Money-Less In Medellin



Mists of Medellin -- El Poblado District

To all of you who´ve followed me in the past, you´ll notice right away that this is different than my previous web-logue -- call this a new blog for a new continent.  Time for a change and all that.  Getting right to it then, or as Yogi Berra would say, it all started at the beginning....

On every trip I´ve taken, after the security madness at airports, the ear-poppings in pressurized cabins, comes a head jolt of sorts -- the wow that I´m really entering a new land.  Dorothy, you´re not in Kansas -- or Choconut -- anymore.

That wow on this jaunt came on one of the most scenic and exhilirating landing approaches that I´ve ever had -- to  Jose Maria Cordova International Airport in central Colombia.  Circling, circling...adjusting flaps and rudder every so often...our Airbus A-320 lowered in over green-clad hills and mountains, cloaked in swirling mists and cotton candy clouds and cut by jagging brown rivers.  The countryside here is beautiful.  I wasn´t looking out the window, I was gaping out.  Unfortunately I left my camera in my day pack in the overhead and couldn´t capture it.

The lady at the Spirit Airlines counter in NYC told me I should have a window seat going in, and she was right!



However, my idyll only lasted a few hours -- until I reached center city and inserted my debit card into that first ATM and got a No Transaction Allowed flashing at me.  Breathless I tried another ATM and another...and the same thing.  

"Pilar" of the Palm Tree

"This can´t be!" I cried, fighting off the panic of having no money in a strange land with darkness descending, where I knew no one, absolutely no one.  For a while anyhow, that debit card would be my only friend.  I did have some U.S. dollars, yes, but all the money changers were closed. 

It wouldn´t have been so bad except that I´d called Pennstar bank before I left and cleared it with them that I was going to South America.  The service rep assured me that things would be fine, the bank had no blocks on its cards down there or anything.  As my friend would say, Hello!  In screenwriting the opposite thing happening in a plot line is called a reversal, and it certainly was one in this case.  To say that I was upset is to put it mildly.

At any rate, enter here the Palm Tree Hostel.  Or should I say that I entered there and told them my story.  No problema, the staff assured me, seemingly without blinking an eye.  I could have a room on credit, with breakfast included with the room price.  And a free dinner was offered for all trekker/guests Friday evenings to boot.  This was the end-of-week gathering for guests and it just happened to be on the next day.  As Geraldo would say, coincidence?

So no worries, mate.  My room was set and my food was set at least for 24 hrs.  The staff even offered to float my some money! which fortunately I didn´t need.  What a bunch, though!

An emergency e-mail to Pennstar got them cracking on removing the block on my card, which was accomplished Saturday morning.  I had money again, what a feeling! and set off to explore the city.

And what a city this is -- nothing, absolutely nothing like I had been led to believe in by U.S. media.  For now, I´ll just say that this country, this people, have gotten a bad rap .  Maybe even say that they´ve been slandered in film and tv and such.  But more on that later.  Much more.  I´ve only been here five days and don´t want to generalize too much yet.

Where The Fat Lady Stands -- In Center City

No sooner did that emergency get under control than I learned that some hacker had invaded my e-mail account and was using my good name to send spam to people on Viagra and offers of dating services for Russian women.  Once again, the feeling of semi-panic.  With a little help from my friends, I made some adjustments and trust and pray that that´s now under control.

At any rate, the natives are open and friendly here.  The city is wonderful.  These can make up for a lot of glitches, I have found, and worse.  Nevertheless, however wobbly, the adventure in South America has begun.  

Sunday leisure -- in Parque Simon Bolivar