Medellín

I got up, packed up, and headed to the airport with Chloe in tow. I didn’t realize it but she was heading to Medellin as well. Since Uber was made illegal the night before, I got a nice note from them when I opened the app asking for support to take on the taxistas to come back. I needed to download a new app called Didi, which was the Chinese equivalent of Uber. I hated having to download it and give it my credit card info, but there were no other options as we were pretty far out of the city.

The first driver showed up and told us he had two conditions: 1. We had to pay in cash upfront and 2. He was going to drop us away from the airport. I told him that I was paying with a credit card and that was final. He told me to cancel and I did. After relating the whole thing to Chloe, I got a new driver and he picked us up and took us to the airport with no problem.

Now, I am not cheap, but I am frugal. However, when I have the opportunity to help someone, especially someone that is gracious, I help. Chloe was a student, far from home, traveling alone in a place that was not the safest and did not speak the language. Some may call it paternalistic, but I had the money and felt no qualms about it which is why I handled our transport expenses without asking for anything in return. I had been on the receiving end of the kindness of strangers and friends and realized it was my time to be magnanimous. 

We got to the airport and hung out together for a bit. We made it through security and they ended up taking a lighter that I forgot about and that I had had since Belfast. I said my goodbyes to Chloe and we said we would meet up in Medellin. I got on my plane, flew through some chop, then landed. 

I got another DiDi and headed to my hostel. We had to travel through a tunnel to get there, but once we got out, I do not think I had ever seen such a panorama. We were high above the city, speeding along with the city of Medellin down below. My driver was Stiven (not a typo) and he was very nice and informative. I was dropped off on what at what looked like hostel row in the very posh Poblado neighborhood. 

Now, I checked the reviews of the place before I booked, and a few people said that there were incidents of baiting and switching going on. I paid for a room with two beds, but when I arrived, they put me in a four-topper. I showed the guy my reservation, then he called the owner. The owner told me to check my reservation. She had gone into the booking system and changed my reservation. I said that this shit did not fly. I called booking.com and told them what was happening. I sent them a pic from the guy’s phone as well as a screenshot from my reservation email. They were embarrassed and sent me a $10 credit. I ended up getting a private room with a bathroom, which had no toilet seat, no showerhead, and no hot water. The floor had not been swept or mopped and there were roaches running about. The place had an 8.6 rating. Welcome to Medellin.

Anyway, after I finally got situated, I got my room key, did some work, then got dinner across the street at some burger joint. I bought some water, talked to A, took a really cold shower, and went to bed, trying not to be devoured by roaches. It was going to be an interesting week.  

I woke up the next day, had the hostel-provided breakfast on the rooftop overlooking the city and decided what I was going to do for the day. I was getting a little shaggy, so I decided to go find a place to get my hair and beard cut. It turned out to be the best one of my life. It was a blend, a shave, and my first beard styling. I got a coffee at a local shop, felt and looked FAF, and spend that time figuring out what to do.

I heard from Chloe and offered for me to join her on a hike. I didn’t feel like it so I decided to do one of my favorite past times and go see a movie. I hiked through the posh and safe Poblado neighborhood to a mall with a theatre. I got my ticket and ordered a big-ass “medium” popcorn and a drink then headed in. Even though the attendant took my ticket and ushered me into the theatre, it was the wrong movie. When 1917 started, I realized the mistake, got up, and walked into the right one. I was not ready for the religious and philosophical roller coaster that was to be Bad Boys For Life. 

After the movie, I headed back to the hostel and tried calling my father for his birthday. After the death of my other uncle on my trip, my father and his other brother cleared away the detritus of their 30-year estrangement and were spending time together. He did not pick up the phone then, but I would talk to him later. 

After doing some client work, I messaged Chloe, and we went out and had a beer, then some dinner, then some drinks as we watched a little of the halftime show for the Super Bowl. It was Shakira and Jennifer Lopez, so needless to say, the country was going a little crazy. Over dinner chicken wings, I explained American Football to Chloe to the best of my ability. 

I walked Chloe home and we made plans to do a walking tour the next day. I then headed back to the hostel. I took a shower, did some laundry, and went to bed in the heat. 

