As he pours a shot of Aguardiente straight from the $2 box it came from and hands it to me, I take notice of his Rolex’d wrist that could buy his own house a few times over. He carries himself well, clean cut, stylish, and powerful, commanding respect from all of those around him. As he should, he has probably outlived his last few predecessors to the ripe old age of no more than 22. I raise my glass of the Anise flavored moonshine, look up to his hollow souled eyes, offer a ‘salud’ of appreciation and down the glass without the slightest reaction of disgust. He gestured in a nod of mutual respect and proceeded to pour rounds for my mates. Johanna, a feisty Aussie whose appetite for a fucked up adventure will rival mine any day, and Mao, the conflict journalist we had the pleasure of meeting in the Darien jungle. A man who has seen the violence and harsh reality of his beloved country first hand. A man who puts himself in the middle of conflict for a living, yet is weary that we got off the cable car and ventured into this neighborhood. If you aren’t from here, you simply don’t come here.

Medellen, Colombia’s second city that was once so dangerous a tourist would not tour, lies the infamous Juan xiii (Comuna 13) where a tourist would just not go.

Since the take down of Pablo Escobar, not too long ago, Medellen has undergone a massive revitalization and clean up. It is now safe, beautiful, buzzing with international tourism, and for every reason I know, an amazing city. As the crime and violence was swept out of the valley, it seemed to be collected in the dustpan that is the surrounding hillside. A place that time left behind when it was killed in a drive by shooting. 100,000 people live here in ramshackle housing with tin roofs held down by large rocks and tires. The hills are divided into roughly 20 neighborhoods, each with their own distinct ‘identity’ or gang rather.

It is a vicious cycle of life in these hills, where life can be short and power is awarded to those willing to take it.

Sitting here, it’s hard to imagine the horror stories that take place all around us on a regular basis, yet easy to wonder if we ventured to the wrong spot. The air is warm and calm but the vibe of our greeting was as predictable as a pitbull on meth. Stares and curiosity were the first to make our acquaintance, followed by the Aguardiente toting, Rolex’d leader offering us a drink. A few shots and pleasantries were exchanged. I bought ‘Boss Daddy’ a beer and then he welcomed us to HIS neighborhood and said we would be safe here….as long as we stayed on this block. After his approval we became widely accepted by everybody. Children swarmed us when we pulled out some easy yet baffling coin tricks, and before long, entire families were hanging out alongside us and a full on street dance party was shaping up. I don’t know whether this was a regular event or initiated by us, but regardless, it was pure hilarity and good times. I have never been more welcomed anywhere in my life.

As the sun faded, nightly preparations were taking place. Garbage cans were rolled out on the streets to prevent cars from ‘driving by’, and well armed military stood on the corners illuminating a facade of security and keeping everybody in their own ‘hoods. Assured of our safety, we stayed and continued the fiesta.

As the party died down, we were set to leave but not before ‘Boss Daddy’ made some of the kids take us up to the hilltop for the best view of the city. We made the long trek up to the top of the slums, guided by a few 14 year old escorts. We walked from hood to hood, passing strategically placed garbage cans along the way. Each new territory entered we would pass a few kids sitting around, clearly on look out. They merely let us pass without a 2nd look as it was pretty clear we were not the threat they were on high alert for.

As we walked higher and higher, talking with these children I began to see more of what it was all about. Government to government and slum to slum, it’s not much different here than the rest of the world. They just play by their own rules. It’s about power and territory. Those who want it go and get it without hesitation or are forced to retaliate in return. Those who do not, are free to live their lives and stay out of it but sometimes get stuck in the crossfire.

It was sad hearing what these kids were forced to deal with on a daily basis. They expressed their feelings and how they wished for less violence, but what really struck me was their immeasurable hope for the future and the pride they took in their situation, however unideal most would consider it to be. Granted, maybe it is sometimes, but I certainly saw a different side of things, and was taken aback by the love, laughter, and smiles that I feel so fortunate to have experienced with them. Oh, and ‘Boss Daddy’ was right, by far the best view of the city. Go see it for yourself!

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