I need to back up. I made it into Medellín on Oct 3rd after a long 130km bike ride. Yes, some of it was downhill that involved a lot of hollering with wild-eyed rabid joy and swallowing a few Colombian bugs. Not even that could damper my excitement on that downhill. I had earned every bloody sweaty inch. I was BOMBING down the mountain in a 30 kph zone going 60 kph, passing semi-trucks and even one time riding the yellow line between two semis- one coming at me and one going to slow in front of me.
Caption: ¨Truck drivers like this I get to share a lane with. Awesome.¨It was a good test for the bike and brakes. Everything checked out and I made it down the hill with another 30km to ride on the freeway in Medellín. I´m not sure that was legal because I didn´t see another non-motorized vehicle on the road. The fumes getting into the heart of the city were making me dizzy in the 3pm afternoon heat, but I rolled into the hostel after a 9.5 hours in the saddle.
Caption: ¨The hills I bombed.¨ 
Caption: ¨Child prison.¨ 
Caption: ¨I taught some Italian to these pueblo kids.¨
I rolled into the hostel on my bike feeling like a para-trooper just getting back to the States after serving his country for 3 consecutive tours of duty in ´Nam. I was ready for a grand reception, ladies decked in flowers and pouring champagne in my mouth, but overall everyone was pretty unenthusiastic and perhaps even pity for what I had done to myself, meaning traveling by bike in South America.
I showered up and started to meet some people around the hostel. The first being my roommate, an overly fit Aussie, that has seen me at a breakfast bus stop that morning when I had finally reached the peak of the summit after 3 hours of biking at 9am. His words where, ¨I thought to myself, where is that poor guy going?¨ Yep, that was me and now I was his roommate. He wanted to know how my ass and legs were holding up all the while shaking his head wondering why anyone would want to bike up those mountains.
I guess it was a strange coincidence, but for me nothing seems strange anymore.
Now I´m back in reality. English is spoken and we are back in our travel bubble, insulated from the reality that the rest of Colombia knows and lives. It seems utterly lazy, comfortable, familiar and most of the voices and conversations make my skin crawl. I have to acclimate to my new environment. I sit around judging and condemning. Something made me feel like I had earned the trip there. Like I deserved to be in Colombia more than them, but that is ridiculous and I know it, but I can´t help but feel it. Their stories are of minor inconveniences and trivialities, like,
¨It was soooo embarrassing last night when I was in the club and tripped on a two inch step. Everyone, and I mean everyone saw me. I mean, like, really, why do they put two inch steps in clubs anyway? They know we are drunk! Now I have a bruised hand and knee. Soooo embarrassing. I decided then that I had enough red bull and wine....¨
Caption: ¨Medellín nightlife brought to you by...¨
Caption: ¨Twinklies¨And the dialogue goes on like that. Then you need to take into consideration that coke is $5 a gram down here and you get an idea of how interesting their conversations become. While sitting on the couch you could feel the toxic-ness oozing out of the tourists from the days they have been binging in Medellín. It seems for some reason, well, we know the reason, that people get stuck in Medellín for weeks and even months. Everyone has to figure out Visa renewals and the like. Sites in the city seen are discussed like the clubs, other hostels that have potentially more action, where to ´score´, and of course Pablo Escobar´s grave. I have reached the party pinnacle of the world that sucks people into a vortex. It is the polar opposite of my experience up to now here in Colombia.
Spirits are high, but that could also be due to spirits. I had not had a drink in a few weeks. Now my socializing has gone from 1st gear to 5th in a matter of hours.
