I consider myself an early bird, so I woke up early and hopped in the shower. Well, it was more like one of those ice bucket challenges, I couldn’t be sure. As the drops of water hit me like razors, I wondered, did this country even have hot water? I turned the knob to switch off the shower, there was no way I could handle the constant splatter all over my body. Instead, I crouched down and suffered through a frigid whore bath, also known as a washing of basically just tits, pits, and ass. The towel was a welcomed wrap of warmth as I dried off, got dressed, tossed a little tinted SPF on my face, and headed out to the common area to get some coffee by the pool.
Breakfast was included, so I took advantage and scarfed down some bland biscuits and eggs from the rainbow-colored plate, while taking to my pen and journal to jot down a few notes of the adventure so far. I took a sip of my plain black coffee and heard a familiar voice in front of me. It was Matteo with his gentle yet sturdy rattle of “good morning” from a few tables away. We exchanged friendly, broken English morning chatter as I half assed cleared my plate and stood up to leave. “See you!” He said as I walked away. Matteo was such a nice dude.
I strutted to town, taking the same path as I had the evening before. As I took in the sights and sounds of the morning hustle and bustle of the town, I realized that Medellin was pretty hilly and very populous. So many people were out and about at just 8:00 AM. With no agenda at all, I walked up and down every street, watching people from all walks of life enjoying their morning. Kids were skipping, meat shops were buzzing with customers, young and pretty tourists were dragging their heavy feet to breakfast at restaurants, as they shook off the booze from the night before. After a couple hours, the fuel from the piddly hostel breakfast wore off, and I was hungry.
I found a large restaurant that was open air all around, and walked up the seven or so stairs to take a gander at the menu that was perched up on a random stool. Everything on the menu included some sort of seafood or shellfish, which was a no-go for me. I’d learned my lesson the hard way one year in Aruba while trying an assortment of shellfish in a dish of the popular local cuisine. The sheer volume of projectile vomiting I encountered that night instilled a promise to self to never eat shellfish again, and unfortunately, since seafood is in the family of shellfish, I’d written off most fish as well.
Alas, another stroll down the main road led me to a small hotel with brightly colored doors and a small sign that read Brunch! I noticed a menu hanging on the wall next to the right-hand door and immediately began to salivate. Everything looked so damn good! Through a corridor was a lovely, vintage style setup on a medium sized patio with many tables and chairs throughout. I looked up to notice the roof was non-existent, it was just this cute and quaint dining room smack dab in the center of a building with the top simply cut off.
The waiter walked straight up to me and asked if I was alone. It had become such a common question as a solo traveler that I always had to carefully craft my response, you know, just in case. I replied, “just one for brunch, please.” This was the most appropriate answer for the scenario, I didn’t need to let on that I was completely solo on the entire trip. But that perhaps rather I was the only one in my party hungry AF.
I was reluctant to order a mimosa, since I knew I had a big day of adventure ahead, but hey, when in Medellin! I requested only a small pouring ratio of champagne to the juice, so it felt much more like a novelty drink. The scrambled eggs I ordered were garnished with peppers, mushroom, spinach, and sausage – I ate every bite and damn near licked the plate! A homemade strawberry jam accompanied the buttered wheat toast, and I don’t think I’d ever tasted a topping so freaking good. I gobbled down every bite, feeling so fortunate to have discovered such a cozy little gem.
***
I plopped down my pesos on the table to take care of the bill then stretched my arms way up high and exuded audible satisfaction. I’d been asking other gals in a solo female travel Facebook group about places to stay in Medellin with better community feels than the Vibes Hostel I’d be checking out of shortly. As I made my way back to the hostel, walking off the second breakfast I’d devoured, I stopped by a recommended hostel called Masaya.
For the first time since I’d arrived, an instant feeling of belonging swept over me. Although those two guys I’d met at the hostel were beyond pleasant and kind, the language barrier and differing travel intentions meant I hadn’t really connected with any folks I could interact or make plans with.
I opted for a single, private room for the remaining two nights I’d be roaming about Medellin, and boy was it cheap! Since I had a few hours before I could check in, they offered to let me store my backpack in their holding closet and roam about the property once I’d return. I continued my journey to the Vibes Hostel to gather my belongings and check out, then hailed another ridiculously cheap Uber to the Masaya with luggage in hand.
