Small Victories in Small Charcoal Grills

Mealtime is a big deal for me - practically, spiritually, and otherwise.

Which is why a lot of my first day - alone, hot and hungry - was a test of tough love and fortitude. Today was a day of a lot of firsts. The first time I threw up my hands and hopped in an airport taxi after the bus that was supposed to be, wasn’t. The first time I’ve gotten abnormally confused and lost in a flat and seemingly small city. The first time I brazenly walked from bank to bank asking if they would change my 50 Thousand Peso note into smaller change, notably using the adjective “largo” to describe the bill, only to realize that in my nervousness I managed to describe currency as “long.”

No one would break my money, and kept giving me directions back to other banks I had already been at.

On and on I slugged, no sleep to speak of. No helpful banks, lot of wandering tourists who appeared way less sweaty than me. While retracing my steps around and around the same blocks, I settled into a senseless rant comparing Cartagena to other colonial cities I have visited. Not as practical as Santo Domingo, not as pretty as Antigua, not as vibrant as Havana...Why am I here in this labyrinth inferno?

Just when I was about to give up and go eat my grocery store yogurt for lack of sanity and ability to commit, I did it. I asked for a grilling stick of meat and potatoes (from a man grilling sticks of meat and potatoes, of course). I freaking fed myself. And for those of you who have ever tried to or successfully had a meal with me, you know that this is a first day miracle. Tomorrow we get back to culture, but today was about survival.