Vacations for me always have a tipping point. There is the half where I relish feeling lost and anticipate what every new street will reveal to me, and then there is the later half of the trip when I start to feel local-ish after I have located the places that speak to my soul. In Cartagena, this place is the Getsemani district. My introduction happened incidentally, when my boyfriend took me to a rooftop hostel party, and directly when I went to seek out yoga at the cultural center. From that point on, I couldn’t get enough. The streets are quiet, almost impassable by car, and laced with street art. It is beyond quaint. And now, the barrio that used to be plagued with prostitution and drug problems is now the hippest, coolest neighborhood around. Rings a familiar tune doesn’t it?
The hub of the neighborhood is the open courtyard flanking the 17th century church in the Plaza de Santisma Trinidad. Filled with kids playing soccer, food vendors, live music, and people doing what they do best in Cartagena, relaxing. So where did I go? Well, I was planning to visit Trattorio Di Silvio, a rustic pizza place where we could eat on the rooftop under the stars...but we got distracted by Pacifico and stopped there for the house special, seafood paella. The meal started off with a bloody mary, of which I am afraid we are ridiculously specific, and aside from missing the olives and us liberally pouring in more hot sauce, I’d say we were happy. Next came the Gaelic Pulpo.
I have become a far more adventurous foodie through having this blog and traveling more...and my father would be pleased to see how much seafood I consume now, despite his then failed attempts in my youth to get me to appreciate it. I get it now...but I still don’t understand people’s love affair with shrimp. But I digress. The pulpo was also a new texture to get accustomed to. It had a strong aroma, that was enhanced by olive oil and what I believe was paprika. It was a chewy piece with the little suction cups from the tentacles popping in your mouth as you ate. I was doubtful at first, but I ended up eating the majority of the dish.
Next came the paella, meaning to eat from the pan, and originates of course from Valencia, Spain. Interesting note: In Spain, rice was introduced to the country by the Moors over 1200 years ago. The Spanish term for rice is ‘arroz’, which stems from Arabic, not Latin like most of Castilian Spanish. The paella that we had was filled with calamari rings, mussels (other pieces of unidentifiable seafood) and topped with an entire lobster and a crab to accompany him. The waiter served us a few spoonfuls and then we liberally squeezed lime over the top and dug in. The flavor was pure ocean, if that resonates with anyone.
After dinner we wandered over to Demente, a tapas bar with a retractable roof and rocking chairs, that has come to be one of my favorite places. A quick glass of cava later and we were out exploring the streets, and me, camera in hand, was in search of street art. Down the street from Pacifico, I found what I was looking for. Here are some of my favorite images.
As somebody with the heart of a revolutionary, here is a final note on why I love this neighborhood, "On November 11, 1811, Pedro Romero, head of the Getsemaní Lancers, led a revolt that resulted in eventual independence from Spain. Since then, the residents have dedicated themselves to maintaining this fiery, celebratory and heroic spirit.” (http://in-lan.com/en/travel/cartagena-re-writes-itself/)
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