On New Year’s Day, I flew from Cartagena to Medellin, via Bogota. After the last toxic bus ride, I decided to splurge for the extra $50 to fly rather than take the bus (and thereby trim about 10 hours off my travel time). I was flying Aero Republica, which I had heard was a mileage partner of Continental Airlines. Upon check-in, I gave the representative my Continental OnePass number (I am
so all about the miles).
After passing through security, I was greeted by another Aero Republica representative who was checking people in as they arrived at the gate. She looked at my boarding pass, looked at her monitor, said something to me in Spanish, then tore up my boarding pass. Because I am pretty much always expecting to be subject to some heinous iniquity, I immediately started protesting in my infantile Spanish. She smiled indulgently, then handed me a new boarding pass for the same flight, with “ELITE” stamped all over it. My seat 14F had become 1A. She then tore up my boarding pass for the second leg of my journey, and handed me another boarding pass. 22C had become 1A. She then accompanied me to a seat by the gate. Half an hour later, just before boarding time, another Aero Republica representative came over to me, addressed me as “Señor Sweeney,” and asked me to follow her. I immediately assumed something was wrong with my ticket, or they found out that I held an Irish passport and didn’t have the required visa to be in Colombia, or realized I wasn’t actually “Elite,” (which I sort of don’t think I am), or some other problem. Instead, she gave me a personal escort out onto the tarmac, up the gangway, and right to my seat, to give me a chance to settle in before the commoners had a chance to board. Two minutes later, a flight attendant came over, also addressed me as “Señor Sweeney” – which is starting to grow on me – and welcomed me onboard and went on and on about how delighted both she and Aero Republica were that I was flying with them, and asked whether I might like a beer or some wine or champagne or coffee or tea or whatnot. A few minutes later, the other passengers began to board and all looked at me as though they were trying to figure out why I was so important. Frequent flyer status rocks.
Anywhoosie, I landed in Medellin and took a taxi to the Black Sheep hostal in the Poblado suburb ($12 a night for my own room plus Wi-Fi in an awesome neighborhood!).
First glimpse of Medellin on the taxi ride from the airport
The Black Sheep Hostal in Medellin
I could tell right away that I was going to love Medellin and immediately regretted scheduling so little time there (only 3 days). The weather is pretty much always like mid-September in New York (which as every New Yorker knows is the best time of year weather-wise). Poblado is a mixed-use, relatively affluent suburb south of the center: beautiful homes with landscaped lawns, attractive apartment complexes, and office buildings that don’t really take away from the neighborhood. And, of course, a mall.
Since I arrived on New Year’s Day, pretty much everything was shut down, so I headed to the Oviedo Mall, hoping at least the cinema there was open. It was, but I was more than 2 hours early for the only movie showing in English that I hadn’t seen yet: “Eragon.” I bought a ticket – which was more complicated than I expected since they had assigned seating and I had to select a specific seat. I chose the seat dead center in the theater, took my ticket and headed off to the food court to gorge myself for two hours.
The view of the mountains from the Ovieda Mall, near the food court. Medellin is in a valley and every direction you look you have a great view of the surrounding mountains.
Inside the Ovieda Mall, the only place open on New Year’s Day (and only the cinema and one-tenth of the food court was open at that – no stores).
Newly fortified with a quarter-pound cheeseburger, tub o’ fries, and five-scoop hot fudge brownie sundae, I returned to the cinema and took my seat. Awesome! I was at perfect eye level with the very center of the screen. I probably wouldn’t have chosen to see this movie in the US, but at least I was going to be seeing it under the best conditions possible.
Then my fellow movie-goers trickled in. A runny-nose kid sit down in the seat on my right. Drats. A young make-out couple sat down immediately on my left. Within minutes, I was surrounded. As the lights went down, I looked around. The theater was about 85% empty, but everyone was sitting in only 3 rows—all the rest were completely unoccupied. I was trapped in the center seat of the middle of these 3 rows. As the movie began, I noticed something else: listening to the dialogue was not a priority for these folks, since they were just reading the subtitles. They laughed, chatted away, took phone calls and generally made it exceedingly difficult for me to actually hear anything for the next 2 hours. The kid on my right kept wiping snot on his pants and then sticking his fingers in nacho cheese sauce and licking it off. As for the couple on my left, I wanted to refer them to the Hostal Mar Azul in Cartagena – two hours there would have cost them much less than this movie, and probably would have been better suited for their interests. The closing credits rolled, and although I missed some of the finer plot details, at least I could see that the cinematography was quite impressive.
It was all looking up for me in Medellin after “Eragon.” I visited the city's oldest museum, Museo de Antioquia, which coincidentally was offering free admission for the week. Very cool! Then I strolled around the city, taking in the countless sculptures by Medellin’s native son, Fernando Botero. (I've walked by the Botero sculptures in the “vertical shopping center” in Columbus Circle many times and never even knew the artist was Colombian. But they're sort of crazy about him down here...)
The Botero sculpture garden. It’s obvious that passers-by like to give “a little rub” to the statue in the foreground.... (You might need to enlarge the pic to see what I'm talking about...)
I like to call this one "Botero with Bubbles.
On my last evening in Medellin, I was walking aimlessly around the city, when I passed by an open doorway leading to a flight of stairs. There was no sign by the door, but something compelled me to enter -- enter, that is, what easily could have been someone's private residence. Perhaps it was the faint strain of "Bad Girls" bouncing off the high-gloss, Pepto-pink walls. Who knows? But I timidly climbed the steps and was greeted by even more pink, by even more deliciously shlocky music, and by the doting bar staff, Mario and Camilo. It turns out "Pink Flamingos" had only been open 15 days and they hadn't even gotten a chance to put a sign up or advertise yet. And in a sprawling city spread over 150 square miles, I simply wander in off the street. (Does that give a whole new meaning to the term "gaydar" or what?!?!?)
Soon other Paisas (as folks from Medellin are often called) started trickling in and it became quite festive. Naturally, I got all B.F.F. with a big group of regulars (if you can be a regular in a bar that has only been open two weeks...). They were young, fun and gorgeous. I was fun, at least. At one point in the evening, insistent that I stay an additional few days in their city to hang out with them, they called up Aero Republica to postpone my flight to Bogota by a day or two. Fortunately, Aero Republic was not able to find my reservation without the confirmation number, and I headed off the next morning as planned. But I was totally flattered by their effort anyway. ;-)
Some of my new best friends and me at Pink Flamingos. I love how my hand is draped over my knee in this photo -- all those years of finishing school really paid off! ;-)
Next up, Bogotá!
