Chapter 3 - Cartagena, Colombia
Cartagena was my first trip for the Near Horizon, and it felt like finally coming up for air after two years. Having spent so long locked down, trapped in Toronto, to be back doing what I really loved was incredible, and I tried to savour every second of it from the moment the plane door opened. It helped that in the days that had followed my encounter with Cassie, Harvey had been distinctly quiet, letting me shift thoughts of romance, and the dim awareness of her presence, into the back of my mind in favour of my excitement to be travelling again. The one remaining, but welcome, reminder of the oddness I'd found myself in the middle of was Dani, and the ongoing sexting we were still indulging in daily.
The city itself dates back to the 1500s, having sprawled out to be home to almost a million people since then, but with the picturesque cobbled streets of the old spanish port still perched on the edge of the Caribbean alongside pristine beaches. Despite being the middle of the Colombian winter, January was still the high season for tourists, escaping from North America to where the temperatures remained warm and the sky was as azure as my hair. I've always preferred to try and get to places when the crowds aren't there to make my job easier. It's that much harder to sell a sense of place when you have people who look just like me in the back of the shot, but it's nothing I don't know how to work around, and I found myself venturing out at 5am in the mornings to have the sights to myself. And even in the half-light the colours of the city were vivid enough to leave Canada feeling like a washed out dream.
I had a little over three weeks to play with, and with that much time to play with I've always liked to take the first couple of days wandering, scouting out the location and capturing anything that catches my eye. As well as occasionally paying off with some good shots, I find it helps me really start planning out where I want to go back to and take my time to get the perfect shot. And so I ended up wandering the streets of the Old Town with nothing but my favourite 35mm lens, drinking in the heat and the colonial architecture, laid out like a mosaic in brightly painted pastels. I lingered where the locals were, walked in the opposite direction to crowds, hopped buses, and blew the ring rust off my Spanish to talk with anyone who'd listen. And by the end of the second day I'd already added several dozen pages of annotations and sketches to my notebook, doodling out composition ideas and referencing them against recommendations, weather forecasts and tide times. Which meant that by the third day, with my excitement to start working in earnest palpable, I was ready to meet with my fixer.
A good fixer is one of the profession's secret weapons, having someone local who can help you access the places tourists aren't allowed, or arrange for the extra little touches you need to sell a shot. I'd asked around several of my contacts before leaving, and had been given the name of a woman called Luisa who came with the most glowing recommendation possible from another freelancer I'd worked with at NatGeo. She'd warned me in advance that she was going to be out of the city visiting family for the holidays for the start of my trip, but we'd already ended up with a long string of emails and whatsapp messages discussing exactly which churches and rooftops she was going to be able to get me into alongside promises of home cooked food. I'd even made a vague mention of wanting to set up a shot of some local kids playing street soccer with the 400 year old cathedral in the background, and she'd quickly agreed to rope her nephews to help.
With everything she was already promising to do for me, I'd insisted she didn't make the trip out to where my hotel was on a strip of sleek, american developed resort next to one of the beaches, away from where I actually wanted to be. Instead I found myself heading to her place just outside the Old Town as sunlight started to stir fully. The address I'd be given was in the Getsemani neighbourhood, where 20th century apartments did their best to blend in with narrow rows of characterful yet grubby colonial buildings, contemporary street art set alongside fading facades and chipped plaster. I found Luisa's door on an old two storey apartment, watched by a disinterested cat from a balcony clustered with pot plants, and as I rang the doorbell was met by a handful of curses from the other side.
"Ay, mierda!"
A few moments later and the door swung open, giving me my first glimpse of my new guide, who very much wasn't ready for me. Luisa still had her toothbrush in her mouth, a mane of dark frizzy hair still very much untamed from bed. She had to be in her early 40s, but was casually gorgeous in a way that made me feel plain, even in the casual slip of a white vest that I had to guess she'd slept in. Her bottom had already been covered, at least, with a brightly patterned skirt that I'd quickly come to appreciate for how it showed off her long, incredible legs as she walked, while her right arm was equally colourful, patterned with a haphazard patchwork of tattoos. The ink was complimented by a slender silver ring to one side of her nose, but it was the faint outline of piercings poking through her shirt and the generous press of her cleavage that really left me struggling not to look.
"Sorry, you must be Riley," she mumbled, accented, apologetic English made more difficult by the toothbrush in her mouth, before holding up her hand with fingers spread. "Five minutes."
I responded in Spanish with an apology of my own, "Now, I'm sorry, I forgot I was on latin time now." I'm the sort of person who's painfully punctual, and it can be an adjustment to remember when I'm in parts of the world that run at their own pace, with a 6am meet up really meaning some time after half past. "I can come back?"
Luisa wandered back into the small, open plan apartment as I spoke, most of the space filled with a clutter of books, clothing and houseplants, the decor a busy clash of red painted walls and warm fabrics. Still visible from the doorway as she reached the kitchen sink to swill away the toothpaste, she waved a hand as she did so, summoning me inside.
"Don't be silly," she chided. "How do you take your coffee, Hermosa?"
The term was just one of flirty endearment, with easy familiarity, but hearing it from Luisa it made my stomach do a brief little flip as I quickly crushed on her. I'm sure I must have replied, since she moved to use the coffee machine on the counter, but in the moment my attention was taken up by Harvey choosing to speak up again after a week of silence.
'You know your mouth's open right? You're *really* not subtle when you like someone are you?'
'Would you shut the hell up,'
I shot back mentally in protest, although the embarrassment that went with the thought was loud enough that any denial would have rung truly hollow. It had been a long enough time since my first experience speaking with Harvey that it all felt a little alien having her voice in my head again, and I had to check to make sure I hadn't blurted out my response out loud. Luisa however, to my relief continued to busy herself fetching mugs. At least until I felt a small tug of magic in her direction, from the bracelet at my wrist, as if Harvey were tentatively testing the waters. In response the older woman absently glanced back over her shoulder at me, smiling.
"You can sit down, you know," she said, her Spanish much prettier than my own.
For the second time, I'm sure I must have replied to her, but I was too busy bickering with Harvey to hear what my own words were. I did manage to find a chair however, moving aside several well-worn paperbacks on European history so I could sit.
'What are you doing,'
I hissed in my own head.
The reply, spoken directly into my thoughts, was filled with its own dry amusement. "
Come on, you don't need me to answer that for you. You like her, what do you think I'm doing?"
'I'm here for work, I can't just...'
I started out insistent, but trailed off as I tried not to let Harvey hear whatever thoughts might have finished that sentence.
'Right, of course not, that would just be impossible. Look Riley, I've tried to take a light touch for the last few days for you, I didn't see anyone I was sure you were going to be into so I didn't steer anyone your way, but I've still got a job to do. You can either be honest about the women you are into, and trust me, I don't need to be in your head to know that here, or we can start being a little more indiscriminate. Your call.'