After a Race Across the World style coach journey from Baranquilla, it was with some trepidation that we stepped out into the heat of Cartegena. It’s always a worry when the weather forecast tells you it’s 34, feels like 42. Sorry Met Office, but I’ll be the one who decides what it feels like. It felt like my brain was sizzling inside my skull. Thankfully the world’s best accommodation of the trip so far was complete with not one, but two, air conditioners and ceiling fans to boot. Plenty cool enough inside just brace yourself for the oven outside.

There’s no doubt that Cartegna is a pretty city. The colonial architecture is second to none, the fortifications look strong enough to keep out a whole attacking navy – and did. I’d been warned that it’s quite touristy so it didn’t come as a total shock when the beautiful cobblestone sidestreets in the scorchio heat of the day descended into Spring Break hell at night. Bro’s swigging cocktails from plastics, bodies everywhere, picture menus, lovely.

It’s all a bit much for me really. I mean, I’m all for a good time like the best of them, but we struggled to find one decent bar to sit down in, have a quiet drink and listen to some good music. Unlike the rest of Colombia, Cartegena swings to its own beat and that beat is squeezing the gaziliion tourists for as much as we can get out of them. Overtoursim is not a term I’ve heard once while in Colombia but you can bet that it will be the first city in South America joining the list alongside Barcelona, Dubrovnik, Venice, Cornwall, Amalfi Coast et al.

It’s within easy striking distance of lary yanks (“cheaper than Vegas dude!”) and thousands upon thousands are disgorged daily from the floating planet trashers. This has spawned a ten-headed hydra of parasitic vendors. I won’t waste breath on what they sell.. you know the score.. but it’s the sheer volume and relentlessness of it all. Walk 50 metres in the old centre and the demands to buy some tat or other number 20-30 at least. And top of this feeding frenzy pyramid are the bloody taxis. We’ve all stood outside a club in the pissing rain at 2am desperate for someone.. anyone.. to stop and pick us up, not so in Cartegena. For some unfathomable reason Cartegena has about the same number of taxis as the whole of London (or seems like it). So 90% of them are desperate for a customer 90% of the time. So much so, that if they see you walking along the pavement, every second one will slow down and beep in the hope that this relentless irritant will result in you eventually giving in and deciding that you do want a taxi 30m to your flat after all.

Of course, with all of this also comes the associated social problems that seem to get drawn to cities with high footfalls.. rough sleepers, drug dependence, prostitution etc. After a day of saying no, no, no, no every second step through tourist hell surprisingly (for me) I decided to give a homeless guy a break. I’d seen him ducking around the supermarket with a bottle of water in his hands, approaching people in the queues asking them to buy it for him with little success. I relented and took it off him while stood in the queue. Delighted, he scurried off to the entrance to wait for me. I noticed then that he did have quite a dirty face. It wasn’t until I put it on the conveyor belt that I realised it wasn’t water at all, it was in fact 70% proof industrial alcohol/solvent of some kind. FFS! Briefly, my Frankie Boyle kicked in – so what if it is rough booze? If my life was as shite as his, I’d probably want to be off my face all the time as well. As soon as we were out of the shop the little fella grabbed it and legged it and to my delight didn’t neck it in one. Then the cogs in my pickled brain started to rotate… maybe he’s one of these street performers who juggles with fire and what he needed was the materials for his act? The grimy face and scorched clothing supported this theory and I’m sticking to it.

But it’s not all bad. As with most places, with the right attitude and the right company, fun can be had anywhere. And Cartegena is indeed beautiful despite all of the above. We had some truly first class meals, drank cocktails on a rooftop above the mayhem, took a sunset catamaran on the harbour, drunk cold beer on the beach, swam in the blue waters of the Caribbean sea, sat on the balcony of our amazing accommodation drinking wine and putting the world to rights. What’s not to like about all of that!!!??

My providing of the roughest booze to a homeless guy was not my only good deed for the day. As we were waiting in the departure lounge of Cartegena airport for our boarding gate to open I noticed a woman with a baby Frenchy. I think it’s lovely that in Colombia people can fly with their dogs. Then I saw the little scamp legging it around the seats of waiting passengers. Bloody hell woman don’t let it off for a run! The look on her increasingly upset face showed that this wasn’t deliberate. She called the dog back with treats and toys time and again in an attempt to grab his little harness but each time she lunged he’d sprint off in the other direction for another sprint round the chairs. Another passenger tried to help catch him, to no avail. I thought it was time for The Gus. Sneaking up casually behind him and perching on a seat along his favourite racetrack I sat… coiled like a black viper waiting to strike… sure enough he came my way and I unleashed myself out of my chair at exactly the precise moment to miss his harness completely, slap his bare ass and send him shooting even faster across the carpet like a greased piglet. Past all the chairs, past the staff checking boarding passes, down the corridor towards the runway. Ooops. I’ve heard of bird strikes but a puppy on the runway would probably shut the airport.. or worse. However I’m pleased to report that no dogs were injured in the making of this story and thankfully someone did some good and managed to get him back in his crate.