When visiting a place, inevitably you arrive with a list. Using Instagram, TripAdvisor, or other travel blogs, you compile the must-have experiences and can’t-miss sights. As was the case when I ventured to Colombia. Despite the heat, I’d hiked along beaches, ambled through cities, and scrambled along rows of coffee. In just under two weeks, I’d certainly seen my fair share of the country. 

And yet, as I followed my guide Eskil through the streets of Cartagena, wiping yet another droplet of sweat from my eyes, I felt as though I hadn’t yet truly experienced Colombia. While I’d been to the places, I realized I hadn’t met the people, the inhabitants who call the country home, who breathe life into its streets and embody its culture. I knew my fellow travelers but that wasn’t why I’d left Minnesota. I hoped that today, as we sampled traditional food from local vendors, all of that would change. 

Rounding a corner, we hurried across an intersection toward a circular stall, its metal facade glimmering in the sunshine. Inside stood a gentleman who, noting our arrival, began tugging and pulling his long sleeve jacket until certain it draped perfectly. Spreading Styrofoam cups across the countertop as easily as one dealt cards, he introduced himself as Lazarus, a 67 year old Cartagena native who, when asked his marital status responded, “I’m single. It’s my wife who is married.” Cracking a smile that encompassed him entirely, Lazarus explained he’d spent the last fifty years crafting one single dish: the shrimp cocktail. 

This is Lazarus, one of Cartagena's top street food vendors.

As the only country in South America to have coastline on both the Pacific and the Caribbean, it is no surprise that seafood has become a staple of the Colombian diet. With traditional dishes such as cazuela de mariscos (seafood stew), mojarra fritz (whole fried fish), and camarones al ajillo (shrimp in garlic), Cartagena proves no exception. As far back as 3000BC, native tribes such as the Monsú, living in the region now known as Bolívar, were eating shellfish caught in the waters of Cartagena Bay. And now, thousands of years later, not much, other than perhaps the quantity consumed, has changed. 

Placing a hat on his head, Lazarus glanced upward encouraging me to follow. Stomach rumbling, my eyes eventually came to rest on the roof of his stall where, rather than tin, there sat an exact replica of his sombrero, from the curve of its brim to the detailed black and white pattern. Hearing Eskil announce we’d arrived at “El Sombreron Ostrería,” the pieces fell into place: the hat, the roof, the name. Recognizing my realization, Lazarus’ eyes glistened. 

Lazarus' street food stall in Cartagena

Plastic chairs, narrower than most, were arranged around the structure, their teal cushions worn from the weight of hungry travelers. A few sat nestled under an umbrella, tempting me with the shade I’d hoped for all morning. And yet, while others fled toward cooler temperatures, I found myself remaining in front of him and beneath the sun. Instantly drawn to Lazarus’ warmth, I needed to watch him work, recognizing this would be more than just a treat for the taste buds. 

Into each cup Lazarus dropped a handful of shrimp, on top of which he spooned onions, a dollop of mayonnaise, garlic oil, cocktail sauce, and his “secret ingredient,” a green chimichurri-like spread. Lazarus’ hands moved deftly, his enthusiasm increasing with each ingredient added. Grabbing a long spoon, he started mixing the contents, ensuring each seasoning covered every shrimp. 

Vendors, such as this, have popped up all around Cartagena, with locals recognizing the ocean provides not only a tasty meal but a source of both employment and income. The proximity and plethora of fresh seafood has created opportunity for many. Fishermen at nearby villages, using traditional nets, sell their hauls to restaurants, who in turn create the mouthwatering dishes for which the city is famous. Multinational corporations like Cartagena Shrimp Company export the city’s seafood around the world, tapping into the global demand for shellfish. For his part, Lazarus saw the plentiful resource as an opportunity- the chance to focus on his passion, one specialty, the cocktail, and to put a more modern twist on a shellfish that’s been eaten for centuries. 

As he stirred, Lazarus regaled us with stories that brought me into his world and into his city. Pointing to the Guinness World Record sign pasted onto the stall, he explained how he’d produced the largest shrimp cocktail ever recorded. Amassing a total of 1,320 kilograms, the dish fed 20,000 people, all crowded in front of his shop. Recounting how thousands partook in his cocktail, Lazarus’ grin grew, creasing his cheeks and eyes until the pride he felt about his achievement had spread across every inch of his face.  

Handed the finished product, I took my first taste and my mouth jolted awake. Removing the saltine Lazarus provided as an accoutrement, I piled both sauce and seafood onto the cracker, savoring each bite. Shutting my eyes, I memorized this moment: the combination of sweet and salty, the varied textures on my tongue, and the way in which Lazarus’ passion amplified the flavors, as though I could taste his love for the craft. 

Lazarus's Cartagena street food specialty: the shrimp cocktail.

A ringing interrupted this feeding frenzy and, reaching into his pocket, Lazarus pulled out a phone so ancient my shrimp stuffed mouth fell open. Noting my expression, along with the raised eyebrows of Eskil, Lazarus laughingly held it out exclaiming, “everyone wants to see my iPhone 15.” Quips, it would seem, were as second nature to Lazarus as the crafting of shrimp cocktails.

As the final forkful entered my mouth, I paused, realizing that Lazarus had provided me with much more than just a satisfied stomach. His bold flavors mirrored the energy of the city. His personality, the spice of the Caribbean. His shrimp, the importance of shellfish to Cartagena, both past and present. Sitting here, enjoying food from the sea and stories from a local, I’d finally tasted Cartagena, and Colombia, in more ways than one.

If you find yourself in Cartagena, looking for a similar encounter, consider one of the many street food tours available:

Or, if you want to find Lazarus himself, look for the large black and white sombrero on Carrera 9a, right as it curves to run alongside Avenida Venezuela.  There are, of course, a handful of other activities to keep you busy while exploring Cartagena. Check out the full list here.