The Happy Buddha Hostel, Medellin - Wednesday, January 15th
Slowly, my eyes prized themselves open. I was on the back seat of a bus, with one knee wedged on to the seat in front. My had felt like it was filled with mercury. Outside were dense, jungle bathed mountains pollocked with farmland and roadside shacks. It took me a few moments to gather my thoughts ans establish how I had gotten here. My inebriated self was clearly a sage judge of seating. Next to me was a toilet and below, the engine.
Last night I had been given the contact details of an ex pat called Mathew by the wife of Marianne’s son Martin. We had met a club called La Villa. I’d been told there was a regular Tuesday evening party there, inaginatevely titled Gringo Tuesday.
Matthew was about 10 years my senior and had clearly been enjoying his time in Colombia.
We traded stories over gin and tonics while gringos and Colombians alike danced to music that would not be unfamiliar in any of London’s clubs.
While we were conversing, I noticed a man in his late forties, wide eyed, dancing on a chair who was a few notches above everyone else in the room. Upon enquiry it tuned out he was called Neil and had taken the photo of the baby underwater for Nirvana’s iconic album cover. He was Dutch originally but had moved here some time ago. According to Martin he has not had any gainful employment since he took the photo, managing to live comfortably off of the royalties to this day.
It turned out that he and Matthew were friends and we ended up getting into a conversation with Neil. It quickly confirmed all of my prejudices against people who have not just rested on their laurels, but collapsed in a heap over them.
Having gathered my senses, a quick scan of the bus revealed it to be largely empty, which perked me up no end. Out came my eBook on the rise of the cocaine industry (The Candy Machine by Tom Feiling if you’re interested) and on went the headphones. These, I’m happy to admit, are the moments where I’m completely at peace. 9 hours with a new world sweeping by and barely a worry for it.
My smug bubble of tranquility was torn to shreds when we stopped ata large cafe that catered to the endless gaggles of chirpy Colombian bus goers. The heat hit me with a force I’ve never experienced. It made Orlando feel like Lapland. We were no longer 2000 metres above sea level and I was now fully exposed to the wrath of the sun. I shuffled over to the cafe and into the 35 degree shade.
I’d been too smart for my own good. My money was stashed in the belly of the bus and I only had the equivalent of £1 on me. Prioritising hunger over thirst I took a punt on what looked like a wafer with jam in it. It was barely edible. Being surrounded by people wolfing sausages and downing drinks that were teared with condensation made me die a little on the inside.
Once back on board we resumed our crawl. We soon began driving though the most beautiful jungle I’d ever encountered. The different shades of green being played with by the sun’s light and the sheer variety of plant life were overwhelming. I wanted to get out and explore like Kapax. Then I remembered how hot it was outside and scolded myself for being such a fool.
It turns out the bus drivers favourite game is to overtake on blind turns. Despite being at the back of the bus it’s hard to ignore lorries carrying tanks of highly flammable liquids and chemicals that pass within a whisker of the window. Funnily enough it doesn’t get any easier after the 10th lorry, or the 100th.
After 12 hours we swooped in on one of the most dramatic cities I’ve ever seen. The sun was beaming a warm evening light across a valley surrounded on all sides by sheer walls of vegetation and red brick towers. The scale of the place suited its troubled history. In the 1980s this city was the world capital of the cocaine trade. Before Pablo Escobar was assassinated in 1993 Medellin had the highest murder rate in the world. In 2003 there were 6300 gangs in Medellin alone. This was still an issue in the city. Unlike Bogotá it was a place where I really had to keep my wits about me.