of Cartagena. This area was beautiful; so many colorful streets, fresh fruit and juices being sold on every corner, and a plethora of restaurants and hidden gems to explore. I made my way out and started wandering, and I stumbled upon a cute restaurant called La Cevicheria (another reason why I don’t love doing research ahead of time…my gut led me to this place and I later learned it’s one of the most sought-out restaurants in Cartagena). A super cute friendly hostess named Angie greeted me and told me it would be about a thirty minute wait. I sat on the patio and drank an Aguila while I waited for my name to be called. Since this place was so high-demand and I was a party of one, after about 20 minutes she called my name and asked if I minded sharing a table with another girl who was also alone. Another beauty in traveling; being forced to sit next to strangers and learning their story. I sat next to a girl who had a layover in Cartagena before she headed back to her hometown of Mexico City, Mexico. She asked me what I thought about the current state of my country (Trump was to be president in seven short days), we discussed her studying political science and being in her last year of college, and how she had just taken a romantic getaway with her boyfriend who she met on holiday in Germany.
I ordered a mixed seafood curry in a spicy coconut sauce and it was by far the best seafood dish I’ve ever had. Between the good conversation, the delicious food, and Angie being the coolest and sweetest hostess ever, I quickly fell in love with La Cevicheria. It became my go-to over the next four days. Even when I would just walk by, if Angie was outside she would wave to me and ask how my trip was going. I ended up stopping there every single day at least once, even if just for a drink (here is me on my last day in Colombia after chilling at the beach all day; hence my awesome hair).
Three nights later, I was trying to get into what I had heard was the best restaurant in the Old Walls of Cartagena (another reason why doing research ahead of time doesn’t always work out), and I felt like an outsider almost immediately because of my lack of makeup and lack of Spanish skills. This place was pinkys up fancy pants and even when I tried to say “a table for one” in Spanish, I apparently was butchering it because they looked at me and had no patience for my struggle. I decided, F this place and their delicious food, and decided to walk around and find something else. I work at a place called “Hog Pit” in New York City, so when I saw a place called “Pata Negra,” I thought I’d give it a go. I looked at the menu and quickly recognized it was overpriced, but at this point I was hangry so I didn’t care. I ordered some croquettes and they were not exactly over the top appetizing, and I contemplated getting my check and trying to find somewhere else. I began to try to converse with my waitress Oriana (who, once again, spoke minimal English), and she would try to help me to not butcher pronouncing things in Spanish, and she would say “How do you say that in English?” and I would help her do the same. I ended up staying at this place for three hours, throwing back mezcal margaritas and munching on mediocre appetizers because I was enjoying speaking with Oriana so much. She had to have been somewhere between 16 and 18 years old. I asked her what her favorite thing to eat in Colombia was, and she wrote me a note in English:
It was this exact moment that gave me goosebumps/chills/extreme satisfaction in helping someone understand a new language. Language is extremely powerful and it is probably the biggest challenge faced when traveling. It makes you feel vulnerable and slightly stupid when you don’t know how to emulate what is is that you’re trying to say. She inspired me to want to go back to school to land a job teaching English in another country.
Oriana and Angie if you’re anywhere out there…thank you for making my unplanned trip so damn perfect. (And hey, Oriana: “damn” is a swear word, do as I say and not as I do!)