The next day, I got up, had brekkie, then headed downtown to do a walking tour. I booked online and the tour operator said it would be a quick and easy jaunt on the metro. It would turn out to be anything but.

I headed over to the metro station and there was a line around the block of people needing metro cards. They did not have any machines that could service multiple people at once and only one person was working the counter. It was a disaster.

I was unable to procure a card and also could not get a cab downtown. So, I did what anyone would do. I gave up. I texted Chloe who I was supposed to meet for the tour, but since she used the metro the day before and already had a card, she easily was downtown without me. 

I grabbed a coffee at a coffee shop, a little something to eat as well, then did some work after walking around a little. I called and talked to A. Then made arrangements with Chloe to go to the Pablo Escobar Museum when she got back in the afternoon.

After the tour, she called to let me know she was coming back. We met at the place that Google said was the museum, but it was just a building he had owned. So, we did the next best thing which was completely giving up and go get some drinks. 

One of the things that fascinate me about the British is that they conquered India, North America, parts of Asia, and the Pacific, but seem to have used none of the spices of those lands in any of the cooking. So, I was very surprised when Chloe asked if we could go get some spicy chicken wings at the Medellin Hooters. As we were walking, she got shat on by a bird which, after the initial shock and laughter, I said was good luck. We got to the Hooters and ordered some wings, some beer, and a lot of napkins.

On her hike, Chloe made friends with a gay German guy that invited us to come to watch the sunset from a mountain before his Grindr date. So, I booked the cab on Cabify, another ride-share app. As I watched, the cab kept getting farther and farther away from our location. I tried to cancel it, but the driver did not know how to do it. So, I told him how to do it and he finally did. 

Needless to say, the day was a wash. I walked Chloe home, called and talked to A again, and decided to call it a night. I showered, watched some Narcos, and went to bed.

The next day I got up and did a little client work before I got some breakfast up on the roof. I then went down to the metro way early so I could stand in the immense line and pay for a card. I then hopped on the immaculate metro (like Singapore immaculate) and headed to the city center. I got there way early, so I had a little lunch of empanadas, a beer, and a coke. I made sure to use the restaurant’s facilities before my walking tour which was basically just a urinal behind a saloon door. Very strange.

I found the spot where the group would meet and because there were so many of us, we were divided into three groups. I learned so much on this tour. The first is that Medellin is located in the Aborrai Valley and that after the Spanish conquered the area, naming it for a town in Spain, they abruptly left as the natives had no gold. 1616 saw the first settlement here, but unlike other cities founded by Spain, there was no central Plaza de Armas.

Due to the city’s “Eternal Spring” of a temperate climate, many things grew effortlessly here. Coffee brought the railroads and made Medellin grow. However, the law of unintended consequences would make something else grow too.

In the 1950s the government of Colombia wanted to increase its market share of locals using its products. As such, they created tariffs on foreign-made goods. Since they were far superior to the locally made ones, they created a black market of smuggled goods. It was these adroit smugglers that would then invert their routes of taking products into moving a certain product out. And one name rose above all the others: Pablo Emilio Escobar Gaviria. 

Pablo Emilio Escobar Gavaria was born in Rionegro, Colombia on December 1st 1949. Raised in Medellin during La Violencia, after a brief stint in University, he turned to a life a crime selling fake lottery tickets, grand theft auto, kidnapping and doing the aforementioned smuggling of cigarettes. It was during this time that the sale of cocaine in the United States began to take off. Using the former smuggling routes to get goods in, they began bringing in coca for processing from Peru, Ecuador and Bolivia. Then using those same routes to get them back out and get them to Miami. As the demand for the white powder grew in the US, so did the money, the power, and the violence. The organization officially became the Medellin cartel in 1976 with Escobar at the head, laundering the drug money in various businesses including, on paper, the most successful taxicab company in history. While his plata o plomo (silver or lead) policy of dealing with potential nuisances, he also did a lot of public works projects. He built neighborhoods, feed the impoverished, and was even elected to congress with eyes on becoming president. It is estimated that at the height of his power, he was worth $30 Billion in 1990’s dollars. But, heavy weighed his bloody crown.

Our guide shared that people that were born before his rise to power and during hated him, while those that were born after looked on him as some type of folk hero. It was true, he did a lot of good things with his blood money: he gave a lot to charities, made communities for the poor, and fed them. However, our guide shared a very interesting point how many houses can one build to cancel out a life that one has taken?

