Having decided not to do a tour to flower growers and see how to make the traditional decorations for the annual flower show I had a free morning!!!!! Yay!!!
I finished yesterday’s blog, sorted the suitcase that is starting to resemble a brothel on laundry day I set off for a walk round the neighbourhood. The city is quite spread out and we are a reasonable distance from the metro so I didn’t fancy rushing off somewhere then rushing back to meet the others when their tour finished so the local neighbourhood seemed like a good alternative. It’s quite weird as this is supposedly a very high end suburb but it is full of backpacker hostels and lower end hotels. The streets are lined with restaurants, cafes and bars and very pretty but the immediate area does not seem to have much for local residents.
With parts of the city still quite unsafe I can understand why we are staying in such an area but it feels as though we are missing the real Medellin and thrust in the midst of thousands of tourists. It certainly is very pretty with the green spaces and the stream running through the middle.
It was too hot to wander in the sun and I stopped at a place called CPA (Como Pez en el Agua) for doble espresso and a crisp but chewy round chocolatey round of bliss, which when you bit into the centre oozed caramel. The stuff orgasms are made of. I found out it was a Craquelina. OMG I have to replicate them and soon. Jazz was music gently playing in the background, the was world going by outside and the sun was streaming in the window. Divine. Oh! And the coffee was not too shabby either.
And to make it harder on my will power they have a cabinet of the daintiest, delicious looking cakes for sale too. Just as well I don’t have long here. I did have a second Craquelina though.
Our afternoon Barrio tour started from one of the train stops north of the city and from there we walked to the Moravia Barrio (neighbourhood or more appropriate a ghetto).
Moravia was built on the site that was once the city rubbish dump and that massive mound is now known as the Mountain of Trash. Over the years people have built, in many cases nothing more than a shack on the land that they have commandeered. The authorities have now built alternative housing for the people living here but many do not want to leave as they say it is their home, and the home of their families as well. The height of the mound over the years is reducing as the rubbish compacts and although there are no longer noxious fumes coming from the ground because of the decaying rubbish, it is still unknown how unsafe the environment may be.
Seeing the basic way in which people live was sobering; many people in a brick square, with holes for windows but no glass, now with electricity and plumbing but that has only happened recently. But despite the hardship and poverty we did not see anyone who looked down and out, they were all clean and nicely dressed; the kids were all polite, the homes maintained and people seemed to have pride in themselves.
Our guide explained the welfare, health and education systems (a far cry from what they once were) and basic needs are met by that. The area in which a person lives will govern the amount of assistance or subsidy a person is entitled to and there are schemes in place to ensure people from the Barrio get opportunities for tertiary education.
One of the magical thing about Moravia is the amazing community centre, a place to learn (for children and adults), gather and feel safe. The funds for the centre were donated by a local family anonymously to help the people of the area.
A beautiful park sits at the top of the Mountain of Trash and bears reminders of just how far this neighbourhood has come, despite the hardships that many have endured.
A brilliant and sobering afternoon, reinforcing just how spoiled we are down-under. Our stories of grief are minimal compared to the poverty and political grief these people have endured, and in the very recent past.
Dinner was a bit disappointing. We looked for local food and in a whole neighbourhood found none and settled for Italian in a restaurant, down an alley where the whole alley was food and loud music. I chose pizza, my usual a margharita, and once again anything but a pizza and anything but a margharita. The base was crunchy pastry like, the filling, chopped tomato, a bit of sliced basil and some cheese. No proper base and no tomato sauce, even the salt and pepper I added didn’t help. But it filled my tum and reminded me of how much I hate staying in tourist neighbourhoods.
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