Currently it’s about 6:47 am and I’ve just awaken on a couch in the hostel theater. Today is my last day in Medellín, so Sorenne snuck into the hostel (theater) last night so she wouldn’t have to trek to her apartment there and back again. I guess it’s not really sneaking in–she stayed here two nights over the weekend before moving her things into her new apartment in Medellín, so the staff just assumes she still has a bed here. We sure fooled them!
Anyway, clearly I am terrible about doing this day by day but I figure if I can keep up once a week then i should be good.
I’ve also discovered I’m terrible at charging my phone, so shout out to Fred (mother’s bf, NOT Hickman for anyone back at the office) for the external charger–it’s been saving my life (currently have 12% battery though, might have to venture out to my actual bedroom).
Another discovery–I love empanadas. They’re like a less messy version of a taco. They even come with an array of salsa options (always about the sauce).
Ok, moving on.
Day 6
This is the day I arrived in Medellín. The drive from the airport to the actual city is UNREAL. It’s like a city amongst a sprawling mountainous jungle. What was less impressive was the hostel I booked (Paisa City Hostel) which promised to be a party hostel in a bustling neighborhood (it’s not).
I arrived to the hostel, after some difficulty finding my hostel driver, to find a rather residential slightly rundown neighborhood. The only sign that i had arrived at my new residence was a tarp poster over a jail barred door.
I immediately regretted having booked four nights, but as I checked myself in, I figured I should at least give it a shot. I met a couple extremely hungover people upstairs, still in their bunks (it was about 3 pm) who decided to face the day and join me for lunch.
Becca, from England, Johanna, from Germany, and Josh, from Australia, told me about the late night bar from the night before and how drunk everyone had gotten (very riveting, i know). Josh also told me about a two month aywanaska (butchered that for sure) retreat he was planning on taking, where you take the drug 24 times in the course of the retreat with a spirit guide and daily ceremonies. I couldn’t decide if I was impressed or alarmed, but definitely not something I would ever do (don’t worry, mom).
Anyway, two Colorado guys I had met in Cartagena messaged me and told me about a bar crawl that was happening at their neighboring hostel (Happy Buddha) in the more touristy ‘hood, Poblado. I ventured out to meet them, accompanied by a 51 year old Paisa City Hostel resident, who never stopped talking about how glorious the ’80s were (and how everyone in Miami wants to marry him 🙄).
When I arrived at the boys hostel, Casa Kiwi, I immediately decided I was switching hostels asap. Casa kiwi has a theater (here I am), a deck of hammocks, a front patio hang out common area, Pool table, and a roof top bar and pool. Amazing.
I was greeted by the two boys and their crew of Australian guys and Swedish girls. We rallied the troops and made our way to Happy Buddha, where a mass of about 80 backpackers were already heartily drinking. The night was fairly eventful. I fell in love with a German, danced on one of the bars with the Swedish girls, discovered that the “white coffee” (not my nickname) is indeed much better down here, found a bar with a ball pit in it, and then went to an after party at my new American friends air bnb in the hills until 5 am. I ubered back to my shit hostel and ptfo immediately.
Day 7
Thursday proved to be a day of much needed relaxation (aside from my cab ride). I woke up around noon and quickly packed, said goodbye to Becca and Johana and called a cab. I guess the only time I really was scared this past week was during that ride from Paisa to Casa kiwi.
Once I got in, the driver looked at me in the rear view mirror and told me in Spanish how beautiful He thought i was. Slightly uneasy, I thanked him, and looked away. He tried to continue the conversation and I attempted to be cordial (in broken Spanish) but was starting to feel uncomfortable with every glance he gave me in his mirror. As we were about to enter a massive tunnel, the uber map suddenly glitched and said we were headed in the wrong direction,l. Simultaneously, my driver suddenly locked the car doors. I literally panicked and started yelling and waving my map at him. Poor man was quickly alarmed and kept pointing to himself saying “bueno man, bueno man.”
He somehow charaded being in the army and told me in mangled English, half Spanish, that he had been in the army for 30 years and that he is a “protector.” My heartbeat slowed slightly as the uber map corrected itself, and I silently counted down the minutes until I arrived at my destination.
The Colorado boys had left the hostel before I got there, as well as everyone else from the previous night, but I quickly passed out in a hammock and took a much needed break from socializing. Eventually, I got up and booked a tour for the next day, to visit the town of Guatape and Pablo Escobar’s mansion.
Gypsy&Dragon 