When it comes to variety, shapeliness, size, and beauty, no other knockers compare to Cartagena knockers. There are knockers everywhere, practically everywhere you look, and it’s hard to take your eyes off them. Knockers here are displayed with pride and range greatly in size. The smaller ones are cute, shapely, and perfectly functional. The larger ones – and there are some very weighty and grand ones here in Cartagena – can be more difficult to manage but handling them is immensely pleasurable. Some knockers are so large you need to use both hands.
Knockers here vary in age. The newer ones are beautiful, almost sassy in their appearance, and are a pleasure to operate. Many of the older ones seem to have suffered a bit from either overuse or neglect and can be a little finicky, but remain majestic and impressive. I’ve noticed some knockers seem to have been rebuilt with different materials, and in some cases even made larger, providing a noticeably different look and feel. The owners of these seem to be consistently pleased with their knockers as they showcase them with pride. There’s no doubt there are many experts in Cartagena in knocker reconstruction.
I think some tourists come here specifically for the knockers. I saw one man on a busy street walking right up and touching all the knockers he saw, in some cases aggravating the owners. I didn’t touch any myself, but I took a lot of photos of them, and had Ana take some of me standing beside the most impressive knockers, smiling like a crazy man. I can’t wait to show all these knocker photos to my friends back home.
For our last full day in Cartagena we did much of the same – had a slow, leisurely breakfast at the hotel, walked over to Juan Valdez for a slow, leisurely coffee, retuned to the hotel for a slow, leisurely swim in the pool, then walked to the end of the peninsula to El Laguito beach and had a slow, leisurely lunch and drinks at the Punta Las Velas beachfront restaurant. The beach was full of people up to all sorts of tomfoolery. A young beach entrepreneur was hired by the family patron to rub what looked like cooking oil over the ladies. They really enjoyed it and he was quite daring in the application of the oil. An older man beneath a ratty blue beach umbrella whipped off his shorts and bent over to give us a great view of his dangling beauties, then fortunately put on some swimmers. A vallenato (accordion-driven Colombian folk music) band appeared out of nowhere and gave a private performance to a family a bit further up the beach. Little kids were running around, chasing each other. Vendors walked the beach with platters of freshly caught fish and when somebody bought one, they would rush it back to a hidden kitchen then reappear a while later with the whole cooked fish and sides on a foam plate. Lunchers would then toss the still-meaty fish heads from their meals to the troupes of seagulls who would attack it (and each other) until there was nothing left. It was a lot of fun.
Late in the afternoon we Uber’d into the city and visited the sloths again in Centenario Park. The smaller one was up in the trees, slowly ascending then descending, stopping periodically to munch on bunches of juicy leaves. We couldn’t spot the larger one.
It was Friday night in the city and the place was exploding with activity, even busier than when we were here Tuesday. We strolled the Getsemani neighbourhood, admiring the artwork, the beautiful people, flashy evening revelers, the incredible lighting, the scenes in peoples’ living rooms, doors wide open, diners in cool restaurants, drinkers in boutique lounges, a team of breakdancers who’d set up in the middle of an intersection, doing egg beaters and headspins, popping and snapping, and who’d clear out momentarily when traffic built up too much and the blasting car horns became unbearable. We passed so many food carts, cooking up arepas, cheeseburgers, sausages, ham and cheese buns, and skewers of grilled meats. The smells were delicious, food mouthwatering, and the city’s sonic orchestra of music, conversations, laughter, motorcycle engines, and singing rang out, decorating the air.
Our dinner reservation was for 7 and we arrived right on time. The restaurant Sierpe was empty, but within an hour it was jammed. Our server was efficient and friendly and the food was incredible. We started with a shared crab dip, which was bright yellow, loaded with crab fibres, other seafood, and a thin veneer of faintly scorched cheese. I had a fish filet, which was ridden by snails, mollusks, onions, and shrimp, bathed in a yellow sauce creating a delectable slurry of flavour, and accompanied by coconut rice and mixed greens. Ana had the cutest mini crab sliders. At one point our server came by, pointed to Ana’s meal, smiling and blasted out a rapid set of unusual words - Bob Esponja Pantalones Cuadrados. Ana and I looked at each other in pure confusion as we didn’t have a clue what he was talking about. But he didn’t give up. Instead he pulled out his phone, hammered in some words, then showed us an image of SpongBob Squarepants. Ana’s meal was crabby patties! And they were damn good.
Our plan to go partying in Getsemani and hit some of the fantastic bars we’d passed and voyage late into our final night was flummoxed by all the delicious food being processed internally and instead we sauntered back to the park and plopped down on a bench to absorb these last moments in the tropics.
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