 |
| Tourists exploring the new Commune 13 |
It’s been about two weeks since twelve friends and I returned from a ten-day trip to Colombia, where we started in the mountain city of Medellin, two days later took a short flight to the old city of Santa Marta, and after three days rode a bus to Cartagena, Gabriel Garcia Marquez's final resting place. We visited smaller villages and towns along the way, like San Basilio de Palenque, the first free slave settlement in the country.
I didn't know much about Colombia, other than in 1819 South American legendary hero Simon Bolivar arrived in Bogota to start his plan of creating a Gran Colombia, a country that would include Venezuela, Peru, Bolivia, Costa Rica, Bazil, Nicaragua, and Panama to challenge the military and commercial power of the United States and Europe, an ambitious undertaking, which ended in sabotage and betrayal.
Bolivar crossed the Andes several times, conducting military campaigns no one thought possible. When his plan failed, Bolivar attempted to flee to Europe to escape his enemies, but he died at a friend’s sugar plantation in Santa Marta, the second oldest city in South America.
 |
| Exploring the new Medellin |
I passed up sailing trip and a swim at an exotic tropical beach to visit the plantation where Bolivar took his last breath. How could I come so far and not stand in the room where el Libertador died? I’m glad I did. The entire plantation is a memorial to the great South American warrior. It was a small gesture on my part. I don't know why. I am American, but in some ways, names like Bolivar, Marti, Sandino, Morelos, and Zapata, capture as much of my past as do the names of Washington, Jefferson, and Lincoln, maybe even more. Maybe because they were all Americans fighting for the same liberation from tyranny.
I also knew a little about Colombia’s more recent sensationalist history, the life of drug kingpin Pablo Escobar who terrorized Medellin, up until his death in 1993. Escobar’s maelstrom was captured in numerous television series, from Pablo Escobar on Televisa to Netflix’s Narcos.
I’d guess Escobar's life, Colombian marijuana, and cocaine have prejudiced most of the world’s view of Colombia, which even today, thirty-years after his death, and billions of dollars spent on a so-called "drug war," still sends more cocaine to the U.S. than any other country, minus the violence. Go figure.
Anyway, I’m also guessing the younger generations around the world know more about the music of Shakira, Juanes, and Karol G. than they do about a fallen billionaire who was killed by police, unceremoniously, barefoot and shirtless, on tin rooftop in downtown Medellin.
From the airport in Medellin, my small group of friends and I caught a van to the four-star Binn Hotel, in the upscale district called, El Poblado, located on a mountainside above the city and home to many of the city’s professionals and their businesses. The next morning, as we prepared to load into our van, my friend who planned our trip, an anthropology professor, told us cocaine and Pablo Escobar were sensitive topics in Medellin, so we should be cautious when asking questions about either.
In his book on Colombia, Magdalena, Wade Davis, an expert on the country, explained how so many years after Escobar’s death, Medellin is still healing from the murder and mayhem Escobar caused, which included the killing of police, politicians, journalists, judges, presidential candidates, and so many innocent people, in the thousands. Escobar even bombed a passenger jet, killing all one-hundred-plus people on board, collateral damage, in his attempt to kill a public official he thought was on board. He wasn’t. As they say, "Power is intoxicating."
 |
| Gabriel Garcia Marquez resting place in Cartagena |
During those days, people feared walking through downtown Medellin. Tourists stayed away, until about the early 2000’s, when Medellin began a triumphant regeneration, and tourists began trickling back, some, I’m sure, to witness the aftermath, the same way tourists flocked to San Cristobal de las Casas, in Chiapas, after the Zapatista revolt, to feel a part of danger without having to really experience it.
The tour guide, Alejandro, a musician, coffee aficionado, and knowledgeable, not only about Colombia but about much of Latin America, and, surprisingly, the United States. The first trip from our hotel down to one of Medellin’s business areas was to change U.S. dollars into Colombian pesos.
As we drove through Medellin, I realized the city was more like Los Angeles than other Latin American cities. Alejandro told us there is no principal zocalo or cathedral in the center of town. In fact, Medellin has many districts and neighborhoods, each with its own downtown area. The city was built in a narrow valley surrounded by mountains, much like the city of Granada, in Andalucia, the reason the Spaniards named it Nueva Granada.