The Medellin Cartel rose to prominence in the 70s, providing a lion’s share of the cocaine consumed in the United States. Our guide shared with us the aspects of what makes a cartel. He said it was an organization or group that controlled the collection, processing, distribution, and retail. They also colluded to set prices. This could be applied to any organization from De Beers to OPEC. And retail is where the real money is made.  After the drug game moved to Mexico, so did a lot of the violence and Medellin became safer.

Because of Medellin’s cartel, it became the most dangerous city in the world in the 1990s. And I would learn that this was the reason the metro was so clean. The people needed a way to get to the city that was inexpensive. No architects or engineers wanted to come. After years, a brave team finally came and was protected while they worked. The people of Medellin know how special and important it is to have this metro and have treated it accordingly. There is no graffiti, no stickers, and no homeless.

Due to him being a local and already very wealthy, Botero decided to donate a lot of his sculptures to the city of Medellin under one condition. He did not want them in a museum. Instead, he wanted them outside where everyone could see them. He made a string of them down a boulevard, which are also protected.

After a group picture, we said our goodbyes and I hopped back on the metro to head home. I began thinking about what the guide said. Being born and bred in Medellin and studying history, he said that it was easier to have collective amnesia regarding the awful times that occurred in the country rife with indiscriminate violence. From mass killings, hits with collateral damage, and bombings, it was easier to put it behind them and just love life and be gracious. It helped me put my observations of Cambodia and Bosnia in perspective.

After I got home, I bought my brother-in-law some Agua Ardiente, the prototypical spirit of Colombia, and got myself a beer. I went to the rooftop and chatted with Ben, an American traveling through Colombia. I then talked with A and asked her permission to become “Facebook official.” I could hear the excitement in her voice when she said yes.

I went back to my room and got a little tired showering from just a flat spigot coming out of the wall. Ingeniously, I took a plastic water bottle after I poked some holes in the bottom over the spigot, taped it there with my duct tape, and turned it on. After a second of pressure building in the bottle, I had several streams of water and successfully jerry-rigged a shower head. Quite proud of myself, I cleaned up, watched a little Narcos, and went to bed.

The next day I woke up ready to do some work, but Chloe contacted me and wanted to meet for coffee. I met her and we had coffee at a lovely shop, but then decided to segway into lunch. Meaning, I got lunch and she got water because she needed to run to the airport.

Due to the agricultural culture surrounding Medellin, people worked in the fields a lot, from sun up to sun down. They did not have a lot of time to rest, let alone eat. So, their main meal was called Bandera Paisa, Paisa being a nickname for those from Medellin. Basically, it was a plate stuffed with high-calorie foods that would fuel these workers for the day. It was a lot, so I offered some to Chloe. She gladly took some. She looked at her watch and had to grab her things from her hostel. We hugged and said our goodbyes. She would be going to an ecological preserve deeper in the country and this would be her last piece of civilization for a while.

I headed back to the hostel to do some more client work. I talked to A a little bit and then got ready for another tour. This would take me into the underbelly of the Medellin drug world. 

My driver picked me up from the hostel and we headed out into the balmy Colombian afternoon. My first stop was the foundation of the recently imploded Edificio Monaco. This building was Pablo Escobar’s former home. The Cali cartel had hired a Basque separatist from the terrorist group ETA to set up the bomb. It was detonated with Escobar and his family inside. They all survived, but his infant son was injured. Escobar found out where he was and killed him. Although the building survived the first car bombing attack in the history of Colombia, an occurrence that would become too frequent, it was finally demolished the day I arrived in New Zealand, Feb 22, 2019. 

In its stead was a complex of memorials called the Parque Memorial Inflexion, with various plaques commemorating the victims of the drug wars that raged in the country. What stood out to me was that there was a large sculpture perforated by exactly 46,612 pin holes, each representing a life that was taken from 1983-1994. We did not stay here too long.

In the aftermath of the car bombing, it was Escobar’s turn. The Cali Cartel had a string of pharmacies throughout Colombia which became the target of similar attacks from Escobar. In 1989 alone, there were 100 car bombings. It was explained to me that the reason for the violence was to control international distribution with each cartel trying to take a piece of the other.  

