How passionate Colombians are shaking up Cartagena's cultural scene

National Geographic

2 days ago

This article was produced by National Geographic Traveller (UK).
The roar of scooters battles with the beat of salsa and the bellows of market stallholders. Plantains blanket the ground, and corn-loaded carts criss-cross between people and rogue chickens. An artist paints posters for the city's upcoming festivals while a man sits in a plastic chair on the pavement and gets a haircut. This is Cartagena's open-air Bazurto Market, and it's a labyrinth of unfiltered chaos.
The market, a few miles outside the city centre, is full of Cartageneros like local chef María Cecilia Restrepo, simply known as Chechi, who come here to buy their fish, meat, fruit and vegetables. 'The smells, the colours, knowing where our food comes from: it all provides context to the cuisine of Cartagena,' she says as we wind between stalls.
She fans herself from the stifling Caribbean heat as we walk around, her arms veiled in tattoos of intertwining flowers and snakes. 'I like snakes. They shed their skin and start fresh — it's a symbol of renewal,' she tells me. And that's exactly what the chef is doing: using her Arab-Caribbean roots to reshape and renew northern Colombian food. Chechi makes kibbeh in her bright pink kitchen. She pays homage not only to her Arab roots, but to all the other cultures that have left their mark on Cartagena: European, African and Indigenous. 'Because when it comes to food, it all works in synergy,' she says. Photograph by Karolina Wiercigroch
During the late 19th century, Arabs from Lebanon, Palestine, Syria and Jordan fled the Ottoman Empire and headed to the Americas in search of a better life. Many settled in northern Colombian port cities such as Barranquilla and Cartagena, Chechi tells me. In 1923, her great-great-grandmother, Sofi, arrived in Cartagena from her native Syria, a journey that took four months by boat. 'My grandmother taught me how to cook. I grew up on Arabic food, so it's important for me to honour and celebrate my heritage,' she says.
We jump in a taxi and head to the Centro Histórico. Within the old city walls, it's home to a myriad of colourful 17th-century architecture. Visitors gather at the Spanish Colonial church of San Pedro Claver and the canary-yellow Cartagena Cathedral to take photos, and locals and tourists alike meet in the shade of the imposing Torre del Reloj (Clock Tower). The cacophony of street vendors and bar music sounds out into the early hours.
On a street where the balconies are dressed in pink bougainvillea, Chechi pushes open a pink wooden door to her kitchen. Here, she pays homage not only to her Arab roots but to all the other cultures that have left their mark on Cartagena: European, African and Indigenous. 'Because when it comes to food, it all works in synergy,' she says.
This is a 'secret kitchen', only open for special dinners and on Saturdays for cooking workshops, drop-ins and takeaways. It's small, with a handful of wooden tables for diners, separated from the cooking station by baby-pink curtains. The beams, cabinets and menus are all also pink — the colour is empowering and energising, Chechi tells me, tightening her apron. The walls are covered in art depicting typical Cartagenero life, from the city's beaches to its palenqueras — women known for balancing baskets of fruit on their heads. Find fresh fruit vendors within Cartagena's Centro Histórico or at the open-air Bazurto Market, just outside of the city centre and full of Cartageneros who come to buy their fish, meat, fruit and vegetables. Photograph by Karolina Wiercigroch In the late 19th century, Arabs from Lebanon, Palestine, Syria and Jordan fled the Ottoman Empire and headed to the Americas in search of a better life. Many settled in northern Colombian port cities such as Barranquilla and Cartagena. Photograph by Karolina Wiercigroch
Chechi has represented Colombian cuisine at official events in embassies in Poland, Cuba and Panama — but it's in her kitchen, once the home of her great-grandparents, where she feels most comfortable. Helping the chef today is Georgina Álvarez, a former inmate at San Diego Women's Prison in Cartagena, with whom Chechi struck up a friendship while volunteering there. The next hour is all hands on deck as the women prepare kibbeh (a Syrian/Lebanese dish of pounded ground beef and bulghur wheat) and arepas de huevos (fried flatbreads filled with egg and sold on the streets along Colombia's Caribbean coast).
'Arepa de huevo is the queen of the fried table,' Chechi says as she grinds black corn. 'Fried food like arepas and patacon (fried plantain) were introduced to Colombia by settlers from West Africa.' The sounds of smashing, chopping and frying compete with the tooting horns and animated calls of mango vendors on the streets outside.
Arepas and kibbeh ready, we sit at a table in the dining area and tuck in. I tear a kibbeh in half and dip it into a pot of suero costeño, a kind of sour cream typical of Colombia's Caribbean coast, perhaps akin to the Arabic labneh. Its tang offsets the bulghur wheat and beef beautifully. Georgina brings over two types of hummus: one standard and one a bright-pink version infused with beetroot and Kola Román, a soft drink created in Cartagena in 1865. I bite into an arepa. It's earthy, slightly nutty on the outside, with velvety, runny egg in the middle, and so good, I ask Chechi for the recipe. 'Of course! I want to share as much as I can…', she enthuses, pausing to watch me take a second bite, '…to transcend and leave a mark.' Visitors gather at the Spanish Colonial church of San Pedro Claver and the canary-yellow Cartagena Cathedral, finished in 1612, to take photos, and locals and tourists alike meet in the shade of the imposing Torre del Reloj (Clock Tower). Photograph by Karolina Wiercigroch Setting the bar high
