Romancing the Stone, Part 2

Old town Cartegena was a mix of old architecture and new shops. Windows displayed the latest fashions, while street vendors sold souvenirs and bottled water. It was HOT and muggy, a far cry from the Florida weather (unseasonably cold this year) we had left in Sarasota.

Cartegena is a coastal city, heavily influenced by the Spanish influence from the days following Christopher Columbus' several trips to the Americas. Those early Europeans were not kind to the local natives, and in addition to "local labor" they imported a number of black slaves to build their cities and forts. It was also a place where "confessions" were enticed by torture, and our tour guide seemed determined to show us every instrument of getting to "the truth". They did it all, and people often confessed to alleged crimes (including being witches) to end the torture. Today we've abolished torture and replaced it with taxes.

At the end of the tour, which focused heavily on the impact of the Spanish Inquisition in the new world, we were treated to a "refreshment break" as part of the tour package. My spouse chose bottled water, but I dared to try the local beer. When the pop top came off in my hand, I took it back to the disbursing agent who clearly was prepared for this apparently routine problem - solved by the old fashioned "church key" bottle and can opener. I would not recommend Columbian beer - but I did find it ironic that after touring more churches than I could count, the event was wrapped up by the use of a church key. South Americans practice their religion in every manner imaginable.

Romancing the Tips

This gentleman was the herald who trumpeted our arrival at the historic fort overlooking the city of Cartegena.

I have no idea of what the uniform he wore represented, but I admired his entrepreneurial spirit. His trumpet playing was redolent of my Herb Alpert C.D., so apparently those music lessons did work out for him, after all.

I had carried ashore a supply of the new $1 coins, and this fellow certainly deserved a symbol of my appreciation of his efforts. If that trumpet gig doesn't work out, he might try for a job in baseball. He caught the coin on "the fly" without missing a note.

His post was mid-way up to the top of the fort, and when we returned he was still there panning for gold, so I threw a second gold coin into his tip jar. Those dollar coins were an inspired idea, as few people I gave them to had ever seen one. Next tour, perhaps monopoly money might work, but I doubt it. The dollar may not be as mighty as it used to be, but it is still sought the world over.

Romancing the Stone, Part 1

A view from the fort, above Cartegena, Columbia, showing a part of that city not seen in the film we've all come to associate with Cartegena.

Michael Douglas and Kathleen Turner have been long gone from this area, and our time ashore was limited to a walking tour of the old city, the fort, and a traffic jam of massive proportion.

This is progress, South American style - gridlock and more body shops than one might imagine. Every car we saw had battle scars, yet drivers seemed immune to using caution - which if applied probably meant they'd never leave the driveway. The traffic however seemed to follow one rule - survival of the fittest, and if you could fit, you'd survive. Tour buses were the kings of this jungle, and every single one I saw had scuff marks on their outside mirrors. Drivers apparently were hired on the basis of their testosterone count and display of "machisimo". Motorcycles were abundant, and interestingly the riders all had the license plate numbers displayed prominently on their helmets. Same went for taxi cabs, with their plate numbers, in large print, on the roof of each vehicle. When I think back, I recall an absence of convertibles - apparently the authorities didn't like vehicles they could not monitor from above. Our tour guide said the presence of security bars on windows was one of the prices of becoming a cosmopolitan city. Crime apparently is one of the bigger industries, after tourism, and the Categena of today was nothing like that scribed by romance writer Joan Wilder. We also didn't see any alligators, but did see some alligator boots. Oh, and yes, we bought the obligatory T-shirt, so now we could say "been there, done that, bought the T-shirt".