As I waited for friends to exchange their money, I noticed plants, trees, and flowers everywhere, growing between restaurants, cafes, coffee shops, and other businesses, offering the feel of the tropics, without the oppressive humidity and heat. The streets were busy, crowded with workers, people going about their business, and tourists. Cafes had signs promoting $2.00 breakfasts. A woman trying to attract customers, smiled and waved to me, like I looked hungry.
Once back in the van and moving again, Alejandro, who went by Alejo, pointed out of thickets of forest, some part of a national park in the center of the city. He explained all the public works taking place in Medellin, the metro and the overhead tram, made the city manageable not only for its citizens but a popular destination for expatriates flocking there to take advantage of the cheap rents and lifestyle. Alejo said, in perfect English, “Well, let’s get this out of the way. I know no one wants to mention Escobar and cocaine,” he smiles, “but we tour guides know that's what is on everyone’s mind.”
He told us the reason Escobar was a difficult topic in Medellin was because his violence affected nearly everyone in the city, not only his enemies and his supporters but everyday citizens, as well. “Everybody knows somebody who died during that time.”
Surprisingly, no one in my group cared much about Medellin’s drug years, except for me. I would pull Alejo aside, when he wasn't busy, and we had many conversations about Escobar and those years, including the web of corruption and deceit between Colombia, Mexico, and the United States that kept the flow of drugs moving, of course, North Americans, by far, the largest consumer of the drug. Although Alejo was still a child during Escobar's reign of terror, he told me how Escobar controlled everything in Medellin. That’s how powerful he was, but that was the past.
In fact, though it is difficult, Medellin officials are trying to be transparent. There is a hillside above the city where the government is digging, in full sight of the public, looking to locate the bodies of los desaparecidos, people killed and buried there during the violent years.
 |
| Community pride in color and art |
Our van stopped in one of the many impacted mountainside neighborhoods Colombians refer to as “Communes.” The driver was taking us to Commun 13, one of the most violent neighborhoods in the city during the violent years, Escobar recruiting many of his teenage sicarios from that poor community. Barely able to make his way up one steep, narrow street, our driver dropped us off at a corner, motorbikes passing us in all directions.
Alejo said, “This would not have been possible, not even twenty years ago. The gangs controlled the streets. What you see now is completely different from the past.”
Tourists filled the narrow streets. The homes, mostly built of brick or stucco, one on top of the other, showed signs of poverty; yet, everywhere there was music, dancing, and laughter. Some homes had been turned into cafes, coffee shops, and souvenir stands.
The homes had been painted in bright colors, blues, pinks, and reds. Murals covered some walls, along with inspirational quotations, images of Tupac and Kobe around each corner. In one street corner, neighbors set up bleachers so tourists could sit and watch a troupe of young break dancers perform. Some buildings were art galleries, others clothing stores, the work of local artists stenciled on shirts and pants. Food and drink carts were everywhere.
Alejandro told us the government had decided to develop the poorest areas of the city by giving neighbors grants to beautify their communities and start businesses out of their homes. Young Colombian urban planners helped design the gentrification, including the ideas for the overhead trams, more like a series of connected metros, making it possible for workers to ride gondolas from their brick perches high in the barrios down into the city. Before, the trams, people had to make the walk, down and up the steep mountainside communities, sometimes taking hours, a difficult trek after a long day at work. Now disembarking from the trams, once on the flatland, they can jump onto a metro or city bus to complete their journey to their jobs.
Everywhere I turned there was music and a joyous atmosphere, children on skates or chasing each other through the streets and the books of Gabriel Garcia Marquez for sale on store shelves. This day, there were more tourists than usual. Alejo told us Shakira was performing in Medellin, and she drew fans from across Latin America and Spain.
On the street corner where kids were about to show their break-dancing skills, a young man with dreadlocks asked, his microphone blaring, “Who is from Colombia?” A cry went up from the crowd. “How about Peru?” Another yell. “Argentina?” A few cheers. He then asked, “The United States?” A hush passed through the crowd. Everyone looked around. Silence. I saw my friends looking around then at each other. No one raised a hand or said anything. When the young man asked one person in my group where she was from, she hesitated, then answered, “Mejico.”
