Four days in Medellin, Colombia

In a nutshell:
I flew there, did some stuff, got burnt, drunk and lost, made some friends and an enemy, danced to house music for the first time with a bunch of random Germans and almost lost my most important possessions – all in four days? Yep.

The long story:

5th Oct – travel day
Travelling to Medellin, Colombia from New York was mostly a breeze. I joke. I was slightly nervous that the flight into Miami and subsequent transfer on to
Medellin allowed only 45 minutes to board. Luckily, when I did arrive into Miami, three great things happened.

1. I didn’t need to collect and re-check my luggage.
2. Termination into Miami airport took me past security/border control and straight to the gates and lounge area.
3. There was a 30 min delay, giving me time to eat a cuban sandwich (never order one of these from a Irish bar/restaurant), pass urine and have a few of those free alcohol samples; Absolut Vodka lime on the rocks is actually pretty good (other brands are available).

This is when my luck ended swiftly. 30 mins became an hour – the free alcohol lady wouldn’t give me any more free samples.
An hour became two, so naturally I grab some beer – expensive beer, despite best efforts to source the cheapest.
Two hours become three. The combination of boredom and alcohol results in a visit to the tech shop where I bought some Bluetooth earphones. I hate when this happens, it reminds me of all the times my work commute train was delayed and as a result, I bought breakfast and coffee at the train station, instead of my routine cheap healthy porridge at my desk, I’m rewarding them for inconveniencing me. Luckily though, I used some of the time to wisely buy some Colombian Pesos (obviously getting ripped off in the process. Airport currency exchanges are by far the most expensive rates).

Finally we board. The pilot makes some professional, boring announcement about the reason for the delay. What I do remember though, is the reason for the next hours delay – a screw has gone missing from one of the wheels and they don’t have a replacement; they have to find a dis-used identical plane and steel the screw from that?!? Talk about operational resilience. At least they didn’t bodge it with a hair clip or tie-wrap, I would have.

The flight there on wards was smooth.
Once I had collected my baggage in Medellin airport, I instantly felt subdued. I was now completely committed to being alone in a country and continent I’d never been to, where I am perhaps 3% “fluent” in the local language (according to the Duolingo app – other language apps are av…). Not only that, I had no idea how to get to my hostel, because I’m that damn organised. So, with my testicles sucked back into my body pre-puberty style, I walk through the arrivals exit, Colombians are shouting “TAXI AMIGO”, I continue to walk past, acting like I confidently knew exactly what I was doing. Very luckily, I walked outside to a quieter taxi rank where an American lady offered to share a taxi into Medellin, this saved me circa 40,000 Pesos (sounds a lot, about £12). The airport taxi driver, though, wouldn’t take me to my hostel. I had to get out of his taxi and find another in the local area.
Somewhere along this process, I got shafted by a young local Colombian who kept poking me until I tipped him for – get this – shouting a taxi for me and walking with me for all of 5 metres – he wanted tipping for that! In my naivety, I gave up and handed him the smallest denomination of Pesos I could find to shut him up, a 2,000 note. He was well impressed with himself and made some Spanish joke to the taxi driver, probably something about the gringos being loaded, stupid and easy to shaft. At this stage 2,000 Pesos seemed like a lot of money to me, I felt better once I realised it was worth about 50 pence. I checked into The Wandering Paisa Hostel and to my surprise, an empty 4 bed dorm – win. Slept like an old log and probably smelt like one.

6th Oct – first day in Laureles, Medellin
When I get up, for the first time since I can remember, I care less than ever about grooming. My hair is left in bed-style, my poor excuse for a beard is getting untidy and I don’t care. I do still brush my teeth, basic hygiene is still being taken fairly seriously. I put my passport and cash in a under-clothes belt and wear it on the outside of my underwear, but under my shorts. I think it’s supposed to be worn under a t-shirt but you could clearly see it was there, kind of defeating the objective. My dad bought this for me and made me promise to wear it, better safe than sorry? (Dreading the day my money runs out in my wallet and I have to pull down my shorts in a shop).

I take my first walk onto the streets, feeling rather uncomfortable. I really didn’t help myself in terms of fitting into the crowd. For some bizarre reason, despite the 28 degrees heat, the locals were wearing jeans, long sleeve tops and in some cases, coats! And for some reason, their clothing was mostly dark. Then there’s me, with my light t-shirt, cream shorts, Jesus sandals and worst of all, a typical tourist backpack. I felt a right douche. Even my lame excuse of facial hair and slightly darker skin than most gringos didn’t help me out here. I put on my sunglasses to hide the lack of confidence you could clearly see from my eyes and pretended I was invisible. This mostly worked.
Finding a cafe which met my high standards (semi-busy, Wi-Fi, toilets, breakfast + coffee, looks like it’s been cleaned recently etc.) I order what I think is a typical Colombian breakfast and hit the jackpot. For less than the equivalent of $4, I get Colombian style scrambled eggs, a strange bitter pancake thing, a beef stew/goulash/soup dish and a decent coffee. Weird but good.

