Today is blog rollover day. After a period of laziness inactivity on the writing front, I shall attempt two posts for the price of one today. Attempt being the operative word.
It is Sunday afternoon in sunny Medellin and I am having a day of doing the least amount possible that a person can possibly do. My hangovers seem to get more acute the older I get and after a night/morning out in the Zona Rosa drinking the local spirit - aguardienta - my head feels more fragile than a fine bone china teacup.
I have been in Medellin for a week now. My purpose for such a long stay - in relative terms - has been to study Spanish. So Monday to Friday this week I was getting up at 6.30am and doing three hours of intensive one-on-one lessons with my teacher Yadi. Having been out of education for more than twelve years, going back to 'school' was a bit of a shock to the system.
Every day I was set tarea (homework), and also forced myself to do more studying in the afternoon. In the evenings, as everyone piled out of the hostel for a night on the tiles and some buenas fiestas, I was tucked up in bed with a cup of cocoa by 11pm.
And the result of this hard work, sacrifice and money? I can just about string a sentence together in Spanish now. When I'm out of the hostel (where English is obviously the dominant language) I am trying to conversate en español whenever possible. The friendly Colombian people are very sweet and patient as el gringo spends two minutes trying to work out the correct ending for the verb 'to buy'.
Now the lessons are over, it's up to me to keep at the books, keep learning, keep speaking and listening. Even if the temptation to slip back into English/Spanglish is always there.
But the week hasn't just been about studying. I've obviously had each afternoon 'free', so have been out and about seeing the sights in this large, bustling city.
After doing one cable car (see previous post), I did the other one too:
It is Sunday afternoon in sunny Medellin and I am having a day of doing the least amount possible that a person can possibly do. My hangovers seem to get more acute the older I get and after a night/morning out in the Zona Rosa drinking the local spirit - aguardienta - my head feels more fragile than a fine bone china teacup.
I have been in Medellin for a week now. My purpose for such a long stay - in relative terms - has been to study Spanish. So Monday to Friday this week I was getting up at 6.30am and doing three hours of intensive one-on-one lessons with my teacher Yadi. Having been out of education for more than twelve years, going back to 'school' was a bit of a shock to the system.
Every day I was set tarea (homework), and also forced myself to do more studying in the afternoon. In the evenings, as everyone piled out of the hostel for a night on the tiles and some buenas fiestas, I was tucked up in bed with a cup of cocoa by 11pm.
And the result of this hard work, sacrifice and money? I can just about string a sentence together in Spanish now. When I'm out of the hostel (where English is obviously the dominant language) I am trying to conversate en español whenever possible. The friendly Colombian people are very sweet and patient as el gringo spends two minutes trying to work out the correct ending for the verb 'to buy'.
Now the lessons are over, it's up to me to keep at the books, keep learning, keep speaking and listening. Even if the temptation to slip back into English/Spanglish is always there.
But the week hasn't just been about studying. I've obviously had each afternoon 'free', so have been out and about seeing the sights in this large, bustling city.
After doing one cable car (see previous post), I did the other one too:
I also spent quite a lot of time just wandering through the centre, including Plaza Botero where several of the artist's sculptures are on display:
One day myself and Alexandra, a German, went up a hill to see a village that was built in the 1970s but in an old Medellin style. Quite a strange concept and it all felt too fake. Because it was.
The thing I most remember about the visit, apart from the awesome storm that hit the hill when we were up there (including a lightening bolt which was so deafening it felt like a bomb had gone off next to us) was our lunch experience.
Unusually for Colombia the restaurant had an English version menu. My Spanish is still in its infancy, so I took it from the waitress and decided to order 'Chopped Chicken Soup'. Sounds nice, yeah?
Ten minutes later and the waitress arrives with Alexandra's hotdog and my bowl of grey sick. Well, grey sick with a boiled egg floating in it.
I prodded the lumps of stodgy meat and took a bite. It was liver, but not the nice liver you get in restaurants (usually served with an onion or mushroom sauce). No, this was the liver of my school dinner nightmares and I asked the waitress to take it back to the kitchen.
I ended up sharing Alexandra's hotdog, and the restaurant didn't bill us for the 'soup'. I felt sorry for the chef, whose annual opportunity to make this grey, watery liver-and-egg monstrosity (as surely no locals ever order it) was metaphorically thrown back in his face.
