From the moment we arrived in Cartagena, I thought my flip-flops were going to melt into the pavement.

It was H-O-T hot.

The kind of heat that makes you question every decision that brought you outside.

Even Juan sweats very little.

He was sweating.

So that tells you something.

We stayed at a little bed and breakfast just outside the old walled city.

The walls themselves had a complicated history. Places that had once served purposes nobody would associate with the colourful, busy place we were walking through now.

Today, the area was full of people from everywhere.

Tourists.

Locals.

Restaurants.

Cafés.

Little shops.

Colour everywhere.

And everywhere we walked, I noticed the doors.

I’ve always been drawn to doors.

Beautiful doors.

Old doors.

Painted doors.

Big doors.

Little doors.

Doors that looked like they’d been there forever.

I think a door says more than come on in.

It tells you something about whoever is on the other side.

Who lives there.

How they lived.

Who has come to visit.

What has happened behind it.

I found myself wondering what some of those doors would say if they could talk.

We walked a lot.

We saw the giant bronze shoes.

We heard stories.

We visited museums.

We wandered through streets where every few steps seemed to give us something else to look at.

We took a boat out to the islands.

At some point, Juan even managed to swim with manta rays.

Because apparently that’s what you do.

😂

But some of my favourite moments happened at night.

We’d find ourselves sitting outside a little Cuban jazz café.

Live music.

People passing by.

A table in front of us.

And coffee.

Really good coffee.

There was something about sitting there after spending the day walking around Cartagena that made the city feel different.

Less like somewhere we were visiting.

More like somewhere we were simply sitting for a while.

And then there was the food.

Cartagena knows how to make dinner feel like an occasion.

We ended our trip with a beautiful meal by the water, looking out over the city at night.

The lights stretched across the skyline.

The water was dark.

The food was delicious.

And for a moment, everything felt exactly right.

Cartagena was beautiful.

It was colourful.

It was full of history and music and food and people.

I’m glad we went.

I’m glad we saw it.

I’m glad we walked until our feet hurt.

I’m glad we sat outside listening to music and drinking coffee.

And I was also very, very glad to leave.

Because there is such a thing as too much heat.

Even for Colombia.