Medellin - The Bay Area of Colombia

Medellin is a very nice place. Perfect weather year-round, with a clean, modern subway system, botanical gardens, bars, restaurants, and discotecas spread throughout this metropolis of roughly 2.2 million people. Granted, there are seedy areas that we did not venture into, but Zuckerburg doesn't find himself in Richmond too often, either. You really could not tell the difference between El Poblado, the neighborhood we stayed in, and University Ave in downtown Palo Alto. Coffee shops, organic/vegetarian restaurants, yoga sanctuaries, and parks cover a leafy 10 square blocks. Juan Valdez, South America's Starbucks, even has the same color scheme as its North American counterpart and is filled with non bpa waterbottles and free-trade clothing.

The remarkable aspect of all of this is that Medellin was one of the world's most dangerous cities less than 25 years ago. Its most notorious citizen was Pablo Escobar, the cocaine kingpin that reached number 7 on Forbe's list of richest people in the world in 1989. In the early 1990's car bombs were a weekly occurrence as Pabs assassinated police, judges, politicians, journalists, and anyone else that spoke against him. He was finally killed in 1993 with some assistance from Uncle Sam and friends
and Medellin has been on the road to recovery ever since.

Our first day Pete and I took a gondola up above the city into a eucalyptus forest for a bit of hiking and nature. The gondola is part of the city's subway system and is the easiest way for many of its inhabitants to get to their houses on the hill.

We explored the park, took a walk through some gardens, and embraced the peace of nature. Despite its reputation for being a wild city, we found that weekdays were there was significantly less life during the week here than Cartagena. During the weekend every bar was packed, but a peaceful
Wednesday evening on the square was quite refreshing.

The next few days we managed to be reasonably productive. Our hostel offered a Pablo Escobar tour that drove you through some of his old lairs, car-bomb ruins, and finally his grave.

Later that evening we ventured to a Medellin soccer match. The quality of play was a significant step up from Bolivia and the stadium was reasonably full of shouting fans. There was only one real cheer
that everyone repeated over and over again and we quickly fit in with our fellow bleacher-mates.

We only spent a few days in Medellin, but of all the large cities I have visited so far this one felt the most liveable.

On the Road

Part of the beauty of traveling by yourself is complete freedom. Feel like sleeping all day? Go for it. Bored of the city you are in? Take the next bus out of town. Meet an Australian who is driving from Canada to Argentina that has room in his van? Hop in.

I sat down with my 11am morning pancakes at the only table with anyone still eating. This happened to be the table that had been monopolized for the past few days by a large group of loud Australian, Kiwi, Canadian, and Danish travelers, but they certainly looked like they had been having a good time and I wanted to join. 5 hours later the group finally pulls itself together to see a contemporary dance show on top of the historical wall (one of the group had become acquaintances with one of the dancers the night before).

That day also happened to be Australia Day, a 4th of July-esque national holiday where the country listens to a 100-song countdown of last year's most popular tracks. With a large Australian contingent and an Aussie hostel owner, our place was designated the official destination in Cartagena. Normally the countdown begins around noon and finishes in the evening, but given the significant time difference our streaming schedule was a brutal 8pm-5am.

Anyways, this is a long winded prelude to how I ended up in Pete's van. As I mentioned earlier, friendships develop on hyper-drive. The next morning people were mulling about in various states of anger at the world, myself included. My initial plan was to stay in Cartagena one more night and head to the beach town of Santa Marta with a few of the people I had made friends with the night before. But the longer I sat there listening to people complain about their hangovers, the more I realized I just wanted to leave. As luck would have it, Pete was leaving to drive down to Medellin with a few other members of the group in about an hour. He had one extra spot in the van and I just decided to go for it. 20 minutes later my backpack is packed and I head to the parking lot with 5 other people I had met less than 24 hours ago. We piled into the surprisingly spacious Honda Odessy and began the journey south.

