Paramilitary Shutdown

Spending time in Colombia's major cities, or even smaller towns within the third of the country that is home to most of the country's population, one can easily become disconnected with the reality that other parts of the country still suffer from armed conflict.

A recent show of force by the Urabeños, a neo-paramilary group linked to drug smuggling, shut down the entire Caribbean coastal region of Colombia across 7 departments. This "Paro Armado" (armed strike), effectively turned the areas into ghost towns and targeted members of the Colombian police and military, killing 3.

The incident brought me back to the Paro Armado we experienced in 2011 in the tiny resort town of Sapzurro, on the border with Panama. After a couple lovely days laying on the beach, we heard there would be a Paro Armado, affecting the entire coastal region of Colombia. Colombian military had killed a high ranking member of the Urabeños group, prompting an armed strike for the day he was to be laid to rest. Despite being the most far flung of Colombian coastal towns, Sapzurro's population of 270 were nowhere to be found during the strike. The military police that had hung around the boat launch daily did not show up for work that day. We walked by the restaurant where we had made reservations for that evening, which was shuttered and had a sign saying it was closed.

We called the restaurant from our hostel and they gave us specific instructions for that night. We came back at sunset and knocked on the door of the neighboring house, which let us in and led us through their living area to the dining room of the restaurant. The windows were tightly shuttered and a couple families were quietly eating by candlelight. Palpable tension permeated the entire experience as someone came and knocked on the front door, startling our waiter (it was just another hungry diner), who spoke in whispers throughout the meal. The fish was amazing, as expected and we left a hefty tip for our friends who kept us from going hungry during the armed strike.

Vallenato Weekends

Being in Colombia during any of the "puente" (3 day) weekends or during "dias festivos" (the holidays) is a real treat. I was reminded of how relaxing an evening stroll through the Florida neighborhood can be with vendors sweeping up/dancing to the overwhelmingly positive melodies of Vallenato, the official music of Colombia after Salsa. 

Hailing from the Caribbean coastal region, Vallenato originated from troubadours wandering the countryside with flutes, guacharaca, caja and accordion. The singing is always very emotional and sometimes the singer goes out of tune intentionally to show how emotionally invested he is in the song. Vallenato contains four beats or "airs" that affect a song's ryhtym: son, paseo, merengue, and puya. 

One can find many vallenato troubadours walking around the Estadio neighborhood of Medellín, looking to be hired out by folks in the nearby outdoor bars or sometimes just looking for a shot of guaro and a jam session with their fellow trovadores. 

"Order Amid Chaos"

..was how Betty finally described the dismal speedboat service between Capurganá and Turbo. There are no overland routes between the two destinations so one must either fly (pricey) or speedboat (dicey) to paradise. We had flown from Medellín to Apartadó, then taken a 50km taxi through banana plantations to arrive at the transport hub of Turbo. Turbo gets a bad rap for being dingy and dangerous, though we found the former, not the latter to be the greatest inconvenience as shop owners swept mounds of dust and dirt out into the streets and up in the air.

I went to the ticket office at 6am to secure our passage to Capurganá. Literally everyone will tell you that you must sit towards the back of the boat to avoid getting tossed around during the trip. I paid the fare and checked that we were the 8th and 9th people to book passage on our particular boat. When the call to load the boat was announced, there was a mad shuffle towards the boat. Seeing fifteen people shoot past us and jump in the boat, I called out that we were getting screwed out of our rightfully purchases spots. They let us by and we got so-so seats in the middle next to a guy who had bought his ticket at 8am.

 

As we headed North, we encountered some pretty large waves and had to hold on to keep from getting thrown around. At one pointe, we crashed into a big wave and water soaked everybody from the front to the middle of the boat, causing some of the passengers to cry out and complain. The captain slowed the boat, as if to say "you want to swim?" and we sat there for 15 minutes as I contemplated the "customer review" sheets we had been given before leaving port. Two and a half hours later, we arrived in Capurganá, stiff, a little bruised and ready to relax. 

Mountain Kings

 "El Rey de las montañas" is what they call the most famous Colombian cyclist, Martin "Cochise" Rodriguez, who managed some incredible dominance of the Tour de France's mountain stages in the Sixties. Paisa cyclists have always had the edge in mountain stages, as cycling in Antioquia mandates the exploration (and consequent climbing) of its innumerable hills and peaks.