The next stop was the Catedral (Cathedral,) the prison that Pablo Escobar built when the government said that he needed to go to prison. It was located in a beautiful spot high above the city, where Escobar like a hawk in a cage could watch his quarry. He struck a sweetheart deal with the government in that he would stop a lot of the violence if he were allowed to go to his new “home.” They agreed and he moved in. Replete with discos, saunas, and personal chefs, it was not Alcatraz. Because he was still running his cartel, much to the chagrin of the United States government, the Colombians agreed that they would storm the prison and take him to another one where he would have no control. Of course, he got wind of the plan and then fled.

It was here too that PePes (Perseguidos por Pablo Escobar or People Persecuted by Pablo Escobar,) a group of paramilitaries, rival drug traffickers, and others scorned by the drug kingpin joined forces to hunt him. With the Colombian national police, Colombian military, the CIA, DEA, FBI, and United States Special Forces all in the fracas this one man caused, it was just a matter of time before he was caught or executed. It would become the latter. 

After the lofty heights of the Catedral, we went to the much more solemn spot of the cemetery where he is buried. Honestly, his gravestone was a lot smaller than I would think that King of Cocaine. However,  he got what he wanted, “…a grave in Colombia instead of a cell in the United States.” What was equally as interesting, close by and with far fewer flowers was the grave of La Padrina, Griselda Blanco. 

Griselda Blanco was the woman that took Pablo Escobar from being a two-bit smuggler to a man that at the height of his career was making $480 Million a month, according to my guide. Griselda was from Cartegena on the northern coast of Colombia but moved to Medellin with her mother at 3. She started her life of crime at 11, allegedly kidnapping, ransoming, and subsequently killing a child from a rich neighborhood nearby her home. By 13 she was a pickpocket and very deep in the Medellin underworld by the time she was 20. She moved to New York and began importing cocaine in the nascent stages of the drug trade from Medellin until she was arrested and fled back to Colombia. The pull was too strong, and she went back to the US and resettled in Miami.

She became one of Escobar’s main contacts and she was responsible for a lot of the violence that plagued Miami at that time. Fully embracing the life of a criminal, she even had a son named Michael Corleone Blanco. Known also as the Black Widow not just for allegedly killing a husband or two (or three,) when rivals tried to muscle in on her territory, she got the blessing of the dons back home to bring sicarios (hitmen) in to kill not only the rivals, but their families, children, and even pets. It surmised that she was responsible for the infamous Dadeland Mall Massacre in 1979 where an exchange of bullets in broad daylight ended the lives of two people injuring a few others; just another battle in the Cocaine Cowboy Wars of Miami. She was eventually caught and served over a decade in prison before being deported back to Medellin. She was shot to death on September 3, 2012 as she was buying meat from a butcher shop.

The next location I was taken was to the place where Escobar was in hiding and was then subsequently shot. He had been hiding in the quaint Los Olivos neighborhood for 16 months since he had fled from La Catedral. A specialized national police force called the Search Bloc was on the hunt. He was eventually done in, maybe on purpose, by making a call to his son Juan Pablo that was cut short. The Search Bloc found him, quite possibly with the aid of the CIA and their ability to listen in on calls. They moved on the apartment that was over a daycare center and gave chase, forcing Escobar to jump on a neighboring roof. It was here where on December 2, 1993 a day after his 44th birthday, he was shot in the leg, the torso, and with a fatal shot in the ear. 

As we drove away from the site where he died, I learned that Escobar’s son had shunned the notoriety his surname no doubt would have garnered. Sebastian Marroquin changed his name from Juan Pablo Escobar after he fled Colombia for Argentina. He had since become a motivational speaker.

On the way home, I asked my driver how was Medellin these days. He said it still had its problems but was a lot better than it was. There were still drug dealers and cartels, but nothing like before. He told me that currently, they were selling flavored cocaine like vanilla and coconut as well as something called Tutsi, cocaine mixed with ketamine and ecstasy. He then suggested that if I was not busy, I check out a club called Lutron which was a former Escobar mansion. He slyly mentioned that it had since been turned into a high-class brothel that serviced some of the premier soccer players of the country. I laughed and joked I would visit for educational purposes. He laughed too.

