In which Layla and Roz visit the devil's mud-bath and eat lots of ice cream

By Layla

Landing in Cartagena was like landing in a totally different country - the heat and humidity hit us like a wave, and we threw off our Bogota cardigans in shock. We definitely weren't in the mountains any more - and given that our last experience of mountains had been fleeing rioters, we weren't at all sorry.

After checking in at our charming hotel and donning our summer clothes, we went out on the town. We are staying in a pretty, colonial area called San Diego with a crumbling aesthetic, all narrow streets, plazas bustling with cafes, little bars, restaurants, boutique shops, surrounded by old city walls that you can stroll along the top of, with the walled city on one side, the Caribbean Sea on the other, and the skyscrapers of the Bocagrande district in the distance. It feels very old Spain, and this feeling is enhanced by the almost complete lack of European or English-speaking tourists. We stopped in at a delightful local bookshop which also doubled as a bar. My strawberry daiquiri was excellent; Roz's mango less so... There was also cake. After a stroll around town, encountering a concert in one of the plazas, we returned to a nice wine bar near the bookshop and treated ourselves to a pre-prandial glass of wine. Dinner was mostly hummus-based (no bad thing), at a nice restaurant overlooking a raucous Plaza San Diego, and there was a sneaky mohito before bed - a successful first evening, and hooray for not being trapped in Villa de Leyva. 

The next day was started with a walking tour around town from our Michelin guide (Lonely Planet is rubbish on this trip!). We viewed all the main churches and city gates and the like, paid a visit to the small but nice modern art museum, and covetously eyed a theatre that hosts the Hay Literary Festival annually in January. we then took refuge from the sudden rain with drinks in yet another plaza, followed by tomato soup for lunch in a hip little restaurant. 

After trying to spot the house of Gabriel Garcia Marquez, we decided that our location on the Caribbean demanded a swim. We took a taxi to Bocagrande which had a Benidorm-style ambience... But it was very jolly to join the locals on the beach. The water was somewhat murky, the sand was grey and the waves were vigorous - so while it wasn't the quintessential Caribbean beach experience it was rather fun. We jumped in the waves for over an hour til I was frankly exhausted and in need of ice cream, thankfully duly delivered. 

Back in the old town, we headed out for a drink at a cool outdoor bar on top of the wall. We read our books while sipping Club Colombia beer and gazing out over the sunset, til it was too dark to see the words if our books (well, for Roz - I have a Kindle Paperwhite which Roz eyed enviously) and we headed to dinner, at one of Cartagena's best reviewed restaurants. Which was a... strange experience. Despite being a wine bar, with wine lining the walls, they couldn't seem to offer us any wines by the glass except for horrible ones. The previous bustling restaurant essentially emptied on our arrival. But we persevered and had an adequate veggie paella before fleeing to a more pleasant bar on another plaza where we had a very cheery time chatting and drinking much nicer wine. As we strolled home after ten o'clock, ladies and gentlemen, we congratulated ourselves on managing such a late night! 

The next morning we wolfed down our breakfast and were ready at the honk of a horn for a bizarre-sounding tour we had arranged: a trip to bathe in a mud volcano. The story goes that a devil lived in volcano Totomo but then a priest prayed to turn it to mud and drown the devil, and thus it was so. After an hour's drive, along with our fellow tour-goers, we eyed the ladders ascending to what is often described in appearance as a large termite mound. Tentatively we donned our swimming costumes and ascended. 

At the top, we peered down into a big hole. At the bottom was a weird scene of mud-caked people cavorting in a big weird grey mud bath, including being rubbed with mud by the locals. After a while getting sunburnt as we waited our turn, finally we were instructed to descend. The slippery ladder gave way to the mud, and as I let go, I found myself in one of the strangest sensations I've ever experienced. There is no bottom that you can stand on. Instead, the mud weirdly suspends you. It's a bit like what I imagine space is like! A local immediately grabbed me and started rubbing the mud all over me. I lay there in the mud like I was lying on a table. But nothing but gloopy mud below me. A glance to the side found Roz having the same experience. After, we cavorted in the mud, trying to push each other down to find the bottom, to no avail, and moving ourselves around this bizarre pit. Afterwards, we ascended a very slippery ladder to the top of the volcano, then down to the ground, where we stumbled about 100 meters to a lake where women poured water all over us til the mud was all off. Completely mad but definitely jolly. 

Afterwards they drove us to a beachside restaurant which might have been nice if (a) we weren't vegetarians in a fish-focused restaurant, and (b) it wasn't raining vigorously! But we did enjoy watching some people kite surfing before we eventually returned to our hotel - amusingly we both fell sound asleep and had to be awoken by the other mud-bathers when we arrived. 

That night, we ventured to a delightful ice cream parlor called Gelateria Paradiso - apt! We ate a lot of ice cream. And then wandered down to the area just outside the walls called Gethsemane, home to hostels, nightlife, and such, before returning to a nice outdoor cafe for beers and ambience. We ate at a deserted but pleasant restaurant, Torreluna, which had the novelty of a vegetarian menu, and polished off the evening with drinks at an outdoor cafe in a nearby plaza. 

Today was a snorkeling day. People keep saying the Rosario Islands can be a delightful Caribbean island experience, or a tacky tourist trap, so we increased our chance of the former by going with a posh-ish company called Dive Planet. An hour long pleasant boat ride found us on charming Managua Island, blue sea lapping at the shores, hammocks aplenty... Alas we'd signed up to snorkel, so it was back in the boat for two snorkeling sessions. Lots of fun, though not much coral or fish... Poor Roz, as usual, (1) remembered she doesn't like snorkeling, and (2) sustained a snorkeling injury (coral cuts this time), but after ditching her snorkeling kit for a pleasant swim, was rewarded with a quick lunch and a delightful laze in a hammock before it was time to take the boat home. One of our loveliest days so far on this holiday!

And now I write this from the Gelateria Paradiso again. Life is excellent...