Elizabeth and I selected a route marked "easy" from a local cycling site, 95 km in total, but not the longest distance I've ever ridden. Basically, there are two ways to get to the Eastern plateau above Medellín, The Las Palmas Highway and the Medellín Bogota Highway. The former has a nefarious reputation for breaking wills as well as rupturing lungs as its 17 km climb twists and turns along one of the most beautiful views of the city. We opted for the MDE-BOG Hwy route due to its more gradual climb. Unfortunately, we opted to leave at midday, subjecting us to the harsh rays of the sun during our ascent.

Eliz and I had done hills in the area before, but nothing like this: 2 1/2 hours of solid climbing, with very few changes in the grade. Sweat was pouring out of us faster than we could ingest liquids. We saw some smarter cyclists who had made the ascent early in the morning enjoying the midday sun on their coast back down to Medellín. Every turn we took, I expected to see the summit, only to be dissapointed by another switchback, it was pretty miserable. At one point, after reaching a tunnel, we agreed that if we didn't reach the summit on the next turn, we would head back.

Sure enough we reached the top and had to pull over at a gas station to hydrate, as well as dry off some of our sweat that instantly chilled us as we started our descent onto the plateau (I stuffed a bunch of TP from the gas station into my jersey). We were rewarded with 20km of easy riding and beautiful sights from Guarne to Llanogrande, upon reaching the lake of La Fe, where we hit a significantly difficult uphill. After trying to unsuccessfully flag buses and trucks to take us up the last stretch, we came upon an antiques dealer with a truck willing to drop us off at the toll point, just half a km short of the great descent that is Las Palmas. (click for vid)

Las Palmas wasn't nearly as fun as it should have been, as it was already nighttime, it was cold and we were cautious heading down. We hit speeds I've never before reached on bike, that must have been at least 35-40 mph but I wasn't really able to properly enjoy it. My hands were cramping and losing circulation from the cold and braking, it was made clear that going up these hills was best early in the morning and going down was best enjoyed in the mid-day heat. We stopped for arepas and hot chocolate with cheese at the mirador, just to give ourselves a break.

Depsite our unpreparedness, I was really proud of what we accomplished, a ride harder than any either of us had ever attempted and experiencing what every real paisa cyclist has done: conquered las vuelta del Oriente.

Chicharrónada at Dam of the Faith

  CHEECH-A-RON aka Chicharrón you've probably seen in the US, albeit in a liquor store or grocery in a Latino neighborhood, is fried pork rinds at its most simplistic; something must more magically delicious in this context. The conversation began over dinner with our neighbors, Carlos and Beatriz. Carlos asked if we liked Chicharrón, to which we responded with that universally recognized crumpled up face. Shocked, he asked if we had ever had it "Costeño-style," and then promptly invited us to a "Chicharrónada" the following weekend.

We piled into their car and took the windy Las Palmas highway up to "Embalse La Fe," Dam of the Faith, a lake created by Medellín's principle water source. Entry to the park and lake cost about $4, which includes just about everything you need to have a great afternoon. We found a cooking site and Carlos proceeded to get to work. The meat he purchased was nothing more than pork ribs and stomach cyts, but as he stressed "the fatty part has the most meat," a tried and true method. He sparked the coals and when they were red hot, he threw the pork into a frying pan and placed it on top, no oil, just a little salt, pepper and cooking in its own fat.

The pieces varied, from the salty thin parts that I had known from having Chicharrón in restaurantes to the more meaty pieces, like bbq pork ribs but with a distinct and delicious flavor. I had about 7 or 8 pieces, not too big, but extremely filling and complimentary with an ice cold beer. After the bbq, we headed out on boats (included in the price) to explore the lake and beautiful scenery of La Fe. Even cooler was the fact that boat rentals were included in the entry price and Elizabeth and I were able to rent a "Water Bike," something I'd never seen before. All in all, I'd say the Chicharrónada at La Fe was one of the better Sundays I've had in Colombia.

Freedom of Movement

Flying back from Bogota to Medellín, I gazed down at the winding mountain roads below me. Bogota - Medellín (roughly 160 miles) by plane takes 30 minutes, while a bus ride lasts 8-9 hours (not including any rain/mudslide delays). Most of the transportation infrastructure in Colombia consists of these windy roads that criscross the 3 mountain ranges that span through the majority of the country.

