An Airport Ride to Medellin

I start taking pictures of Medellin while still in midair. The mountains soar through thin clouds and drop dramatically to reveal deep valleys, farmlands, and pueblos. None of my pictures quite capture this reverent beauty as the plane lowers to the tarmac. While waiting for my massive moleta to slide by in the baggage claim, I make small talk with an Indian family I'd met in Cartagena. Surprisingly, they hail from the Midwest as well. The mother and father are both surgeons at Riley Hospital in Indianapolis, Indiana - my birthplace - and are taking a leisurely Colombian vacation with their astute ten-year-old-daughter. We say our goodbyes and after some confusion with transportation, I start talking to a young Colombian man with an amicable face and short stature. He speaks no English but we manage to communicate that we should split a taxi for the 45-minute ride into town for economic purposes (though mine, unbeknownst to him, is also for safety). Altogether, the ride costs $60,000 COP or about $31.00 USD. Perfecto.

I realize I've just entrusted two strange men to guide me to my destination, but strange is becoming more and more familiar. I am not at all afraid as I introduce myself to the young man. Andres Fernan is a dance teacher in Cartagena who has lived in Cali (the Salsa capital of the world) for most of his life. He smiles frequently and asks questions I can answer easily in Spanish. The taxi driver is quiet and knowledgeable and converses freely with Andres Fernan about the duration of the trip and the direction of the barrio.

The men's conversation sinks to a peaceful hum as I breathe in the stunning countryside of Medellin. The mountainsides are covered with rich green plant life, the roads are winding and steep, and the windows seem to be rolled down out of necessity for the pure, fresh air. We pass cows grazing, and horses running freely while Reggaeton and Salsa drift in and out of focus.

As we pull up to the Intercontinental Hotel (the location of which I am to meet my host family), both men jump out before me to lift my heavy bag and guitar safely to the sidewalk. Andres Fernan pays the fare and as I reach for my cash he shakes his head.

"No. Es mi placer."

I argue a bit just to make sure. "Seguro? Yo tengo treinte mil... esta bien."

"No, no. Tranquilo. Todo bien."

He smiles again and I say a quick "Gracias" before putting my cash back in my bag.

Thank you, sir. And much thanks to the driver. And the family from Indiana. And the beautiful land and the cloud-covered cielo.

Muchas, muchas gracias para todo.