The city known for Breast Implants and Silicone Butt-cheeks

Today, I was at an internet cafe. A gentlmen sits down next to me. Out of the corner of my eye I see him staring at me, about 3 feet away. I think, "do I have a red dot in the middle of my forehead..." I look away and continue typing. 2 minutes go by and I glance back in his direction. Believe it or not the bugger still isnt satisfied, but he is curiously looking at me like I were from Mars. I look back at him, lock eyes and give him a friendly smile, all the while thinking, "listen dude, what in farfed-nooggens name do you want, huh...." He continued to stare at me like I slept with his wife and he was here to punish me by staring. I continued to type, ignoring this mad-dogger.....

The day began with a BANG: a cup of black coffee, tinto style, and a glass of Maranquilla Juice. After an icy cold shower in the ole apartment, I walked briskly to my usual spot to order some steaming brew. "Uno Cafe", I murmur groggily to the man cressed in all white behind the counter. He fires back, "pequeno or largo". I tell him largo. The large coffes here are twice the size of a minature dixie cup..in other words fricken small man. On top of this they are in a plastic cup. By the time the steaming coffee cools sown to sip, you dont need sugar or cream to give it flavor. Instead you get a taste of platic because the cups they use are for cold water and I dont think they have realized this. Plastic flavored coffee must be the norm. I post up on an old wooden stool at the greasey cafe and wake-up to the flow of mornign pedestrains walking the streets, mostly buisnessmen and college kids. I then get the urge for a Vitamin C boost to start the day off right. I order some Maranquilla Juice. Maranquilla is a fruit and it home to Colombia. It"s round and yellow, like a lemon. Only, this fruit is not pourous, but smooth like supple skin. On top of this, the fruit is light as heck, so upon first lif, it appears as though you were ripped off. the fruit seems hollow. NO, in fact this is just an illusion. You werent ripped off, the fruit is just light. Yu slice it open and inside are about 200 large looking tomatoes seeds. The man behind the counter scoops these seends out and slaphes them into a blender full of ice, a spponful of sugar and about 4 ounces of milk. He hits, blend, 60 seconds go by and the then poors the mixture through a strainer to get the seeds out. SHABAM, you get Morning Glory in a glass. Nothing like an extra step in you stride, hey. The final product is a mixture of flavors between mango and orange, with an ectra ounch of tangy citrus to top it off.

After fueling up, I was off on a solo mission through the city for the day. i didnt have to teach English today, I was well rested, and on top of all this there were a whole lot of bored Colombian street vedores waiting for my foreign presence. I was off to first find this independent theater that played a bunch of rare, international flicks in Spanish. This would give me an opportunity to view an artsy, tru-cinematic masterpiece, and a chance to sprinkle a bit more Spanish into my memory.

After getting hit by a taxi, getting lost, and sweating through my shoes, I made it to the theater. Back-tracking, the taxi hit and run wasnt so bad. I was walking on the edge of the sidewalk, on a narrow street and BAM, I feel ike someone hit me with a hammer in the hip. A yellow side mirror explodes into a mist of plastic and metal. The frantic bastard keeps driving his one-mirrored taxi. The pain wasnt so bad, nothing a couple beers couldnt fix. It was moreso the suprise factor and the fact that the damn guy didnt have the courtesey to stop. It was as though it was part of his regular routine: hitting pedestrains and speeding away. I bet he had about 50 replacement mirrors under his cheap, fake leather seats. He"d loose another mirror tomorrow, speed off and pull out a replacement as though nothing really ever happened.

When I got to the theater I tried to walk in and a man stopped me, askin gme what the heck I was doing in English. I"m going to see a flick, I tell him. He then goes into this question-filled tirade about waht movie I wanted to see, what time, why, and what was I doin gin this part of town? I assume he didnt encounter too many Gringos. I was going to see Che Argentinio at 4 pm. It was now 2 pm, so I had about 2 hours to kill. I did some writing in a cafe and then strolled the streets passing: six foot three prostitutes hissing at me like snakes ( which you couldnt tell if they were male or female), old men wavin sheap electronics in my face, leathered faces crawling the sidewalks for losse change and bread crumbs, other old men gathered on street corners sipping strong brew....

I made it back to the theater at 4. The only other person in the theater was an old women. This was the solace I needed: fresh air-conditioned, breathable air and a place to rest my tired bones. The flick was inspiring and at times almost tear-jerking. Men will fight through hell based on a principle some will never come to except. All-in-all, there was quite a bit of goofey looking facial hair, silver-stared Marxist caps, and beautiful jungle terrain.

Later that night I met a friend for some arepas, a sweet-corn, pancake-like bread with thick gooey cheese spread over the top. Its was high in calories and just what I needed. Before we ate I sat at Parque Barrio station to wait for my felow compardreia. I"m sitting there 25 steps up from this large public square. Ten minutes go by. There are about 100 people down there: ventrlioquists, magicians, bums, cops, 14 year old girls half-naked in skimpy tube-tops, and me. the steps I was sitting on only had about 5 other people spread out across them. About 50 yards away I see this kid, he had to have been maybe 17 years old. I looked over in this guys direction because I had an inkling he was a bit of a mad-dogger. I was quite right. He was parting the crowd with his stare, which was directly on me. The kid happened to be decked out in all camaflouge, high, shiny black boots, and an AK47 strapped over his shoulder. He looked like he was part of the Colombian National Guard. He continues to stare at me like I am Pablo Escobar"s son (Pablo Escobar was the head hauncho of of the largest cocaine production organization in the entire world. At the time Pablo was in power in the drug world, Colombia was responsible for 85 percent of the worlds cocaine. He is now dead. Medellin is the city in which he was found and shot to death). Anyway, this kid is about five foot five with a chip on his shoulder. I coninue to stare back at him. If this kid has a problem he can come and talk to me about it. I was simply sitting innocently on public steps waiting for a friend at 8 oclock at night. He makes his way through the crowd and walks towards me, maddogging me the whole way. When hes 10 feet away 10 stairs down, I look away like I just happened to be panning the crowd with my stare. Side-tracking, some of my friends here call me the Pakistani or the Isreali. Apparently to these Colombians, I look like I"m from the Middle East. Wow, thats great...racial profiling in action. Maybe he thinks Im a terrorist I think..ha! He walks up to me and is standing directly over me. He asks me how old I am. I tell him 23 and my b-day is in 2 weeks. Maybe he wants to celebrate. He then grabs my small bag I have with me, he searches it for about 5 minutes, shaking my writing pens and flipping through the pages of my spanish-english translator. He finished tells me to stand up and asks me where Im from and what Im doing here. I was pissed off at this point beacause I happen to be the only one he was harrassing from what I could see. I throw out my smart-ass comment and tell him the most obvious answer "estoy sentado" (or sitting down...what does it look like im doing dude?). He then searches me, from my shoulders to my ankels, including the comforting twig and berries pat pat! He finishes and asks me for my documents. I had him a wadded up ball that was the copy of my passport, which I had stuffed in my pocket. He looked a little frustrated that he had to unravel the paper. He looks at it, gives a little yelp, smirks, and hands it back to me. He then says absolutley nothing and walks away slowly, searching nobody else as he walked away. I figuered he was on a total power trip trying to excercise his "power" on someone who happened to be curiously looking in his direction. He seemed bummed he couldnt pin anything on me. Ha, tough pickens youngster....

written by  kipmaddog on August 13, 2009 from Medellin, Colombia
from the travel blog: adventures from down south
Send a Compliment

comment on this...