Proximity has obviously been a huge element in the shaping of Colombian history, namely the difficulty in reaching and governing over the 440+ square miles of the countryside from the department capitals, let along the national capital in Bogota. Bogotanos talk about the time before the tunnel connecting them to Villavicencio was constructed, taking 4-6 hours to reach the town only 50 miles away on dangerous mountain roads, now the trip only takes 90 minutes. Tunnels have been talk of the town here in Medellín, especially with the torrential rains and mudslides that have battered the country since last November.

A proposed tunnel linking Medellín to its international airport purposes to change the driving time from 1 hour to only 20 minutes. Tunnels' successes can be viewed towards the establishment of Santa Fe de Antioquia as a rising tourist attraction; while not much different than other colonial towns in Antioquia, it is the most easily accessed from Medellín because of the Tunel de Occidente. Perhaps most shocking of all is to learn that in ALL of Colombia, there are less than 300 kilometers of two-lane, two-way roads. While this might seem an explication for the road traveling woes facing the country, I believe is presents an opportunity to provide better transportation infrastructure within the country.

After all, freedem of movement is one of the most important freedoms out there. Where would the US be if throughout our history, there hadn't been the possibility of "packing up and headed out West," or even the great American road trip or loading up the family and driving to the next state for Thanksgiving. This freedom has only recently been bestowed on the Republic of Colombia, due to its ability to secure the roads rom guerilla and paramilitary groups. Every person in Medellín I know has a story about not being able to visit their relatives or head to their farm fifteen years ago because the roads were not safe. While the roads are safe from the dangers of armed groups, deterioration, mudslides and dangerous routes still affect the ability of most Colombians to travel long distances by road conveniently. I think a combination of foreign investment and well managed infrastructure development might make Colombia an easier country by ground.

The Expat's Guide to Pickles

To me, a good sandwich isn't really complete without a couple hearty dills on the side, even if it's made with the typically smaller sized sliced bread that only seems to be available in Latin America. But far outweighing the lack of large sandwiches are the horrible imposters posing as pickles in Colombian supermarkets.


"Pepinillos en vinagre," or pickles in vinegar are just that, except without a hint of dill or spice or sweetness; the mere fact that they are passing these things off as pickles seems a great deception. If you go to a supermarket in the US, you can find a variety of differently styled and flavored pickles: dills and sweets,  bread and butter, spears, kosher dills and my favorite garlic: aka "Bubbies" brand.

So, looked up a few recipes online and decided to make them myself. Much like pickles in Colombia, mason jars are nowhere to be found, so after a month long quest that ended with me searching down back alley recycle spots in the Centro, I came up with several gallon jars. Making pickles is kind of like making beer in that you need to sterilize everything so nothing goes wrong during the fermentation process. This meant finding an 6 gallon stew pot to boil the gallon jars and lids in. My biggest problem was finding picking cucumbers, which didn't seem to exist until I found some at the last minute (and have yet to see them again). I used smaller regular cucumbers, which didn't really hold up at all for either of my recipes, which sucks because I was really looking forward to some Bubbies-type garlic dills.


I sliced a few of the non-pickling cucumbers up into smaller containers, which seemed to hold up better than the wholes, which just turned to mush. However, the gallon jars with the pickling cucumbers was a resounding success! The pickles turned out a little sweeter and saltier than I like them, but still, many times better than any sorry excuse passing for a pickle in an EXITO (Colombian Supermarket). So if you are living abroad and are having the same problem, check out this recipe (except use maybe half of the salt) and sandwich time won't be such a sad and nostalgic experience.

My barber is a secular humanist

Hair culture in Colombia is something men take very seriously. While the euro mullet has made its impact on Medellín, it isn't the end-all of haircuts. Men here keep it short and trimmed, with barbers often spending more time on sideburns than on the entire haircut. For this reason, haircuts are extremely cheap, often no more than $2-4.

I'm always quick to specify my desire to avoid the "business in front, party in back" style,  which this time, elicited a large smile from the elder barber who told me "those kids look like little rat gangsters anyways." He then proceeded to ask me about where I was from, what I was doing, etc. Then the conversation turned to religion. When asked about religion, I always say the religion of my family (historically Protestant), just because Catholicism is so important here and I'd hate to be figured for some Godless gringo. "So what are you protesting?" he chuckled, before quipping some ancedotes about the Pope and Martin Luther.

