This morning was bicycle magic. Every Sunday in the city of Medellin (likewise Bogotá), a subset of highways are closed to car traffic on Sundays. Open instead for cyclists, runners, walkers, boys popping wheelies. Ciclovia it is called.
It's like having a Streets Alive in Ithaca every Sunday, and 20 times bigger. Or maybe like the AIDS ride around Cayuga or the STP in Seattle. Over a hundred kilometers of road are closed for this.
The support infrastructure was astounding. There were good-humored crossing guards at every intersection wearing green uniforms, orange cones and barricades set up along the whole route, police officers overlooking all of it. Vendors sold orange juice and sugar cane water along route, and there were piles of bike parts for sale.
I rode for 40 kilometers, grinning nearly the whole time, loving being able to cruise in what would be a 2-lane highway, admiring all the people out for exersize, loving that a city would put so much care into a weekly bike event for its people. There is so much joy to be had in a community of humanity all enjoying movement together.
Men in lycra racing uniforms folded over their handlebars, teen boys riding trick bicycles their knees in their armpits, a young girl rattling along on training wheels, women in bright workout gear roller-blading, an old man and his wife elegantly rolling by on very upright frames. Such a diverse mix, again the theme of Diversity comes out here.
For the first time in this country I rode my bicycle without being whistled at. (Well, except for one of the be-lycra'd gentlemen who did so quietly as he passed me) Granted, I did some passing of the Lycra Gentlemen myself, especially up the little city hills. (Thank you, Andes Mountains, for the excellent training)
I pedalled gleefully all over the city, from the tree-lined shaded neighborhoods to the downtown area like this, tall buildings looming. |
Views of the city available from the middle of the highway, without worry of being hammered by a truck. |
One of the routes led me to the neighborhood of Envigado, where I found an energetic group of women and men dancing to music in a park. Speakers blasted salsa, reggaeton, jovial workout music. A guy with a microphone standing on a platform was calling out moves. I left my bicycle to rest and jumped in with them.
What could be more joyful than dancing along with all these colorfully dressed people! In sandals and sweaty bike shorts, but somehow I still managed to feel sassy and coordinated and dorky-without-caring. A bouncy fit man with a microphone called out moves in Spanish and I could get the gist: one, two, three, four! Four more! To the left! Hands up! Looking great!
After the bicycling, I refueled with a very gourmet chocolate-cappucino in the elegant district of El Poblado (relishing the elegance while I can, for cheap, and I have been through enough dusty Hay Nada Pueblos that gourmet is completely exciting for me), and then set off by foot up the edge of the valley.
I walked curvy roads through what would be Rochester's East Ave or Ithaca's Cayuga Heights. A very different picture of Colombia. At one point I dead-ended at a fancy impassable gated community, disappointed that I would have to backtrack down the slope again. However, the security guards must have realized from my idiot Spanish that I was likely no more threatening than an infant and buzzed open the white gate to let me pass through.
Near the top of the valley, with an exquisite view of the city, I found the truly enormous El Tesoro Shopping Park. I wandered around, blinking from all the input, country mouse in the gleaming commercialized buzz. Everything from American Eagle (what is that doing here?!) to fried-chicken-with-honey places. Families strolled arm in arm among the bright shops, lovers sat on the provided leather couches in a world of their own, children screeched on rides in the attached amusement park.
El Tesoro Shopping Park, with--get this--a "Snow Magic World" exhibit, complete with a ticket counter. |