I’ve wanted to visit Medellin for many years, ever since the downfall of Pablo Escobar and the drug lords who terrorized the city for many years. Since his demise in 1993, Medellin has experienced a transformation into a safe (mostly), very livable city. Situated high in the Andes mountains, it has been described as a small slice of heaven, with perfect weather and lush vegetation. My friend Phil retired here seven years ago, and I’ve been following his adventures on Facebook and admiring the gorgeous images. It was time to visit.
Phil picked me up at my hotel this morning. We met his friends Jim and Roy at one of their favorite bakeries and hangouts. It was fun to hear their take on living here, while we drank coffee amidst a sea of green—especially delightful knowing that it is freezing cold in NYC now.
We took a walk through the neighborhood to see a wonderful sculpture by Rodrigo Bentancourt. It’s situated in a park in the middle of a large insurance company complex. For anyone in the NYC area, it reminded me of the park at Pepsi headquarters in Westchester. Then we were off in a taxi to downtown. As with all large cities, Medellin has a lot of traffic. I didn’t mind, as it gave me an opportunity to peer into the fabric shops that filled several blocks, watch people and get a sense of the pace of the city. Phil and Jim pointed out sights along the way, including the many prostitutes. As we exited the taxi, I was given a lesson in local taxi etiquette—never slam the car door, it is considered rude.
Our destination was Plaza Botero, home to twenty-three sculptures by Fernando Botero. Over the years I’ve admired his work in Cartagena, New York (there are two massive pieces in the shopping center at Columbus Circle), Italy and elsewhere. None of those experiences came close to seeing so many together. I also loved watching how tourists posed with the statues and felt the need to rub their hands on reachable appendages. Where they have been touched, the sculptures gleam gold.
As a backdrop to the plaza is the Palace of Culture, designed by the Belgian architect Agustín Goovaerts. He left midway through the project. The local government said they would complete the building, but never did. So instead of the elaborate façade of the rest of the building, there is a plain wall.
In the Plaza is the Antioquia Museum which exhibits more of Botero’s work and other contemporary art. I’d not seen many of Botero’s paintings, but now that I have, I am a fan. Phil and I spent a long time admiring the details, many ironic. When my back finally screamed “no more,” I sat and rested for a while and then we headed for lunch.
We ate at an outdoor café on a lively pedestrian street. Our table was in perfect position to observe the activity and dramas being played out. There were street vendors selling fruit, arepas, coconut, drinks and much more. Phil described many fruits that I’d never seen before. I’ll have to try them before I leave. The drama came from the many prostitutes plying their trade almost in front of us. Next door to the restaurant is a church. Johns negotiate with the girls, visit a nearby hotel room and then go to the church for absolution – one stop shopping.
Lunch was a shared plate of local specialties—arepas (corn cakes), corn, plantains, potatoes, sausage, and pork. Together we couldn’t finish it. I drank mint tea, the best I’ve ever had.
Our next destination was the Palacio Nacional also designed by the Belgian architect, Agustín Goovaerts. This was in danger of being torn down but saved when someone had the bright idea of transforming it into a shopping mall. The building is magnificent, inside and out. The bottom two floors are where you might go to buy sneakers or sweatshirts. The third, fourth and fifth floors have galleries and a café, bar, and restaurant. The artwork wasn’t terribly interesting, so we breezed through the galleries giving them only a glance. Instead, we admired the architecture, chandeliers, and views.
We had the bright idea of sitting in the outdoor café and having a drink. The lemonade at lunch had been such a success that Phil and I both ordered the house special lemonade. That was a mistake. The drink was coffee and lime juice, not a good combination. Sweetener didn’t help. But it was nice to sit, rest and catch up.
Our final stop of the day was at a bakery run by an American expat. At Burgandy House we had fabulous soup and wine. If you are ever in the neighborhood, I highly recommend it.