I asked him if he was Catholic and he laughed, asking what makes one Catholic, appearing to be dissolusioned with mainstream Colombia's interpretation. He then started to talk about the "Pachamama" or Mother-Nature spirit of all living things: "The most true spirits that I have observed are with the indigenas (indigenous peoples) and their ceremonies. They have a profound respect for all things living and a strict adherence to a set of codes that is existent virtually nowhere in Western religion." My barber said he attempts to embody the indigenous respect for nature, while at the same time, deriving morality from history and his own personal experience. "Un humanista secular!" I proclaimed, sharing some of this world view. "Well son, I wouldn't say secular, because whether you think it's one God or twelve, there is a little bit of it influencing the things that are beyond our capacity to comprehend." Not what I was expecting for a $3 hair cut.

The OG Paisa of Caldas

 I’m a big cycling enthusiast, so every Sunday, when the Medellín Ciclovia closes the main highway in addition to several important thoroughfares downtown, I’m on my bike. Riding with the general public is fun enough, but the real challenges begin in riding with the weekend warrior clans.
Clad in matching lycra outfits, these titans of vertical cycling are hill conquerors in the mold of local Cochise Rodriguez (of Tour de France fame).  Sometimes you can spot them on the flats, but these guys crave the burn and subsequent release of grinding their way up the steep slopes of the hills going out of Medellín and cruising back down in a quarter of the time. Yesterday I found a pack of semi-weekend warriors headed to Caldas and tagged along for the ride.

 The city of Caldas is about 20 miles from Medellín, on a windy mountain road. It’s a gradual climb for about 45 minutes with a couple big hills. But the main traffic and buses that whisk around corners are few and infrequent on Sundays. I’d previously been to Caldas to purchase furniture and ceramics for the hostel, but as every trip by car, you end up missing the details of the journey, especially the sights and sounds. 

Caldas’ main square was moving at half-speed as the whole town lazily enjoyed a Sunday afternoon. And it was then that I saw him: Moustachioed wrinkled face, as well worn as the cowboy hat he was wearing, a freshly washed pancho slung over his shoulder and a big gold belt buckle catching the suns’ rays. This man was the OG Paisa. He was flanked by an entourage of similar-looking gentlemen with freshly ironed shirts, nice boots and panchos, but his moustache, hat, and demeanor demonstrated that he was the true leader of the pack.

As locals sauntered by, he quipped small jokes about women and the weather and the afternoon seemed to roll on, with every man over the age of forty-five dropping by OG Paisa’s bench. Backing up the whole scene was a troupe of local musicians, cranking out one classic after another and dueling with a duet of indigenous women singing ‘musica folklorica.’ The whole scene was indicative of many of the smaller towns outside of Medellín, but the accessibility by bike is what made it such a great experience to take in; that and the OG Paisa, who I may have to talk to the next time I’m there.

The First Arrivals

 It all started with a phone call in mid-December. Manuel, the general manger of Palm Tree Hostel (the first hostel in Medellín) called to inquire of the status of The Wandering Paisa. I told him we had mattresses in the beds and a few other amenities but were still fixing things and with that, we began to collect the overflow of visitors from the surrounding hostels.

Our first official guest was Luis, a businessman from Bogota who was looking for an alternative to the pricey hotels on La 70. He had stayed in hostels before, but what sent him in our direction was our statement on “drugs in Colombia” Luis only stayed the weekend, but has since, referred other Bogotanos as well as returned for a 2^nd visit.

Our first group of visitors that we recieved had just finished an 8-day sailing trip from Panama to Colombia. The trip was only supposed to last 4 days, but bad weather had them stuck on an island for an extra 4, with no clean clothes and running out of food. The creature comforts of The Wandering Paisa were put to the test immediately upon their arrival. The group was initially a bit awestruck, having spent most of their time in Central American hostels, which are generally held to different standards than those of South America. We overhead exclamations such as: “Hot water! Oh my god!”, “They have hammocks!”, and my personal favorite: “Pillows!” (to whichever hostel in Central America that is depriving their guests of pillows).

Having arrived just before Christmas, these guests took initiative in putting together an Xmas party in our half complete bar, including a Secret Santa competition and a huge potluck dinner. And even a month later, I'm getting referrals from this original group (thanks Laura!)

