The Art of the Party: How a Street Carnival in Getsemaní Became Cartagena's Secret Event

Origins

If you walk through Getsemaní on any given Saturday, you might hear a distant drum before you see anything. It's not a tourist tour or a show put on for foreigners. It's the pulse of a carnival born without permission, without sponsorship, and without an official organizer. A party that started as a dance rehearsal among neighbors in the Plaza de la Trinidad and that today, without having planned it, has become the most sought-after secret event for backpackers and young travelers in Cartagena.

It was the year 2015 when a group of friends from the neighborhood, tired of the city's nightlife being limited to the clubs of Bocagrande and the walled city, decided to take their portable speakers to the street. There was no permit from the Mayor's Office, no billboards, no digital flyers. Just a desire to dance champeta, mapalé, and salsa in the open air, as it was done in the old days. That first night, about thirty neighbors joined in. The following month, there were a hundred. And by 2018, the police had to close the street because the crowd overflowed the square.

What makes this carnival unique is precisely its organic origin. It wasn't born from a marketing strategy or an external investor. It was born from the weariness of a community that wanted to reclaim public space for joy. Today, in May 2026, that same spirit remains, even though its fame has grown.

Timeline or historical milestones

To understand how a neighborhood gathering turned into a magnet for travelers from around the world, here are the key moments:

• 2015: First informal gathering in the Plaza de la Trinidad. A group of ten friends brings a portable sound system and starts dancing champeta. No alcohol, no disturbances, just music.
• 2017: The event is now weekly. Neighbors bring chairs out to the street, sell empanadas and natural juices. The police show up but don't intervene, because there's no disorder. An estimated 200 people attend each Saturday.
• 2019: Word of mouth reaches the hostels of Getsemaní. European and Australian travelers start showing up. The locals, instead of feeling invaded, integrate them. The unwritten code is born: "he who comes to dance, stays; he who comes to bother, leaves".
• 2021: After the pandemic, the carnival resurges with more strength. A private WhatsApp group is created to coordinate dates and avoid leaks to the tourism police. The event becomes "secret" out of necessity, not marketing.
• 2023: A video of a mapalé dance in the street goes viral on TikTok with over 2 million views. The carnival receives its first massive peak of tourists. Community leaders decide to limit dissemination on unofficial social networks.
• 2025: A system of "ambassadors" is established: locals who guide trusted tourists to the exact meeting point, which changes weekly to avoid overcrowding.

Key characters or events

Behind this ownerless party are concrete people who made it possible. Knowing their names is understanding the soul of the event.

Doña Carmen, the matron of rhythm

At 68 years old, Doña Carmen is the central figure of the carnival. She doesn't sing or play, but her presence is law. It was she who, in 2016, convinced the young people not to use commercial reggaeton and to return to traditional champeta. "If we're going to make noise, let it be with flavor," she says. Today, every Saturday, she sits in a plastic chair in front of her house on Calle de la Sierpe and sets the rhythm with her palms. Tourists recognize her and ask for photos. She accepts, but with one condition: "Dance first, ask later".

El "Mono" and his drum

Carlos "Mono" Mendoza is a self-taught percussionist who learned to play the drum by watching the old-timers in the neighborhood. Since 2018, he has been in charge of coordinating the street musicians who join the carnival. He doesn't charge, but receives voluntary tips. His rule is simple: "If you play well, you stay; if you play badly, you sit down and listen". He himself selects the percussionists each week, ensuring the sound is authentic, not an imitation for tourists.

The logistics of improvisation

One of the most frequent questions among travelers is: how do you know where and when the carnival is? The answer is deliberately ambiguous. There is no website, no Facebook event, no official Instagram account. The dissemination works like this:

• Hostel network: Some hostels in Getsemaní, such as Hostal Casa en el Agua or Getsemaní Hostel, have direct contact with the organizers. Ask at the reception, but don't expect an automatic answer. They will evaluate you: if you seem respectful, they will give you the location.
• WhatsApp groups: There are two or three private groups with about 200 members each. To get in, you need a local to add you. The unofficial password is: "I come to dance, not to record".
• Color codes: The organizers use colored scarves to signal the meeting point. A red scarf tied to a gate means "there's a party today". A blue one means "location change".

This secrecy is not elitism. It's protection. In 2022, when the event became too massive, drug dealers and problematic drunks arrived. The community responded by closing ranks. Today, the carnival remains "secret" not for mystery, but for safety.

Rituals and codes

If you manage to find the carnival, there are unwritten rules you must know to be welcome. They are not complicated, but ignoring them can earn you disapproving looks.

