I was walking by a busy vibrant square in Cartagena, Colombia. Surrounded by brightly dressed locals, the tourists focused on street performers in the square's centre, music blaring. Yet at one corner of the square, behind unkept vegetation and just a few metres from all of this human activity sits a semi-derelict fountain, half filled with surprisingly clear water, the surface blanketed by dead leaves, ignored by all around. I sensed sadness, as if the fountain is the grande dame of the square, beautiful at one time but no longer relevant, still doing her best to stay beautiful, the only clothes h=the decaying leaves, the only jewellery the sunlight shimmering on the water.
- Best Price Guaranteed
- Ready to Hang