The Happy Buddha Hotel, Medellin - Friday, Saturday 17th

The Happy Bhudda hostel was quick to remind me of all the things I’ve always loved and loathed about travelling. It was certainly a foil to my stay in Bogota. Deapite my reservations, the backpacker area is a delightful spot. Quiet roads flanked by dense clusters of jungle and a winding river. American diners that would make London look au fait, sit with modern cafes serving gourmet local fare. Quinoa is on many of the menus.

On the terrace a frenchman was trying his level best to seranade two girls from Holland. He was lucky for his good looks and tan as I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone murder Californication quite as he did. From what I could see the Dutch girls didn’t mind one bit.

My first night had been decent, although most clubs seem to close around 4 in the backpacker area which is quite early given Medellin’s reputation as a party Mecca. Booze is extremely cheap, usually about £1 a beer and £3 a cocktail, although the quality of is very much on the lower end of the scale. A pack of fags will set you back a heady 80p.

Having had a lazy morning, I set out for the Arvi national park on the other side of the city. After a gentle descent to the Metro it was very clear that Medellin has a few things up on Bogota. For one, it has a Metro that puts London to shame. More impressively, it was completed in 1994 at the height of the violence in the country. The people here are fiercely proud of it. There is not even the faintest suggestion of vandalism. In fact I’m told that you are likely to get a lynching if you litter on the Metro. It may very well be the only way to make a Colombian angry.

With that in mind I set off across Medellin to the second object of national pride, their cable car. At the end of the line you get of and walk straight on to what is essentially a ski lift. It quietly shifts people to and from the barrios (Colombia’s Favellas) and played host to some of the most incredible views I’ve ever had the pleasure of gawping at. Below there is so much activity that its impossible to make sense of it all. It’s a pulsing hive of activity that is evolving constantly. In the midst of it all stood an enormous modern glass structure. Upon enquiry it turned out to be a library. This was all building towards the bigger picture that this city is something special, and the people here know it. And they will make sure you do too.

Once at the very top of the Barrios you change and get on to another cable car. Within a minute of the second journeys the barrios vanish. They are replaced by a sea of verdant jungle that stretches as far as the horizon. The journey becomes horizontal. I found that I had forgotten to breath for some time owing to the excitement of it all.

The entrance to the national park was included in the ticket. I was told I had to be back for 5 30 or I would be spending the night with the inhabitants of the jungle. After a few minutes walk I stumbled across an enormous police training facility. Outside I asked someone where the best direction to walk is. From what I could gather, he told me to turn around and go back to the cable car. As it was late and I was on my own there was a chance that the people living the jungle might try to rob me. Clearly the police had been doing a good job.

Undeterred I snuck by the guard when he wasn’t looking and made my way into the jungle. As a trundled on the path became less defined and the jungle felt thicker. Apparently perspective thieves will follow you while remaining unnoticed for quite some time in the shrubs. Through the jungle I could see the outline of one of the corrugated settlements. I slowed my pace and hunkered down in stealth mode, all the time aware that trying to stalk people who live in a jungle is probably a terrible idea.

My heart began to thump so much that I worried it would give me away. Thankfully the endless chorus of the jungle’s diaspora covered my fumbling. From what I could tell there was no one home. Returning to the path I moved further into the jungle, all the while trying to shake off the feeling that I was being watched.

Despite the fear of being kidnapped I was relishing some time alone. For hours I didn’t see a soul. There were no horns, engines or slasateca music. For a brief moment I wondered whether I shouldn’t stay here for the night. I could play Richard in The Beach, trapping indigenous people with snares and swinging from branch to branch like Kapax. Perhaps his story had made a bit too much of an impression.

As my thoughts were about to run away with me I heard voices coming from the bush. It was the sound of two men talking. As soon as I figured this out I helpfully stepped on a very dry patch of leaves and making a sound like someone fiddling with a crisp packet. The voices stopped and so did I. It was time to turn back. Surprisingly, the return journey was much hastier than the inbound trek.

There was no one at the cable car when I arrived back. Thankfully the cars were still running and I was able to get back down on the last lot out.

In the second cable car I met Luis, a squat old bear of a man who had lived as a scaffolder all over America and spoke a little English. He was accompanied by a young lady of around my age. 
“You’re are lucky to have such a beautiful daughter Luis.” I said as trying lubricate the conversation.
“She is my wife”. 
Suddenly I was overcome a feeling of pure terror. I had offended a man with arms the size of my thighs, while trapped in a cable car with him for 40 mins.

I searched Luis’ face for any signs. He raised his arm to me and I was only prevented from jumping out to the Barrios when I saw he was smiling. I put my arm up and we high fived. “Second wife!”
He bellowed and we both laughed and I quietly checked to see if my seat was still dry.

We then moved over to the subject of the cable car. I decided to play with the truth as I knew that it would delight Luis to know this, in my opinion, was the best cable car in the world. He was particularly happy to hear that the UK didn’t have a single cable car and was very keen to stress that Colombia had two, as you had to change half way to connect. He took particular pride in the fact that the Medellin Metro was better than London. Sadly that fact was true.