BLOGGER TEMPLATES - TWITTER BACKGROUNDS

Where I've Wandered


View Where I've Wandered in a larger map

Thursday, February 10, 2011

Colombian Cities

Half of Colombia is split up by three mountain ranges, stemming from the Andes that slice through the country. What this translates to is the necessity for an iron stomach and nerves of steel when traveling on long distance bus, once you make it out of the Capital. We roll out of Bogota before the sun has a chance to roll out of bed. Or at least I thought. Edging the 10 million inhabitant mark Bogota traffic is out of this world. It even has the government befuddled; a public mandate denies drivers use of the roads up to three days a week (depending on their license plate numbers), the solution? Drivers now own multiple cars, and every single one of them seems to be on the road that morning. The bus slowly lurches forward into the perpetual gridlock. As the skyline finally disappears behind the yellow-brown cloud of smog, greener horizons head our way, and our bus driver gets into the rhythm of overtaking five cars on double yellow, blind hairpin turns while angrily blasting his horn and pumping his questionable brakes. I fall asleep like a baby in a rocking crib manufactured by Satan Associates and shaken by a depressed, tweaked out, meth head babysitter (who also happens to be from hell).

Armenia- The Coffee City
Armenia is the hub of the Colombian coffee region. Tourism gets you out of the city and into the country promoting hotels and hostels in touristic ‘fincas’ aka farm houses or cottages- which is the perfect vibe for this region. Farming is life. Coffee is vital. Rolling hills of emerald coffee and banana plantations extend into infinity.
The National Coffee Park is the product of Juan Valdez and Walt Disney’s love child. However, anyone who makes the accusation that a visit to the park does not consist of the “Authentic cultural experience” that most travellers strive for needs to take just one good look and listen to the parks clientele: Colombians, everywhere. Domestic tourism doesn’t lack in Colombia (something people to the north should take note of) I argue that pilgrimage to the National Coffee Park is a very authentic Colombian holiday if not obligation.
We hop on a buseta (the local transport, consisting of guys piling into the back of a van) to the bus terminal. Field workers mostly, I quickly notice that every man, woman, and child holsters a machete in their waist band. Fingernails to forearms you can tell they’ve had a long hot day. But the mood of the van is light, young guys pick on the even younger workers, Andrea has an exhaustive conversation with a lady about how to get to the bus terminal (it’s the last stop). A man plays with a squirrel on his lap. Broad smiles fill the bus.

Manizales- The Topographically Confused City
Andrea and I love getting to know cities from the inside, from a local point of view. In this case we hit the mother lode! Andrea’s Great Aunt Matilda agreed to escort us while we visited her stomping grounds. The diminutive nonagenarian is anything but. She could compete with an ADD toddler on a foot race to an Xbox. The only thing that slows her down is the speed of her chauffeur (who drives incredibly fast), and people on the street saying hello (she knows everyone).
Some cities are built on the tops of mountains, others in valleys, Manizales is both. The city climbs up and slides down several peaks, twists around ridges, totters on slopes, and dives into valleys. From the back of our chauffeured sedan, I got car sick for the first time in my life.
Great Aunt Matilda took us to climb to the top spires of the world’s fifth tallest cathedral. We swayed with vertigo while she prayed in a pew 371 feet below. Later, she dared us to saddle up in one of those giant catapult swings and do a skywalk outside a giant water tank monument thing. In hindsight maybe we had overstayed our welcome and she was trying to get rid of us…

Medellin- The New City
A city that was torn to shreds by rainstorms of bullets between warring narco-traffickers of the Pablo Escobar persuasion and, well, anyone who opposed them; at its peak in the 1980’s the city of 1.3 million endured up to 500 murders a month, while the Medellin Cartel earned in excess of $60 million a day, and Pablo Escobar’s net worth reached in excess of $9 billion dollars, making him Forbes seventh richest man in the world, and the sole homicidal egotist who offered to pay off Colombia’s national debt (while systematically slaying judges, politicians, and presidential candidates).
Fast forward 20 years. Modern Medellin maintains its mantra “Adelante y sin Reversa”, moving ahead without looking back. The new rhythm of life and the Medellinense motto is evident in the names of the city’s parks: Parque de los Deseos (Park of Desires), Parque de los pies Descalzos (Barefoot Park), Parque de la Bailarina (Dancer’s Park). The “Green Lung” of the city is the municipal botanical gardens: a massive green expanse of plant life buzzing with happy families playing on the grass, couples nuzzling in the shade. Medellin is truly Colombia’s modern city: a sprawling urban transport system connects the city through a spotless and speedy metro, cable cars that zip to the highest barrios, and long tram-buses that parallel the main arterial motorways of the metropolis. Neo-Medellin is vibrant with art. The Botero museum is a must see, surrounded by gargantuan statues of his “voluptuous” muses, curves bronzed by tourists hands. A deep black square, cylindrical spires thrusting towards the heavens, the symbol of Medellin “The Needle Building” (for its textile based economy) – modern art speckles downtown. Medellin is on the move, and so are we.

Cartagena- The walled city
A plane one hour north and we’re on the Caribbean coast. And so my sweating begins. Arriving in the late afternoon we stroll to the historic downtown to take pictures of the fortified city under the night lights, the amber and golden colors of the walls are amazing but nothing compared to day light and the Colonial Spanish buildings splashed with bright vivid paints enveloped by the city’s walls.
By 11 am my sudoriferous glands have punched into overdrive, much like urban Cartagena. Outside the historic downtown is where chaos resides. The sun boils high overhead, buses billow black smoke, human traffic is bumper to bumper, the splashing of oil from street side vendors frying food in combination with extreme UV rays provide a doubly crisp skin. By the time we witness a local being smacked by a screeching taxi we decide to head towards more tranquil Caribbean horizons.

Taganga- The Chilled City
I have a passion for great places with weird names. Past travels have taken me to places titled Rurrenabaque, Zipolite, Cafayate, Whakapapa, and Madison. Taganga did not disappoint. A hippie enclave of backpackers, artists, artisans, surfers, and deadbeats; the beach is a playground 24 hours a day, beer is never in short supply, and a relaxing strum of the guitar is sure to arouse an impromptu drum circle playing long after the sun has melted into the sea.

AND FINALLY

Ciudad Perdida- The Lost City



(Coming soon… really really soon.)

0 comments: