Day 22: Cartagena’s Old Town
A relaxed wake-up, breakfast at the hotel restaurant (included and very good), then we set off on foot toward the center of Cartagena. It’s about a half-hour walk. Even this early in the morning, it’s already scorching hot and humid.
First stop at Rafael Núñez’s house—who, as everyone knows, is the local Rouget de Lisle. There isn’t much to see, but it’s a chance to check out a 19th-century Caribbean-style home.
We continue to the Indi Catalina monument, a statue of an indigenous woman honoring the area’s original inhabitants, before finally entering the walled Old Town. The Torre del Reloj and the various squares we visit are stunning. Sure, there are a lot of tourists, but it’s still manageable. You can tell—because it happens sometimes—that when a cruise ship unloads its passengers, the Old Town must get completely packed. The San Pedro Claver Church is gorgeous (the guy was a good dude, so the building dedicated to him is really interesting).
Plaza Bolívar (yet another one) is under construction, but then the rain starts to fall.
It’s going to be a downpour, so we take shelter in the Gold Museum, which is free and nice but way less impressive than the one in Bogotá.
Once the rain lets up, we head back out and keep wandering through Cartagena’s beautiful streets, moving from square to square (not all of them are called Plaza Bolívar—one per city is enough!).
We get closer to the walls—absolutely stunning. What’s less stunning is the rain starting up again, but this time it’s pouring!
Since it’s around 1 p.m., we decide to quickly find a restaurant. No luck—none nearby, and there’s a taxi right there. We hop in to get back to the apartment and grab a snack there. About 600 meters from the place, the taxi breaks down—engine flooded by the massive puddles and the relentless rain.
We didn’t want to get soaked, but that’s exactly what happens as we end up walking the rest of the way.
And then—the accident! My backpack was in front to protect the camera, the sidewalks overflowing with water, and me walking pretty fast—I didn’t see the sneaky hidden hole, and *bam*—double sprain of my left ankle. I go down hard, of course. I know the pain, and I know exactly what happened. I limp the rest of the way back to the apartment in the rain. Ice, a painkiller, and I watch my ankle swell up like crazy.
The bummer!
The whole group is pretty shaken, but I decide to laugh it off. With all our travels, this is the first time something like this has happened to us.
Hospital or not? Used to this kind of injury, I think it’s unnecessary. It’s not broken, so it’ll be fine.
Since it’s still raining and morale is low, we stay at the apartment, and the others go grab some food from a nearby restaurant.
Thankfully, we’d already seen most of Cartagena’s highlights that morning.
End of the day was quiet, and early to bed.
The plus: Despite the tourists, Cartagena’s Old Town
The minus: My ankle
Hello,
Following our trip on the Great Divide Mountain Bike Route this summer, we’re sharing our experience in this travel journal.
We’re Richard and Bernadette, both 64 years old, and we’re gravel bike-packing cyclists.
We’ve completed several gravel bike trips in France and neighboring countries, and Richard has also done some in South America.
We left on July 22, 2026, from Geneva to Calgary via Frankfurt with our bikes carefully packed in boxes, and we returned on October 8 from El Paso to Geneva via Chicago and Frankfurt.
The GDMBR is a mountain route that closely follows the Pacific/Atlantic continental divide, starting in Banff, Canada, and ending at the Mexican border in Antelope Wells, New Mexico. This crossing of the American West is one of the longest mountain biking routes in the world, winding through wild valleys, mountain ranges, and desert plateaus. It stretches about 4,400 km with a total elevation gain of around 60,000 m. The average altitude is 2,000 m, and the highest point reaches 3,600 m. The route is 80% off-pavement (gravel roads, dirt, and a few trail segments). It’s also known for the annual Tour Divide race, which brings together the best riders in the discipline every June and follows roughly the same route.
We prepared for this trip over several months, using a few websites and an older guidebook (the 2013 English edition).

With this, we were able to organize our journey with as much information as possible, a GPS track, and gear suited to the weather conditions, terrain, and sparse resupply points in remote areas.
Once we arrived in Banff, we picked up bear spray to handle a particular challenge: the wildlife we weren’t familiar with.

After landing in Calgary, we assembled and equipped our bikes at the airport. That first evening, we were welcomed by Mike, who invited us to his place when we were looking for a spot to pitch our tent. Then we made our way to Banff over two days, taking a fairly quiet road to Canmore and then a bike path.

