Medellin
Colombia
Leaving the airport we were greeted with blue skies, warm weather, lower humidity, rolling green hills and a sea of red brick buildings with modern skyscrapers poking through. In my eyes, it was perfect. At our accommodation, located in a green, leafy neighbourhood, we dropped our bags and immediately went to get Danny's phone fixed. It didn't survive the relentless rain and humidity of the Lost City, and we couldn’t manage without it.
Once the phone was sorted, our first stop was Mercado del Rio for a very late lunch. It wasn't so much a market as a modern food hall lined with dozens of bars and restaurants offering every cuisine. It turned out the Champions League final was being played today, so the place was packed with people watching the game on the numerous gigantic TV screens around the venue. Everyone was obsessed, service staff and patrol police included. The noise was deafening, even sitting outside in the courtyard. Food took an eternity to prepare but was quite tasty. On a quieter day, it would have been a great spot to chill out for the afternoon.
It was a 40 minute walk to El Poblado, the backpacker district. We had originally planned to stay here, but availability and prices weren't on our side. Along the way we heard intermittent cheers from unseen sources, and every cafe we passed was showing the soccer. We searched for a quiet bar to sit and relax in, but the central area was full of enormous venues with deafening music pumping out into the streets. Definitely not our scene. We walked just outside this region and found a peaceful place that was more to our liking, where we sipped on happy hour cocktails while planning the next phase of our trip. Nearby was a vegan restaurant, where we ate a wonderful but filling dinner. It was a nice afternoon but we weren't too disappointed that we didn't end up staying in El Poblado.
After a couple of weeks' break, it was time to go for a run. Three kilometres away was Cerro Nutibara, a small hill with a touristy replica village on top. I was keen to visit here not for the village but for views out over the city. Along with dozens of morning cyclists and runners, I made my way up the short hill to find there were absolutely no views. Disappointing. I loved the run though, and was so thrilled to be running on hills again that I ran up it twice.
After my run, Danny and I ventured out to Parque Arvi, an expansive green space sitting 1,000 m above the city. Two very long cable cars, taking about half an hour in total, carried us up to the top, past a sea of crumbling houses perched on the side of the mountain. The views on the way were fantastic, but taking photos through the tinted, scratched windows wasn't ideal. We alighted the cable car in the middle of a flat section of forest, so there were no views here either.
A small market had been set up around the cable car station, selling high-quality handicrafts and a variety of food. Vegetarian dishes featured heavily, much to my delight. But I wasn’t there for eating, I was there for hiking. Of the several trails available, I chose the one that offered a viewpoint. To reach the trail we commenced on a paved then dirt road, lined with unruly vegetation and orange wildflowers. A brown lake appeared but wasn't worth stopping for, so we continued on a narrow path to the official start of the hike.
Although there wasn't much to see along the way, it was great being out in nature with very few people around. We spotted a sign saying 'mirador' (lookout) but it was on private land and required an entrance fee. With no one around to let us in and a barbed wire gate to contend with, we didn't bother. Surely there would be more views further on.
There weren't. The best we achieved was a detour off the path underneath the cable car, where in the distance we could see the outskirts of the city below. Once again, disappointing. We returned to the cable car via a picturesque pine forest, and by the end we had hiked around 10 km. I would have explored further trails if we had the time. Instead, I stuffed myself full on vegan snacks before catching the cable cars back down the mountain.
The rest of the afternoon was spent walking around the city by myself, with my feet racking up many kilometres. The Casa de la Memoria was a sobering insight to how the Medellin locals lived through and are now processing the violence they endured here for many decades. Only half of the displays were in English, which was slightly frustrating as I would have appreciated more information about the history of the conflict (only available in Spanish) in addition to the personal stories that had been translated.
My walk took me through busy, downtrodden areas of the city that felt very different from what we saw yesterday in the tourist districts. Homeless people abounded, hundreds of street stalls sold knock-off labels, and locals sat around in tiny run-down eateries or in parks while watching the world go by. Nowhere was quiet. This area had an edge to it, and it felt more authentic than anything found around El Poblado.
I made a brief detour to Catedral Metropolitana, supposedly one of the largest brick buildings in the world. As I was inside taking photos, a funeral procession turned up, much to my embarrassment. I made a hasty exit then wandered over to Plaza Botero, which, aptly, was full of sculptures by the Colombian artist Fernando Botero. Apparently, one of the things to do is to touch the left breast of a statue of a reclining woman. It had turned from dark bronze to bright gold with repeated rubbings.
My final stop was Barefoot Park, where there was a lot of sand, bamboo and children but not many people going around barefoot. It was one of the more peaceful areas I had come across in the city, despite the numerous children's parties that were in full swing. Nearby was an ugly concrete river with a linear park running along its banks. Locals relaxed in the shade, food vendors lined the path, and soft music played from speakers. A city of contrasts.
