Chasing The Dead

Medellin, the city that once brought corruption, drug trafficking and violence to Columbia, and in many ways the world, now brings style, panache and a relentless party scene to the northern portion of the continent. A city fledgingly growing in tourist popularity, it would become evident that the scars of the past were still healing and that museums wouldn't be necessary when so many locals could vividly remember Medillin's colourful past.

We arrived in darkness at an empty bus station after a long and rather spectacular journey ascending through coffee plant clad mountainsides. Emily, Alex and myself booked ourselves into a dormitory in the most popular party hostel in the city. This was the first time that Em and I had not got a double, but this hostel's were so expensive that we decided to go for the bunks for a few days. We were very keen to get a party on the go and started drinking immediately however we were so tired that the night ended early.

The next day we were planning to visit the grave of Pablo Escobar, the most notorious and famous Cocaine trafficker in history and once one of the most powerful and influential men in and around the Columbian region. We arose late and after a large brunch, caught the train to the graveyard on the Medellin equivalent to the tube. Near the end of the journey I took it upon myself to do some acrobatics for the already curious population of the train and hang upside down from the overhead bars. After a round of applause from those in the vicinity, we got talking to two groups of locals, who once informed of our destination not just told us the way but went out of their way to join us and show us the grave. As we reached the grave, the already darkening sky let loose an unflinching torrent of rain (Medellin is well known for it's once or twice daily downpours) and after taking photos we took shelter under a sporadically placed canopy outside. After visiting the grave, conversation, in Spanish of course, turned to Escobar and how he was contrastingly perceived by the people of Medellin.

In short the story of Pablo Escobar reads like something from fiction and is not as clear cut as the bad guy does bad things, rises to fame and riches and then is caught/killed. Most people know that he was a billionaire cocaine trafficker who was the worlds most wanted man for years before being shot dead by a Columbian task force in his own neighborhood. However, after rising to power he built schools, medical facilities and housing for many of Medellin's poorest people. His vast resources also gave him control of all levels of Police, Judges and Government officials (of which he became one himself for a while). Those who stood up or spoke against him would usually turn up dead within a very short period of time. With much help and encouragement from the U.S.A Escobar's empire was slowly chipped away by a secret and irrepressible Police task force, and a vigilante group of victims' families/friends (named 'Los Pepes') who in turn assassinated those who aided him. This consequently created two distant poles of opinion among those he encountered: one group seeing him as a Robin Hood character stealing from rich Americans and giving to the poor Columbians; another seeing him as the Devil himself.

As we stood huddled under the canopy, one of the friendly group of locals explained this polarity, telling of why many Columbians saw him more as a hero than a cold blooded villain. At this point another man coincidentally co-huddling from the rain told us in a passionately chilling but warm and friendly way, considering the topic, that Escobar was a devil and a killer. He went on to show us his disfigured arm telling us that it had been done by Pablo's men as a result of him helping the aforementioned 'Los Pepes' group against Escobar. We left warmed by the yet again unwarranted friendliness of the Columbian people but chilled by the afternoon rain and the stories we had heard at the graveyard. The night passed quietly in the midst of another downpour.

The following morning we once again arose later than planned but with much to do. The main plan today was to continue the Escobar trail and visit the prison that he had at one point built and voluntarily incarcerated himself in. As per usual in Columbia there was absolutely no tourist information whatsoever and we left with only the name of the train stop and of the prison itself ('La Catedral'). We arrived at the train stop and eventually managed to divulge the fact the we would need to take a bus and then walk 30 minutes from one of the drivers. 15 minutes later, Alex, Emily, a Korean named 'J' and myself left the bus and started walking up the side of the steep valley under the direction of the driver. We walked for around half an our before flagging down a jeep in the opposite direction to be told that it would be another hour walking up the snaking mountainside road. There was only another hour or two of daylight remaining and we became concerned that we would not be able to reach La Catedral without help. We sat by the roadside under the watchful eye of a scabby dog waiting for some form of assistance to appear on the road almost unpopulated by vehicles. As it happened, much to our surprise, and very luckily, a pickup truck (ish) with a large empty wooden cage presumably used for sheep or large vegetables appeared within 10 minutes. The driver was more than happy to provide our passage, and dropped us off close to the prison. I say prison but that is not exactly the case and requires another delve into the story of Pablo Escobar.

After being publicly caught out on one of his many crimes, Pablo Escobar became wanted by the Columbian government. After much negotiation Escobar gave himself up on the condition that he would only be tried for one minor crime (getting immunity for the rest including shooting down a commercial airline) and that he could design and build his own prison. As ridiculous a set of demands as that sounds, the Columbian government accepted in a bid to stop him bombing government buildings and assassinating everyone in his path. Once inside his meticulously designed palatial mansion, the Columbian government decided to do a U-turn on their agreement and ascended the steep hill to arrest Escobar. However, as it turned out, Escobar had also included hidey holes, automatic weapon storage areas and escape hatches (well wouldn't you?), and when assailed disappeared into the night.

The prison, as hinted before was no longer exactly a prison but after Escobar's demise had been ripped apart possibly, for various reasons, by those who contrastingly hated him and loved him. The site was then given to the church and now, painted in bright oranges and greens, looks out over the spectacular views of a city that both benefited and suffered under its previous inhabitant. We walked back down for a while, eventually managing to flag a returning taxi to the bottom of the mountain.

That evening Alex, Emily, myself and a number of other people from the hostel managed to acquire a taste of the Medellin lifestyle that is touted so passionately as the best in Columbia. Many drinks were drained in quick succession and an inebriated Emily and I watched on as the rest of the boys clamoured into the masses of Columbian girls in hope of taking home a local beauty. Unsurprisingly the next day was basked in a shroud of hangover, and the day was spent watching TV before leaving on (hopefully) the last night bus of the trip (due to the much smaller size of Central America). The three of us settled down in the cramped bus for a night of broken sleep before awakening to the hot hot heat of Cartagena.