Today, Saturday, the GF and I walked over from Laureles to Centro for a spot of tourism. (The GF arrived a few days ago, after my last post). It was not a long walk, maybe about 25 minutes, but along the way it became very different indeed from green, wealthy Laureles. First, walking along the road towards the pedestrian bridge over the river, the shops and cafes became smaller and rougher, and finally turned into welders, ironmongers and fried chicken sellers. Then we turned a corner to find a vast asphalted space with plastic bags and rubbish blown over, people picking through piles of garbage, other collapsed over or under heaps. There was a smell of smoke from the cars, of urine, of marijuana, and of filth under a hot sun. We crossed the wide motorway to the pedestrian bit and climbed onto the bridge. There were a few people on the bridge, all seemingly in altered states, one of them had a mattress from which he’d removed all the stuffing and it was in a rough blowsy heap that we had to pick our way past. No one was particularly threatening but I had heard so much of being mugged in the city that I was rather more wary and unconfident than I usually am.
On the other side the vast road continued, lined with tyre shops that we picked our way past. There were lots of young men here, but most of them seemed to be busy with something, which is always reassuring. Also women, including a lot of prostitutes, many or most of them black. I thought back to a friend who had visited Medellin and recalled being thought a prostitute ‘Because I’m black’ she said, and I can see that a black woman alone here might well have a very different experience from mine, even though of course I am not white.
We arrived at the municipal buildings and admired the immense sculpture by Rodrigo Arenas Betancourt, a famous Colombian sculptor, which was about the ‘Antioquian race’ and was an immense scythe-like construction with human figures and tortured horses writhing over it. Quite impressive, I thought. Opposite it was a forest of poles, like a post-industrial bamboo thicket; I couldn’t find anything about it.
Medellin’s centro was a rather odd sort of place, I thought. In some ways, it was like the bazaar district of any hot, somewhat impoverished but vibrant city, bustling and dusty and noisy, at the same time it clearly aspires to be a more Western-facing, global place. I retained my paranoia so was on full alert throughout, especially for the GF who not only possesses a more expensive mobile phone, I am always convinced he is more of a target than I am, being tall and white rather than short and brown. (To be honest, I’m not sure this is true, it’s a relic of wandering around Lahore with him back in the day).
The next stop was the plaza with the birds of peace sculptures, one ripped apart by a bomb and left in memory of those who died. These were by Botero, smooth, round fat metal things, not really to my taste. There are lots of works by the man around the city. We then went to the Museum of Antioquia which had several rooms of his work, this time work that I really enjoyed looking at. His paintings, especially the oils, are excellent, though I am not sure why his sculptures don’t appeal to me at all when the paintings certainly do. Some of his famous works were there, which I recognised from seeing reproduced in books and online, inlcuding the one of Pablo Escobar’s bullet ridden body on the rooftops of Medellin, another of him in a hail of bullets, one of a boy on a rocking horse with a dolls house containing his parents, and ‘Colombian family’ portrait of people surrounded by flies. Very impressive stuff, and also impressive was the note on the wall stating that the city had asked if they could buy one of his paintings on installments since they were broke, but he presented the work for free and subsequently hundreds more, as well as his entire art collection.
From the museum we went on to South America’s largest brick cathedral, which I can attest was very large, and located in quite dodgy streets with many, many more prostitutes and drug users, and those vacant lost souls – not all from drugs I think – that seem to be more common here in Medellin than I have seen anywhere in the world. We took the impressive metro back to Laureles, stopping for juice and a coffee on the way, and then returned to the flat where I had to work.
I can’t imagine we will return to centro. Our time in Medellin is likely, I think, to be our time in Laureles. Interesting that this city has become such a magnet for ‘digital nomads’. I haven’t been to Poblado yet, which is digital nomad central, I understand. The GF and I talked about it a bit and we suppose it must be the climate, the party scene, the frisson of danger, the ability to lead a quiet but interesting life, and I daresay, the vice, that appeals. I don’t think I would like to stay here for longer than our one month, but then I thought the same in Oaxaca and I certainly sank into life there.