What to bring

• Fresh and colorful clothing: The heat in Getsemaní is intense. Wear cotton t-shirts, shorts, or light skirts. Locals wear bright colors: yellow, green, red. Avoid black, which is associated with mourning.
• Closed-toe shoes: The streets are cobblestone and may have broken glass. Flip-flops are a bad idea. Old sneakers are perfect.
• Water and cash: There is no official alcohol sale, but neighbors sell water, corozo juice, and cold beer. Bring small bills of 5,000 or 10,000 COP. They don't accept cards.
• Scarf or hat: The sun can be relentless until 6 pm. A vueltiao hat is well-regarded, but not mandatory.

How to dress

There is no strict dress code, but there is a trend: locals dress with pride in typical garments. Women wear long floral skirts and strappy tops. Men wear guayaberas or linen shirts. The tourists who integrate best are those who avoid flashy brand-name clothing. A t-shirt of a salsa group or a Colombian artist is an excellent icebreaker.

How to behave

• Dance, don't film: Locals hate tourists who spend the whole night recording with their cell phones held high. A quick photo is allowed, but the carnival is to be lived, not documented. If you take out your phone for more than a minute, someone will tap you on the shoulder and say: "Put that away, life is now".
• Respect the space: The party takes over an entire street, but the surrounding houses are inhabited. Don't lean on the doors of homes or block the entrances. Neighbors who don't participate have a right to their peace.
• Accept the invitation to dance: If a local extends their hand to you, accept. It doesn't matter if you don't know how to dance champeta. The basic steps are easy: move your hips to the rhythm of the drum and keep your feet light. Refusing is considered disrespectful.
• Don't buy drugs on site: Although the atmosphere is relaxed, the police make sporadic rounds. Locals protect the event and may ask you to leave if they see something suspicious.

A curious fact: the carnival has its own unofficial "anthem". It's a champeta song called "El Tambor de Getsemaní", composed by a local musician in 2020. If you recognize it and hum it, you automatically earn the respect of the veterans.

The impact on the neighborhood

Not everything is rosy. The growth of the carnival has brought profound changes to Getsemaní, a neighborhood that was historically working-class and today struggles between preserving its essence and adapting to tourism.

The positive

• Income for neighbors: Many families now sell food, drinks, and handicrafts during the event. A woman who used to sell arepas on the corner now earns in one Saturday what she used to earn in a week.
• Cultural revaluation: The carnival has sparked interest among the neighborhood's youth in champeta and mapalé, rhythms that were being lost. Now there are free dance workshops on Thursdays in the Plaza de la Trinidad.
• Safety: Contrary to what many think, the presence of tourists has reduced robberies in the area. Criminals know that an assault on a visitor would turn the whole neighborhood against them.

The negative

• Gentrification: The success of the carnival has attracted investors who buy old houses to turn them into hostels and bars. Rents in Getsemaní have risen by 40% since 2021, according to data from the neighborhood's Community Action Board. Some families have had to move to peripheral neighborhoods.
• Noise and disturbances: Not all neighbors are happy. Some complain that the music goes on until 2 am and that tourists leave trash. Organizers have tried to set curfews (midnight), but they are not always respected.
• Touristification of the event: There are those who criticize that the carnival has become a "spectacle for foreigners". Community leaders respond that as long as locals remain the majority, the spirit is maintained. But the line is thin.

In an interview with the local magazine El Universal in 2024, Doña Carmen summed up the dilemma: "This was ours, but now it's everyone's. The good thing is that no one has taken away our rhythm. The bad thing is that sometimes I feel we dance to be seen, not for ourselves".

Current status

Today, in May 2026, the Getsemaní street carnival remains an event with no fixed date. Organizers schedule it once or twice a month, usually on Saturdays, and announce the date only 48 hours in advance through WhatsApp groups and partner hostels. The location rotates between Calle de la Sierpe, Calle Larga, and the Plaza de la Trinidad, to avoid saturating a single area.

The average attendance is 400 to 600 people, of which approximately half are locals. The rest are tourists from Europe, North America, and South America, with a growing presence of Brazilians and Argentinians. There is no official alcohol sale, but beer and rum can be obtained from neighbors at fair prices (a local beer costs about 4,000 COP, a rum and coke about 8,000 COP).

For young travelers seeking an authentic experience, far from the bars of Calle del Arsenal and the nightclubs of Bocagrande, this carnival is the holy grail. There is no cover charge, no guest list, no luxury dress code. Just a street, a drum, and a hundred people dancing as if no one is watching.

Do you want to join? The first step is to get to Getsemaní and talk to the locals. Ask at the corner store, at the hostel where you're staying, or at the bakery in the Plaza de la Trinidad. If you show respect and genuine curiosity, someone will whisper the password to you. And if all goes well, you'll end up dancing champeta until the sun rises over the walls, feeling that Cartagena is not just a postcard city, but a place where the party is invented every night.

Join the secret carnival: follow the community leaders on Instagram (@getsemaniculturalok) so you don't miss the next date. But remember: if you find the party, don't record it. Live it.