Comuna 13.

I took the metro Linea B to the last station to meet my guide. I was early, but I hadn’t had much to do in the morning, and decided I could explore the area around the metro station if need be.

When I alighted, the small area in front of the station was swarmed with local guides in vests; I was on the lookout for someone in blue holding a blue umbrella. I was too early.

The streets around the station were full of small shops, restaurants, and bakeries, and I made my way first down one end and then the other killing time.

Back at the station, large groups of tourists had collected at various spots on the sidewalk. Our group was too big and had to be split. A line was drawn down the middle and we went our separate ways.

Our guide walked us away from the station and the chaos of the other guides and paused in a small park to give us the lay of the land. He told us that the tour was safe and the comuna had been revitalized and rehabilitated. He told us he’d stop along the way to talk about the history of the comuna and of the drug trade in Colombia. And he told us not to pet the dogs and to take close up photos of the children. About the latter, he said, “Because that’s weird.”

We walked through a leafy suburban neighborhood, and our guide pointed out a prison that had been converted into school. At a roundabout nearing the edge of the comuna, he stopped and asked us if we knew the price of a gram of coke in our countries. Some came close; others were far off. He told us that in his neighborhood it was something like 44 cents. In New York it was around $70US; in Australia it ran around $100US, and that was for an inferior product. 

Later, he’d show us a map of distribution points in Medellín where one could buy coke. There were none in Poblano, but the majority of the coke consumed in Medellín was sold and consumed in Poblano. He said that people in his neighborhood never touched the stuff. He then told us the amount of money that was generated through the drug trade and asked what we would do if we were making that kind of money. People said that they’d buy houses for family members, go on trips. Misunderstanding the question, I told him I’d buy a government.

The roundabout used to mark the edge of where you could go as you approached Comuna 13. If you passed this point and weren’t known, you’d be shot. Now it was a busy traffic circle with buses, cars, and motorcycles traveling around it at regular intervals. Crossing it took a bit of timing.

As we continued, he asked us if money were no object if we’d rather be drug dealers or artists. Artists, right? he said. And so one of the reasons Comuna 13 had become such a gallery of street art is because graffiti had been decriminalized, and encouraged. He said that in the Comuna there were a number of ways in which people could grow up and earn a living: dancing, painting, and other artistic pursuits.

At the main intersection leading up into the comuna he stopped and gave us a break. He beckoned me to follow him and we stopped by a street cart where a woman sold chorizo. He grabbed a toothpick and speared a slice and handed it to me and we talked and ate chorizo, one after the other until it was time to regroup and walk on.

Pausing again, he told us about the different gangs that once ran the comuna and how the government worked with one in an effort to bring peace to the area. He had airdropped us videos and photos at one point and he paused to show us a video of the gun fights that ensued during one of the many operations that were run to flush the people out of the comuna. Later, the other groups went back into the hills around the city.

Climbing the steps, we watched as a troupe of dancers entertained the crowd and then proceeded to the escalators that were another feature of the neighborhood. Our guide told us that the escalators were a mistake. The government had polled the residents on what they wanted. Thinking the government wouldn’t deliver on any of their promises, the residents jokingly voted for the escalators. Lo and behold, they were installed.

We took them to the top and stopped to admire the view over the terraced buildings. He had told us that there was no reason to fear being lost; there was only one road that ran up the comuna. He brought us to a building and to the top floor where he ended the tour. He said that the story of the comuna’s success was one of investing in the children, for children are a reflection of the society. He pointed to a bar at the far end of the ridge that ran along the top of the comuna and said that it was run by a former drug dealer. He gave up drugs and started painting and running his bar. He told us that he had put a lot of money back into the community to help the children and the future of the comuna.

After the tour I retraced our steps, taking photos of the art along the way. The neighborhood was vibrant and alive. Passing a stall selling hats, I bought a cap with “Comuna 13” stitched in thick cursive letters on the front panel, black on black.

The guide had said he would be hanging at a cafe if anyone wanted to meet for coffee after the walk. I searched for the cafe, but couldn’t find it.

I walked back to the metro. There, I took the cable car up to the end of line and back, not bothering to get off at the end. A couple had joined my car and a local man chatted happily with them about the neighborhood and life there.

Back in the center of town, I stoped by the Museo Antioquia and the Plaza Botero to check out the sculptures. By then I was tired from walking out in the sun and was happy to make my way home, stopping by my favorite ice cream shop along the way.

Park Arvi.

The next morning I decided to take the metro and ride another set of cable cars up to Park Arvi, a nature preserve northeast of the city. I decided to go as much to ride the cable car as to see the park; I had done no research and didn’t know what one could do there, and had figured that I’d take the car up, do a short walk, come back down, and spend the afternoon relaxing at home.

Arriving at the Park, I was told there was a free walking tour to a lake within the park and would I like to join. I said yes. I was given a wristband and herded into a group where we followed a guide and her guide-in-training through the entrance and to a main road within the park. We walked along the pavement, past a small stand selling snacks, to the park itself.

The hike went through the woods and along gravel paths until we came to the lake. Along the way we saw foundations of old buildings that had existed back before the perserve had been created.

We were given some time to ourselves, and two men who had been on the hike came up to ask me where I was from. They were from El Salvador, visiting Colombia for the Coldplay concert. They were spending a few days in Medellín before heading to Bogotá for the show. They asked me what I was doing in South America and curious about my future plans when I told them. They recommended Guatemala and told me I should look them up when I make it to El Salvador. We traded Instagram handles and I promised I would.

By the time I was taking the cable car back to the metro it was late afternoon. At the tansfer station mid-way to the metro, I was taken aback at the sheer amount of infrastructure and architecture I was looking at to support the station, the inhabitants, and the businesses of the area. I thought about finding a cafe for a snack, but I was eager to get home and spend a few hours relaxing before heading out to one of my last dinners in the city before heading to Buenos Aires.

After dinner, I stopped by my favorite helado place. I had told the woman working there I was leaving Medellín and I wanted to say a proper goodbye. I thanked her and wished her well and told her I’d be back again. To Colombia and to the shop where we met. 🇨🇴