The Great Traveler

After an exhuasting day of working and moving everything I own up to Philadelphia, I got 3 hours of sleep, before I woke up for my flight to Medellin, Colombia. I had made the decision to go to Colombia about 3 days ago, and had I not been so determined, I wonder if I would have chickened out. After all - this was Colombia - a country that is mythical in the American psyche for being the home of the cocaine trade and being one of the most dangerous countries of all. After all, I had never even met anyone who had ever traveled there.

As I arrived in Medellin, the landing was unimpressive, just like the airport. There seemed to be nothing around, and the airport had a total of only 4 gates. This city of 4 million people had only 4 gates? Maybe it wasn’t as developed as I thought.

I had been talking to the guy who owned a hostel in Medellin, a New Zealand born and raised guy named Kevlin, who owned “The Black Sheep.” I knew once I arrived at the hostel, I would be ok, and I could meet other people like me who dared visit this mythical country. The biggest unknown was the taxi ride to the hostel, as my fate would be in the hands of one Colombian man that I never met for 45 minutes. As I got in the taxi, my heart starting pumping a little faster, and the sleep deprivation played second fiddle to the adrenaline rushing through my body at the thought of the unknown. I got in the taxi and spoke some decent spanish and told him about my friend who’s expecting me. After about 5 minutes, when my spanish conversation skills can no longer hold the conversation, I shut the hell up, and didn’t say a word the rest of the trip. As long as he thinks I’m fluent in Spanish, and I have friends here, my chances increase.

I made it to the hostel with no problems, in a fairly nice looking neighborhood. It actually is just a house in a neighborhood that has been converted to a hostel by putting 6 beds in every room imaginable. Its always cool meeting people from all over the world and talking about their travels and their experiences. Most of these people have been on the road for 4-6 months, and when I tell them I’ve got 2 weeks, they think I’m crazy. Somehow, the Europeans and Australians always manage to find months and months of time away from their daily lives to travel the world.

As of yet, I have only walked down the city center. Some friends I’ve met at the hostel are going out to a place called Parque Arenas or something like that. That’s where I’m headed right now, to check out some of the famous Medellin nightlife. Nobody here seems to have a problem with any sort of safety concerns at all. The close by city of Santa Domingo, which was once called the world’s most dangerous city, seems to be visited by every backpacker in Colombia, often by themselves at night. While I have no concept of what this place was like 15 years ago, I can only imagine how much it has changed. Certainly, I can’t take safety for granted, but I already know its not as dangerous as every one in America seems to think it is