One dollar for a papaya half that will make you doubt reality. Walking brekkie at its best.
I wandered through the quiet Saturday morning boulevards, aiming for the river and points South. Tanagers darted about in the trees, the shade was delicious and the morning was bright. Along the West side of the Rio Cali I followed the park past the historic district and into a neighborhood of glitzy highrises. I crossed one of the bridges and the trail became a sculpture park with statues of cats lining the path.
A walking city indeed. I crossed the river and headed up steep hills, making for the Pargue de Aguaducte. Here there were sweeping views of the city and the obligatory statue of a famous dead guy. This dead guy was Sebastian de Belalcazar, the founder of Cali. After a falling out with his boss, Pizarro, Mr. B headed North to found Popayan and then Cali. He and his cohorts brought many, many slaves to to Cali to farm the sugarcane and cotton plantations. This was after a lot of killing and enslaving of the local populace. Nice fella. The population of Spaniards, indigenous folks and slaves led to the incredible mix of cultures and races that became modern-day Cali.
Belalcazar pointing back towrds the Caribbean. "You guys go get more slaves..."
I walked the hills of the park, passing through a picturesque portal, and emerged on the top of the hill at Inglesia de San Antonio.
The church on the hill over barrio San Antonio.
The view from the top, looking down on Cali.
As i was walking through the park, I saw some great grafitti. There was one image, however, that I could not comprehend.
I am not sure what is going on here, but it cannot possibly be good.
Dropping down the hill into barrio San Antonio, I was immersed in white colonial streets, narrow and quiet, with a few people going about their business. The lovely smell of brekkie cooking wafted out of a cafe and sucked me in. Papaya is wonderful, but it was time for something more substantial. Huevos and good bread and jugo fresca, with coffee, $ 2.50.
I walked an entire two blocks before I found My Cafe. There was a big poster of Gabreil Garcia Marquez on the wall. The name of the cafe was Cafe Macondo, a clever reference to the imaginary village that GGM invented for Love in the Time of Cholera. I was hooked. The Cafe doubles by night as an art house movie theater and jazz bar. The espresso was exquisite and the muffin-brioche thingy with the fruit sauce was divine. The greatest revelation, however, was the listing for the upcoming movies. Cine de Malos, the Films of the Bad. As in Bad-Asses. Scarface, Taxi Driver and Clockwork Orange on the same bill!! Holy Shit!! If i was an ex-pat in Cali, this would be MY SPOT. A man is judged by his cafe as they say and this would be mine!
Cafe Macondo
The fare
My Cafe
The Film Bill. I could watch a movie here every night. Jim Jarmusch!!!!
Thoroughly caffeinated, I was ready for a little culture. Next stop, museums!! First was the Museo de Oro. Tiny by comparison to the Borgata museo of the same name, i still got a glimpse of the incredible amount of gold that was here in Central and South America and which drove the Conquistadores mad with greed.
Oro, oro y mas oro.
I followed up the gold with the Museo de Anthropologia until I had had my fill of pottery and burial methods. I headed out into the historic district, whitch always includes a church and, in this case, many, many pigeons.
There was more walking and now under a ominous black cloud. I had learned my lesson in Manizales and sought cover sooner rather than later. Sure enough, the first three drops turned instantly into a deluge. Hah! i was already under cover.
Rain Delay!!
The morning was done and the rain continued in a light drizzle, I puddle jumped my way back to the hostel, changed into dry clothes and sought the refuge of the covered garden for a siesta smoke. It would not be the end of the day, but it will be the end of this blog entry. Many miles to go Chicas, many miles to go.
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