I’d read reviews online about this hostel having awesome rooftop views, so my first order of business was to go check it out. I stepped off the elevator on the twelfth floor and at first glance, it looked like a large, open co-working space. I saw several young nomads with laptops and fancy Beats earphones, plugged in and ignoring their surroundings completely. What a lifestyle, I thought. About thirty or so steps to my left was a small but ornate bar, and two pretty girls working behind it. The dark-haired girl with insurmountable tattoos asked if I’d like a cold drink, and I politely declined before mentioning that I would be back later and take her up on the offer then!
I was a bit sad and surprised to see that the rooftop pool was closed for maintenance, and not just for like, a few hours… but weeks. The water was drained from it completely and a couple of men were fully suited up and working on it. The temperature was about eighty, so they had to be uncomfortable. Or perhaps maybe they were used to working in such hot conditions.
There were three rooftop levels, so I took the stairs up to the next terrace and just as I turned my head at the top of that stairway, my jaw dropped. The scenic views of Medellin were unreal, but the extended view into the neighboring mountains was breathtaking.
I sat down at a table that faced the mountainside and pulled my laptop from my backpack to write a bit. After a few hours and a few bottles of water, it was time to check in to my room and change to head out to meet the group with the Comuna 13 excursion I had booked for the afternoon.
Never one to dress fancy, I threw on a clean pair of jean shorts, a white tank top and my light pink sneakers. A bit of a longer Uber cruise was in order to get to the meeting spot, and I was asked to use WhatsApp to assist in locating the guide and the group. Standing around the train station waiting with my bright green crossbody, I felt the urge to grab a cold drink from the closest street vendor. At last, I located the group and joined in just as we set out on foot to the platform of the cable car track.
I introduced myself to a few of the others whom I’d spend the next few hours with as we packed into a cable car for the 10-minute ride to the top of the city. I grabbed my phone and took a couple quick videos to capture the beauty of the odd and colorful neighborhoods below. Once we arrived at the upper station, we all gathered around as our guide, Sergio, prepared to give us a casual speech about the glorious sights beyond the glass railings.
He pointed out the nearby mountain that housed hundreds of multi-family residences, which was the main focal point of the view. Each home looked nearly identical to the next, a muted brown eggshell color brick with large, metal windows where clothing and bedding hung to dry. Sergio explained to us that there was only one road that winded through the neighborhood, and it only ran about halfway up to the top. So, anyone who lived in a home that was above that road (and there were a lot), would have to take stairs to reach their home. Imagine climbing hundreds of stairs every time you leave or come home, or worse yet, carrying groceries or furniture!
This is quite the opposite from America, where the richest of rich and luxury living is at the tops of mountains. Here, in Colombia, the higher up the home, the poorer you are considered to be. However, the views from those mountaintop homes were undeniably spectacular.
Sergio then pointed out the flatter part of the neighborhood below and told us about his own personal experience growing up there. Twenty years prior, this was the murder capital of the world! In fact, he himself had witnessed executions in the street as a young teen playing basketball with friends. He told us that those were so common, no one even flinched. It was business as usual. It was awfully sad to hear about how poor and dangerous life was at Comuna 13 all those years ago, but it was also inspiring to see how the community worked so hard to change. Now, it is a thriving culture with hip hop dancing, foods, crafts, and textiles. Its people are happy, children are healthy, they have good education, and tourism is on the rise.
***
The next adventure was into Comuna 13 via shuttle bus. Our group of about twenty people loaded into the air-conditioned-free vehicle and prepared to sweat a little on the ten-minute ride. The minute we arrived, I took a gander at the path ahead of us and noticed it was quite the uphill hike! I’d definitely be getting my steps in for the day, as well as an intense glute workout. We were encouraged to take the stroll to the top at our leisure, stopping to check out the local vendors selling arts, crafts, apparel, drinks, snacks, and amazing ice cream. The path was crowded with tourists wandering around and taking in the unique culture. There were kites hanging above the path for a good hundred feet, each one a different vibrant color. Several of us found really neat patios situated over winding stairs, where photo opportunities could not be missed.
