Hola Familia y Amigos,
Leaving for Medellin, we were awoken at 3 a.m. by roosters crowing their lungs out, the rain chain noisily performing its duty outside our room, dogs barking, Michael’s voice as he left at 6 a.m. for his flight back to Paris and the new herd of guests, birders, talking boisterously in their native German, standing on the porch outside our door, with cards showing the different kinds of birds, books and cell phones in hand, excitedly matching pictures to real live feathered friends! We were squired again by our taxi guy, Sebastian, to the Pereira airport with more conversations about the politics and history of Colombia. Our early arrival for the 10:35 a.m. flight turned out to be unnecessary as weather had screwed up all flights into Bogota and we became stranded in an hour long line just to reach the reservations counter to get a replacement flight at 1:00 p.m., resulting in a 6:00 p.m. arrival at the In House Hotel in Medellin’s Provenza neighborhood in Poblado, effectively shortening our stay in the “City of Eternal Spring”, the 3rd largest city in Colombia.
With our limited time this first day, we wandered the neighborhood, past a local stream feeding the Poblado River that would become torrential after a rainstorm the following day and plopped our tired selves down on the side walk in front of Toscano’s, dining on Osso Bucco and risotto vegetales at the suggestion of departing Americans recently ex-patriated from Virginia. While dining, we witnessed a unique parking scheme: a roving attendant placing pieces of paper on the windshields of parked cars, denoting time of arrival, keeping a watch and approaching them as they were leaving, getting payment. Never did find out the legality of this, but it seemed to be the accepted protocol and she wore an orange vest, appearing official! Drifted back to our hotel with the sounds of tango music from Sal y Brasa across the street, completing the whole vibe of being in South America!
The next morning we were fortunate to run into a bartending ski junkie from Vail at breakfast who gave us tips on using the Metro to get around efficiently to maximize our only full day. Following his directions, we took our time walking down Calle 10 toward the Poblado River, which flowed in a wide, Los Angeles-styled aqueduct next to the Poblado station. It was a very active street with businesses just opening up. We boarded the Metro and headed to Acevedo station, on the way, noticing the river changing from running through the concrete culvert to flowing over soil, garbage strewn on the sandy banks, tumbling down to the waters’ edge, several old wooden 12’-15’ abandoned boats half sunk along the shoreline. We rode the “K” line gondola us up the east slope of the Aburra’ Valley, ending at Santo Domingo where we came across the first instance of programmed garbage disposal with a specific pick-up spot on select days, Wednesday and Saturdays, a pleasant contrast to our previous experiences in Colombia. The cable car ride from the valley allowed us views of the hillside composition, housing comprised of red bricks, corrugated tin roofs, some weighted down by random displays of brick. On the way to Arvi National Park, 3,000 feet up from the valley floor, at 8,200 feet, we were afforded views of the diminishing density of housing and the advent of extensive vegetation, with cultivated produce gardens, forested lands with cows, horses, eucalyptus and pine trees, cooler temperatures and a few rain drops in this micro climate area. Leveling off over the park, we viewed ferns, bromeliads, pink flowered trees, orchids, dirt roads and trails, unseen birds serenading us as we went slowly over this vast expanse (16,000 acres), wind whistling through our cable car at times.
Hopping back on the Metro after our descent, we exited at the Prado station, short of our intended station, Berrio, to track down a beautiful building we had espied when approaching from the opposite direction, then indulging in the gritty neighborhood on our way to Botero Square, walking past a huge flea market, where items looked like junk, however, “One man’s trash is another man’s treasure”. Continuing our walk in an area we had been advised to steer clear of, we experienced sidewalks jammed with pedestrians, vendors of all sorts, food vendors showing their goods laid out atop haphazardly stacked, waist-high 18” x 2’ empty, colored plastic milk carton holders, others on wooden wheeled carts. We eventually sauntered into Botero Square, which, aside from all kinds of activities, proudly displayed some two dozen works of Medellin’s famed 84 year old sculptor, Fernando Botero, which can best be described as depicting people and figures in “large and exaggerated volume”. The anchor point of the square was a black and white checkered structure with spires and a dome, which was the Palacio de la Cultura Rafael Uribe Uribe, a Gothic public structure housing cultural programs.
