From the cool sophistication of Bogotá, I traveled to the coastal city of Cartagena, a place that feels like a stepping stone into a Gabriel García Márquez novel. The heat in Cartagena is a physical weight, a heavy blanket of humidity that slows your pace and forces you to sip fresh coconut water in the shade. The old city is a UNESCO World Heritage site, surrounded by imposing stone walls that once fended off pirates. Today, the invaders are tourists, but the city retains its soul. The buildings are painted in a kaleidoscope of colors—burnt orange, electric blue, sun-bleached yellow—with wooden balconies overflowing with bougainvillea. As the sun sets over the Caribbean, the plazas come alive with the sound of Champeta music and the rhythmic clatter of dominoes slapped onto tables by old men who seem as permanent as the walls themselves.