After 13 hours on a bus, I was fit for not a lot, but managed to find a hostel in down town Medellin. It´s Colombia's second city set in an enormous valley and was until 1993 under the thumb of the infamous Pablo Escobar, but now that he's long gone, the place is a lot safer. As a place to visit it had its quirks, but my main objective in the few days before Christmas, was on behalf of my festive friends Chris and Debbie, to secure an oven. It´s not Christmas dinner unless something gets roasted!
After a day of recognisance, the picture was unsurprisingly not looking good as lets be honest most hostel kitchens would be shut in a heartbeat because they're so dirty, let alone having decent facilities to cook a roast dinner. Thankfully, as happened to Tiny Tim, Black Adder, The Simpsons, and countless other festive characters, miracles do happen at Christmas. Ours came in the form of the Colombia chica called Manuela. Her cousin was married to Chris's uni mate in England, so a few nights before Crimbo we met up for drinks.
Unlike previous nights, where we'd be shoulder to shoulder with every other backpacker, Manuela whisked us away to a new locals only area called La Strada. It was a setup of swanky looking bars underneath a business tower block without a tourist in sight. We were soon introduced to Manuela's cousins and friends, who were very keen to introduce us to Colombia's notorious drink; Aguadiente. Think ouzo but stronger. After being fed a few shots of that, we were introduced to the shot bar next door for a few el Demonios, a tequila based shot that I´m guessing leaves a visa stamp on your liver to say, "yes, I was here". On the second of such indulgences, the look on Chris's face was a sight to behold as clearly his visa request was almost rejected, thankfully though it crossed the border.
Now in a slightly merry state, Manuela was adamant that we could not spend Christmas in a hostel and that we had to go to their finca (home) in the countryside. After negotiations, we agreed, but on the condition that we cooked for her and her family. We now realised we had a shot at a pretty unique Christmas, upon which more celebrations were had and more aguadiente was consumed. Taxis followed and only slightly sore heads emerged the following morning.
Prior to getting to the finca, we had to buy all the necessary booze and food. After a fairly huge chunk of the local supermarkets stock was removed we made our way north on Christmas morning (yours truly donning his new Xmas pressie of a cowboy hat), only to leave half the food on the bus before arriving at Manuelas finca, which was in the most stunning of settings. A quick jaunt to grab some more food and we were in business, Debbie led the cooking charge (Chris and I mainly played cards and prepared the odd pig-in-a-blanket) until come evening and a feast was unleashed. We (Debbie) managed a fantastic spread of roast potatoes, peas, carrots, broccoli, cauliflower, chicken, pigs in blankets and roast chicken that we were still eating parts of it the next day. After the food had gone down, Manuela's friends came to play and after a few silly games (with and without booze) it was time to learn how to merengue. I feel it important to add in a disclaimer that at no point in the evening did I dance with a mop to the Chemical Brothers' "Hey Boy Hey Girl" in a cowboy hat. It simply did not happen. Fact.
Slightly hungover the next day, we consumed left overs wrapped in burritos before heading to a neighbours finca for some swimming pool action. Whilst the UK was still buried under a significant amount of snow, I felt quite glad to be in my boardies, supping a few beers and playing Frisbee in a swimming pool. A Christmas with a difference, without a doubt.
With promises made between all Colombians and Brits that they all had homes to stay in if they ever visited (that's a heads up Mum and Dad) we departed back for Medellin and then onwards to the Zona Cafeteria (not a dodgy canteen but the heartland of the Colombian coffee farms).
There was other stuff that happened in Medellin such as; a cable car, a cool national park, zip lining, butterfly massacres (American girl Michelle, not me!), weird fat statues (or voluminous if you're arty farty), jesting with the armed national guard, crazy markets complete with alleyways devoted entirely to market stalls of porn (not just the straight stuff either), amazing Christmas lights and an old American in our hostel who seemed only to pleased to tell us that he'd had a brilliant white Christmas. I just can't be bothered to write about them... the photos can do the honours.
Christmas photos
http://www.flickr.com/photos/
Medellin photos (worth a look!)
http://www.flickr.com/photos/
http://www.flickr.com/photos/
After a day of recognisance, the picture was unsurprisingly not looking good as lets be honest most hostel kitchens would be shut in a heartbeat because they're so dirty, let alone having decent facilities to cook a roast dinner. Thankfully, as happened to Tiny Tim, Black Adder, The Simpsons, and countless other festive characters, miracles do happen at Christmas. Ours came in the form of the Colombia chica called Manuela. Her cousin was married to Chris's uni mate in England, so a few nights before Crimbo we met up for drinks.
Unlike previous nights, where we'd be shoulder to shoulder with every other backpacker, Manuela whisked us away to a new locals only area called La Strada. It was a setup of swanky looking bars underneath a business tower block without a tourist in sight. We were soon introduced to Manuela's cousins and friends, who were very keen to introduce us to Colombia's notorious drink; Aguadiente. Think ouzo but stronger. After being fed a few shots of that, we were introduced to the shot bar next door for a few el Demonios, a tequila based shot that I´m guessing leaves a visa stamp on your liver to say, "yes, I was here". On the second of such indulgences, the look on Chris's face was a sight to behold as clearly his visa request was almost rejected, thankfully though it crossed the border.
Now in a slightly merry state, Manuela was adamant that we could not spend Christmas in a hostel and that we had to go to their finca (home) in the countryside. After negotiations, we agreed, but on the condition that we cooked for her and her family. We now realised we had a shot at a pretty unique Christmas, upon which more celebrations were had and more aguadiente was consumed. Taxis followed and only slightly sore heads emerged the following morning.
Prior to getting to the finca, we had to buy all the necessary booze and food. After a fairly huge chunk of the local supermarkets stock was removed we made our way north on Christmas morning (yours truly donning his new Xmas pressie of a cowboy hat), only to leave half the food on the bus before arriving at Manuelas finca, which was in the most stunning of settings. A quick jaunt to grab some more food and we were in business, Debbie led the cooking charge (Chris and I mainly played cards and prepared the odd pig-in-a-blanket) until come evening and a feast was unleashed. We (Debbie) managed a fantastic spread of roast potatoes, peas, carrots, broccoli, cauliflower, chicken, pigs in blankets and roast chicken that we were still eating parts of it the next day. After the food had gone down, Manuela's friends came to play and after a few silly games (with and without booze) it was time to learn how to merengue. I feel it important to add in a disclaimer that at no point in the evening did I dance with a mop to the Chemical Brothers' "Hey Boy Hey Girl" in a cowboy hat. It simply did not happen. Fact.
Slightly hungover the next day, we consumed left overs wrapped in burritos before heading to a neighbours finca for some swimming pool action. Whilst the UK was still buried under a significant amount of snow, I felt quite glad to be in my boardies, supping a few beers and playing Frisbee in a swimming pool. A Christmas with a difference, without a doubt.
With promises made between all Colombians and Brits that they all had homes to stay in if they ever visited (that's a heads up Mum and Dad) we departed back for Medellin and then onwards to the Zona Cafeteria (not a dodgy canteen but the heartland of the Colombian coffee farms).
There was other stuff that happened in Medellin such as; a cable car, a cool national park, zip lining, butterfly massacres (American girl Michelle, not me!), weird fat statues (or voluminous if you're arty farty), jesting with the armed national guard, crazy markets complete with alleyways devoted entirely to market stalls of porn (not just the straight stuff either), amazing Christmas lights and an old American in our hostel who seemed only to pleased to tell us that he'd had a brilliant white Christmas. I just can't be bothered to write about them... the photos can do the honours.
Christmas photos
http://www.flickr.com/photos/
Medellin photos (worth a look!)
http://www.flickr.com/photos/
http://www.flickr.com/photos/
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