Wandering around the square, we came across a crowd of 30-40 folks circled around a swarthy, red-faced ‘huckster’, ranting into his wireless mic, supported by his female co-conspirator, taking money from those willing to give, praying over the stack of bills, sprinkling water on it, putting it in tinfoil, rubbing it, passing it over the outstretched open palms of those that had given, kneeling down with his sidekick standing behind him, both chanting pre-rehearsed mantras, he, wiping his profusely sweating face, pouring water over himself, the ‘faithful’ crossing themselves and believing. We failed to stay for the grand finale. Sitting later outside of the Museo de Antioquia’s café, dining on tomato and mushroom cream soups and cappuccinos, we watched the hawkers, prostitutes, and a vendor of pineapples on a wooden bed. We caught the Metro at Berrio station to Poblado and walked quickly uphill, retracing our early morning mile long walk to try and elude the impending rain, which caught us just three blocks from the In House, where we were able to duck into Burdo to wait out the torrential downpour, enjoying this sanctuary, listening to the rancor of the rain pounding on the roof top, sipping on a Sornero. We ended our stay in Medellin dining across the street at Sal y Brasa, billed as a Tango, Parrilla y Bar, music being “Tanguera”, with tango music filling our roofed but open-air space as we enjoyed our food, a nice touch to such a short stay.
Our last stop in Colombia was Bogota, staying at the Bogota Bed & Breakfast Inn for two nights in the Teusaquillo district, which is owned and run by Rick, an American, and Bea, a Colombian. On the way from the airport we experienced a scheme which happens frequently, with taxi drivers attempting to divert their fares to a lodging different from that which you have directed them to. Our guy claimed that Teusaquillo neighborhood is “too dangerous”, asking if we had “already paid”. We told him we look for danger and are excited to hear that we had chosen well, ending this charade. Since it was lunchtime, Rick walked us through the neighborhood to La Arepita de Medellin, an eatery where locals on their lunch break eat cheaply and with quality, so he left us there to dine on Sopa Mondongo (arroz, avocado, and arepa) and Trucha a la Plancha (trout), with a great wait staff of young men, all wearing the same fedora style straw hats. We then hailed a cab to the Teleferico to go up to Cerro Monserrate, at an elevation of 3,150 meters (10,330 feet), capped by a 17th century church and a great viewing vantage point. The funicular was not running and we were not going to walk the steps up 2,000 feet from Bogota’s 8,500 foot elevation, so it was the cable car’s gondola which provided us a unique view of the city Atop Monserrate, we had a lateral showing of an adjacent mountaintop religious icon and then wound our way through the touristy shops embedded behind a white, three-arched, red-tiled roof entrance. The altitude gain was only mildly noticeable. Cabbing it back toward the outskirts of the Candelaria district, we visited the Museo de Oro (Gold Museum) for two hours, witnessing a captivating display and history of metal working (gold predominantly) in the various regions of Colombia, e.g., lost wax method, thin gold sheet wrapping (7-layered sea shell). Other offerings included a gold mask and small, intricate, gold filigreed handmade items, which I can imagine artisans going blind working this level of detail.
We spent most of our ‘free’ time (seniors weren’t charged, even from the USA) on the 2nd floor, dashing up to the 3rd floor before closing at 6 p.m., which theme was ‘symbolism’ and included shamanistic chanting piped in to a pitch black room with a circular Plexiglas covering over layers of gold items, with appropriate lighting. On leaving, we passed a hall of honor to living shamans of Colombia, their eyes mesmerizing us! I especially liked the explanation on the use of Jaguars and Bats in many of the productions: “When he is transformed into a bat and a jaguar, man evokes and merges the powers, knowledge and habits of these two animals and reveals the secrets of life and death”. Leaving the museum, we strolled into the heart of Candelaria, streaming with masses of pedestrians down Calle 7, eventually abandoning this area which is policed with menacing Rottweilers fully muzzled next to their masters, catching a cab back to our district.
