Leaving the walled city towards the fortress to the south takes us across sidewalks slathered in cocktail vendors, past the monolithic block that is the convention center (reminding me so much of Egyptian dioramas depicting the library of Alexandria), past the marina, and through the neighborhood of Gensemani – just as vibrant though considerably grungier, and the home of Cartagena’s hostel row. The way is finally made to the castle and it’s impressive views to all of Cartagena, from the walled city, to the high rises of Bocagrande, to the refineries and the shipping yards.

The inquisition museum was about as uneventful as the guide books had suggested. The exhibition was two small rooms of reproduction torture devices, which hardly deserves top billing – though otherwise it was a gorgeous old building.

We have spent the better part of the last 4 days and nights walking the walls and feeling gorgeous in that ever present sea wind – trying to fight off the guilt of languidity and remember that this is our honeymoon. That we don’t HAVE to do anything useful. We are allowed to day-drink the local beers from vendors with coolers at less than a dollar a can, eat weird fruit from the street vendors, sit in the parks and drink cafe tinto, and enjoy the remarkable strength of the US dollar, which is 2 and a half times as strong as it was just 2 years ago.

But it’s safe to say we are becoming a little anxious and ready to move on. Tourism is a safe nest to hole up and acquaint yourself without worrying about significant faux-pas, but the everyday predation of vendors wears on one, and with all of the hand holding, our hard earned spanish is growing less adventurous and useful. The honeymoon is far from over, but on we must go.