This is not the picture that belongs to this story; but this is the story that will explain what happened to the picture that didn’t make it here.
My flight from Medellín to Bogotá, Bogotá to Lima, required that, around 7 AM, at least, on 4 September, I take a taxi from Casa Kiwi in the El Poblado district to the metro; the metro to Universidad; a 3-block walk to the back of a hotel whose name will probably pop into my head in a few months, to get the bus for the little more than one-hour ride to the airport.
Now, why would I leave that early for an 11:40 AM flight? I absolutely detest the city’s shiny, new, pleasant-riding metro system, which has three cars when it should have five, and six when it should have eight. The people in that city are among the politest I have ever encountered anywhere … except when the metro pulls into the station. They never leave you any room to exit onto the platform, everyone seeming intent on getting a seat. So you stand a pretty good chance of being pushed from behind, suddenly, whether you are entering or departing a metro car. And, although I left Lima with only a back pack, I was returning with the backpack and a mini duffel bag when I bought there.
And it was the right decision because when the metro pulled into the station at around 7 o’clock, there was ample space for me in the front car.
But the story is not about 4 September. It is about my last full day in Colombia – Wednesday, 3 September.
I had returned the 2nd from Manizales and was unsure how to spend my last day. In Salento, I had heard about this huge rock, with steps that took you to the top, from which you had a wonderful view of the countryside. Or, I could go to the Jardin Botanico. In the end, having taken a 5-hour trip the day before, I wasn’t eager to take a 4-hour round trip to a rock So I decided to go to the botanical garden.
When I got to the Universidad metro station, I set out to find a bank. A woman, who I had just paid 500 Pesos to make a phone call to Avianca airlines, pointed me to Bancolombia, which seemed quite nearby, and off to another direction, which she indicated was much further. I had a bad experience with Bancolombia, which is another story, and decided I wanted nothing to do with them. So, I headed off to the other direction, the garden on my left.
The first man I asked, pointed me in the direction I had been walking and told me about four blocks. Because Colombia is mountainous country, four blocks is not as simple as it sounds, with paved roads, yes, but mountain climbing nonetheless. Let me make an already too-long story, short. I walked, and sweated profusely, for about 14 blocks.
I now had a choice of two banks and the first happened to be, you know which. I left for the other and got some money. Then, having sweated so profusely, I decided to enter a restaurant for a fruit drink but ended up having lunch.
Now, every single word I have told you so far is prologue. Here’s the story of that missing picture.
After I left the restaurant, shortly after 1 o’clock, I took a different, as I am won’t to do, to see if I encounter graffiti. I photographed a wall dedicated to the famous Argentinian singer Carlos Gardel - The King of Tango, then turned left down a street. It seemed as if ten or 11 blocks would take me to the botanical garden.
At the second block, I saw a piece of art, along with words, on a wall. It was a red heart with some words that appeared to be a call for peace among factions in the community. As I snapped a picture of this quite pleasant design, three guys who had been sitting nearby, approached me and demanded that I take no pictures in that neighbourhood. And they weren’t smiling either.
I explained that I liked the design, thought it was well executed, loved taking photos of graffiti and murals, and that I like the idea of the heart, which meant love. They still weren’t smiling. I became concerned when one of the guys, who appeared as if it were his visiting day out of the crazy house, asked me a question about the camera. I waved my goodbyes, touched my chest to show that it was all about love.
I had walked about six blocks when I saw a guy on a bike riding down the street, and something about him seemed familiar. At the next block, I decided to make a left and walk one block before making a right. About one or two blocks before the garden, the guy on the bike appeared before me. And I stopped.
He proceeded to ask me about why I took the picture. Who was I? Where was I from? How long had I been in Colombia? Where was I staying? (I told him the district, El Poblado, not the hostel. Had he pressed me for the hostel, I would have told him the Blacksheep, even though I was staying at Casa Kiwi.) With the engine running all the time, he continued the probe.
It was not a comfortable situation, and it didn’t take me long to decide to delete the photo, which, I assumed would put an end to the inquiry. So, I proposed doing just so. I found the picture easily enough, it being the last picture I had taken. I held the camera so that he could see the picture. I hit the three buttons that did the deed, and announced that, yes, the picture no longer existed.
He asked me to hand him the camera so that he could look and I declined to do so. I hit buttons that showed before and after, to convince him that the picture had really been deleted. Again, with the engine running, he requested to hold my camera, and again I declined.
Twice, he asked me if I wished to return to retake the picture, and twice I thankfully declined. After about an additional five minutes (I guess about 12 in all), we shook hands. And I walked to the garden, made a left and walked to La Esquina de las Mujeres (Women’s Corner).
And I took the picture above.
And I got the hell out of there. Got the metro and returned to the hostel.
Sunday, September 07, 2008
Saturday, September 06, 2008
Medellín, Colombia
I've seen 1,000s of graffiti, but this is the first time I have ever seen an actual canvas with art pasted on a wall, along with graffiti.
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