Moving Up In The World July 31, 2022

Of the three cemeteries we have visited on this trip, the Museo Cemetario de San Pedro in Medellin is the most impressive and, in my estimation, rivals the New Orleans Cemetery No.1,  another favorite of mine. The cemetery is well organized in the shape of a horseshoe on the side of a hill with a chapel at its apex. A well-placed notice  introduces visitors to its style and what to expect.

There’s a security guard at the entrance and a lady in a glass cubicle to answer any questions. There are offices in case you need to find out where to go. The sign at the entrance makes you feel welcome whether you are visiting or depositing a loved one.

Rules are strict but not unreasonable. No alcohol, psychoactive substances, plastic flowers,  pets, weapons or blades (remember the problems Romeo had), no extracting the contents of the monuments, and no sowing of  any new species of plant.

The layout is attractive with the tombs of ordinary people around the walls of the  perimeter  looking down over the more genteel or whose families could afford something a little more extravagant to celebrate their demise. Some were small chapels in themselves, neatly furbished in a modern style with  plenty of room for expansion. 

The occasional statue was stunning. I wasn’t quite sure what to make of this one on the right.

There were lots of ex-Presidents, important officials and members of old important families often with long complicated names. The tombstone of writer, Jorge Isaacs, stood out for some reason. I learned later that he had written one of the most read Colombian  novels Maria (1867) and had his picture engraved on the 50,000 pesos note ahead of one of my writing heroes, Gabriel  Marquez.  Isaacs was not actually buried here but in Cali. An interesting footnote was that the sculpture of the scantily clad lady lamenting his departure had originally been naked but was covered after requests from the cemetery’s administration.  I must remind our Executor, Joe Chandler, that in the unlikely case of any of my readers demanding a statue of a young naked woman draped over my tomb lamenting my loss, she should preferably remain naked.

Then I noticed a group of well-dressed mourners, under the supervision of the cemetery officials, depositing a relative in one of the smaller higher niche tombs. They were gathered around a step ladder while the workman unscrewed the plaque and deposited the remains. A smaller, more modest family was having a Mass said in the chapel for their dearly departed and later I saw them emerge into the bright sunlight and walk through the cemetery smiling while holding the shiny wooden box of ashes like a newly awarded trophy. I assumed from their happy looks that they felt the departed had been given a good send off and was now appropriately installed. Duty had been done. The cemetery was worthy of its good reputation and there was far more for us to discover had we the time.

Our experience of the Basilica of our Lady of Candelaria, the oldest church in Medellin were not quite so happy. First built in 1646 to accommodate a law requiring the separation of Amerindians from Mestizos and Mulattos, it’s neo-classical frontage hid a patchwork of stonework sticking out of bare mortar in the main body. When we arrived, Mass was in full swing and we had to thread our way over and between people crowding the steps at the entrance. There were the sick and disabled and others in wheelchairs reaching out for alms.  A dirty and disheveled man lay sitting upright on the pavement wearing an old coat with enflamed bloody sores exposed on both his outstretched legs. It was at that moment I heard the tinkling of the bell from the altar.

The congregation inside was still taking Covid precautions and were separated from each other. The youngish looking priests, bathed in a bright, golden light, intoned the Mass through an expensive loudspeaker system. A man prayed furiously and crossed himself while on his knees in front of a statue of the stricken Christ silhouetted between the marble Corinthian columns.  The combination lock on the safe at the side seemed incongruous. A man with a bag on the end of a pole collected donations. Then everyone wished each other Peace in the traditional way but from a distance and as we left, Marney stopped to give some money to a woman with twisted legs lying crouched on the ground. 

 On the way back to the car park, which was attached to a shopping mall, we crossed the road toward the entrance where a woman in a brightly embroidered orange dress sat on the pavement with her back to the plate glass shop front intently sewing. Her curly headed four-year-old in pink lay on the curbside in everyone’s path, sucking on a mango. So often I find myself at a loss as to what to do and settle for doing nothing which unsettles me even more.

Throughout our first two weeks exploring life in Medellin, Juan’s guidance had been enlightening, entertaining and vital but Marney and I felt it was time to be brave and venture out on our own. We decided our destination should be the Museo of Modern Art, which, though relatively small, is stunning with a spectacular large exhibition Hall, separate side halls, studios and a series of smaller galleries and workshops on the upper floors.

The outdoor patios include exhibits, and there are views of the new buildings in central Medellin and its surroundings springing up.

The museum reminded me of our trip to the Walker Gallery in Minnesota albeit on a smaller scale, it was still wonderfully thoughtful and intelligent.  Colombia’s history is a turbulent and often violent one, which is reflected in many of the art pieces. The country is beginning to pay more attention to its pre-colonial indigenous history as well as its environmental conservation and given its natural beauty and resources, this will be important to the survival of all of us.

The paintings of Deborah Arango, were particularly strident and difficult, covering poverty, the exploitation of women, politics, the church, all in an unusual style bordering on the cartoon.

There were also 3 D stand up art pieces. The face of the dramatic lady below caught my eye. I can’t think who she reminded me of.

 Then it was on to the delightful fish restaurant Pesqueira – Charcuteria  del Mar. Not to be missed, with a great philosophy. 

Even with my minimal Spanish I mastered this sign. 

We plan to go back before leaving Colombia.

What a delightful day it turned out to be, a feast for all the senses before our impending move to the outskirts of the city. If you visit Medellin, be sure to put these interesting places on your list.

Unfortunately, our time at Torre 4 in Medellin was coming to an end and new guests were about to arrive so we had to pack and give up our nest on Floor 11 to our vultures, the sun worshipping girls, the mini tienda, the shiny Mazdas, Sunday sport walk and all our traffic light entrepreneurs.   I hope and pray the gentleman who was knocked off his bike recovered, and I shall miss them all.

Juan picked us up together with our belongings and took us to Swiss Suites, our new location on the outskirts of Medellin in an area called Enviago. We waved farewell to the security guards but as we ascended the hill with its hairpin bends, two green helmeted policemen on a motorbike pulled up next to us and waved at us to stop. Not familiar with the routine I got out of the front seat and put my hands on the roof of the car a la Americana cop style. I thought this was funny.  Marney didn’t.  Luckily for me the cop saw the joke as he peered into the back of  the car at our suitcases and then waved us on.

 

 

                                      Marney here…

No, I did not think it was funny when Alan did his Hollywood movie takeoff of putting hands on the roof of the car.  But then he has never had a moment with police as I have in a Latin American country where they carried machine guns, grabbed my camera and had no sense of humor.

Back to the Cementerio – it was the first time I really enjoyed walking around a cemetery even though it is always on Alan’s list.  It was a lovely sunny day, the cemetery was quiet and in its own way, beautiful.  The care that was taken and the reverence shown made me think of so many people I have loved who are no longer in my life but in a way that was more peaceful than sad.  And I couldn’t help but laugh to myself at the signs – my favorite was something to the effect of “please don’t bring real flowers as they die” which explained the woman selling paper and plastic flowers at the front gate.

The museum was also interesting, and I particularly enjoyed the three-dimensional artwork and the beautiful paintings of flowers on linen. I also enjoyed the upstairs patio looking out over the city and, of course, the gift shop although I didn’t buy anything (I know – unbelievable)!

Pesqueria Del Mar was such a nice ending to the day.  The fish was fresh and it was the best cerviche I have had in years (well, the second time around – first time it was too salty but when I told the waiter, he brought me another and it was perfect).   More on our arrival in our new home outside Medellin in Enviago next time…