Santa Marta, here we come. Our bags are packed, apartment put to order, and the Uber is waiting at the corner. We drive the half hour to the airport and I am reminded as to how much of Bogota there is still to see and how different it is from our little neighbourhood where we stayed. It is a reminder that a person only sees little snippets of the places they travel to. (I guess this is true that I miss things in my own neighbourhood around Henry Street as well). We make it to our terminal with little time to spare which does not cause any consternation for my traveling companion but is not the same for me. I am relieved that there were no roadblocks (both literal and figurative) that got in the way and that we made it on time. Rudy purchased the tickets a few days ago and I find that he has placed himself in seat 1C (in first class) and I am riding steerage in seat 23F. He will have some explaining to do when we land in Santa Marta. Upon landing Rudy is very refreshed after being served a beer, some chips, and having had a flight attendant pat his face down with a cool damp washcloth. I am harried. I drop my large metal water bottle on my head from the overhead bin and wrestle my carryon suitcase and overstuffed backpack down the long aisle.
Santa Marta is HOT. We are dressed in our Bogota clothes (long pants, sweatshirts, and socks and shoes). After waiting for our Uber we are more than glad to get into the air-conditioned car. It is a long ride to our Airbnb. When the Uber drops us off at the address we are unsure whether we are in the right place. Not so for a gentleman sitting on a bench at a tienda across the street. (Who is this guy anyway and who has appointed him our tour guide?) He, very excitedly, directs us up the street a block and when we remain confused, he runs after us and points us around a corner and down another street. We are hot and tired and sweaty and when we review the address we realize we were at the right place all along. Our Airbnb host meets us and directs us up a spiral staircase (almost like a firefighter’s pole) and into a boiling hot shoebox. (The motorhome in Bogota seems luxurious next to this terrible place.) Rudy is mad and I feel like I might like to have a good cry. What to do? Rudy determines that nothing can be done until he has a cold beer and I opt for a shower to cool me down.
After we lie very still for sometime as the air-conditioning starts to work I make the decision for us to go out and find some late lunch or early supper (it is 4:30). At this point things start to look up. The day is starting to cool and we head towards the beach and the historical district. The wind off the ocean is soothing and there is much to see. After walking for 15 minutes or so we come upon El Parque de los Novios. And tucked into one of the corners is a lovely restaurant. It is quiet and shady and there is a cool breeze blowing through the trees. Rudy has done some research about food in Santa Marta and has found that the seafood is the only way to go (duh, we are on the ocean). I could wax eloquent about the Grouper and Sea Bass and Prawns we have.
We sit for a long time enjoying the people passing by and then head back down to the ocean for the last of the sunset.
Tomorrow is another day. We will figure out what to do with our lodging then.