On a more serious note, as we passed Comuna 13, one of the more historically violent neighborhoods of the city that had since rebranded itself with copious amounts of street art, my driver said something interesting. Much like had been explained in my walking tour, the Colombians were out of the international drug game. In their place were, according to the coca farmers, people that sounded like they were from telenovelas. The Mexican cartels had infiltrated Colombia. 

I was then taken back to the hostel. After thanking my driver, I headed up and checked in with A and told her about my day. I then went back to Hooters to get some wings for dinner then called it a night.  

The next day I woke up, had breakfast, then headed back downtown to do something a little more lighthearted, a tropical fruit tasting. Honestly, people can snort as much cocaine as they want, my drug is fresh, delicious, exotic fruit. Luckily, I learned a lot with A back in Peru, so there were not too many new things. I still had a great time and made some new friends. 

I headed back to the hostel and dropped off my stuff before going back out to mail some postcards. As I wanted to go to see one of Escobar’s houses that they turned into a museum, the one Chloe and I missed. Unfortunately, it was closed. So I took a DiDi to the Casa de la Memoria, a more official museum of the carnage of the Narco years. 

Now, I understand that it is a difficult subject with many, many sad stories. However, I found the museum a bit underwhelming. They tried making it too interpretive, like roulette wheels deciding if people lived or died. But whatever helps.

I headed back to the hostel, but was hungry. I decided to go grab a burger from the place across the street again. I went back, showered, then went to bed. Panama in the morning. 

Bogotá

I woke up and played a little online. I then headed down to breakfast and talked to another client about maybe doing some more work for him. I tried calling my backup bank to let them know I would be using my debit card abroad. Sometimes when you do not tell a bank you will be traveling, if they see a foreign transaction, they will automatically put a hold on your card which could take 24-72 hours to clear. Unfortunately, they did not answer. I packed up my room and since I had some time to kill, I left my bags at the front desk and then walked back to the Basilica. I ended up having a huge lunch. I retrieved my bag, got an Uber, and started going to the airport in the rain. 

I got to the airport, checked in, and for the first time in my travels was forced to put on a provided mask. Apparently, there was some incredibly viral flu that had come out of China that was quickly spreading around the world. I did not pay it any mind, thinking it would blow over quickly. I boarded my plane, found my seat, and a few hours later, I landed in Bogotá. When I landed, it took me 1:30 hours to clear customs as the line was incredibly long and winding. About 50% of the people were in masks, which made me think maybe this flu thing was a tad more serious. 

I was able to get an Uber, but much like in other parts of Latin America, I needed to get it on the sly. In Colombia, the taxi companies had a stranglehold on the market and did their damndest to keep it, making life very difficult for my fellow Uber-istas. My driver told me to meet him in the parking lot adjacent to the terminal. I did, matched the license plate to the car, then hopped in for my 30 min ride to my hostel. I had no idea Bogotá was so huge.

I arrived in a middle-class suburb of the city, got out, thanked my driver, then went inside to get my room. It was a pretty big place and was very modern and bright. So it was surprising when the proprietress told me her credit card machine was broken. I remembered my time in Argentina when this same event occurred. I looked down and saw the same placard saying that stated, by law, they had to accept credit cards. I said that I booked this place specifically because it accepted them. She said she needed cash. I said that I did not have it. She said I needed to get it. I said, OK, I am going to go to another hostel as a bluff and started picking up my bags even though it was in the evening. She looked at her workmate, then got the machine, and low and behold a miracle occurred and it started working again. I paid and was then shown to my bed.

The setup was very interesting. It was a 24 topper, with 8 three-decker bunk beds with stadium stairs to get in and out. I chose the bed that was the very top and furthest away from everyone else which I thought would be the quietest. When I got comfy, I played around on my iPod a little and found out that one of my stocks that had been not only paying my rent before I left but also funding my trip had cut its dividend by another few hundred dollars. I am glad this was happening now and not earlier. Another reason why I was very happy I took my trip when I did.

I got up and took a shower and brushed my teeth. Before I put my toothbrush under the spigot, a spurt of brown water came out, then followed by clear water after that. I did not use water to brush my teeth that night. I then headed up to bed. 

