MELBORP July 31, 2022

Having escaped the police, we were on our way from the center of Medellin to the new “digs”.  (See Map Below.)

The main road south climbed out of the valley and we stopped at a lay-by with a magnificent panoramic view of the city. Getting out of the car to enjoy the view, we had the added treat of the sweet smell of marijuana from a gentleman sitting on a bollard gazing contentedly at the view and smoking his joint. Soon afterwards we reached Swiss Suites which loomed  up like a fortress on the top of a hill.  

Security at the entrance was tight. The smart, young security guard looked as if he was fresh from a military campaign. Juan got us through the gates, and we waited for the agent, Lewis, who had spent time in the US, had a son in the US military and knew the ropes. I was momentarily discomfited by a V printed on the wall. Having watched the horrors of Ukraine and  the adoption of the V as a symbol by Russian armed forces, it produced momentary alarm and I hoped this was not a portent before it dawned on me that the V merely indicated a parking space for visitors. Lewis finally arrived and ushered us in to what was to be or new home for two months. We were on the top floor and the view was stunning.

 

I confess to be new to Air B&Bs. Swiss Suites is now my third adventure. Each place has provided its own unique challenges.  Becoming accustomed to the configurations of other peoples’ ideas of a kitchen layout and what is required to prepare a meal has been enlightening. Cutting, chopping, and slicing, fairly vital activities in food preparation, appear to be low down on the list of priorities judging from the postage stamp size of the cutting boards and the knives which, had they been used in the movie Psycho, would have been totally insufficient to the task of slicing anything or anybody. Moreover, I have various cuts, indentations and bruises over my body to testify to the presence of kitchen cupboard doors, high and low, which if left open are designed to do grievous bodily injury.  

I decided to christen our apartment at Swiss Suites, Melborp,  after the sign on the building directly beneath and across from us.  I looked the name up on the internet to discover that it was an up-and-coming Colombian advertising agency. The choice of logo puzzled me since it sounded like a cross between the city of Melbourne and indigestion. It was four days before lightning struck, of which there’s a lot round here, before the mystical significance of Melborp dawned on me.  I realized after doing so how appropriate it was to our own situation. I leave you the pleasant task of working it out, confident that it will take you less than the four days it took me.

 

 If the intellectual and cultural preferences of the architect and interior designer of Swiss Suites could be deduced from the evidence, what does it signify that the main bedroom contains a bed which could accommodate at least five persons along with a sofa and TV large enough to fit a football stadium and a kitchen and washer/dryer area which would barely accommodate a dental chair let alone swing a hamster in?  Glass windows in all rooms may offer wonderful views of the landscape when you are not in a cloud or it’s not raining but after two weeks of living here, I worry that Marney and I may have  begun to redevelop our ancestral gills. It makes a dramatic change from Phoenix.

 

The general intention of Swiss Suites is to impress, and it does that well.  There’s a long swimming pool, two saunas, a Turkish bath, massage room, pool table, well-equipped gym and a club area with leather Chesterfield looking sofas. The gardens are beautifully manicured with every flowering tropical plant sold at Home Depot only twice the size and twice as lush and beautiful . We have our own jacuzzi on the roof along with an unused barbecue and patio chairs and sofa. The fridge is the latest model from LG which allows you to choose your size of ice cubes. Lights switch on in the corridors automatically. Women in smart uniforms wash the floors and the lifts regularly and keep everything sparkling. Armed security guards patrol the area at night and there’s a special cart at the base of the lift which you can unlock from the wall fitting and use to take your groceries up to your apartment.

This has got to be heaven or a very near approximation.