A visit to Banff, a charming tourist town in the national park. Its famous Fairmont Hotel.

The starting point of the GDMBR at the arch of this hotel complex.

Here we are, immersed in the wilderness—just a few pedal strokes away from the town, the contrast is striking. Powerful rivers, vast landscapes, and our first encounter with a mule deer.

Spray Lake, our first basic campsite: no showers, dry toilets, no water fountain—we filter lake water. Most GDMBR campsites are like this.


We took the west side of the lake—a longer and wilder route. A few fallen trees blocked the path, forcing us to carry our bikes. But the stunning landscapes made it all worth it!

Our first single track through a forest marked by past wildfires.


Most campgrounds have tables and metal fire rings for safe campfires, which makes setting up camp much easier—especially nice after a long, tiring day! During this trip, we mostly slept in our tent, either in established campgrounds or wild bivouacs.
To be continued...
The GDMBR is a mountain route that closely follows the Pacific/Atlantic continental divide, starting in Banff, Canada, and ending at the Mexican border in Antelope Wells, New Mexico. This crossing of the American West is one of the longest mountain biking routes in the world, winding through wild valleys, mountain ranges, and desert plateaus. It stretches about 4,400 km with a total elevation gain of around 60,000 m. The average altitude is 2,000 m, and the highest point reaches 3,600 m. The route is 80% off-pavement (gravel roads, dirt, and a few trail segments). It’s also known for the annual Tour Divide race, which brings together the best riders in the discipline every June and follows roughly the same route.
We prepared for this trip over several months, using a few websites and an older guidebook (the 2013 English edition).

With this, we were able to organize our journey with as much information as possible, a GPS track, and gear suited to the weather conditions, terrain, and sparse resupply points in remote areas.
Once we arrived in Banff, we picked up bear spray to handle a particular challenge: the wildlife we weren’t familiar with.

After landing in Calgary, we assembled and equipped our bikes at the airport. That first evening, we were welcomed by Mike, who invited us to his place when we were looking for a spot to pitch our tent. Then we made our way to Banff over two days, taking a fairly quiet road to Canmore and then a bike path.

A visit to Banff, a charming tourist town in the national park. Its famous Fairmont Hotel.

The starting point of the GDMBR at the arch of this hotel complex.

Here we are, immersed in the wilderness—just a few pedal strokes away from the town, the contrast is striking. Powerful rivers, vast landscapes, and our first encounter with a mule deer.

Spray Lake, our first basic campsite: no showers, dry toilets, no water fountain—we filter lake water. Most GDMBR campsites are like this.


We took the west side of the lake—a longer and wilder route. A few fallen trees blocked the path, forcing us to carry our bikes. But the stunning landscapes made it all worth it!

Our first single track through a forest marked by past wildfires.


Most campgrounds have tables and metal fire rings for safe campfires, which makes setting up camp much easier—especially nice after a long, tiring day! During this trip, we mostly slept in our tent, either in established campgrounds or wild bivouacs.
To be continued...











































Roundabouts are particularly interesting because they feature emblems of Turkmen culture, like the dog, a carpet, the Ahal Teke horse, or Muslim symbols, even though the presence of Islamic artifacts is quite limited.

Why this country?
After visiting Hungary, Slovenia, Romania, and Poland in recent years, I’ve fallen in love with Eastern European countries. I adore the Slavic soul, its Austro-Hungarian villages, the gentle landscapes, the Carpathian Mountains, and that slightly mysterious atmosphere.
Slovakia evokes a certain imagination with its deep forests, medieval castles, and cobbled villages.
After seeing photos of the High Tatras—especially Lake Štrbské Pleso and Spiš Castle—I thought, "Let’s do it! We’re going!"
So, will Slovakia live up to what I imagine?
We’ll find out together.
We decided to travel as a group of six (five adults and a six-year-old child), by car (we needed two).
Here’s the day-by-day itinerary for this family trip, which started with a 3-day stay in Vienna (see the dedicated travel journal):














When it comes to the Caribbean island of Saint-Martin, it's customary to praise its coastline and dreamy beaches—and they certainly deserve it.
But in this story, I’d like to highlight other memories, aspects, and impressions for a slightly different change of scenery.
Enjoy the read—some text and, above all, lots of photos.
« Byenveni sou zile Sen Maten! » (Welcome to the island of Saint-Martin)
















Come along, I'm taking you to this country where it's so nice to wander and slow down...









