Medellin, Chinchina, Nevados

Post date: Jul 30, 2010 2:44:30 AM

When I got to my Medellin hostel, Casa Kiwi, I found a couple there whom had stayed at the same hostel as I back in Cartagena. Then another guy I’d met through Rob and Karmen in Cartagena showed up. Then another couple from my hostel in Cartagena checked in. Funny how these travelers follow the same routes and choose the same hostels. We all seem to use many of the same resources for selecting our shelters. Most use Lonely Planet. I prefer the simplicity of Wikitravel, but sometimes use Lonely Planet or Hostels.com or Hostelworld.com.

Medellin is the richest city I’ve been to. The clothes of the locals downtown are top-end, they drive Mercedes here, and the mall is most technologically advanced I’ve seen. There was a touch screen interactive map to help shoppers navigate the mall map.

I decided to tour the mountains and “coffee district” to the south of Medellin, then return to the city for the kickoff of the Feria de los Flores, “Festival of Flowers.” The ride south today was typical- rain, fog, got lost a few times, saw some nice mountains. Didn’t make it to a campable area by nightfall, so I pulled in to Chinchina for the night. Found a hotel room for $10. Not sure if the funk I smell in this bed is my own or the bed’s. I am not going to investigate further. I did check for bed bugs, as often I do in hotels these days. Results were negative.

I love to roam the cities at night. Every town square has the city’s primary church towering over it. I doubt a city planner these days would include a town square in the designs. Their function, which I assume was a central marketplace, is obsolete. Now we have malls, convention centers, and televised governmental reports.

Tonight I had one of my favorite meals yet. It was so good because it was so culturally unique, consisted of so much food, and cost only $2. I cannot remember ever getting so stuffed for $2. If there is one thing I took from ‘ol Pablo Paredes, it’s that when looking for a good restaurant in a foreign land, just look where all the locals are eating. I was operating on that advice when I encountered a tiny shop maybe 10’x15’. It had just enough space to seat 6 people, and the kitchen was separated by a curtain from the guest area. At first it was a bowl of soup- broth with potatoes and pork rind. My first pork rind. Pure fat with the pig skin attached. Wow, it was good, that fat. It’s basically bacon fat. A big, fried hunk of it. Yes! Finished with that, I was about to pay when they brought out the real dinner of rice, beans, some kinda hot-pocket thing, and pot roast. I ate enough calories in this meal to last two days. I finished all but the rice. Then they served me toast and this fantastic drink in a bowl. It was brown like coffee, and it tasted a bit like coffee, but it was very sweet, and there was something else in it. It was sweet enough to pass for dessert. $2. I stumbled out of there, drunk with food.

At the restaurant I spotted what may have been my first paranoid schizophrenic. He kept jerking to see what was outside, and he made faces that seemed like he was responding to voices. But, he had a hardened look to him also. He was quiet. Strolling further through town I passed down what must be crack alley. A bunch of homeless were there sharing pipes in the shadows. Then I spotted a very human activity- three teenage boys visiting and entertaining a teenage girl at the front door to the place where she worked. They were lively with hormones. Chinchina must be known best for its pastry shops and casinos; they are all over downtown. There were also several candy shops.

Next morning: I decided not to spend the day looking for some dirt road to Cocora Valley, so I headed to Manizales, from which a road leads up to Nevados Ruiz, the pretty mountains. I stopped in a market to grab some food for camping, and when I returned to the bike, I ate some cereal. I attracted more than a little attention. People were coming from down the street to see what on earth someone like me was doing in their neck of the woods. We entertained each other. It was the typical topics: where I’m from, where I’m going, yada yada. They were so amused by me. One shop owner ended up calling someone to come down and translate for us. The lady arrived and asked what was wrong. I said “Nothing. I thought they wanted a translator so that they could get answers to their questions!” She did give me directions to the National Park. She lives in New Jersey with her son, and they were visiting family in Manizales. We then took a bunch of photos. A couple shop owners gave me their business cards. One was a fish shop, the other a mango shop. It was funny and fun.

The mountains here are pretty, but they don’t compare to the region around Yarumal. Part of the problem is all of the fog. It’s thick and almost everywhere, so you really can’t appreciate the scenery. When I pulled up to the park entrance, I found out there is no camping inside and that motorcycles aren’t allowed at the park hotel. That, coupled with the entrance fee and lack of visibility, turned me around. The gate worker directed me to a campground down the mountain. I got lost looking for it, so I headed for the park’s Hot Springs Hotel. Turns out it was abandoned. It was after 2pm, the road back to Medellin was a good 6 hours, and I was drowsy for some reason, so I poked around. It had been broken into already, so it was no problem getting in. The hot springs were still flowing into one of the baths and into the pool, but the place was completely deserted. I found some receipts in a trash can dated to 2008. I found a couple traces of human occupancy post-closure, but there were no signs of someone presently squatting there. Well, then! Looks like I found shelter for the night! So, I’m sitting here in a hotel all my own. I’d take a dip in the hot spring, but it smells of sulfur or something, and there’s no running water to rinse with. It’s tempting me nonetheless because it’s freakin’ cold up here. I pulled my bike inside the hotel and barricaded the hallway entrance so that I’ll hear anyone attempting to come this way. I’ll sleep with my knife ready tonight, just in case. The question is how long until I get bored. I have my harmonica, camera, laptop, food, dictionary, and my imagination. I suppose I’ll be hitting the road very early since I’ll be going to bed at dark.

I need to look at the bike because the vibration acted up again. I’m not too worried about it though. It has been mostly fixed before by tightening the balancer, so I’ll start there, inspecting and consulting my resources. Maybe the hostel has a decent place where I can work on it.

I was nervous going to bed at the hotel because I believe the young cowboy from up the hill saw me in the window as he was climbing back up the hill at dusk. Scenes from horror movies raced through my mind. If I was killer, this would be the spot. I thought of Dexter, Hostel, and Saw. Good thing I found no traces of blood anywhere- and believe me, I was looking. I slept well that night nonetheless. The ride back to Medellin was swift and beautiful. Visiting a shop near the hostel, I met a nice mechanic who taught me how to tighten the bolt for my balancer. I’ll try that before rushing to buy new parts.