Colombia 2015 - Getting There

Based on the airfares, it was cheapest to fly into Medellín, travel to Cartagena via a national airline, and then return to the US by flying from Bogotá.   Also based on cheaper airfares, I arrived at the Medellín airport 5-1/2 hours earlier than Michael.  My adventurous spirit thought, No problem!  Without the kids there, I can relax at a restaurant, have lunch and some wine while I wait for Michael´s plane to arrive.

My plans were thwarted once I walked off the plane in Medellín´s Jose Cordova International Airport.  Wandering around was not as easy as I thought it would be.


First off, I only had American dollars.  Even though I had a credit card, I was gun-shy to use it.  I will be honest here and admit that despite the reports that Colombia is safer, I didn´t feel safe.  When I exited the immigration doors and into the lobby where the everyman Colombian wandered, I was sure everyone was out to get me.  While sitting in front of the bathroom, a feeble, white-haired old woman hobbled up to me and asked in Spanish if the door beside me led to the bathroom.  It did, but in my mind, I was convinced she was a homeless woman who was out to get me and my passport (which she would then use to enter the United States and proceed to take over my funds and life)!  So I emphatically stressed "No hablo español!" in answer to her question.  I just wanted to create as big of a space between us and the poor lady had to hold her bladder longer than was necessary.  Thinking back on it, I could have just clutched all my belongings, braced for impact and told her honestly, "Si, es la puerta por el baño."  But I was a fresh gringa, a 30-minute virgin foreigner.

I had not eaten since I loitered around the Los Angeles airport at 6 pm the previous night.  After the homeless woman encounter, it was about 2 pm. Not having eaten for 20 hours emboldened me to explore more of the airport, which turned out to have a variety of pastry shops, souvenir stores and fast food restaurants.  I had exchanged $40 USD before leaving the immigration area, so I had 98,000 pesos in my pocket.  I was certain I got gypped because I got 45 pesos less than the going rate for each dollar, but I later found out that this was the best deal in all of the city!

I had been dieting for the prior 2 months and my mind frame was still swearing off carbohydrates.  Hamburgers and fried chicken did not appeal to me, but the word "empanada" stood out when I passed by a coffee shop.  The nice waitress behind the counter asked me in Spanish if I'd like anything to eat.  I answered her with the question, "Habla ingles?"  She smiled and shook her head and I said to myself, Here goes all those months of studying Spanish!  I was able to ask her what different fillings were. I recognized the words for spinach and meat when she rattled them off, but that was the extent that my brain was going to process while my stomach was yelling, Get it!  Whatever it is, just pay for it and put it in your mouth, woman!

I obliged my hunger.  When it came time to pay, I had no idea what the woman was saying.  I thought I knew my numbers in Spanish.  I do ... when reading them.  Hearing them is another story.  The lady said it slowly and I thought she said I owe her 2000 COP.  Turns out, it was 12, 200.   When I handed her a 20,000 bill, she asked if I could give her 200 centavos.  I just held my money out in my palm like an idiot and she pointed to the coins.  Looking back at it, I gave her exactly what I had to, but at the time the thought crossed my mind that she asked for extra centavos.  I was such a suspicious foreigner!!!

I found a cushy sofa and had my coffee and tiny empanadas very slowly.  The empanadas in the Philippines and in the United States are the size of your palm.  In Colombia, they are the size of your pinkie.  I suspect the rest of South America offers the same diminutive portion because one of my empanadas was called "Argentinian."

Empanada Argentina y empanada con espinaca y queso

While I ate, I carefully watched the women and men passing by.  After I ate, I had no ganas to eat more so I sat in the same spot for another 1-1/2 hours and wrote in my journal.  I was still terrified to move around freely because I was certain I would get mugged.   I'm now so embarrassed at how paranoid I was.

The women of Colombia are famous for their beauty thanks to their countrywomen Sofia Vergara and Shakira.  As I looked around the airport, I could see that the stereotype was true!  Their faces are porcelain smooth and not a hair is out of place.  But something bothered me about their fashion.  It was so awkward.  No doubt that these women were well put together, but their shoes were the tallest I had seen in a long while.  And even the most casual of styles had to have heels.  I saw a couple of young girls wearing canvas, shoelaced shoes that had a heel on them!  It looked like a sneaker with a 4" lift!  It was counterintuitive.  

After writing in my journal, I found myself with 3 hours left before Michael would arrive.  When my butt got numb from sitting so long, I gathered more courage to wander around and actually enter the shops.  I think I also calmed down from my paranoia and felt safe to mosey along like a tourist.  Observing the Colombians quelled my fears because I saw that the environment seemed just like an airport scene in the States.  Normal people waiting for their flights or family to arrive.  Kids were bored, parents were talking among their family´s generations, businessmen and women were conducting business.  There were no solicitors milling about, no hoodlums looking to cause trouble.  Everything felt calm and civilized.