"Misunderstandings" in Ecuador

My brother and I were all too familiar with local-created "misunderstandings" in prices throughout our time in Peru and turns out its Andean neighbor isnt much different. In Peru, we would negotiate a taxi price towards where we were going  (for the lack of taxi meters) and hop in, headed towards our destination. In many instances, the taxi drivers would intentionally take us to the wrong destination or a different hostel or hotel, saying that our selected destination was nonexistent, purely for means of getting more cash or working in cahoots with certain businesses. This type of treatment made us very suspicious of all Peruvians, to the extent that we genuinely distrusted several Peruvians that were literally telling the truth.

While I almost never see any of this in Colombia, I have found that our first few days of travel in Ecuador have been filled with these misunderstandings. We arranged at a hostel to get massages for $5 each, but when I went to pay $10 for both mine and Elizabeths at the end, they told me it was $10 each and after conferring with Betty, she had been told it would be $25 for both of us. I yelled at the masseuse for about 15 minutes, using choicely words to indicate my frustration at them taking advantage of gringos, thew $10 at her and walked away. The 2nd incidence of "misunderstanding" was the taxi ride from the bus terminal in Quito. We agreed on the price, which I double checked with the driver, $5, but when I gave him a twenty he gave me thirteen in change, stating that I had misheard him and that it was actually $7. (for those non Spanish speakers, CINCO and SIETE dont sound anything alike). With the previous experience of almost being cheated I tried not to throw too many obscenities at the cab driver, as I wanted to get the extra $2 back, but to no avail. I guess before I take taxis in Ecuador from now on, it would be prudent to have correct change.

Now I now what a few of you are thinking: ¨Miles, its like a few dollars and you´re in a poor country, just deal with it!¨ To which I would reply: first off, I can understand when someone is trying to rip me off in Spanish and I don´t quite like it and think it should be a common practice. Secondly, this system of ripping off tourists creates an environment where no local can be trusted, you have your defenses up from the get go; making it harder to connect and befriend locals. Thirdly, I don´t see any of this in Colombia. The worst I´ve come towards being cheated is being overcharged in a bar in a touristy zone, which was happily corrected. I think the reasoning for the culture of cheating tourists in Peru and Ecuador stems from the fact that both countries have had so many tourists with little spanish ability for so many years. Locals here take for  granted that its a piece of cake to play off mistakes in negotiated prices as ¨misunderstandings.¨ As I´ve lectured both of my would-be cheaters here in Ecuador: ¨this is why I live in Colombia, where they don´t take advantage of the foreigners.¨

Carnaval de Negros y Blancos

Not exactly Carnaval a la Rio de Janiero or even Barranquilla, this one has religious and cultural significance, as well as the added value of coating your ‘friends’ in water-based paint and talcum powder from head to toe. When we arrived in town, backpacks in tow, we were greeted by several youths who eagerly sprayed us with foam canisters, a new addition to the messy tradition.There was an enormous parade, lots of paint fights and lots of "Guarapo," Pasto's version of aguardiente that had been heated and flavored with citrus to keep one warm in the cool mountain climate.

Wandering Paisa: Now Open

If only it were as easy as clicking on a flourescent neon sign in the front window. Putting up the Christmas lights was almost as satisfying and completed none too soon as Medellín's Xmas Lights Spectacular is now in full swing.

See more pictures at The Wandering Paisa Webpage

 You probably can't read the writing, but we put a "Wandering Paisa" signpost up by the door, just to let people know. All that remains is a little painting and finishing touches throughout the hostel, but we are open to the public and taking reservations. The task of switching from a renovation/decoration frame of mind to logistics and operations is proving challenging as I'm weeding through lists of potential employees and budget projections. There's at least an air of relief having competed this portion of the project; although something tells me I may only have time to catch my breath before charging full speed ahead into the next chapter of the Wandering Paisa.

Revising Expectations, Moving Forward

When we had started converting the house into a hostel in August, it appeared that we were making faster progress than expected; prompting me to set a "grand opening" date sometime in October. One month, three burst pipes and four less workers later, renovations of the Wandering Paisa Hostel are finally coming to a close.