After seeking guidance from reception and taking about 10% of the information in, I walk to the metro station aiming to find the cable cars which supposedly spectacularly look over the city. What could possibly go wrong?
Well, I’ve never been good at following maps or directions, or in fact listening to people in general. I get to the metro station, buy a ticket (in partial Spanish wing-it mode), and can’t figure out why none of the platforms go to my station. So I give in and instead go to a different destination entirely, San Javier, which also had cable carts over a different part of the city.

All went smooth from here, I got there, took some pictures of the incredible views over the city and got off at the top. I was about to go back when I spotted something the hostel receptionist had written on my map “San Cristobal”. Coincidentally, I see a bus right in front of me with a destination of “San Cristobal”. I jump on, feeling like I’ve mastered this travel stuff already. After about 10 minutes of the bus journey, I realise something. I actually have no idea what “San Cristobal” is – how will I know when to get off the bus??? I sit for another 10 mins, watching people get on and get off – have I gone past it? How far is it? Will it be signposted?

Some time later, the bus stops and most people stand to leave, I figure I should join them. We’re at a small, busy market style town, reminded me a little of Aagra, Delhi. I walk around for a bit, more suspicious looks from locals who are less used to seeing tourists. I do the only thing I can think will help, grab a $1 beer (yes, $1).
A few beers pass, Google Maps tells me where I am, I have a video-chat with my brother who tells me he misses me but I look like a tit with my sunglasses on and all is good in the world again except I forget to use the bathroom.
I grab the bus back, dying for a tiddle the whole journey. Finding no public-toilets, I visit another bar and order another beer, swiftly asking the Colombian lady for “el bano”, she points to the kitchen area of the bar/restaurant and as open as can be is a urinal in the corner of the kitchen. Confused as I was, my bladder was finally relieved. I didn’t order any food from there…
The locals actually seem pretty happy and full of life. The kids play football in communal areas, teenagers dance in the streets, quite literally – when the lights go red at the crossroads, they blast tunes and dance on the zebra crossing.

In the evening, I meet some fellow-hostel guests at the bar who recommend a local salsa bar, Son Havana, apparently they have live music. Great, something I’m slightly familiar with. I put on jeans and a dark shirt to blend in. Despite opening at 7:00, It’s 9:30 and the place is empty. I grab a beer. For some reason, when I order, I’m passed onto a colleague, a young local Colombian, looked as though he ran the place. I get charged 6,000 Pesos, twice as much as everywhere else I’ve ordered beer. I figure its because I’m not a local. Time passes and it’s still quiet, I leave to get some food, more beer, and return to Son Havana at about 11. With a full stomach, this time I order a mojito. Again I am passed to the Colombian boss man, he charges 15,000 Pesos (about $5), I look at him funnily and reluctantly pay. Now I do feel like I’m getting screwed backwards.
The cocktail tasted like a bottle of soda water with a mint leaf and the occasional hint of rum. I keep a close eye on my new friend and he’s suspiciously giving away free shots, not to me of course. More time passes and despite it getting busy, no live music still so I leave.

7th Oct – the crazy day

More mistakes
Mistake 1: Fail to prepare and prepare to fail?
My failure to initially book the hostel for enough days leads to me being forced to move rooms. This time it’s a 6-bed dorm, more potential snorers, unpleasant smells, fidgeters and those hardcore party-goers who get in at 5am. Be careful what you wish for right? At 11am there’s a guy still in bed – lazy vagabonder. More on this later.

I walk back out into the streets with a destination of where I failed to arrive the previous day. After spending 10 mins at a cafe counter trying to get served, I leave for the metro. Not sure if I’m doing something wrong or just being treated differently because of my bizarre dress sense, accent and skin. After a language altercation with the metro staff, I arrive at the beginning of the cable cars on my way to Parque Avi, a huge natural park at the top of the hill of bowl-shaped Medellin. The cable car journey takes about 15 minutes and goes over the park itself, stunning scenery and an amazingly efficient form of public transport.