The next morning I woke up not really knowing where I was. This was the first time that happened on my voyage and was a very uncomfortable feeling. I got up and went downstairs for breakfast. It was here that I met a lovely young lady by the name of Chloe from England that was studying environmental sciences and conservation at University. She was going to be working at a nature preserve and came to Colombia early so she could get acquainted. She invited me to join her the next day to go on an excursion, and I graciously accepted. 

After breakfast, I headed out to meet a walking tour in the center of Bogotá. Looking at the map, I found it interesting that the streets of Bogotá were simply labeled as calles or carreras (streets or routes) with just numbers to tell them apart.  I hailed an Uber and was asked to sit in the front seat so as to not make the taxistas suspicious. I liked my driver, not just because he complimented me on my Spanish, but because he was willing to answer some of my tougher questions regarding the city and took me on a little tour of our own. 

Throughout the history of Latin America, there have been wars, despots, and disasters. For a lot of reasons, many countries tolerated migrants from other areas of the continent as a kind of refuge knowing that they have been hospitable in the past or will be in the future. This epoch saw a lot of Venezuelans coming to escape dire economic circumstances as well as persecution. My driver took me through a Venezuelan neighborhood and showed me places not to go, the brothels. There were many women standing outside in clothes that left very little to the imagination. I guess the oldest profession was cross-border as well. 

Another important fact that my driver shared with me was that at 12:00am in 2 days, Uber would be outlawed in Colombia. Again, this was due to the iron hand of the taxi companies, many of which got their start in the Narco days. I thanked my driver as he dropped me off and I gave him a good tip. 

I walked around downtown Bogotá for a little and got my bearings. It seemed like the center of any other city. Before I met my group, I went to an ATM with my backup debit card and was shocked at the fee. It was worse than Cambodia. I then met my guide and group then got acquainted. I learned a lot, but like most of my tours, the facts presented were in rapid succession. 

The main things that I took from the tour were these. The first native Muisca people thought that the ample gold deposits in their land, called Bacatá in their Chibcha language, were gifts from God. Bacatá meant fertile land and subsequently got bastardized into Bogotá when the Spanish arrived in 1537.

Flash forward a few hundred years and Colombia was liberated from Spanish rule in 1810 with the help of Simon Bolivar and José de San Martin. This amalgam of land was known as Gran Colombia and was what is currently Colombia, Ecuador, Venezuela, and Panama. This is the reason why they all have similar flags, except for Panama which broke away in 1903 after Teddy Roosevelt decided to build a canal there. 

We then made our way to a free art museum featuring one of the most famous artists of Colombia, Botero. Botero’s works simply make things, people and animals, look incredibly fat. This was my first impression. Our guide educated us on the fact that these subjects were not fat, rather, Botero was playing with proportions. The works that we saw had several things in common. The first was the color palette used the same as the colors of the flag of Colombia, the second being that he uses the same face, and that every female nude had a mole on their right butt cheek and was wearing a bracelet. The works featured that contained a snake and an apple also showed some sin being represented. 

After the museum, we headed over to the city center that housed both the Congress and the Supreme Court. It was a beautiful complex in an otherwise concrete jungle. You could feel the power emanating from these places. Although the Supreme Court building was redone for a pretty obvious reason we will get to. 

As we were walking our guide shared with us more about the economy of Colombia. Besides its most famous export, Colombia had many other great natural resources. One of the most important is emeralds. I recalled my Spanish professor in college funding his doctoral studies “smuggling” them out of the country in a Pert shampoo bottle. Our guide asked if we noticed the line of jewelry stores on the way to meet him. I had. He said that while these were good quality, best only the best were reserved for appointments and VIPs. He then pulled out a photo of Angelina Jolie with a few brilliant stones hanging from her earrings. Our guide asked if we cared to venture a guess as to how much those cost. He went around the circle and when it was my turn I confidently ventured $2 Million. The guide asked me how I knew and I smiled at my touch of clairvoyance coming out yet again. 

We stopped for a bit of a break at a very nice coffee shop with a view of the mountains. While I like coffee sometimes, this stuff was absolutely next-level. It beat Starbucks to hell. And for a fraction of the price!