All of our rooms are having a South America theme (as you can tell from Brazil above) as our point is to highlight the diversity and culture of South America within our bedrooms, while at the same time, showcasing some of the local culture of Medellín through public spaces, such as our loft, which has an influence from the famed "Castle of Medellín":

Of the three workers that remain, one is constantly exceeding my expectations with his drive and ingenuity. Don Jorge, who's closest experience with formal training was simply learning by doing, has become the construction Maestro of the house. If it weren't for him, nothing would ever get done, or even last for more than a month so in times like these, it's reassuring to have somebody solid you can count on. In any case, we should be ready to start hosting guests next week so if you know anybody coming to Medellín, please point them to our Website: The Wandering Paisa Hostel.

Off Season: Cartagena

I’ve been living in the Wandering Paisa house since August. Of course, it isn’t ready yet, but I’ve got my humble little setup that you can see here:

 At times, the 6:30am arrival of the workers doing renovations and the subsequent dust flying around the house really gets to me. The fact that my girlfriend Elizabeth recently arrived was confirmation enough that we needed to take a little time away from the house. Back to the Caribbean Coast, we decided; especially since us both grinding it out workwise had racked up some serious R&R hours. Amazingly, our last minute flight from Medellín to Cartagena cost only $80,  meaning if we had planned ahead we could have gotten it for as low as $45 (Colombia has some of the cheapest domestic airfares I’ve ever seen). We flew into Cartagena under the guise of night and made our way wandering through the romantic walled center of the city. I had noticed that 3 or 4 new hostels had sprung up in the city over the past few months to complement the varying degrees of tourist accommodations in the city.

The hostels on the Carribean coast are generally a little more rustic that in Medellín or Bogotá: simpler bunks, less services and cold showers (which are actually great in the Caribbean heat). With this comes reduced prices, and during the off season, they are certainly low. Elizibeth and I paid $7 each for a bunk bed in Hostal San Blas in the colorful barrio of Getsemaní. The great thing about Getsemaní is it’s walking proximity to nearly all of the tourist attractions, its only drawback is lack of a decent beach. For my first time, we headed to Boca Grande (picture the Miami Beach of Cartagena). The prices of the restaurants, I found a little ridiculous ($10-20 a plate compared to $3-7 in Getsemaní), but this is the place for your parents or grandparents to stay when they visit. Despite the increased number of “corredores” offering just about whatever service you could want, I negotiated two massages on the beach for Elizabeth and I for $17. We walked over to the end of Boca Grande and watched the sunset in the reflection of the Islas del Rosario; one of the most vibrant sunsets I’ve seen in ages. I’d forgotten how much I really enjoy the Caribbean, especially at off-season prices.

The things they carried

Last night I saw hammocks, incense, sunglasses, DVDs, ponchos, watches, various assortments of hats, 1-meter long crucifixes and the piez de resistance: not one, but two stuffed deer heads. I admit, I didn't think anything of it until I saw the last two but on holiday weekends, you see a lot more than the average cigarette vendor has to sell on the street. We observed all of this from our streetside table at Pico de Botella, one of my favorite Rumba stops on 'La 70.'

The availability provided by streetside vendors is pretty amazing as it is. You can buy a beer for a dollar and walk just about anywhere in the city with it, no problem. My personal favorites are the bags of pre-sliced fruit, of which the vendors will add salt and lime juice for a delicious snack; 75 cents for a bag of mango. Some might get a little flustered by the constant bombardment of items and services, but the locals are pretty receptive to a firm "no", and really only frequent the touristy areas. It's pretty hard to turn down a $1 shoe shine from a grinning Costeño who will make fun your scuffed shoes til you finally give in.

Bicentennial, Man

Colombia turned 200 on Tuesday, meaning that Bicentennial celebrations were ubiquitous throughout the country. As a music guy, I was delighted to hear that 1,000 different concerts throughout the country were being held at the same time in honor of the celebration. Federico showed his patriotism by getting the names of Colombia's founding fathers buzzed into his hair:

We then headed off to the nearby city of Rio Negro to catch a dance performance. I had previously known Rio Negro for only Medellín's international airport, only passing through the city. I was pleasantly surprised to see elements of a folksy town about Rio Negro. While not as charming as nearby Marinilla or Rio Claro, having the celebration in a nice-looking town square certainly did it for me. Federico's girlfriend is part of a dance group in called, "The Folklore Ballerinas of Antioquia" and they were good. 