I was determined to find a clear viewpoint over Medellin, so I made my way over to the Cerro las Tres Cruces. My map said the route was only 1.2 km from the base to the top, but with an almost 30% gradient I knew it wasn't going to be easy. One look at the path confirmed my prediction. With slick mud the entire way and a light drizzle falling, I pretty much had the trifecta.
Someone had thoughtfully carved steps into the earth on some sections, although I managed to slip on most of them. The mud was slightly sticky, making it easier to walk on than it appeared. However, this also resulted in mud clinging to my boots, making them twice as heavy as usual. I passed many runners speeding up and down the trail, and it was obvious this was part of their regular training regime. I definitely stood out with my non-workout clothes, handbag and umbrella.
The summit was as expected, a hazy vista over what would have otherwise been a wonderful scene. I only stayed a few minutes before beginning the descent, taking far longer to go down than I did to go up. The views were actually better lower down, where the haze had started to dissipate. Once I was back on the road, I scraped as much mud off my shoes as I could but they were just as filthy as they had been on the Lost City trek.
By the time I had returned to the bus stop, the sun had came out.
On my way back to our accommodation, I made a brief stop at the Museo de Antioquia, a great modern art museum showcasing many works by Botero. I then picked up Danny and we travelled out to Comuna 13. We had signed up for a walking tour of the area that was once known as the most dangerous district in Medellin, at the time when Medellin was named the most dangerous city in the world. Basically, you didn’t want to live here during that period. Naturally, it rained on and off for the entire 3 hours.
Our guide had grown up in this district and had many harrowing tales to tell. She provided an in-depth overview of the violence that occurred here from the 1980s to the 2000s, including the personal losses she suffered. I wish I had heard this story before visiting Casa de la Memoria. She started off with how the drug industry had taken hold in the 1970s and how this led to murders, abductions, torture and a bunch of other crimes that was part of daily life for the residents. The extortion that sprang up during that time still continues to this day.
During the tour we were given breakdancing and rapping performances, as well as descriptions of the bold graffiti and street art around the commune, all of which has helped the locals break free from a life of crime. We travelled along outdoor escalators beside colourful staircases, which showed a strong resemblance to Hong Kong (apparently the escalators here were based on the Chinese version). The main tourist area of Comuna 13, split over many levels as it followed the escalator up the hill, was full of souvenir stores and tour groups. It didn't feel overly authentic but it was lively and inviting. Behind the stores ran a labyrinth of alleyways that connected everyone together - as a tourist you would be lost within a minute. Overall, I very much appreciated being part of a fascinating and insightful tour (although I wished the rain would have left us alone).
The easiest way to visit Guatape seemed to be on an organised tour. Not our favourite way to get around, but it took the stress out of organising the multiple stops. First up on the itinerary was breakfast, which we didn't realise wouldn't be until 10.30 a.m. We were perched on chairs in a gravel car park beside a main road, mostly because the main restaurant was full of other tour groups. After wolfing down our food, it was on to the highlight of the day: El Penol.
El Penol is a gigantic granite rock that juts up straight from the earth. Someone thought it would be fun to build a staircase all the way up the side. Along with hundreds of others, we climbed over 700 narrow steps to the top, bypassing the food and souvenir stalls on the way. From the summit we gazed out at the undulating green countryside and admired a man-made reservoir that weaved through the valleys like tentacles. Unbelievably it wasn't raining, so we could enjoy the breathtaking view completely dry.
Next, our bus dropped us off in the cute town of Guatape, which was by far the most colourful town we had visited in Colombia. Not only were all the buildings painted in bright hues, but they also contained decorations called zocalos, which were concrete images that had been carved along the bottom of the outer walls. They often represented the nature of their business or the customs of the area (pack animals featured heavily). It was captivating walking around the cobbled streets, admiring the designs each dwelling had chosen. Every second establishment was a restaurant, with servers trying to drag us in. Adding to the vibrancy were pimped up tuk-tuks that drove people around on city tours. We thought we had left tuk-tuks back in Thailand, but they are all the rage in Colombian villages. It was a fun place to explore for an afternoon. Several places in Colombia claim that their town is the prettiest of them all, but I would argue (perhaps controversially) that Guatape takes the title.
Lunch was eaten back at our breakfast spot, but this time we were privileged enough to dine inside where a multi-lingual guitar player sang songs based on the countries we were from. We hear music everywhere we go in Colombia, but it's never in English and it's never songs we know, so this was a rare treat. As predicted, they played Down Under for us, followed by Natalie Imbruglia, which was a bit of a surprise.
After an agonisingly long stop at a replica of a town that was destroyed when the reservoir was built, we went cruising through the waterways. There were actually patches of blue sky above us (a rarity), but there was almost nothing to take photos of. The reservoir itself was not in any way attractive, and the only points of interest along the way were ruins of one of Pablo Escobar's houses and the mansions of a couple of Colombian soccer players that were unknown to us. For a brief moment we spotted El Penol way in the distance, which was the only real view we had of the rock itself all day. It was frustrating that we weren't given a decent angle for a photo, despite passing many lookout points on the bus. But an entire day without rain - we couldn't complain about that.
