Under the advice of my lawyer (cont)

None of us will ever ride in a Fiat again.

Day 7: Having had enough of the country life with zero amenities (ie running water, coffee, and a/c), we decide that it would be a great idea to hire our cab to take us up the coast to a beach town about 100 kilometers north. We had romantic notions of a leisurely drive.... stopping at hidden beaches, having lunch over a scenic vista, etc. To bad we were in a Fiat. A really old Fiat. A really, really, really old Fiat. It should have occurred to at least one of us that the fume spewing car whose battery cables came disconnected every 20 or so miles that A: we´d suffer from asphyxiation B: our asses would never forgive us for sitting on seats with very present metal rods running through them C: Our now beloved taxi driver would grossly over charge us (after all, we did have a delightful dinner in his home with his entire family) and maybe most importantly D: that the old Fiat wouldn´t make it all the way to our destination. We mentally smacked ourselves for A-C and fortunately, D occurred in a big city where another cab was easy to come by, but the experience left us disillusioned and our trip hit its low point. The new cab driver tried to make a buck (as we learned they all do) and took us to a casa in the town we wanted go to. It was right next door to the Alcoholics Anonymous meeting place, (a sign?) and the man came out and tried to sell us on the place, but we were having none of it. Glenn was trying to turn him down nicely and kept repeating the Spanish equivalent of ´No thank you, we want to stay together tonight, and your prices aren´t any cheaper than the hotel.´ I was much saltier. We did end up splurging for a ´resort´ and stayed in a 2 room suite; 2 bedrooms, a living room, kitchen, private bathroom (with warm water), and balcony. Naturally, our room was quite a bit shabbier than the model that I toured. But, no matter, we were at a gorgeous white sand beach and were no long relying on locals for everything. We were suppose to meet our cab driver and our friend, Ivan, at a gas station at 10, but we had been gouged enough and stood them up like they were an ugly blind date. Nobody felt bad.

Adam: ¨hola, where did your ears go, perrito?¨

Day 8: Finally, a real beach day. After peso pizzas (10 ¢) , we made a beeline for the beach and stayed there until sunset. The water was turquoise, the sand was white, and Adam and I turned red. At the end of the day, we felt much better, and felt like we had finally figured out the ins and outs of the system. We headed back for the capital city that evening and were glad to be welcomed by friendly, familiar faces at what we now thought was our luxe casa from Day 1. We splurged on dinner and had the most delicious chicken in bitter orange sauce, rice, beans, salad, desserts, sangria, and to top it off, a fantastic cigar. It lifted our spirits and we were back in a good place. After dinner, we tried to go to a live music hall made famous by the likes of Cat Stevens, but it was unexpectedly closed so we opted for our neighborhood cafe featuring a 5 person band. Adam danced with the lead vocalist, well, maybe it would be more accurate to say that she danced with him, and then we joined in a congo line to end the evening.

Day 9: Our family arranged for a cab to come bright and early to take us to the airport. As our trip began, our trip ended appropriately with us getting screwed--again-- The cab ride was a $15 fare, but the cabbie insisted on $20, as our man at the casa confirmed, which meant that he was getting a $5 kick back. Perfect. We made it out of the country and after a stops in San Jose, Costa Rica and Bogota, Colubmia, we arrived to Cartejena, a Spanish Colonial town on the Carribean Coast of Columbia. Unfortunately, my luggage didn´t.