On arrival, I buy picnic-style sandwiches, fresh picked fruit and banana-bread and head into the park. Instantly I’m told off by staff for trying to walk through a private route into the park, good start.

Mistake 2: How not to find a toilet
The route to the picnic area is along a road on the outside of the park, not quite what I had in mind… there are plenty of lovely roads in Medellin city centre… When I finally get to the “picnic area” and devour the snacks, I look for an alternative route back, hopefully this time through the park itself. Before I find an entrance, I look for a toilet and find a mid-sized wooden hut which, from behind looks promising. Innocently walking around to the front I literally jump so hard I leave the floor when a huge guard dog tries to charge at me. At that exact second, I had practically accepted defeat as I just knew it would have made a real mess of me. Thank the lord it was chained up. A few seconds later, a buff security guard comes out of the building to investigate and shouts something Spanish. I whimpingly respond “Bano?”. He says no and I swiftly leave. Lesson learnt, pay more attention to signs.

Turns out this means “watch out, presence of trained dogs”. I need to practice my Spanish.

I stumble across an alternative walk back and get a little excited. A sign explains the route takes 1-2 hours and the difficulty is level 1: easy.  I realised then that I’d definitely worn the wrong footwear. My Jesus sandals were plunged in several mud puddles and, along with my feet, developed a lovely diarrhoea like colour – nice. The trail was fun.

On the metro back I stopped at Universidad, the receptionist had circled it on my map but as always, I had no idea why. Again, coincidentally, I saw a sign for Universidad Jardin. I walked around the park for 15 minutes before security guards kicked me out as the closing time was 16:30 – another well prepared stop, well done me. Naturally I stopped for another $1 beer and this time the urinal arrangement was even more odd – it was next to the bar, not even in a different room! I didn’t use it…

Back to the hostel for a much-needed shower, some beers and back out to grab some food. It’s about 6pm and the guy I mentioned earlier was still in his bunk bed. For a moment I thought he’s probably ill and I’m probably next. What can you do? I spent around 3 hours at the restaurant eating and writing my blog post on New York. I ordered something I’d read about on my Kindle, Lonely Planet’s Guide to Colombia (thanks to those from LBS who put towards the Kindle!). Bandeja Paisa – considered Colombia’s national dish. It is a platter filled with steak, pork crackling and chorizo sausages served on a bed of rice and a side of red beans. To top it off, there was a fried egg served with avocado and what I can only describe as half a fried banana. It’s like a main course and dessert in one – awesome. Typically, I couldn’t finish it.

A bunch of teens turn up outside the bar and start dancing to their boombox, really impressive (you might have seen the video I posted on FB live). I even donate a few pesos, and I’m a typical tight Yorkshire-man. I love Medellin.

De-ja-vu
After going back to the hostel at around 9pm, I thought it best to hit the bar and see if I can make some friends, rather than the easier option of going to bed. I ended up drinking until 1am and agreeing to go out to a salsa bar with a group. And where of all salsa bars? Son Havana. And when I ordered a beer, who was I referred to? Colombian boss-man of course, who I still believed continued to rip me off. I actually danced this time, and at about 3am I hit the sack.

Well, that was the plan. When I opened the hostel door, a group of German guys were just leaving for their own night out and asked me to come along. Despite my need for sleep and alcohol intoxication (slight over exaduration), something came over me and I agreed to join. I guess I was going along with the principle of being more open-minded than back home. After dancing to extremely loud house music (a first for me) in a dark, smoky garage for a few hours, I walked back to the hostel at 5am. One of those annoying party-goers I mentioned earlier, that was me. Turns out the Germans stayed out until half 7!

Mistake 3: Don’t buy a code combination padlock
You’d expect that to be the end of the night. All of my important or expensive possessions, including passport and money were in my locker. For some reason and despite being 100% sure of the code, the padlock simply would not open. I went to bed extremely worried, the next day I was travelling four hours away to San Carlos. Hours and little sleep later, I asked reception if they could help. I was offered a rusty saw, I declined and instead walked to find Medellin’s equivalent of B&Q – no lock cutters or anything remotely useful without spending $$$. In my slightly panicked state I was worrying about all of the possible combinations it could be and how long it would take to go through them. Then I realised how stupid I had been. It’s only a three combination number, if I sat down and tried them all, the worst case scenario would be 1,000 attempts which wouldn’t take forever. I got comfortable and started from 0. Today was my lucky day, the code had somehow reset to 023. You can probably guess I threw the padlock out. A long and relieved nap then happened.

Next stop, San Carlos, where my first voluntary opportunity awaits. Here’s a teaser: