Close Encounters - All One of a Kind

Swinging down curvy roads in a yellow Twingo, I was getting nauseated from the racing fervor of my cabbie. After I left airport for the city center, I could already sense the hot temper of South America. As I later understood, that turbulent taxi ride with my relaxed driver gave me a (almost literal) crash course into understanding Latinos. Was I surprised when we stopped on the side for a quick chat with another cab? Probably not as much as when we reversed in the opposite direction of a one-way road because the driver forgot to make a turn. There was no traffic at night anyway. “Don't be such a gringo” I thought to myself. We kept spinning down the mountains as the city panorama unveiled. I was dazed watching skyscrapers' silhouettes and their vibrant lights sprawl between the massive Andes.

The first time I saw daytime Medellin, I felt as if I witnessed the rebirth of our civilization after it had ended centuries ago. Once a teeming metropolis was now overgrown by giant trees, futuristic facades of high-rise buildings receded to their original red-brick skeletons. The streets could not be seen from above since the nearby jungle seemed to have expanded throughout the mountains and trickled down the slopes until it straggled in the city. What appeared to be Manhattan abandoned inside Jurassic Park was in fact a swarming city with modern infrastructure and blaring Latino rhythms.

The morning after I had too many shots of aguardiente, I decided to head out of the city. I came to Jardin, a classic and perfectly charming pueblo where I revived myself with freshly picked, roasted and ground coffee – the archetypal delight of Colombia. Jardin's houses typically surrounded a monumental church and dazzled with a vast array of colors. In a weekly Sunday market, I fulfilled my duties of getting sombreros and craft work for souvenirs. Apparently, observing the locals was not the only attraction in the pueblo. My light-brown hair and blue eyes caused quite an amusement. “Mono!” I heard behind me. “Mono...” I felt getting poked by the strangers. Mono is Spanish for a monkey and a pretty person, so, oddly enough, I felt strange and special at the same time. It was the same sense of ambivalence I experienced with my hot-headed, carefree driver. This primal curiosity of the strange restrained by the uncertainty of the unknown often comes to my mind when I enjoy coffee on my terrace. I only wish my condo was overlooking the primeval nature of the Jurassic City.