Here, old Spanish villas of incredible beauty sit complacently along narrow streets bound in bountiful Bougainvillea. This rainbow-esque congregation of walls and flowers is ensconced within a high, circular stone-wall; a fort whose continuous perimeter is dotted with rusty black canons. Across these stone walls, along the curve of the sea-line, a patch of the new city looks on longingly, gleaming glass and steel.

It’s such a bustling city. At first glance, all I could see was tourists and persistent vendors. The weekend went by. Then appeared school children, local craftsmen, blue and white-collar workers. The people, are as colorful: of multi-ethnic origin, of immutable joy that comes from living in cities by the sea. What is it about cities by the sea? A certain vibrance inhabits them, they are our ancient outposts: watching over and celebrating the companionship of land and water.

I generally prefer walkable places, where I don’t have to distract myself with local transportation. Wouldn’t you agree? The more you get to walk, the more you rub shoulders with the locals. Sense the place more keenly, the different smells of its streets. Short travels as it is feel incomplete; barely managing to skim the surface of a world unknown to us.

Cartagena’s beauty left me short of breath often. But I couldn’t stop walking, gawking, clicking. I couldn’t stop talking, in broken spanish, if need be. Warm yellow, cool blue and soft pink walls greeted me as I turned corners in a daze, blinking under the bright sky. My awe hasn’t diminished a bit since then. My ghost is still there, left in a fortress of love, one which was for a while, Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s city.

See you soon!

Nemacon was a day long pit stop, on my way to Villa de Leyva. An apt prelude to valleys, green pastures and hills, and serene villages that reside within. This little village was built by a salt mine. The mine is now on the tourist map. Although I took pictures of the mine a plenty, it is the village that fascinated me, its ample quietude and beauty.

When visiting places like this, it seems as though the landscape, the fickle light, the open spaces, small buildings rendered in playful colors, jutting against the looming hills – all collude seamlessly to create a unique atmosphere. What’s amazing to my novice eye is that this little village grew organically to create its own sense of perfection, no urban planners or architects proudly resting their case.

In Nemacon, a bright yellow cafe sits snug with an ice-cream parlor next door, an orange school beckons my attention, a green museum startles, and a white non-decrepit police station is almost missed in the blink of an eye. Few locals are found ambling here and there. Ironically, a lonesome truck reminds me of missing traffic. The town is in a happy state of siesta this afternoon.

Nemacon reminds me of color I so often miss in NYC. Its simple yet vibrant strokes are unapologetic, unrestrained and unforgettable. If you lust for tiled roofs lining the streets, doors, windows and walls with passion painted, churches posited in small town squares – there is more for you here in Valle de la Sal (Valley of Salt):

Villa de Leyva is just a few hour’s drive from Bogota but in essence, both are thousands of miles apart. The New York Times posted this article on Villa de Leyva in 2009, which led me to do a lengthy web exploration of Latin America; the fascination finally depositing me in Colombia. And boy was I grateful.

This small town sits in a valley, surrounded by green and blue mountains. The streets are all cobblestone. The houses all whitewashed. The doors and windows, all a deep shade of green. The lanes and courtyards embellished with geraniums and electric bougainvilleas. On the outskirts of the town, on a slightly higher altitude, surround olive groves. And in the middle is Plaza Mayor, a vast expanse of multitudes of cobblestones, undulating in uneven waves. The plaza is fenced in by rows of two-story high houses, all with sloping red-tiled roofs. This is one of the largest town squares in South America.

Villa de Leyva was established in the 1500s, and is perhaps still as tranquil as it was back then. Thanks to it being a National Monument, its beautiful colonial architecture is well preserved.

I woke up in the morning to the smell of fresh bread baking down the street. Ran to get my fill before the current batch sold out. Then ambled around through the day, in a lazy pace that matched the town’s. I imagine that things get more hectic here during festivals but in their absence, especially on a week day, this place is an oasis of calm, a perfect retreat. It felt akin to being caught in a time warp, where time moves so slowly that its passing is hardly noticeable.

The evenings are something else. Sunlight caresses the large plaza and its wavy ground with such golden beauty. As the sun sets, the perimeter of houses is lit up with bright yellow lights – the white walls changing to ochre. The music fills everything up, drowning the local chatter.

Here I am now, playing my Villa de Leyva slideshow, with Clair de Lune floating in the room, every time I want to go back there.

Without a doubt, Colombia in one the most underrated destinations in South America. If you don’t agree with me yet, you will! – Just a few more posts down the road. Stay tuned, folks.

La Candelaria, the old city of Bogota, nestles itself at the base of the hills in the east. The undulating skyline changes hue from blue to green, as the light shimmies this way and that. The houses too change colors: orange, yellow, pink and green. The streets are narrow and cobbled at times, and sometimes, wide and cemented. The people, from mixed ethnicities, working and meandering, dotting the streets and their angled corners.

I landed in Bogota at the end of summer, a slight chill in the air beginning to muster courage. The days were pleasant though, the sun bright, or weakly shifting in the clouds. This was my first trip to the South Americas, and a first to an erstwhile Spanish colony. So it did not come as a surprise when I promptly fell in love. The tall iglesias, yellow or whitewashed. The plazas like islands marooned on centuries old architecture. The alleyways winding up and down the hills, with Colombian tricolor flags flapping in the wind. With so much to dizzy me, I wondered who wouldn’t have given in with weak knees.

The only thing that worried me was a seeming lack of restoration on most buildings, except of course, those housing the government bodies.

I twisted around, twiddled and fumbled with my camera. I moaned and I suffered. Oh, the insufficiency! Little did I know there was more to see, take in with open arms, drink away. Villa de Leyva, the white city. Raquira, the tiny city of pots. Nemacon, the sleepy salt-mine town. And the last stop, the historic city of Cartagena. Stay tuned my friends, much delight is on its way!
Hasta pronto!