Medellin is a city that won’t let go. The difficult thing about writing about Colombia is that as a country it is so diverse, so inequalable, and on such a grandiose scale that comparison with other countries, landscapes or people seems to belittle the majesty of the place. Medellin as a city is a microcosm that retains this same diversity. 3.8 million people call this city home and it hosts both the desperately poor and the absurdly wealthy. Called Paisas, the locals are direct, fun-loving and are generally happy to see a visitor and freely dispense advice of their corner of the city.

Carlos Gonzalez smiles at me and shakes his head. “You will stay here longer than a week,” he promises. Is Carlos a wise man, a tour guide, or a hawker for hotels? No, simply the owner of the Kawasaki dealership in El Poblado. Yet after a week, I didn’t like Medellin. Little information is known about the city and Lonely Planet strangely dismisses the city for having little of backpacker interest. I find this interesting as Lonely Planet really does recommend some strange parts of the country and ignores others. I wonder if the author only stayed there a week. I spent a few days walking around, did an oil change, and met Jeff Sherren, a motorcyclist from Canada. He had spent a couple of months in Colombia already and seemed to have been similarly inveigled with the country. I gradually met more people, went to more interesting corners of the city and found myself slipping into it like a warm blanket. The city has many pretty parks, interesting statues and many civil works seem to be underway. But the charm of the place seems to be simply the positive energy of so many people chaotically co-existing whilst maintaining a cheery outlook on the city.

I even started to enjoy the traffic. A common point of debate is whether Colombia is Dangerous. Yes, Colombia is dangerous. Anyone who claims this country is not dangerous hasn’t driven on the roads. Although Colombians are in society polite, courteous and seem to ‘follow the rules’ to a fault, on the roads they really let their hair down. In New Zealand on a motorcycle I practice what could be called Defensive Driving. In Colombia, I speed to survive. Lanes are ignored or changed without regard for anyone using the road. Buses stop in the middle of the road to unload passengers leading the taxi drivers behind to lurch homicidally to the fast lane. I have learned to recognize many seemingly innocuous hazards as more serious simply because other traffic will happily run me over to avoid them. Colombians think nothing of stopping their trucks around blind corners and traffic rules are more negotiable than any other country that springs to mind. Colombia is very dangerous – but maybe safe if you just catch the bus. The upshot of this situation is that my red machine can accelerate ahead of the blood-lust at traffic lights, can break quickly and swerve more effectively than any car. God bless you Rosa.

Having procrastinated about leaving Medellin I decide on a Friday and a good night’s sleep on Thursday. That is until I get flicked a free ticket to a party on Thursday night. With a good group from the hostel we move to a functions centre and it becomes apparent that this party is BIG. It is actually the launch party for Barena, the latest beer to hit the Colombian market. About 2500 people are in a huge marquee, the beer is free, the food is free, the girls are like all Medellin unbelievably hot, and the live music is good. And why am I leaving tomorrow? The bar service is the best I’ve had, anywhere. Walking up to the bar with an empty bottle, skimpily clad girls take the empty and ask, ‘do you want one beer or two?’. Why am I leaving tomorrow? Trying to keep a semblance of sobriety I do some twirls on the dance floor and the night whiles away in great form.

9am rolls around and I get out of bed. Goodbye Medellin, you’ve been great. You’re a difficult city to get leave.

Today I will have a pillion. Mar Elizabeth is from Bogota and heading in the same direction as I am for a few days. She’s managed to pack her gear into one bag and everything is loaded up. I say goodbye to the staff at Casa Kiwi, who are a good group of people and we head south towards the famous zona cafetera, Colombian highlands ideal for large scale coffee plantations. More ranges beckon on the road. Traffic is heavy today, and trucks slow me down on the hills. After an hour and a half, I’ve completely left the remnants of Medellin’s urban sprawl. I climb a hill and approach a police checkpoint. I slide through past a restaurant and suddenly parked in the lot are approximately twenty Harley Davidson’s. It’s time for lunch.

They are heading off but we shake hands before they move on for the city of Manizales and a bike rally. In classic Harley fashion they set off two car alarms outside the restaurant while leaving. I have another visitor while waiting for my steak and arepa. Carlos, the Kawasaki dealer is heading south to the city of Cali and has seen my bike. He has a quick meal, discusses where I am heading and says, ‘What did I tell you? I knew you would stay more than a week. Medellin is a tough city to get out of.’ Before leaving he gets out my map and gives directions for the secondary roads to Pereira.

It’s a lucky recommendation. We quickly leave the trucks to the principal highway and start to rise. The weather threatens to rain but this never materializes. Instead we wind up into mist enshrouded lush hills past banana and coffee farms. Having a pillion on board means I get someone to take a few extra action photos and although tired, the riding is great. Colombia’s small towns on the map tend to be quite substantial in size and the buildings are great, while the scenery is staggering. This countryside is home to the grand landscape.

As the day wears on, we cut short our touring and head to the city of Pereira to Mar’s friend Cristina and her beautiful family. We get welcomed into the door but I have a nasty shock. My luggage emits a nasty plastic smell, a bad sign.

When adjusting the bike for a pillion, I had moved my saddlebags back about two inches which was just enough for the bags to rotate against the exhaust pipe. The pipe burned through the protective foam, a thick plastic plate and then proceeded to scorch all the clothes I wasn’t wearing. Bugger!

So there you have it. I’m currently in the pretty city of Pereira. Tomorrow I will try to get my saddlebags repaired and work out some strategy to clear the bag of a strong plastic smell. Otherwise I may have some shopping to do in Bogotá.

From here, I will be going to some thermal baths and also to the small town of Salento, to see some more of the coffee set-up close up.

Posted on Monday, May 21st, 2007 at 3:37 am in Josh's Journal.
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