The day's swelter dissipates in twilight as a makeshift bar appears in the cobbled colonial plaza. Locals sidle up for a cup of espresso -- a cozy version of the café scene a few feet away, where out-of-towners sip daquiris and snack on gourmet pizza.

The mariachis start strumming, followed by a troop of cumbia dancers, and there's a sense of an evening shared. When a mime in whiteface opens a taxi door and slides out the opposite side behind the couple just exiting, everyone giggles -- even the locals who have seen it often before.

''This is the stuff I miss when I go back to the States -- the little plazas, the way people just hang out,'' says Vivian Gloria of Miami, sitting at the table next to ours. She and husband Eddie are visiting her parents, who have an apartment here.

I'm tempted to check my phone's GPS. Can this really be Colombia?

Sure, there's security at hotel entrances and here on the small Plaza San Diego. But the private guard hovering near our table is smiling as he eyes the scene -- more a matter of presence than gunpower. The most dangerous moment of my four-day Cartagena visit comes when an aggressive tout angles to get me into her pizza joint, nearly battering me with her plastic menu.

Common U.S. perceptions of Colombia are outdated, says Diana Rodriguez, who lived in the U.S. and Europe before returning last year to Cartagena, where she works for a hotel. ''The real Colombia is very warm people, not paramilitaries,'' she says. ''It's a land of contrasts,'' with both poverty and plenty of appeal.

Clearly you need to safeguard cameras and dodge dark streets in dicey neighborhoods -- just as in any city. But when The Husband slips away for a nap, I wander alone without hassle. Within the seven-mile ring of fortress walls that surround Cartagena's Old City, lawless drug lords and the violent FARC insurgency that once ruled other parts of the country seem light-years away.

Bubbling cafés, designer boutiques, emerald shops, pristinely clean streets and salsa tunes blasting late into the weekend night (where are my ear plugs?) are proof that crackdowns by President Alvaro Uribe's administration have worked. Once-grand 17th century houses have been transformed into smart hotels that give Manhattan and Miami a run for their money. As for the restaurants, the artful dishes at trendy haunts like 8-18 make you think Cartagena does just fine, thank you, without superstar U.S. chefs.

OLD WORLD CHARM

Beneath it all lies the historic charm of gracious architecture painstakingly restored. Domed churches edge stone squares; leafy parks offer respite from the searing sun. Pastel-painted houses, shops, offices and schools sit elbow-to-elbow, their thick walls forming protective shells for arabesque courtyards within. Bougainvillea drips from balconies overlooking the lanes, and you expect Benjamin Bratt's aristocratic character from Love in the Time of Cholera to roll down the street in a horse-drawn carriage.

Just then, a carriage does clatter by. The driver waves; I shake my head to say 'no thanks.' He smiles, nods and drives cheerily on. The hard sell is saved for tourist-heavy weekends and the menu-wielding touts at the Plaza San Domingo.

The same easy-going friendliness persists as we visit the city's top sights. ''Welcome to Cartagena,'' says a guide handling a cruise-ship group at La Popa, a hilltop convent with spectacular views across the city and Caribbean. ``Enjoy my city.''

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