Caption: ¨Great visuals to go with the new Pinback album. Have you heard song number 3 yet?¨ 
Caption: ¨Malaria of the Testicles.¨
What I love about time is you can´t stop it. No matter what it keeps going, and although at times it seems slower or faster, eventually, if you planned something, it will arrive. I have arrived. Hot steamy air hits like a warm wet washcloth over my head as I make my way down the tarmac. The airport in Cartagena is the size of a 7-11 and there are touts waiting to carry your check-in luggage for the very affordable price of 5 USD. Are you kidding me? 5 bucks to carry my giant bike box and my giant bag with all my pannier bike bags 30 feet to the curb?
The luggage carts are for private use only. Gotcha. I gracefully drag my giant cardboard box and large bag holding my 4 panniers to the curb in one go. Tearing into the box I start pulling the bike parts out of the box and quickly assembling it like a David Copperfield act. I might add that I had a crowd around me like a street magician as well. Most of them are asking, ¨Where are you going?¨, ¨Where did you come from?¨, ¨How much did that cost?¨, and ¨Are you alone?¨. It turns out those same 4 questions are the only questions they ask in Colombia. I have perfected the conversation to cut down on a second clarifying question. All of the answers are lies, in case you were wondering. But finely crafted lies at that.
Luckily the airport is only 5 km from the city center so I start biking into town. Within 10 minutes I am lost and content being lost. The city is a delightful colonial town with 3rd world charm. The people could not be any less interested in me although I feel like I am biking through town with a sign that says, ¨Robame¨ (rob me) pinned to my back.
The streets get narrower and narrower with more and more people so I figure I´m heading towards ¨el centro¨. Then I see someone ridiculous, and I get a faint idea of how I must look to these Colombians. It turns out it is an American from Oklahoma on a recumbent bicycle.
Caption, ¨All Americans blend in this well.¨
The dude looks like a character straight out of the newest trilogy of Star Wars films His dreads have been pulled horizontally to make giant ear-like structures like Jar Jar Binks. There is a party on the backside as well; there are more dreads flattened into a paddle shape with a colorful hand-woven coin purse pinned to his hair. The coin purse holds secrets. If you want to know what is inside the only way to open it is to make a secret Santa exchange. You have to put something in it and then take something out.
Caption, ¨Jar Jar Binks¨
Caption, ¨The Secret Santa satchel, a permanent fixture.¨The guy can´t be any more delightful, down-to-earth or more pleasant to converse with. He´s as stoked to see me as I am to see him and he shows me to the cheapest hostel in town where you can camp out in the common area for 3 dollars a night. Ok, sounds good to me.
There at the Posada de Pirata Hostel I get to meet his biking companion who has the wild-eyed gaze of the uni-bomber, but is nice in his own anti-social way . He exudes vibes of someone that has not had is penis touched by a lady in far far to long, which was later confirmed by Jar Jar.
Caption, ¨The intense gaze of the Uni-Bomber. This is him happy.¨
The hostel is dirty and filled with hippy artisans that travel the world juggling, being mimes and making bracelets. There is even a few from Argentina that make food for people in the hostel and sell it. You can eat yourself silly on the warmest most savory empanadas for 2 dollars a night. Deal.
As usual I start my curious walk around the city in the dark to get my bearings and feel settled in. The city itself has colonial architecture, amazing overhanging wooden balconies with colorful pastel facades. I find myself walking around with my mouth open and understanding what it must have felt like to be a sailor just arriving into port a few hundred years ago. Unfortunately, because I am a 21st century suburban kid, the only thing I can compare it to is an amazing mix of Disneyland and Knott´s Berry Farm Old West and Mexico-land, and I am dizzy with 8 year old awe of everything. The fears and worries have already been baptized away drinking in the atmosphere and a few beers.
Caption, ¨These are the balconies in Cartagena that give me hard ons.¨