We arose the next morning to a breakfast of fruit and Colombian French toast, awaiting the arrival of our Colombian Buddy, one of a group of students who seek to help visitors get a positive impression of Colombia. They were recommended by Rick due to our short stay. We purchased tickets with Mapa for the Transmilenio bus system, getting off soon thereafter to walk to Cementerio Central Street, where we would be enthralled with blocks and blocks of vendors, street art, what they called Callejero or Graffitti. Some were whimsical, others might be related to a business, in one case, located in the cemetery neighborhood; another genre being political in nature. One of our favorites was also the most beautiful, with street life going on in front of it…vending flowers and hot chocolate.
We would find out along the way that Mapa’s favorite music is Vallenato, a popular folk music of Colombia, which is predominantly displayed in Valledupar, an area we had considered going to for their festival. It was a hard place to get to so we had passed, sadly. The three key instruments are: accordion, caja vallenata (small drum held between the knees, similar to a tambora) and guacharaca (wooden ribbed stick with a fork). We continued our sauntering through an area frequented by the destitute, eventually walking along a street devoted to the making of head stones (Marmoleria), meeting one of the artisans, who had lived in the USA for a couple of decades and spoke excellent English. As Maggie and I love visiting old cemeteries, we walked to the nearby Cementerio Central de Bogota, “home” to famous Columbian poets, heroes and presidents. One statue is visited by those pouring beer over the head and rubbing the pate of Bavaria Brewer founder, Leo Kopp, making wishes. We watched two such instances while we were there. However, the strangest thing that happened had to do with the pictures we took inside the gates. Guards warned us not to take pictures inside the gates and when Mapa tried to take a picture of us, she had an issue with blurriness. Reviewing the pictures later, all of those taken within the cemetery had a hazy, apparitional, ghostly, and cloudy distortion, which Mapa suspected might be the price of violating the warning.
We continued our deambulando (wandering) along Avenida El Dorado (Calle 26), a main thoroughfare through Bogota, with Mapa translating some of the phrasing accompanying the graffiti, helping us with our Spanish, walking onto Avenida de Americas and spending time at a huge Mercado, where the flower merchants were disassembling their displays in early-afternoon, us taking in the sights and smell under the roof of the market, Mapa directing us to the fruits of Colombia: Guanabana, Mora, Lulo, Tomate de Arbol, Mango de Azucar, Guayaba, Garambola, Pitaya (constipation), Borojo (sex), Chirimoya, Uchuva, Curuba. Our lunch was suckling pig at a lechoneria, drinking the juices of Lulo, Mora and Guanabana which we had sampled earlier.
We finished our day with Mapa, driving up to northern Bogota to see more upscale edifices and neighborhoods to balance our view of Bogota, also getting a firsthand feel for the traffic and how folks drive. Glad we had such trust in Mapa! She explained that the districts had different levels of rating, 1-6, the higher the number, the richer. We passed through the neighborhood of Usaquen, at #5 rating, ending up in Chapinero, another high end one, where we had to duck into The Pub to get out of a literal hailstorm to wait it out, similar to our experience in Medellin. Our final evening in South America was full of dancing to Salsa and Vallenato music in our B & B’s small courtyard, with our hostess Bea, working fervently to secure some drugs for Maggie, which are terribly expensive here at home and very cheap in Bogota. Our hosts were the best we have ever had anywhere in the world and this last favor and effort capped a great 17 days in Colombia!
Remember, “Not all those who wander are lost” (J.R.R. Tolkien)
Hasta Luego, Stan & Maggie