The rest of the day was spent doing more wandering. It was fun, and here are some more pics:
As well as a couple of good nights out, learning Spanish and travelling in cable cars, I shall also remember Medellin for the hostel I am staying in and particularly the people that have stayed here this week. Here, in no particular order, is a selection of the characters that I have encountered:
The Weirdo
I arrived late on my first night and I think the hostel owner, a permanently-stressed New Zealander (described in the Lonely Planet as 'affable' but who I would describe as 'moody'), had forgotten my dormitory booking. I lucked in though, as he said I could stay in a two-bed room for the same price as a dorm. Good stuff.
As I was checking in, my roommate walked past. Stressed owner says 'oh, this is the guy you'll be sharing with'. The man was in his 40s I guess, and of European descent. I offered my hand to him - which in the western world would normally result in another hand being offered back and a handshake taking place. He looked at me, looked away and then walked away. Not even a hello.
We spent the next three days like ships that pass in the night. I was getting up early while he was still snoring, going to bed early when he was still out murdering people seeing Medellin. Most afternoons he slept, but apart from that he never seemed to be about. Most people in hostels do a bit of socialising. Some more than others. But I doubt this guy even said a word to anyone else during his entire visit.
A couple of times I again attempted a hello but he ignored me. He also hung his greying Y-fronts on the pegs in our room and his feet stank.
Apart from that, he's probably a great bloke.
The John and Yoko Couple
People travel to see the world, see new places, do things. After three days with the weirdo, I was moved to a four-bed dorm. In it, I was again sharing with the weirdo (in the bunk above me, which was unnerving) and a French Canadian couple.
They were pleasant people, quite Gothic in appearance. They told me they had been in Medellin for two weeks and I asked what they had done. They said 'we mainly just stay here at the hostel'. And for the next couple of days (until they left) that is what they did. Lying there in their separate bunk beds all day with occasional toilet and food breaks.
One evening they asked where I had been during the day and I told them about the cable car visit. The next day they ACTUALLY LEFT THE HOSTEL and went to the cable car. Maybe if I'd told them to jump off a cliff, they'd have done that too.
Perhaps they were doing a sponsored sleepathon. I don't know, but I just thought it was bizarre to come halfway down the world and spend all your days in bed.
The Food Scrounger
There's an Argentinian bloke here, who will come into the kitchen and say something like 'hmm, I'm really hungry. What are you cooking? Is there enough for me?' He even said to me a few days ago: 'what are we eating?' as I cooked my pasta. I don't mind sharing if someone asks nicely, but FFS.
The Man Who Got Mugged
A couple of days ago, a couple of Canadian guys were walking near the hostel and were mugged at knifepoint. It was at about 2am and they were walking down a dimly lit street in a residential neighbourhood. Not nice, but these things happen.
Today, after the hostel owner returned from a short trip away, I overheard one of the men essentially blaming the hostel staff for not warning guests that this was a 'dangerous neighbourhood'. He wanted the owner to actually tell all guests to be on guard, not to walk around at night, yadda yadda yadda.
Next he'll be wanting the owner to tell people how to wipe their own arse. I mean come on, you put yourself in situations by choice and you take the consequences. C'est la vie.
Pants Man
During this week, because of my schooling, I have been one of the first to wake in the hostel. It's been really nice to have breakfast in peace, getting myself ready for the morning's work.
The one slight distraction has been this French guy who gets up at the same time as me and proceeds to spend the first couple of hours of the day walking around in his tight pants and t-shirt, doing some press-ups and sit-ups. He's actually a really nice bloke, but he was beginning to put me off my breakfast.
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Apart from those people, there have been lots more comings and goings each day - as happens at hostels. It's been relaxing to spend the whole week in one place, making new friends each day. It's one of the main reasons I travel, and travel alone: to meet people.
And nowadays, with Facebook, it's so easy to exchange details - particularly with people who are heading to the same place(s) as you - and meet up with them at a later date. In fact, I'm doing exactly that with several people I've met here who are, or have already, gone up to Cartagena on the coast. It´s my next port of call.
Before I go and gorge myself on barbequed food, here are a couple of final pics from sightseeing in Medellin:
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| A relic from the past at the now-disused railway station |
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| Women in Medellin are famous for having big boobs (some real, some fake). This shop mannequin made me laugh. |