As we were walking back towards the city, our guide shared with us this. In 2010, a young man, boy really, decided to share some of his street art. Unfortunately, he did not have the permission of the owner of the wall, and the owner killed the artist. When another more famous artist that was in town doing a concert ditched his entourage and decided to spray paint a pot leaf on a wall without any penalty, this sent the entire city and country into an uproar of anti-Bieber fever. This then snowballed into a law allowing street art as long as permission was given.

Our tour ended at a rounded building deep within the heart of downtown Bogota. It was kind of nondescript, but our guide said that it represented what it meant to understand Colombia specifically and Latin America in general. This building was the Cultural Center of Gabriel Garcia Marquez. Marquez was the famed Colombian novelist and Noble Prize for Literature recipient, generally cited with creating the genre of Magic Realism; a style mixing elements of the mundane with those of the fantastic. Argued to be his greatest work, One Hundred Years of Solitude is the perfect example of this style. It was here our tour ended with our guide saying that he hoped we were able to look upon Colombia with new eyes. 

 

After my tour, I was hungry, so I went to a restaurant that was mentioned on our tour and had myself some Ajico, a traditional Colombian stew. It was great. I noticed a bunch of gringos at another table, middle-aged types that were chatting away in English. Doing my traveler duty, after lunch I stood up, introduced myself, and informed them that if they were using Uber to get around, they will need to find some new way as it would become illegal the day after next. They thanked me very much.

Using the supplied wifi at the restaurant, I got my own Uber and headed back to the hostel. I got some beers from a local bodega, chilled out, then headed to bed. 

The next day I got up, had breakfast, and with Chloe in tow, we headed to the War and Peace tour. For a history and poltical junky, I found it fascinating. I learned so much. There were a few things that really stood out to me. 

The conflicts in Colombia are sewn into the soil. Stemming from how the government of Spain treated the natives and then their descendants, a majority of the conflicts came from who controlled the land. There are three branches of conflict that come from the mountains, the jungles, and the water.

The politics of modern Colombia were forged through two conflicting personalities: Francisco José de Paula Santander y Omaña and Simon Bolivar. After the war of Independence where both men played an important role, they had several wars. Santander wanted open markets and federal representation, founding the Liberal Party. Bolivar wanted closed markets, and centralized governments, and founded the Conservative Party. And it was here the stage was set for the violent history of 20th Century Colombia.

Initially, suffrage was offered only to men that were 21 years or older and could read. This left a large proportion of the country unable to choose their representatives. Most of the initial violence went back and forth regarding who controlled what land, namely for farming. There was a strike in 1928 on the Cienaga banana plantation that was brutally put down. It was around this time that the nascent Communist Party began taking shape. 

Jorge Eliécer Gaitán Ayala, the Leader of the Liberal Party started encouraging members of plantations to unionize. And for this, he was assassinated in 1948, which subsequently coincided with the timeframe known as La Violencia (The Violence.) Conservative and Liberal party members fought in the countryside and stole land from each other, often leaving desecrated bodies in their wake. This is where the practice of the Colombian necktie was invented, the pulling of the tongue through the deceased’s opened throat, or act the of stuffing the deceased’s severed limbs in their torso after decapitation.

Needless to say, the violence in the countryside, not just in Colombia but in most of Latin America, brought many, many people to the cities. Therefore the population swelled.

With the success of the Cuban Revolution in 1959, the many flavors of communist ideology began taking a larger hold in this part of the world in response to La Violencia. The Fuerzas Armadas Revolucionarias de Colombia (The Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia) or FARC was born in 1964 in Marquetalia, in Southern Colombia.  

However, while they were the most famous, known for their “fundraising” activities, there were other groups. The Ejecito de Liberacion Nacional (Army of National Liberation) or ELN was founded around the same time as FARC. This group was founded by university students that studied abroad in Cuba, learning the ways of Revolution. Another group was M-19 or Moviemiento 19 de Abril. M-19’s claim to fame, besides targeted assassinations, was the siege of the Palace of Justice in 1985, resulting in its complete destruction by fire.  Along with the deaths of 11 of the 21 Supreme Court Justices. 

The communists did not hold a monopoly on violence in Colombia. Another group called Autodefensas Unidas de Colombia (Self-Defense United of Colombia) or AUC, was the right-side equivalent and often skirmished with the other groups. 

