31.
I spend part of one day exploring the old “Palace of the Inquisition”.
If the Spanish rulers looked at all like their portraits displayed on the walls here, they must have been mean bastards—but they got a lot done in the way of stonework! Their family trees (also on display) show that heredity was important to them, but they must have been bred for cruelty. The dungeons and showcased torture tools suggest they thought a lot about how to inflict pain. I wonder if they ever experienced happiness. Maybe they had no concept of simple joy. The Inquisition was certainly a grim chapter of history.
So I think about the genetic history, the family bloodlines, in The United States. They seem to be mixed very well for the past two centuries producing a sort of mongrel race bred for survival. And survival means getting through every tough situation alive. When the test comes, make it through. You don’t have to be mean or unkind like these old time Spaniards were, but use the old bean!
The aged churches of Cartagena are dark, grimy and smell of urine. There are tombs and probably all kinds of creepy things under their cracked marble floors.
In the evening, as I observe some unusually animated people talking in a café, I am delighted by the “music” of their conversation. Their talk is song, their gestures; dance. The lively conversation of the group at their table is like a jazz jam session where one instrument carries the melody or rhythm for a while and then becomes background sound as other instruments take their solos. I suppose that if I could understand their language it would only detract from the beauty of the pure music.
Time to move on.
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