During my exploration, I located the national airline Viva Colombia along the check-in stands.  I wanted to know which terminal corresponded with it so that when we returned to the airport to go to Cartagena, I would know where to tell the taxi to drop us off.  But I had a dilemma: the only way to see the terminal number was to exit the building, a seemingly risky endeavor for there could be hooligans waiting outside the airport doors!!!  I resolved to let no more than 10 seconds pass as I stepped outside, viewed the number above the door, and then rush back the 2 feet needed to get the information.    Spoiler alert:  I was not mugged while I took two steps onto the sidewalk. 

With only 1 hour until Michael arrived, I thought it best to brush my teeth.  I had the toothbrush but was without toothpaste.  I searched for an airport newspaper/toiletry store similar those available in the States, but realized that the variety of stores present were more like what one would see at a mall.  The store with newspapers had only that and other reading material.  The snack shops only chips, candy and drinks.  The fashion accessory store (because one must look her best at the airport) had only earrings, necklaces and bags.  Luckily, there was a drug store that sold just toiletries. 

Dunkin Donuts next the drogueria with toiletries

When asking the saleslady if she had toothpaste, I had the hardest time thinking of the Spanish word for it.  I'd like to say it's great I knew Tagalog because I was able to use the mutual word for toothbrush, "sipilyo" to convey my needs to the lady, but I think my additional hand movements mimicking squeezing toothpaste onto a "cepillo" were what clued her in that it was the paste and not the brush that I needed to buy.   The smallest tube turned out to be 3000 COP which equaled what I could get it for in the States so I thought to get gum instead. 

Again with the numbers ....   the nice vendor kept having to repeat the price of gum to me because I couldn't understand that she needed 3900 COP.  I had gotten used to hearing numbers in the thousands, but when she quoted me the 900, I was thrown off and looked at her as if she was speaking with an accent.  It was only after she wrote the number down that I realized she was using units I was not used to yet.  But after seeing the price, I thought, "Shoot.  I should just get the toothpaste because it's cheaper!"  But then I second guessed myself, "Naw, I should just wait until I go to their department store so I can get a better deal with a Colombian brand toothpaste." 

So breath be damned, I got neither the toothpaste nor the gum and headed to the customs exit to meet Michael.  His plane had arrived early and I anticipated he would be coming out any minute! 

Man I was so excited to see Michael.  It had been a week since we had seen each other and now we were about to embark on an exciting journey!  While waiting for him, I saw a man holding a sign with Michael's name on it.  This was the driver that our hostel had arranged to pick us up from the airport and take us to their lodging.  I was feeling shy to speak Spanish so I didn't really want to approach him until Michael arrived.  But then the nervous Asian in me took over and envisioned the driver leaving because Michael took too long and our being stuck in the airport having to pay double fare all because I didn't say hello, I'm the wife of Michael Meyer, please wait for us while he gets interviewed by immigration.  So I went up to him and lo & behold, Spanish words were coming out of my mouth!  Mind you ... they were coming out very retardedly (literally retardedly because I couldn't think of the words I needed quickly enough) , but the driver understood and we had a quick conversation about how my plane landed earlier and I had been just waiting for 5 hours.   Michael emerged soon after and we followed the driver to the curbside. 

When we exited the building, I focused more on asking Michael about his plane and only subconsciously took note of how loud and crowded Medellín is.  Diana had told me about the crazy traffic but I didn't think I'd get a taste of the chaos so soon.  But it didn't annoy us because we were just so excited to be in another country, in which our only responsibility was to have fun!

Rarely is an airport right smack in the middle of a city.  The drive to the heart of Medellín took 45 minutes up and down the windy roads that almost rival those of Highway 1 along the Pacific Coast.  The view of the city lights below was spectacular, but I only enjoyed it for a few minutes before I wanted to throw up. 

I opened my eyes once and saw a really cool row of restaurants.  Despite my not having eaten more than a pinkie of bread and meat in 24 hours, I was not very hungry.  But I was indeed eager to dine at a restaurant.  

When we got to our hostel, we were immediately asked for money by a homeless young man that called Michael "hijo."  I thought it was a sign of the perpetual danger that lurked around every South American corner, but it turned out to be a rare occurrence.

We dropped our bags, grabbed some money and walked straight to Parque Lleras, the center of the nightlife in Medellín's touristy/ritzy neighborhood of El Poblado.

We were tired, but so thrilled to be on vacation.  Only when I smelled the wafts of grilled meat that my long-awaited hunger kicked in.  We found a restaurant that had a great view of passers-by and both ordered steaks, water and beer.  We thought our waiter was a little inattentive and I figured  he must be new.  The silverware and tiny napkins (rarely will you find the large lap-sized napkins we're used to in the States) came soon after our waiter put in our order, but the drinks came after a looong while despite there being only 3 other tables of customers.   The food took a good 30 minutes to arrive that I thought maybe they had to fire up the grill each time someone ordered.   We would later find out that this is the typical manner of all Colombian wait service.  

Now you see it: Steak, fries and salad

Now you don't

The aptly named restaurant Divino Cielo

We loved the food despite the long wait and scarfed it down with gusto.  We walked around the park and previewed restaurants we wanted to visit future nights.  The rows and rows of restaurants and shops filled me with glee, but we couldn't stay out too late because we had Spanish class the next day starting at 9am!