Medellin and Duke basketball

(since as my Uncle Craig says, everything comes back to Duke basketball, I wanted to add that combination into google in case it wasn't already there ;). 

Spring is in full-bloom at the French Garden in the Museo de Castillo (Castle Museum)

Medellin is considered the city of “eternal spring.” For many it represents the most beautiful city in all of Colombia. Once the murder capital of the world, it has redefined itself now and boasts an efficient metro system, lush green public spaces, and a variety of museums.

I was fortunate enough to have significant assistance in seeing Medellin from two friends, Sebastian and Daniel, and one acquaintance, Alex, that I made in Medellin. Alex was part of a group of (VERY friendly and curious) students touring a museum in the Parque de los Deseos (Park of Desires/wishes) who accompanied me to the nearby Botanical Garden once class let out. As my stomach started to take over my priorities, he suggested that we head uptown to where his brother worked as the food there was delicious. It was a bit of a journey; we took the metro back up to where I was staying (El Poblado) and then hopped on a bus that took us up into the hills overlooking the city center, to a neighborhood called Las Palmas. Alex is talking a mile a minute and I can barely take in the scenery as I try to keep up.

We finally reach El Chuscalito, the restaurant where his older brother, Sebastian, works. They are really close and seem to have their own way of communicating via staring at each other and nodding occasionally; it’s kind of fun to watch, and it gives me a moment to appreciate the tranquility that the hills provide. Alex selects a bandeja paisa for me, and before I know it I have a huge bowl of soupy beans and a plate of blood sausage, chorizo (regular sausage?), chicharon (fried pork deliciousness), fried egg, avocado and rice in front of me. It’s a lot of food, but in my morning wanderings I had forgotten to get breakfast beyond a coffee at Juan Valdez (delicious but much more expensive than the guys in the park), so I am up for the challenge. I wash it all down with what’s certainly emerged as my favorite Colombian drink: jugo de lulo (en agua). It is so sour and awesome.

With Sebastian at El Chuscalito

At this point I split off from the brothers to head back into the city (the metro line makes this crisscrossing fairly simple and economical). I want to see La Candelaria, the old section of town, to see how it compares to that of Bogota. Ever since reading Jane Jacobs’ Life and Death of Great American Cities, I’ve been fascinated with the planning and use of public space. Medellin is a perfect place for causal ethnography, and once I pop my head into the cathedral and appreciate again what I’m starting to see as a pattern in these late 19th century cathedral in the use of exposed brick in the interior, which creates an effect that I really like, I move onto the fountain to sit, watch and listen. There’s a skit being put on a two mimes standing by a few feet away. I make eye contact with one of them and he motions to offer me some marijuana. I decline and try to avoid further eye contact. The park is full of benches, but it’s hard to find a free one. There are a lot of couples, some with children, and also many elderly people who have also come to sit and enjoy the energy of the park. The food and drink options are plentiful—everything from orange juice to coffee, to ice cream, to chips, candy, etc. And of course, single cigarettes; while seemingly banned in most restaurants and bars, still a very popular vice.

A lot going on at Parque Bolivar

Instead of retracing my steps back to the metro, I head down through the pedestrian walkway at the southern end of the park through a commercial district. Medellin clearly has a more seedy side as well, as the dimly lit nightclubs and casinos indicate. I opt for a corn arepa with cheese, and while it’s warming up, have an opportunity to talk with a guy who works there. He’s alone in Medellin, from the coast, where he left because of ongoing violence. A reminder that I’m seeing a carefully orchestrated side of the country that certainly doesn’t tell the whole story. I learn more about that the following day, when others share stories of being held up and mugged, or being on a bus that got boarded. My experience in Colombia was uncategorically positive, but it’s clear that I’ve been lucky (as well as smart, according to me).

Arepa de chocolo con queso--Yum!

Sebastian has Friday off and offers to show me around. We begin our tour in the shiny new neighborhood that’s appropriately called Las Vegas, and we visit the Carrefour there. Carrefour, though often compared to Walmart, is a lot classier than the latter; most have a bakery and café where you can sit, use free wifi, and talk. Sebastian is a natural tour guide; as we pass the wine display, he mentions that until the last year, wine wasn’t very readily available in Medellin. I comment that as a tourist, I only see a snapshot of a city and therefore can’t appreciate the trajectory; it requires conversations and explanations from locals to add that depth to my experience. How lucky to stumble on two brothers who were born and raised in the city to show me around.

Sebastian then takes me over to the Interactive Museum (science, aimed at kids. . . .of all ages), but it’s closed through 2012 through renovations. We settle instead in the Parque de Pies Descalzos (Barefoot park) and get a guided tour with an animated and quite knowledgeable park ranger. She shares with us that the design of the park was heavily influenced by Asian philosophy and principles. We take our shoes off to appreciate the different mediums of the park—rocks (ow!), grass (oooh), sand (hot!!), and water (ahh). We’re asked to use all of our senses (save taste, thankfully) to stimulate our brain and help up relax. We stroke the bark of a tree, crush up a leaf and a flower to smell them better, wander through a maze with our eyes closed, and give ourselves a several station foot massage while learning about reflexology. It’s a lot of fun and at the end I feel like I have a new set of feet. I’m also quite comfortable with my feet in the Jacuzzi-like pool and stay there long after the tour has adjourned.

Only thing missing are the pandas at Parque de Pies Descalsos

We make our way to where Sebastian and Alex live. It is an older neighborhood; their parents bought a house there over 20 years ago, and it has all the tell-tale signs of a family neighborhood—kids playing in the street, bikes parked outside, laundry hanging from the windows. It also has a spectacular view from the roofdeck onto the other decks and beautiful exposed brick buildings, it oddly reminds me of Beacon Hill and I find myself wondering how Charles’ projection screen (and choice of movies, for that matter!) would go over here.

