Hips don't lie

It was nineish before we rolled out of bed, no real reason, warm under the quilt, chilly in the van, enough to trigger a tardy start. A few bits of cleaning and tidying, a spot of blogging then lunch was calling. Time is a slippery customer. So it was early afternoon by the time we caught the bus back to the city centre. We squeezed on; it was packed with college students, I think they must finish early on a Friday. We alighted at Plaza Espagna. The area where the carnival parade was scheduled to start later was nearby. We spied out Calle Carmen so we knew where to go at 5.30, but that was three hours hence - what to do in-between? 

When we visited the Roman ruins yesterday we could see another unexcavated site, old grassy terracing running up the steep hill beyond the perimeter fence. Today we happened upon the entrance to it tucked away in a backstreet.

The Parque Arqueológico Cerro del Molinete is arguably the most intriguing place in the city. The steep conical hill is the site of the old Punic citadel, a small stretch of original wall can be found at the top, as well as remnants of the Roman fort which replaced it. The hill is topped by a stubby stone tower, the remains of one of the windmills that covered the hill in the nineteenth century and gives the area its name. Next to this is the outline of a Roman temple and the steep steps that connected it to the forum below.

The terracing at on the west side of the hill originally consisted of two storey Roman dwellings which remained inhabited up until the 1970s. By then the area consisted of tumbled-down hovels built on ancient foundations. The district was notorious for petty crime and prostitution. The authorities demolished the slum, excavated the ruins and established a prettily landscaped archaeological park which looks decidedly Italianate with dark cypresses silhouetted against the blue sky.

Cerro del Molinete is a great place to get a feel for the whole city which spreads out before you. It is fair to say that Cartagena is characterful rather than handsome. 

When Auden writes in 'Plains':

I can imagine quite easily ending up
In a decaying port on a desolate coast
Cadging drinks from the unwary, a quarrelsome,
Disreputable old man...

in my mind I think of a place like Cartagena, or at least how it might have been a few decades ago. From above it still looks a tad decrepit and some of the inner suburbs you pass by on the bus look poverty stricken - long streets of boxy single storey houses with peeling stucco half covered in graffiti.

The city centre has been spruced up. There are some major Modernista monuments, the city hall, a clutch of former banks and venerable hotels. Not every gem has been preserved, a few beautiful old buildings are half collapsed

This is equally the case so far as the city's Art Deco legacy goes, some buildings have been restored, others, such as an old cinema are boarded up and derelict.

Recent years have seen iconic post modern buildings spring up by the port - the Museum of Underwater Archaeology and the performance space next to it.

The Spanish are not shy about mixing old with new. I don't think they have the same sensitivities concerning the 'concrete carbuncle'. It leads to some startling juxtapositions, at least to an English eye.

We had been wandering about the city now for over two hours.The streets were becoming chilly in the late afternoon shade and we were footsore. We searched around for a café with a sunny spot and found one eventually in Plaza Alcolea, not far from the Carnival muster point. 

We lingered over our drinks, as the hour grew nearer gaggles of exotically costumed participants wandered past. Groups of them gathered at the top of Calle Carmen. Those robed more in body stockings than Lycra had been given long capes to protect them from hypothermia, huge feathery headgear  scattered around them like collapsed birds of paradise. Excitement was building.

We installed ourselves in another café and awaited the parade. A series of ground shaking explosions signalled the start, then high decibel Samba rhythms filled the streets blasted from the clutch of horn shaped loudspeakers strapped to the top of vans at the head, middle and rear of the dancing troupes. At the head, garbed in silver, the carnival king and queen led the way.

Forget the slim dancing girls of Rio. This was an event for everyone regardless of size, gender, age or inclination. I suspect as carnival week proceeds things get a little more abandoned, but the opening parade was joyous rather than wild, an 'hors d'oeuvre' to the forthcoming feast.

Next time we are in Spain in the spring we will arrange it so we can see more of its carnivals, we agreed. Cartagena's small opening parade had given us a taste for them and provided a memorable ending to our visit. We liked Cartagena, it is a unique place, with character, energy and a long eventful history.