By the 1970s there was yet another group adding to the almost constant body count of Colombians. These were the Narcos or drug cartels of the country. These nimble businessmen played on all three teams working with the communists, the right wing, and in some cases, the government. 

Still, there were also paramilitary forces that were kind of affiliated with one group or another, but it was more splintered and for local protection, like the UVF in Belfast. And it was these people that did a majority of the killing from 1995 to 2002, using mostly machetes and chainsaws, reaching its crescendo during the El Salado massacre of 2002. 

It was here that I learned of the term False Positives. There was a bounty program on suspected members of the “other” side where people were paid in either cash or time off. This however had the unintended consequences of soldiers murdering civilians, then dressing them up to look like the enemy. It was a very, very nasty time in Colombian history. 

However, the chapter finally came to a close in 2016 with the signing of Peace Accords at the Colon Opera House between FARC, the AUC, and the government. The people initially voted it down as they felt it was too lenient on the people that terrorized the country for five decades. After negotiation, they reached an agreement that allowed reparations to the people that had been affected by their violence as well as allowing the groups a political opportunity to create a party.

But the moans of the dead can still be heard. Chiquita Bananas was accused of giving weapons and support to paramilitaries during the conflict to protect its interests. And in a 2018 study, it was shown that the top 1% of the population of Colombia owned 89% of the land. The rich getting richer and the poor getting poorer.

Already having been a packed day, Chloe and I caught an Uber and headed to a local bus station. But not before we shared some sliced mango. Thank God I went with her because she did not speak a lick of Spanish. It was a little confusing, but we found our bus and hopped on. It was a collectivo, meaning that it was a cheap ticket but absolutely packed. There was also the peculiar habit of people jumping on the bus to sell snacks and drinks and then jumping off. It took us about an hour to get there and Chloe gave me her life story. As we were obviously gringos, a very nice man asked if we were going to the cathedral. I said yes. He then told us where to get off the bus. 

We got off, then found a taxi willing to drive us up to the entrance. It took Chloe a little time to re-get her ticket as she sent it to the wrong email, then we started our descent into the cathedral of salt.

The Salt Cathedral of Zipaquirá was first used by the natives of Colombia in the 5th Century BC as a mining operation of rock salt, an often underestimated engine of human activity (thank you, Mark Kurlansky.) Since, the mine was a place to collect salt and became very important in trade for the area. Since mining could be dangerous work, starting in the 1930’s, workers began carving crosses as places to pray during breaks. In 1950, work began on the first Cathedral, being completed in 1954. A new cathedral was built under the old one starting in 1991 and ending in 1995. The Cathedral has been called a “Jewel of modern architecture.”  

To say that this was one of the coolest places I had ever been is an understatement. We opted for a guide instead of an audio tour and he told us all about the place. It was dark and cool, but not musty at all. We saw stations of the Cross all carved in salt. Then continued our descent to the bottom floor 600ft below ground. The whole place had lighting like a rave, lots of colored neon lights that perfectly highlighted the space. And it only cost $3 Million to make! Our guide looked at Chole and I, mentioning that it only cost $35,000 to rent the space for a wedding. I don’t think she picked up on the connotation. 

Afterward, we headed back down to the town, stopping to get some salt souvenirs. Since we were hungry, and Chloe came from the Island of Bland Food, we found a little Mexican restaurant. We donned our provided sombreros and took our seats. In a hubristic taunting of the Gods or whistling past a coming graveyard, we ordered some Coronas given the news of this strange virus that was spreading around the world continuausly unabated.

After dinner, I asked the wifi code of the restaurant. They asked why. I said that I wanted to grab an Uber back to Bogota. The three men at the bar jumped and said that they would take us and it would be so much cheaper. I said no thank you and they got very pushy. I was not taking any chances. I thanked them, had Chloe leave first as I backed out the door and hooked into the municipal wifi, and got an Uber to meet us at a local square. 

When we got in, Chloe was very relieved that I did not give in. She said she got a very bad feeling about those guys. I said that being paranoid has kept me out of a lot of trouble. Our driver was very quiet and nice and got us back to Bogota for $12 for an hour’s ride. Oh, the wonders of Geoarbitrage. We got back to the hostel, got cleaned up, said our goodnights and I went up to my bunk and immediately passed out.

I would be off to Medellin in the morning.