But enough of that, we’ve got a basketball game to play. We head down to the courts where the volleyball team is just finishing up, and we manage to slide onto the court just ahead of the soccer team, therefore claiming it as ours. A few friends of Alex and a guy walking by join us, so we have a brisk 3 v. 3 game going on. I’ve been in Colombia long enough that I’ve gotten used to speaking Spanish all day, but nonetheless, in any conversation, I’m clearly still at a disadvantage because it takes a lot more effort for me to formulate and express thoughts than pretty much anyone I’m talking to. As a result, I’m also not “myself”. Or rather, Maria in Spanish is a different Maria than the one that most of you know and love. I realize when I’m on the court that I’m relaxing into the game; it’s a level playing field because basketball is the same for all of us. A layup is a layup. Hardly profound, but I feel more like I’m truly being “me” during the game—true to my Dukie roots, I start whooping during shots and yelling all sorts of commentary (AIRBALL, AIRBALL) as we play. We play two games, both are close and I won’t tell you who actually won (probably the team that wasn’t running its mouth the whole time). I will be very sore for the next two days because of my insistence on boxing out on rebounds and having had the guys come down on me pretty hard a few times. Well worth it.

What a view!  From the roof of Alex and Sebastian's house

I head back to my hotel to shower up and eat dinner before meeting back up with the guys later than night. Around 10:30, I hop into a cab and hand him their address that I’d written down—“this is wrong”, the cab driver tells me. I have written down that it’s 112th st near Guayaba (guava). It turns out be to 12th st near Guayabal. While I’m aware of all the terrible things that can happen, and certainly hear stories about people doing bad things, it was this type of interaction that I found to be the norm in Colombia. I share the few landmarks that I remember with the cab driver and he’s fairly certain that he knows where I want to go. I have a number written down, so when we get close and start looking, he says that if we aren’t able to locate it, he’ll give them a call to get the precise directions. I feel safe and accompanied as we search; the driver is patient, not at all annoyed to be driving around a fairly disoriented gringa, and clearly knows the neighborhood well. All the while, he’s telling me about a Colombian journalist “Pirry” (links to Wiki in Spanish) and asking about Boston, which he thinks is home to more paisas than any other city in the U.S. Finally, I see Daniel standing outside of the house and give the driver a heartfelt thanks for delivering me there safely and efficiently. And then get laughed at roundly for thinking that I was going to Guava st (clearly I’ve been drinking too much lulo juice and it’s gone to my brain).

It’s a typical night out in Medellin. We head over to an open air bar, playing the standard mix of salsa, merengue, reggaeton, vallenata, and bachata (Aventura is very popular here). I ask all sorts of questions about dating and romance in Medellin. As a sociologist, I get to approach these topics with a scientific curiosity (with varying success). How do you pick up a girl at a dance club? Evidently, with some head motioning and intense eye contact, kind of how pitchers and catchers communicate. Couldn’t you just go talk to her? Ha! (That “joke” got the best reception of any I’ve told yet). I learn the term “amigos con derechos” (friend with rights) to describe the person that one is dating in a non-serious relationship. I also learn that these guys think Monica is the hottest character in friends. We have a particularly hilarious exchange when Alex mentions that in a dubbed movie, Samuel Jackson says “Miercoles” (Wednesday) instead of “Mier. . . .” (word that translates into our s-word) and it takes a little talking in circles to explain that in the English version, Jackson probably didn’t say, “Oh, Wednesday!” as a curse, nor does that make any sense. In fact, it makes as little sense as saying, “Oh, sssssugar!” or “Oh, Shhhherlock!” in Spanish. Nonetheless, we start saying “Azucar” (sugar) as our choice curse word for the night. Cultural exchange at its best. They are open, having fun kicking back to the beer and aguardiente combo, and happy to share, although at the end of the night, Daniel finally puts me on the spot. Maria, we’ve been talking the whole night. It’s your turn, what do you think of us, Medellin, Colombia?

Thanks for throwing me a softball, Daniel. Azucar! Is my first thought. What to say, and in Spanish at that. 2011 is the year of trying to be honest though, right? So I go for it:

In Medellin it seems that you can find beauty on almost any corner.

The hardest part for me of working in global health is maintain my faith that humanity is good, because it’s that belief that underpins all the work that I do. If you look around the world, it’s easy to find examples anywhere of abuse, violence, corruption and other evidence of the bad. It’s the good that sometimes feels more invisible, and I needed a reminder on it as I jump into a new job across the world. And I don’t think I was conscious of that when I came to Colombia. And yet, at every corner, it’s been what I’ve found here. From the people I met in Bogota, to the family that adopted me in Cartagena, to Camilo and his friends that took me to Cabo de la Vela, to my cab driver tonight who didn’t take me for a ride. At every turn, I’ve been forced to make a decision on whether to trust or not to, and here, my decisions to trust have been rewarded by an opportunity to meet a lot of good people and feel the warmth of the world, and Colombia has restored for me that sense of faith and hope.
They nod; they understand—the fact that I can both formulate and communicate a thought like that speaks to the depth of the impact Colombia has had on me mentally and lingual-ly (my English on the other hand is suffering these days). I’m happy, gratified, that I can express to some degree the deep gratitude I’m feeling to these strangers that have let me have a brief window into their lives. In the balance of karma, I’m working up quite a debt.