Today started off feeling like a wasted day, at least in the morning. I had booked a 1PM flight to Medellín, thinking that that would still give me the morning in Bogota to go the see the museum of gold. And it would get me into Medellín late enough that I would be able to check right in to my hostel and still have time to wander around and orient myself and settle in. Sounds like I might be overplanning things a little.
Yesterday I got an email from the airline saying I should be at the airport 2 hours before the flight. And I checked the museum hours and doors only open at 10. And my friendly Uber driver told me it takes about an hour to get to the airport in the busy times. So I felt I had to choose between the museum visit and my flight and I chose the flight. I went to have a coffee in the park and took a cab to the airport at 10.
I was at the airport by 10:30 and then spent the next 2 hours reading in a waiting area in which I was the only person because the other passengers didn’t start arriving until at boarding time.
By 2 PM I was in Medellín and took a bus into the city and by 3 PM I was at my hostel. Hostal Rich is its name; it’s a large modern home with many rooms close to a noisy street. My first impression is that it is completely devoid of charm, except, perhaps, for Sylvia the owner. I had booked a private room with bath, but I was shown to a very sterile dorm room with four beds and a bathroom. I’ll have my own private dorm room. Here’s some pictures of the room:
The hostel has a common sitting area with a balcony and kitchen facilities and a self serve breakfast is included. And there was a kitten at my window when I came back in this evening. All this for only 23 dollars a night.
One seeming advantage is the location, I’m 2 blocks from a metro station, 2 blocks from a very lively street with cafes and bars and music and street performers, and a 10 minute walk to where I’ll be meeting my Spanish teacher on Friday.
Tonight I went walking and met a man who was very enthusiastic about arepas, especially Venezuelan arepas and he convinced me to sit down in his restaurant and have one. I had a chicken arepa and I thought it was good. And the whole time I was there, not a single other person stopped to eat. I asked them why that was, when their food was tasty. The son said that’s a good question. The man said that it was because they were new. The woman who did the cooking just smiled. Now that I’ve thought about it, I suspect that it’s because they’re Venezuelan. Colombia has seen a huge influx of Venezuelans fleeing their chaos, and it seems many Colombians are resenting their presence here. It’s only a theory about the arepa restaurant, but I’ve heard people criticize the lack of generosity of many Colombians toward their Venezuelan cousins.
After my supper, I wandered some more and stopped in a bar to watch the end of a Copa libertadores match between Independiente Medellín and a Chilean team. Suddenly there was a swarm of bicycles on the street behind me, all the motorized traffic was replaced by a 10 minute parade of cyclists. I took a picture but it doesn’t do justice to the volume of cyclists that were participating. The picture is disappointing but the ride was impressive. It seems like there is spirit and energy in this town. I’m looking forward to seeing more of it.