 

There were a few problems including a large hole in the bedroom ceiling. Marney later discovered black mold round the window frame. The modem was hanging off the wall. It was damp. I don’t think anyone had lived here for some time. A section of the wall in the dining room was bulging and coming away because of the damp. There were no instructions about how everything worked, where to put the rubbish, who to contact if there were problems, etc.  Lewis, our initial contact, initially seemed uncomfortable. There was only one key to the front door and no key to the deadlock which didn’t work probably because damp had warped the door frame.  Lewis got the code for the WIFI but clearly wanted to be somewhere else and left so there we were with a magnificent view and our suitcases lined up, putting on as brave a face as possible, intrigued and impressed and slightly mystified as we set about trying to make ourselves at home or at least make it into a sort of home.

 

We unpacked. Both bedrooms had walk in wardrobes bigger than the kitchen. The showers had room for two but for all their size and visual sophistication were impractical. Almost everything else, the floors, cupboards, and doors were plastic or plastic composite.  The first major problem was hot water.  There was a small, sophisticated German boiler mounted on the wall next to the huge washer and dryer. It went on, heated up but then cut out.  It started hot then went cold. It worked for the kitchen but not the showers. There were small spiders coming down from the hole in the ceiling. The bed linens were damp. Problems.

 

After a damp night’s sleep, undaunted by the challenges of spiders, and no hot water,  but with excellent WIFI connections, we set about placing our lands in order. Joaquin, overseeing the operation at the end of a telephone,  provided a sympathetic ear and the fifth cavalry was promised as early as the following Saturday when all wrongs would be righted and holes in ceilings repaired, showers mended and the universe would be put to right.  I visited with the nice, uniformed ladies and discovered where to put the rubbish and two days later had a long “unconversation” with the manager of the complex in her office. A delightfully bright faced attractive woman, she spoke no English and my attempts to ask her in Spanish how we would acquire a key to the pool and the jacuzzis were greeted with benign confusion. She nodded. I nodded. I smiled. She smiled and shook her head. Finally, she accompanied me to the glass gate at the entrance to the pool and showed me that by merely lifting a small black knob, the gate opened. No key required. Problem solved. I saw the flash in her eyes. Foreigners are so dumb!

 

Marney coped with negotiations with Joaquin while I coped with getting food.  My first target at 7am the next morning was The Indiana Shopping Mall, with its own supermercado at the foot of the hill just below the large bend in the road. The slope down there was about one in seven in places. Good for the heart I convinced myself. Going down was manageable however, coming back up with a backpack of groceries required puffing, panting and periodic  pausing. I have not seen other car owning tenants of Swiss Suites indulging in such a  pantomimic practice. The security guard at the supermarket was remarkably helpful though he kept looking at me frowning and shaking his head. Since this was a busy intersection and a main road which required crossing, I had to fall back on road crossing codes learned in the Boy Scouts. Compared to Colombians’ total disregard for their own safety anywhere near roads and in whatever capacity, I felt my behavior was stupidly over cautious, waiting patiently then scurrying frantically but I am happily still here to tell the story.

 

What will happen on Saturday? Will workmen arrive?  Will we run away? Will the problems be solved?  Juan detecting our distress, thought we needed a break so offered to take us to a well-known village to have lunch and see the sights. And he was right.  So, Friday after a cold shave and a chilly washdown, we set off for Guadape. (See map above.)   On our way we stopped at his mother’s boutique in a large modern mall in La Ceja, an up and coming town south east of Retiro where Juan lives and about 40km from Medellin.

 

The image in my head of a rural Columbia comprised of quaint rural villages full of straw hatted happy mestizos working on coffee plantations amid sprawling rain forests did not in any way correlate with the hurly-burly of rapid economic growth in the Colombian countryside. Colombians from whatever class are busy people, fired by a desire to get on and do well. There appears to be a strong sense of national solidarity and shared ambition. Where there’s opportunity there seems to be effort and the economic model would appear to be American free enterprise.

 

Our journey from La Ceja to Guadape via Rio Negro was about 48 kms.  The road to La Ceja wound through a heavily wooded landscape and roadsides were littered with wood workshops and the various products piled high. Everywhere there seems to be some sort of housing development. The airport is nearby, and water is plentiful, so it makes sense.

