Christi and I are going to church today to seek guidance for our relationship woes (Christi had so much fun exploring Cartagena yesterday without me she suggested we do it again). I think experimenting within a relationship is okay as long as no one gets hurt. It’s not me I’m worried about, obviously, but Christi could do with a little dose of guilt that the Catholic faith is so famous for instilling in its believers (and Christi is Catholic after all).
We begin our day at the Convento y Iglesia San Pedro Claver. Claver, a 16th century monk, devoted more than 40 years of his life ministering to slaves brought to Cartagena from Africa. And the slaves arrived at a prodigious rate – over 10,000 per year (although the conditions in transit were so foul and odious that one-third of them died along the way and were literally tossed overboard). The slave trade was undoubtedly cruel and the ocean voyages very dangerous, but the slave runners were able to sell their cargo for 50 times what they paid for them in West Africa. Born in 1581, San Pedro Claver worked tirelessly for the health and welfare of African slaves until his death in 1654. He was canonized in 1888 by Pope Leo XIII and is now the patron saint of slaves. One would hope, however, that in this modern era he isn’t called upon that often to save distressed souls.
The convent / church is a grandiose three-story building surrounding a tree (and bug)-filled courtyard, which also features Afro-Haitian artifacts such as masks, paintings, statues – and a few gnarly looking parrots. Beyond some more conventional statues and stained glass windows is a narrow stairway to a choir loft with magnificent views of the nave and the high altar. Beneath the high altar (but in full view) lie the remains of San Pedro Claver himself, which is a little ghoulish.
As this is our last full night in South America we are truly living it up and going out for dinner at another fancy restaurant. Indeed, Cartagena has fancy restaurants aplenty, just not so many patrons. Tonight we eat at the very fancy El Santisimo (The Blessed), which offers a fusion of French and Caribbean cuisine. I nibble daintily on fried red snapper, grilled chicken with mushrooms, and chocolate mousse, while Christi’s palate is tickled by fish carpaccio with avocado, tender beef stew with coconut rice, and a mango mousse. And since this is fine dining, one does not say de-licious. But it was, so there!
Blog post by Roderick Phillips, author of Weary Heart, a gut-wrenching, heartbreaking tale of love and test tubes.
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