Ernestly ?!Ernestly ?!By ERNIE NEUFELD, Weyburn Review Associate Publisher
Tap, tap, tap, tap.
The gentle yet persistent taps sound something like branches being rattled against the stone wall by the wind.
But there is no wind to speak of. In fact, a breath of air would be welcome. It is not yet noon, but viewing an ancient city from the highest hill in the area, we are as conscious of the equatorial sun beating down on us as we are of the panorama before and all around us.
Tap, tap, tap, tap.
The taps are too regular to be caused by a branch or branches in the wind, and I really didn't notice any trees at the level of the stone walls that surround La Popa. It is the site of an ancient Spanish monastery perched on top of the hill that overlooks beautiful Cartagena established in the early 1500s, less than half a century after Christopher Columbus discovered what we now call the West Indies in 1492. We visited it recently as part of the Panama Canal cruise mentioned last week. With a population of nearly one million, Cartagena is the fourth largest city in Columbia, which has over 35 million people.
Tap, tap, tap, tap.
Suddenly - in less time than it took to write these paragraphs - we identify the taps. Long slender poles, a few feet apart, are tapping gently but persistently along the top of the stone walls. Attached to the visible end of each pole is a truncated commercial plastic container, suitable for coins. The other end is not as easily visible, but if you lean over the top of the wall you see, attached to the bottom end of each pole, perhaps 10 or more feet below you, a little boy hoping that a few of the thousands of tourists that pass through the monastery every day will be moved to drop a coin into one or more of the proffered containers - and perhaps he will be one of the lucky ones.
There are beautiful buildings, including lovelier homes than we see in Weyburn, visible in the distance. We passed some of them on the tour bus that brought us from the cruise liner to La Popa. There were also slums on the route that defy the imagination. We had caught only a glimpse of them, for while they were pointed out to us, they were only peripherally a part of the tour - an unpleasant presence that simply could not be avoided.
The children "angling" for coins - in case you are wondering - were not from the lovely homes. They were from the slum shanties, probably without electricity, water, sewers, fire or police protection; probably homes for large families without a single member holding a steady job.
A day earlier we had passed through the Panama Canal, deservedly described as a wonder of the modern world. The thought imposed itself that it is also a wonder that hopeless poverty exists within a stone's throw - or the top of a pole - from wealth.
The interesting visit to the monastery was made bearable by the fact that peddlers were not permitted inside the grounds. We had been warned about the swarms of these aggressive merchants that would assail us from the moment we stepped off the bus until we were in the "out-of-bounds" courtyard. I had experienced similar onslaughts in places like Morocco and old Jerusalem years earlier, but one has to revisit scenes like this to be reminded of the nature of desperation.
You have heard of bargaining, and maybe you pride yourself on having done it yourself as a purchaser. But with the sales hordes of places like Cartagena the term assumes another dimension. An example: crossing a downtown square soon after the monastery visit, we encountered hucksters offering straw sun hats at $15 US. We had been warned that no price was final until the deal was closed or rejected with finality, and although my partner showed mild interest, she declined. The one spark of interest she had betrayed, however, was enough to keep the salesman on our heels until we crossed the square. In the three or four minutes this took, the price of the hat had plummeted from $15 to $3, I won't even tell you how this transaction turned out.
Definitely one of the high points was a subsequent visit to a fashionable store in downtown Cartagana (touristy stuff like emeralds and the like) where we were served iced coffee. When it was offered, I had imagined something along the line of iced tea, and wasn't quite prepared for an ice-cold treat that was more like an ice cream soda with a strong coffee flavour, with a thickness below the surface that had to be prodded with the heavy straw provided: this to reduce its consistency and permit the subtly flavoured coolness to be drawn into one's mouth. I asked our local guide if he could find out for us how to make this refreshment, but he sadly informed me - as doubtlessly hundreds before - that the creator of this delight would not part with the recipe. Anyway, a fine break from the heat of downtown Cartagena and the nagging, accusing knowledge of the poverty bred there.
Tap, tap, tap, tap.
My address (also listed on the Review's Website) is ernestly@pathcom.com.
Box 400, 904 East Avenue
Weyburn, SK
S4H 2K4
Phone: (306) 842-7487
Fax: (306) 842-0282
E-mail: production@weyburnreview.com
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Review (1987) Ltd.