Chechi isn't the only Cartagenera shaking things up here. One man doing literally that is Miguel Ángel Mora, bartender and project manager at Alquímico, a multi-storey cocktail bar that opened in the heart of Cartagena's colonial centre in 2016. It's on Calle del Colegio, sandwiched between a tattoo parlour, a hipster sushi joint and a hole-in-the-wall currency exchange shop. I peek through the window display — stacked with apothecary-style jars containing starfruit and various herbs — and that's when Miguel appears, gesturing for me to enter and take a seat on a velvet sofa on the ground floor. It's just shy of opening time and staff around us are busy sweeping floors and restocking shelves.
'The award put Colombia on the cocktail scene,' Miguel says, referring to Alquímico's first appearance on the World's 50 Best Bar rankings in 2020. 'But you have to stay humble, keep your feet on the ground.' In 2024, it ranked number eight, one of only two bars in Colombia to make the prestigious list.
Decorated with typewriters, gramophones and regal red curtains, the bar feels art deco in style. At the back of the room, twin staircases lead to two more bars: the second floor offers classic cocktails with a local twist, while the rooftop is a mural-laden tiki-style space decorated in the colours of the Colombian flag. The menu on the ground floor is called 'Comunidad' (Community), and features eight cocktails with creative ingredients like lulo, a tropical fruit native to South America, and viche, a spirit distilled from sugar cane. The approach at Alquímico is a little different from your average Caribbean cocktail bar. A percentage from the sale of each drink is donated to Asocoman — a farmers' association in the Montes de María region — which uses it to install water purifiers and gutters for rainwater collection. Walk southeast along the waterfront of the Centro Historico to get to Cartagena's hip Getsemani district. Photograph by Karolina Wiercigroch
'We try to use local products and work with local farmers and agricultural communities as much as possible,' says Miguel. He's dressed in black, except for an elaborate necklace depicting a tiger's head, made by the Embera Chami, an Indigenous people from Colombia and Panama. 'Come, I'll make you a drink,' he says, heading towards the bar. He fixes me an Albahaca, a heady concoction of Patrón Silver tequila, basil, lemongrass infusion and guarapo, an alcohol made from fermented sugarcane juice. He pours the mixture into a wooden cup, balances a leaf-shaped cracker on top and slides it towards me. It's brilliantly refreshing, delivering sour, herbaceous and sweet notes in equal measure.
Soon, the doors open and a few dozen people — some in T-shirts and trainers, others dressed up to the nines — come in and congregate around the bar. By midnight, all of Alquímico's customers are on their feet, dancing to DJ-spun salsa and reggaeton, joined by bar staff who keep the rhythm with the relentless rattle of their cocktail shakers. New beginnings
On the other side of town is Bocagrande, a relatively wealthy neighbourhood home to beach-facing luxury hotels and highbrow restaurants. It's here, in a corner of the concierge lounge of the Intercontinental Hotel, that Indira Morales de la Rosa sells bags, shoes and hats. Stacked on wooden shelves are a variety of her most popular items: ornamental wooden boats, beach bags in Colombian colours and tasselled sandals in muted blues, pinks and oranges. In the corner of the room sits a rag doll made entirely of leftover materials. This is no ordinary hotel gift shop — and Indira is no ordinary woman. Locals chat outside a bar on Calle de las Carretas. Photograph by Karolina Wiercigroch In 2023, Indira Morales de la Rosa's work with natural fibres earned her a 'green business' label from the Colombian Ministry of Environment, and she's seen her designs on catwalks in Dubai, New York and Bogotá. Photograph by Karolina Wiercigroch
She's originally from the Sur de Bolívar region, roughly two and half hours by car from Cartegena, but her family was displaced several times in the '90s because of armed conflict. Aged 16, she started making bracelets with fique, a plant native to the Andes and used for centuries to make textile products such as clothes and hammocks. When I approach her at her small workstation, she's using the fibre to make a bracelet.
'I got this from all the weaving,' she tells me, pointing to a small bump on her thumb. 'Everyone in my family has one — my mother's side were all weavers.' She gestures for me to take over the half-finished bracelet, watching closely as I loop a blue recycled thread over a black one. She's only too glad to teach people who swing by her store, especially children. 'It's essential to empower the next generation,' she says, 'and show everyone who visits the beautiful city the wonders of weaving.'
Indira has lived in Cartagena for 15 years and works with a community of around 60 people from her home region to make her products. They include farmers, weavers and people with disabilities who often get overlooked for job opportunities. In 2023, her work with natural fibres earned her a 'green business' label from the Colombian Ministry of Environment, and she's seen her designs on catwalks in Dubai, New York and Bogotá. It's right here in Cartagena, however, where she sees her future.
'It's my dream to one day grow fique here,' she says, fastening the finished bracelet around my wrist. 'I love being here — it makes me feel empowered and alive.' I've only been in Cartagena for a few days, but I already know exactly what she means. This story was created with the support of Journey Latin America and Colombia Travel. Published in the June 2025 issue of National Geographic Traveller (UK).
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