 

They performed dances from each of Colombia's different regions, showcasing the amount of great cultural diversity that exists here. My favorite was the 'Montanero' dance from this region, where it looks like the dancers are doing a spastic version of the "Funky Chicken." (Federico later informed me that yes, they are supposed to imitate chickens and no, they were not taking themselves seriously). Fede was up to more tomfoolery as on our way back he pointed out the "Norte America" letters that sit above a Medellín hill, Hollywood-style. "It's because we like the USA so much," he joked. We had another performance obligation that was really cool, an a capella show at a local church. It turned into a reunion of many Medellín friends I hadn't seen for a while. We grabbed a few tables at Punta Arena on la 70 after the show and laughed the night away.

Poetry Slam at Hill of the Flyer

Our apartment is 2 blocks from Cerro El Volador (Hill of the Flyer), prompting us to head up there whenever we can for a little exercise and the best views of the city. The last time we went up, we had a little dialogue with a security guard who was surprised, not just to see gringos who can hold a Spanish conversation, but to see gringos at all up there. He told us there used to be a museum at the top and agreed that with only a few thousand dollars, the City could fix up El Volador to be as big of a tourist attraction as its little brother Cerro Nutibara and Pueblito Paisa:



On our way up, we were passed by a tourist bus, prompting us to wonder if that security guard had gone straight to City Hall and proclaimed: "see, I told you gringos would like this place, let's get cracking on the tourist developments!" I also saw tents set up at the summit, flanked by an ample crowd and an unusual amount of kite flyers jockeying for the best winds. The crowd was there for the 9th Annual International Poetry Gathering. The gentleman who happened to be reading had a peculiar, but eloquent Spanish prose, which later turned out to be Sri Lankan. He read mostly in Spanish but then switched to English, citing the need to convey some of his poems in their original format. The audience was less receptive to the English poems but Brent and I made sure to clap extra loud, showing that someone was listening closely. Though not big poetry fans, we enjoyed seeing that many people at El Volador and I can expect that El Volador will see a dramatic renovation in the not-too-distant future.

A Culture of Troubadours

It seems that everywhere I've gone this week, I've encountered elderly men singing. It's not uncommon in Medellín for older men to spontaneously break into song. Whether it be a janitor humming along to an old vallenato number or a father strolling along in the park singing to his daughter, these older Paisas seem capable of tapping into the numerous latin ballads floating in the air and broadcasting them to the those around them, if only for a few seconds.

It's commonplace for many of these same older men to be seen with one headphone on their ear, the other dangling around their neck. I had always assumed that like the men who wear these at sporting events, these Colombians were tuning in to keep in touch with the gambling line. This myth was refuted today when I was talking to a friend's father who suddenly interrupted the dialogue with a whimsical: "y los ojos siempre mostran la verdadero amor" to which he nodded in my direction, expecting me to recognize this classic love song. It seems that these older Colombians through electronic apparatus or reminiscing to their glory days keep their spirits high by singing classic melodies throughout the day. For the uninformed observer, this is a fascinating experience that will continue to make me smile whenever I hear it.

Hilltop Getaway

Last night we headed out to the pueblo of San Antonio De Prado to celebrate a friend's birthday at their 'finca.' A finca is technically a small private coffee farm, but really means a weekend getaway cabin somewhere in the hills. Any Colombian family with more than one property always owns at least one of these and yes, some actually do make their own coffee.

Brent and I were happy to play the gringo card in getting there, affording us two seats in our friend's Pathfinder only because we might have gotten lost taking the bus. The car ride itself turned out to be a bit of an adventure. Though it's only a few Km out of Medellín, San Antonio de Prado is perched on a hilltop, with the only arterial in town twisting and turning through a maze of side streets. We went through the process of continually having to back up to allow other cars to pass through and nearly being sideswiped by fearless teens careening down back alleys on their dirtbikes. One side street we took had about a 15% grade, causing our tires to slip and skid before we kicked it into 4 Wheel Drive.

Arriving at the finca we had a good old-fashioned asado bbq; I'm always amazed at how much better people down here can barbecue their meat than me. (or maybe they are just buying the better stuff). A bit of tequila and we partied most of the night, only to wake up to a bright and sunny hillside masterpiece of which I of course, forgot my camera. I kicked myself again for forgetting as a train of neighbors on horseback, sipping coffee and blasting vallenato from a radio strapped to one of the horses paraded by and waved. I suppose this only means I'll have to head back to San Antonio de Prado with camera in hand, until then, I leave you with the central church, oddly, but beautifully designed for how it sits on the hillside.