Because of our early afternoon depature and a strict no-driving-at-night policy it would take 2 days to cover the distance. My original road-trip crew included myself, Pete, a Kiwi couple, and a pair of Danish med students. We drive for about 5 hours until the sun sets and pull over to a roadside motel that set us back each $5 for the night. Management had made the uncoventional decision to go with a bathroom curtain instead of a door, and I had a number of small visitors give me kisses throughout the night, but there was a television playing 80s movies in English so we enjoyed the tri-fecta of Planes, Trains, and Automobiles, The Breakfast Club, and Beverly Hills Cop before retiring for the night.

By far the most exciting aspect of our chosen rest stop was the Big Hat. It would only cause frustration contemplating why such a replica is wasted upon a rural Colombian village, but please take heart knowing that yes, a sculpture of a giant-ass hat does exist.

The second day was a 9 hour slog through the mountains. The infrastructure is remarkably modern with roads better than many of the Boston streets I enjoyed for 7 bumpy years. But most of the way was single-lane driving, and we would often find ourselves stuck behind a large truck with little room to pass.

As we collectively began to emotionally crash while entering Medellin rush hour traffic, two golden arches flashed their promise of two patties on a sesame seed bun. There is nothing quite like a Big Mac, fries, and a coke after two days of driving through Colombia in a van. 20 minutes after refueling we arrived at Casa Kiwi Hostel in the beautiful El Poblado neighborhood. For maybe 20 more minutes we discussed how wonderful it would be to have a solid night's sleep after a hot shower. We reconsidered.

 

Joining the South American Backpacker Circuit

Colombia marks the first time I've actually been backpacking on this extended trip. My previous stints in Bolivia, Mexico, and Cuba all had some sort of planned agenda with a definitive end-point. From here on out there are no plans until May 22nd when I fly to Puerto Rico for a wedding.

Through purely luck I chose to fly into Cartagena. I had been to Cartagena 5 years ago and knew it was a pleasant place near the water, but its location on the northern coast near Panama makes it the perfect starting point for a trip heading south.

At this point in my traveling career I have become more or less accustomed to the abrupt culture changes when arriving at a new place or returning back home. But stepping into a Colombian supermarket was a culture shock. There were just so many things to buy, an aura of consumerism pulsated from the shelves of cereal, shampoo, and fresh vegetables. I walked around for 15 minutes just admiring the surplus of consumables, basking in the glow of 3x2 lighter packages.

It is always a little intimidating whenever you first arrive in a place where you know no one. Similar to my nervousness during take-off, that first hour in a hostel is just a bit uneasy. You check in, choose your bunk, set your bags down, and then... now what? I usually walk around for a bit, check the internet, read/relax, and wait for the evening. People tend to be more sociable after they have recovered from the previous night's adventures and are beginning the next chapter. Once you meet that first group of friends it is smooth sailing, you just have to get there.

In my opinion, the most important aspect of a backpackers hostel is its ability to facilitate interactions between its guests. People travel to see new places, but they want to meet new people too. A hostel should not be too large -- if there are too many people smaller groups will coagulate and it tends to become a bit more cliquey -- but there needs to be enough people to make a fun group.

Mamallena, my second hostal in Cartagena, was a fantastic backpacker's hostel. Cartagena as a whole wasn't the cheapest of places, but a dorm bed for $15/night was reasonable for the area. Decent Wifi, pancake breakfasts, and a bar with 2x1 cocktails were all comfortable perks.

But the common area made the hostel: a narrow garden filled with wooden tables, lounge chairs, and no restrictions on outsiders. Hostels often have a strict policy of no entry for those who are not staying there. When I talked to the owner, his logic was that by inviting everyone in, non-guests who had a fun time would be more likely to stay and tell their friends. Makes sense to me. Because of this policy, everyone in Cartagena knows that the Mamallena garden is the place to meet up before going out.

The backpacking circuit is a lot like the first week of college. You are exposed to a large group of new peers looking to meet people, you answer the same questions over and over (where are you from, where have you been/going), and there is copious amounts of alcohol. Relationships develop at hyper-speed: you go from strangers to good friends within a matter of hours, spend a few days together, and when you part ways you will likely never see each other again. Pack up your backpack, grab the bus to the next stop, rinse and repeat. Inevitably backpackers will clump together: people tend to be traveling on similar routes and it is nice to have some consistency traveling with a group of friends. Which segues nicely into what I have been up to the past 3 weeks.