Pirates of the caribbean, Part 2

As I returned to the ship, I noticed that Royal Caribbean was as good as its word to help the people of Haiti, as evidenced by these products on the dock awaiting cartage away to the people of the "private island" where in better weather we'd have been in the water, enjoying a lunch on the beach, or perhaps taking advantage of the zip line ride. The island itself has some fairly legitimate "mountains", although nothing like the hills of Tennessee, where I routinely terrorize my wife driving too fast up and down Monteagle. When we arrived, those Haitian hills were shrouded in fog and light rain. The ship was not completely full this trip, with a shade over 1900 passengers where 2200 was the maximum load. As we left Miami, with a first stop at Labadie, we expected to see some evidence of damage from the recent earthquake, but this area was over 100 miles from Port Au Prince, and other than the obvious grinding poverty as evidenced by the persistence of vendors and their hand-me-down fashions, I saw no evidence of a natural disaster, but certainly their nation is a political disaster. The ship set aside a bin to collect passenger's donated clothing, and every day that bin had to be emptied - we were generous in our giving, but the demand clearly would never be met. Haiti clearly was and remains a failed nation-state (says he, the political scientist) and only the people of Haiti can cure two hundred years of corruption and disorder. The hill they must climb is much taller than their fog shrouded mountains. They are a people with strong faith in God - they'll need it.

Pirates of the Caribbean, Part 1

Greetings from sunny, uh, make that wet and windy Labadie, Haiti. Or is it Labadee, Haiti. If T-shirts are the local equivalent of a dictionary, both island spellings appear correct.

On February 14th, I went ashore in a driving rain, my mission to explore this strange land of poverty and misfortune, and perhaps add a small bit of hope to some poor wretch in the form of good old Yankee dollars. Even in the rain, they were laying in wait to ambush my wallet. I never saw it coming.

Have you EVER gone ashore in what has to be considered the 3rd world and found "tourist" prices above incomprehensible? Try an opening gambit of $24 for a cotton T-shirt.....what have these folks been smoking? And foolish me, armed only with my naive innocence and a twenty dollar bill. The picture (notice the raindrop on the lens, lower left) depicts the "Artisan Village", which I later learned was off the "official Royal Caribbean" campus, hence the lair of brigands and thieves (I'd say pirates, but the Somalian version clearly eclipsed this motley crewe). Of course, everybody wanted to take me by the arm and show me their wares, and with few other cruise participants around, I did feel a bit nervous to be honest. Sort of like a black man might feel in Coeur D'Alene, Idaho. But I did my best to spend the money and escape with change, however my thoughts of finding Mexico-like prices (where I've been able to find 'two for $10' easily) were dashed. Ultimately, I managed two for $16, but they wouldn't go for 'three for twenty', so back to the ship with two T-shirts, both spelling Labadee/Labadie differently. I shall keep one for myself and send the other to my dear friend of forty years past, who started me on this blog thing. Oh yeah, that was the day I won the "wet T-shirt contest" by default. My wife watched her drowned rat returning on the pier from the shelter of our stateroom balcony - proof that however brave a man can be, a woman is always smarter.

Dinner at the Dumpster

Tonight I was out walking Millie, our brave female beagle (more on that later). After she did her "business", it was my duty to get rid of her doody at the dumpster.

Now, when we go to the dumpster, there is always a chance that we're not the only ones there. These three little friends, whom our German visitors refer to as waschbar ("wash bear"), are nightly denizens of the dumpster.

Of course, we have other names for them, among them bandits, varmints, Procyon lotor (OK, so I'm showing off) and Millie's favorite term "raccoon boys". Millie loves the raccoon boys, especially when they are running in the opposite direction back into the mangrove swamp. She barks and wants to chase them, safe in the knowledge that her Daddy will not let go of the leash, and will remain a good 20 feet away from the escape path. At fifteen feet of the 16 foot leash, she slows down in anticipation of catching the "3 wire" for an arrested landing - like Eastwood said "a man's got to know his limitations" and that goes for man's best friend too. Millie is certainly mine.

Now, the little guys in the picture are not fully grown, and these three seem to enjoy falling in and being unable to get out. I often have to prop up the lid on the dumpster, and then put a stick in the corner so they can climb out. We're pretty careful - it's perhaps not a coincidence that the word in the dictionary preceding Raccoon is Rabies. Millie and Daddy don't mess with Mama Raccoon, but these juvenile coons are like teenagers, just hanging out down at the Food Giant and seeing what new treats are plastic wrapped for them to explore and enjoy.

