So, it is 86 degrees f. right now in beautiful Cartagena. The relative humidity is at 83%. If one walks 200 meters, one will sweat right through a fresh shirt. My cute little weather ap tells me that it feels like 100 degrees. You damn-right-Skippy it feels like 100 degrees. It feels like the face of the fucking sun in a bun-hugger is what it feels like. Regardless of the weather, hunger is hunger and I was ready to gnaw a table leg.
Here is the place. A doorway to a hallway. The kitchen is in the back. Its a hallway. Not much breeze. And the dish of the day, the one on the greaseboard, the one I ordered? Soup. Hot soup. Really, really good fish soup with all sorts of other bits in it, along with a dish of rice. Did I mention it was hot soup? While I was enjoying my repast, small streams of sweat were running down the inside of my shirt, and then off of my nose, etc. Even the Colombians who were sharing my table were laughing and exclaiming "Muy calor....."
Hot soup, really hot soup. What kind of maniacs eat hot soup in this sort of climate?
OK, since we are onto the food, last night was a walking dinner. An empenada here, a skewer there, and so on. One has to fortify oneself for Carnival!
yes, this man is standing over a grill in the heat. Don't try this at home Chicas!
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