Day Uno

Day First, or technichally second though we've yet to go to sleep and really have no idea what time zone we're in, so I apologize for the lack of clarity on which portion of the trip is currently underway-keep you updated on that. By the way, if anyone can deduce what time zone Cartagena, Colombia falls under please let us know.

Anyway, sorry for the timeline tangent, on to the substantive, pressing issues that lay before us-cheif amoung them what the hell to name this blog-a subject that has been weighing on us since the inception of the voyage and largely responsible for last nights lack of sleep. Nick and myself arrived in Cartagena with our minds shrouded in fog and wholly unprepared for the level of humidity which I didn't think was possible outside of a controlled enviroment such as a sauna. Committing ourselves to thoughts concerning this ill read publication seemed illusive at best during those introductory moments. Caught a cab with my rudimentary spanish, somehow ended up at something resembling lodging on a street not much wider than my armspan, and entered the premises. We were led by the concierge, for lack of a better word, to our accomidations-a spare room that, at first glance, seemed only to contain a single double bed-much to our horror of course. Nick shrieked with panic while I remained calm, poised, waiting to verify such was indeed our plight before panicking myself.

"Oh sweet, there's a loft with another bed, whew," Nick

stated flatly breaking his unnerving cry. My attention however, was on the balcony that stood before us, cantilevered out over the street and dripping with colorful foliage. Were it not for the redeeming trash strewn street with men shoving wares in the relenting faces of passersby,

the room would have been unacceptably romantic.

Again sorry for the tangent-don't actually remeber what I set out to accomplish with this entry-in fact the blog as a whole will consist mostly of tangents so hopefully you enjoy them. We made haste out of the room eager to traverse the narrow winding streets of El Centro built roughly 400 years ago by Spanish visitors. We picked our way out of the yet-to-be-gentrified district Getsemani after several missteps, and from a winning combination of keen instinct and pure dumb luck, found ourselves at the old

clocktower that serves as the prominent point of entry to the famed El Centro. We rushed inside eager like high school dudes who've stumbled upon a stash of liquor in the pantry, and were greeted by the most strikingly beautiful collection of Spanish Mission style buildings I've encountered in all

my travels. A cohesive

aesthetic ties them together but bright tropical colors adorning the facades gives them individuality. We were really after food and a first beer so panned hawishly for a dining establishment.
"Hey Nick, look at this one," I said pointing and laughing. The sign read "American Broasted Chicken."
"That's it," Nick said reverently,

"that's what we're going to call the blog-it's a sign."
"Literally."
"Yes, that's true."
And so I sit here now, sweat pouring forth and delerious typing on this nascent blog on the resident hostel laptop which is approximately the size of a small stack of bills like the one I left back in Los Angeles. It has just been brought to my attention that I managed to butcher the na

me of the blog in case you haven't noticed, but it is a mute point seeing as how I am not tech savy enough to right it.
Sorry for the rambling intro-I'm on no sleep and three beers-hopefully posts will improve going forward, most likely not though.