In the mornings, when there's plenty of light, I'll often pick up Millie and hold her in the crook of my arm, so she's level with the top of the dumpster. She'll stare at the little guys, and they'll stare back. Sometimes they'll make little raccoon sounds, but Millie (the courageous) won't utter a whimper. After the appropriate stand-off, we'll back off and put Millie on the ground. The bandits will jump from the dumpster onto the board fence surrounding the dumpster, and then scurry down and run out the back side. At this point, Millie has found her voice again, and gives them a hearty beagle bark good-bye.

These are the rituals of the ordinary beagle and her extraordinary Daddy, or is it the other way around?

Life's a Beach, and then you move to one

How would you describe the style of architecture to the left? Bland? Boring? Banal? Well, according to Webster, it does "lack originality or freshness" so I guess banal wins the day. I call it Canadian Modern, since it was built in 1991 by a developer who decided to build condos around his surplus cedar wood windows.

You see, this guy had the window franchise for Pella of Canada, and a warehouse full of windows that nobody was buying. So he put them on a truck and headed south, built about fifty of these structures near a beach in Florida, and then marketed them to his countrymen as a vacation rental property. There are still perhaps a dozen Canadians owning a unit here, plus another group of British owners, and of course we also have Germans to round out our international flavor. On select days, you'll hear a modicum of Spanish speaking, if you can hear over their lawnmowers and leaf blowers.

What attracted this United Nations of ownership is the proximity of the beach, a mere half mile walking distance on average. It's a bit more for me, but then again I'm only two minutes walk from Sarasota Bay and the Inter-coastal Waterway. In fact, if I look out that second story window on the left, I can see water. This is known as a "partial water view". Should I look out the opposite window, I cannot see the Gulf of Mexico - only about a quarter mile of mangrove trees and the back sides of more condos near the pool. The picture on the right shows the entire 34 acre complex - my place is within that circle of homes near the bay. Across the bay is Bradenton.

In 2003, we decided to take the plunge and invest in a Florida vacation home, but had a budget to consider. We also had a daughter at Florida State University, who would be most happy to have a weekend retreat for sun and study. Our expectations of what we could buy for our dollars were unrealistic, and we looked at several other islands before stumbling upon the condo above. This condo is a LOT nicer on the inside - featuring nine and a half foot ceilings and plenty of sunlight through those windows and the sliding glass lanai doors on the main level. The day we saw it, we made an offer on it. We think we got a deal, paying just over 250K on an island where most properties fetch seven figures to start. We felt pretty good when prices for identical units spiked at $505,000 in 2005. Recent sales at $340K and $370K give us some comfort, as we're still maintaining a paper profit, but of course lately there are also a few bank owned properties we expect to sell for what we paid seven years ago, so "easy come, easy go". The real estate people who say "now's the time to buy" probably have a point - all across Florida.

Still, for what we paid, we are quite happy - 1500 square feet, a one-and-three-quarters car garage (we still get the Vette and the Z-4 inside with a few inches to spare), two bedrooms, two-and-a-half baths, and a second floor washer/dryer closet. But we're not counting the improvements - we wish that Canadian built these AFTER Hurricane Andrew came ashore in 1992 and caused the state to adopt a much tougher building code. So, after we bought, we put in NEW windows - the kind that will withstand 140 mph winds, and we replaced all that cedar with James Hardie Plank - looks like wood, but a cement composite with a 50 year warranty. So bring on the bugs, the wind, the rain, and whatever else nature can throw - we're quite ready to ride out any storm. We've updated the inside as well, and when the cold wind blows in Missouri we're down here enjoying the................wait a minute, why is it cold down here too? We set a record a week or so ago - 34 degrees in Manatee County. Where's all that global warming Fat Albert promised us?

Now, if you're really curious you can go to www.cedarstennisresort.com and see pictures of the Junior Olympic size pool, the nature trail, the tennis clubhouse, etc. Rentals are reasonable (for a Florida island anyway) and we're always happy to see friends from the frozen north - just don't bring any wooden windows or wooden nickels with you.