About halfway up, we all stopped at an open common area that had a quaint little cocktail bar and professional hip hop dancers putting on a show. While everyone took a seat on the adjacent picnic tables, I stood by the graffiti covered wall and watched in awe. I felt my muscles flinch in memory as the group performed, showing off breakdance skills and acrobatic moves like ones I used to teach back in the day. The music was lyric-free beats undoubtedly mixed by a local talent. The choreography included children as young as five or six and adults likely in their thirties or early forties. It was such a fun and vibrant showcase that ended with one of the dancers skipping over to me and grabbing my hand to pull me onto the floor while Beyonce’s Crazy in Love remix blasted from the speakers.
Only slightly embarrassed, I fucking got down right there in this wild moment. Fuckery free, right? And to think, just one year prior to this moment, on the exact day, I was suffering at the hands a monster of a human being who physically assaulted me. I’d never felt so free in my life – I was on a trip I booked all by myself without a clue where I’d end up, in a foreign country that was once the most dangerous neighborhood in the world, dancing my ass off and living my best life.
Also to note, I absolutely know my age and don’t give a fuck what anyone thinks about me. Seriously, not one.
We trekked the steep incline, stopping occasionally to look back at the impending scenery. Once we neared the top, there were escalators relieving us of the final few climbs to the very top. It was an entire shopping plaza with bookstores, craft stores, restaurants, and beer shops. We all took our time to browse around and shop, grabbing a cold brew or a customary sherbet style ice cream cone. I opted to pop into the gift shop that had adorable journals, calendars, tons of stationery, as well as ice cream. I picked up a handmade journal that was constructed of a parchment style cardboard with cassette tape images and in a cutout, it read, “Find Your B Side”. Perfect. I’d been working on finding my “B” side for a year, plus the nostalgia of the cassette tapes was totally my style!
The young man served up scoops of ice cream to the couples in front of me, then kindly asked what flavor I would like. “No, thank you, but I would like to purchase this journal,” I smiled and told him as I handed him the pesos. I have never been a big fan of sherbet or the gelato consistency, so I passed on the ice cream and instead stepped outside to order a local light beer.
I sipped on my beer and chatted with a few locals, enjoying the sights, sounds, and stunning views. The group began to rally up to head over to the famous graffiti wall, so I finished my drink and got in tow. Sergio handed out different colors of spray paint for us to add our own artwork to the wall if we so chose to, and even though I’m a decent artist, I knew exactly what I wanted to add. Nothing fancy, just a simple iconic symbol of my newfound self-love: The word “Moza”. If you’ve read my first book, you know that this was the beer I was served when I’d asked for a mimosa in Antigua, Guatemala. Ironically, moza translates to ‘single girl’ – so it was fitting as ever.
The walk back down to the shuttle bus was so fast compared to the hike up, and we took a less traveled path that was quite narrow and winding. On the cruise back to the main station, I was invited to join a few of the other tourist who were making plans to meet up for drinks and dinner later. We all exchanged WhatsApp numbers just as one of the younger guys offered to share a cab back to the main part of Medellin. I wasn’t sure if I felt like taking a trip back out to the other side of town to meet up, but just in case, I didn’t mind giving out my contact information.
After a quick shower and freshened up light makeup, I went back up to the rooftop to indulge with a beer while gazing out at the night city lights and skies.
While stargazing and letting my mind run wild with ideas about where people were scurrying to in the streets below, I noticed a young couple sitting at a table and said hello. They were so nice and cute; they even invited me to sit with them. We spent about thirty minutes chatting about random shit like where we’re from, what we do, how long they’ve been together, and even our ages (the girl claimed me to be like a big sister, even though I was old enough to be her mom). Traveling solo really puts things into perspective and can make you feel a range of different ages at any given time!
It was about 9 o’clock, and I wanted to go out and about for a bit before turning in. I had to work the next day, so I knew I needed to be well rested and focused. My stroll through Medellin landed me at a cute little restaurant called Latineria, where I stepped into the open-air bar area to order a drink and a water. The patio was quite large with colorful with flags hanging all around the wooden beams above, and it was fairly empty, except for one couple I saw sitting off in the corner. Lo and behold, it was the couple from the hostel! We had a good laugh, continued our conversation from earlier, and even took a few pictures together.
It was the end of such a great day, nothing could possibly take this feeling of accomplishment through adventures away from me.