 

Next, we journeyed on to RioNegro, a bustling city in the grip of a booming expansion. It has an historic center where the signing of the original Colombian constitution took place. According to Wikipedia it has become the most important trade center in eastern Antioquia, The city’s dramatic growth has enabled it to become one of the richest cities in Colombia with a vibrant economy based on industries of food, fabric, paper and chemicals. Rionegro’s people have one of the highest standards of living in the country.

 

From Rio Negro, we turned north and headed to Guadape and even bendier and windier roads. (Once again, thank goodness for Juan’s driving skills.) Finally, we arrived within sight of El Penol, a volcanic plug sticking out from the surrounding hills like a giant blue whale coming up out of the earth for air. We stopped for the traditional photograph before proceeding to the large carpark at the base where buses disgorged their cargoes. A stone staircase has been constructed to the top. Juan said it would take him 20 minutes to climb and I was willing to take the challenge, threatening to do it in 30.  Marney voiced severe doubts about whether I would survive and recounted the time I was almost tipped into The Grand Canyon from the top of the Kaibab Trail by a train of sturdy mules climbing out. So, cowardice and feebleness  extinguished the better part of valor and I had to put up with the beautiful view from the car park.

 Juan enthusiastically recommended a quiet restaurant tucked away in a small cove amid luxury homes for rent perched on the hill.  That the restaurant was closed for refurbishing but had opened under a tent at the side of the lake proved to be no obstacle except for the terraced staircase down which Marney valiantly struggled to manage.  Finally, we relaxed in the coolness along with other well furbished fellow travelers and had a nice meal. 

On the way back we took a side tour to see the village itself which was packed with tourists and beautifully colorful. The

day was memorable, Juan was patient and fun as always and Swiss Suites didn’t feel so bad.  After all, weren’t the cavalry coming in the morning?

                       Marney here…

The cavalry consisted of two handymen who were not prepared to fix anything but the hot water heater.   Being grateful for something working, I stepped into a much anticipated shower. Unfortunately, the rainfall shower head put out more of a drizzle than rain but I decided to go ahead and wash my hair. A few seconds later the water turned boiling hot and when I turned it down it slid into freezing cold.  I ended up hiding in a foggy corner of the shower while shampoo was dripping into my eyes and decided to make a run for it and rinsed my hair under the tap in the kitchen which is easier to manipulate.  Not a particularly satisfying day although Alan brought home yogurt, ice cream and fruit which helped.

After throwing fit #2 the next day via an e-mail to Joaquin  (I’m sure I sounded like a spoiled American but frankly, I didn’t care) we were promised that professionals would arrive a few days later.  They did and luckily Lewis was with them and re-set the water heater (too boring to write about); brought us a jug of paraffin for the odd fireplace and showed us how to use it (yes, when Alan lit it later, it burned the hair off his hand – the lighter provided was tiny); the walls and the hole in the bedroom ceiling were repaired and Lewis  fixed the Jacuzzi. 

Next morning it was time to do the laundry.  That’s when I realized the door to the washer opened left to right in a VERY small space.   So, I maneuvered myself between the mops, brooms, buckets and back/side walls to open the door and get the clothes in but once the wash was done, I realized I had to retrieve the socks, which were stuck to the top and finally found something that would help.  After everything was out of the washer and ready for the dryer, I felt some sort of weird accomplishment. This is not meant to be a catalogue of complaints but fodder for a short comedy a la I Love Lucy and I am definitely rehearsed for the role.

On a more relaxing note, I really enjoyed our drive to Guadape in the mountains on a warm and sunshiny day as well as a delicious lunch. (We took a tuk tuk from the car to the restaurant entrance and the driver had naked women everywhere including on his windshield wipers.)  Just wished we hadn’t run out of time so I could have checked out the shops in the charming village itself. Looking forward to an early night and some much needed sleep…hum…maybe?