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Colombia
Plaza de la Santísima Trinidad

Cartagena is known to have one of the prettiest colonial old towns along the spanish conquered land in Latin America. It is truly beautiful in the day, but really comes alive at night when you can listen to drums and guitars, move to the salsa beats, smell the barbecues, taste the Carribean rum and meet a lot of life loving people. 

Shooting Location: Cartagena, Getsemani
Coordinates: N10° 25' 14.736" W75° 32' 43.26"  
Thanks to: Nicoli

Two figures often accompany me on my travels, who never seem able to stop clashing in my mind. One of the figures calls himself “Curious George”. George is a restless fellow, who is ever-present, who explores every beach, every city district and every small village and who always wants to go that extra mile. The other is called the "queen of tranquility", who likes to linger and savor the moment. The “queen of tranquility” likes to let her thoughts wander and always wants to dwell a while longer.

Curious George definitely called the shots in Cartagena. The city is located on the Caribbean coast and is more beautiful than the much acclaimed Santa Marta, which can be found 200 kilometers northeast and is one of Columbia’s many highlights.

George strolled with us merrily through Cartagena’s historic quarter, where you could still clearly sense how the Spanish conquerors plied their dreadful trade. We walked along the Mercado de Bazurto, a lively market where you quickly lose your bearings; climbed onto the Convento de la Popa, a convent from which you can savour a fantastic panoramic view, swerved over La Boquilla’s sandy beach on a city bus and paddled with a canoe through the local mangrove forests. We passed by the white-as-snow apartment houses of Boca Grande, scurried left and right alongside jugglers and mime artists, who were untying their collection bags in the historic quarter as the sun was setting, made our way through the clouds of soap bubbles and finally allowed ourselves to be enticed by the tasty deliberately-placed, braised meat, the smells of which the restaurant managers were fanning out onto the footpaths for dinner from their entrances and windows. A beautiful day full of impressions and the only way to top it off was with a glass of red wine on the balcony of our hostel - located in an adjoining city quarter.

However, almost having reached the hostel around midnight, we paused for a moment and sat down on the steps in front of the Iglesia de la Santísima Trinidad, a small church, on the courtyard of which roughly 200 Columbians had gathered under the orange glow of the street lamps. At first, you could only really see ‘200 people’, who were standing and sitting around, but the longer you watched the locals, the clearer it became, that the gathering here was a very special kind of microcosm. The Columbians would meet here to savor the evening with music and chatter, games of chess, hearty snacks, a little dance, a few tasty cocktails or an impromptu concert. There was a pleasant, laid-back atmosphere in the air. Everyone was, in some strange way, connected to each other.  

There were policemen, who were waiting for hamburgers to be prepared, whispering amongst each other and laughing, so it was difficult to determine whether they were still on duty or had already finished their shifts. There was also a guitarist, who sang Adam Green and Oasis songs in Spanish and let his feelings get the better of him, while singing; so much that he had to let any woman passing by call out the lyrics to him.  Later, a percussion group provided the heartbeat of the festivities under the lanterns, yet the congas, maracas and tambourines were continually passed around. There were old grandads, who would otherwise just read the newspaper and had now stood up to match the swinging hips of the beautiful Salsa dancers with their bodies. There were backpackers, who didn’t feel like conversing and shook their hair to the rhythm of the bongos in the evening wind. There were cigarette salesmen, who had been rushing through the city the whole day to peddle their goods and could now finally take a break. And there were the street sweepers working the night shift, who seemed to hardly notice everything going on whilst swinging their brushes and sweeping the square. Being at Trinidad Square felt like being at a large family reunion, a community, a club everyone belonged to who set foot on the square. Everything seemed to fit together and a strange sense of ease hovered over everyone.

I felt as though I were growing closer to a deeper understanding, to how the Columbians understood life or at least to an aspect of their savoir-vivre, which I had not perceived in this way anywhere else in Columbia. I took a few photos, even if I thought it was impossible to make this atmosphere tangible. Photos and words cannot do some experiences justice.

Of course, George did not have anything else to say for a while. The “queen of tranquility” got her money’s worth and a short rest in front of the church had turned into a long night.

Incidentally, there's also a similar place in Cali, in the park in front of the Iglesia de San Antonio ... but that's another story.