13: On being old vs feeling old (but really just feeling uncool) in Medellín
On September 6th, I officially hit the 2 month mark of my international travel. Similar to celebrating a 2 month relationship, it's not really an anniversary but it's not not an anniversary. It’s impressive how much time that is and actually no time at all. In many ways this trip feels like an old hat by now. I have grown somewhat accustom to the daily trials and tribulations of trip planning, navigating Spanish, figuring out money and hostels, getting used to being alone and most important what is the most delicious and cheapest thing to eat.
But Medellín, Colombia threw me a curve ball. I know this is part of the process and that’s why I’m inclined to share it. This situation however, has felt like an anomaly.
Rooftop views of Medellín, pronounced Medejin. Thanks Spanish for creating rules and breaking them.
We arrived in Medellín on Saturday September 1st. The collective we is a friend Nikole from Portland who has also taken time off from working and is doing intermittent trips all over the world while coming back to her home and dogs in Portland. She flew to Colombia to hangout for 2 weeks and see the sights with me!
The two of us checked into what everyone has said was the best hostel in Medellín. And in fact, it did not disappoint. It was beautiful. The hostel itself was designed and styled with great intention and attention to detail. The place was stunning and clean and more like an upscale hotel than a hostel. Except for one thing.
Unbeknownst to me, Medellín is a party city. There are plenty of interesting and culturally rich things to do here but this hostel is located smack dab in the middle of a well known neighborhood for ex-pat travelers and bars. The hostel was far enough away that to get to the streets of bars and clubs was about a 10-15 minute walk. So luckily the action wasn’t right outside our door but definitely close enough that the main patronage in the hostel were those with the goal of “getting fucked up”.
The reason I’m writing this post isn’t to draw comparisons to the youth, but it is to state that my feelings about being old versus feeling old, specifically in relation to this trip. In Medellín I felt really, really old.
Since traveling I’ve had the occasional beer or cocktail but I haven’t partied really at all. I’ve abstained from going out because frankly, it doesn’t really interest me. More interestingly, I’m not sure why. I love a good night out in Portland or while on vacation but I’ve been completely adverse to the idea of partying over the last 2 months. As I write this, part of me thinks that it’s because I don’t have my crew with me and getting wasted with strangers just doesn’t have a huge appeal. Also safety, indeed I am concerned about safety precautions while being intoxicated. But most nights, I’d rather just journal or read or write some blogs. Most often, my excuse to not go out is, “I’m too old for that shit.” And it’s true, I feel old. Or I feel like I don’t need to party to enjoy my time traveling and I won’t apologize for that. I truly believe that.
Beginning in 2007-present, the city of Medellín opened cable cars to help transportation and access to jobs in the city for the poorer population. Medellín is the first city in the world to open cable cars as a mode of transportation. It’s a funny thing to get on a ski lift that is in no way going anywhere near snow. But it was amazing views and an ingenious plan. In this picture, the higher up the mountain, the poorer and more rural the living conditions.
At this hostel in Medellín I can say with 99% certainty that Nikole and I were the oldest people there…by far. The average age was around 22 - 24. My experience in the past has been that even at the most random or dodgy hostels I’ve been able to be social and meet at least one other person. In Medellín, they wouldn’t talk to me. I don't know if it's because I am old or I look old or but it just didn't happen. It was so bizarre.
Perhaps it is because I look old which is somewhat surprising because one of my favorite things to do on this trip is to tell people how old I am. Some of the most priceless reactions have been:
22 year old German in the mountains of Panama: (obviously read this with a German accent)
Me: I’m 36.
Him: NO. It’s not possible.
Me: It is possible, look at all my grey hair!
Him: Oh ya, I can see it now.
Me: (dies laughing)
24 year old in Mexico City hostel:
Me: I’m 36.
Her: What? Really? No? I would never ever have guessed. You look so young.
Me: Thanks?
23 year old at dinner in Guatemala:
Me: How old do you think I am?
Her: 28?
Me: Nope, I’m 36.
Her: REALLY? But you act so young!
Me: Hahahaha. What are 36 year olds supposed to act like?
And the list of reactions like this goes on and on and on. I’ve joked about creating a blog post solely about the reaction people have to my age. Without fail, everyone is surprised. Only once have I been surprised when someone told me they were 38. I think my reaction was something like, “Really? YES! Finally someone older than me!”
And here’s my reality in this. Like attracts like. Everyone just thinks that everyone else around them is similar to themselves because that’s what you know. Or more specifically, that’s what you expect.
Being just on the cusp of that “normal” age range to travel the world is abnormal to some. So when no one talks to you in Medellín it feels especially isolating and weird. Hostel living is inherently meant to be social so when it’s not, I immediately look at the biggest factor that differentiates me from the others and my conclusion is that it’s my age. I was grateful for Nikole’s company because if I had been alone in that hostel I think I would have hated my experience in Medellín, when in fact, that city is insanely amazing and interesting.
Plaza de Cisnero and the forest of luminous poles. This plaza was created where once was a burned down building, crime and homelessness.
Fernando Botero, Colombia’s most famous artist. He is known for his bloated, oversized and voluminous paintings and sculptures.
It’s a cat! I loved it, obviously.
Beautiful and strange.
So if everyone thinks I’m in my late 20’s (thank you by the way), then what is it? Is it, (gasp) that I just look uncool? And how sad and unfortunate is that to know that in this particular hostel and this particular experience I was judged by my exterior before ever considering who I am beyond looking cool / uncool / old / boring / [insert whatever judgement you have here].
I know this is just a story that I’m telling myself. And that the week before or the week prior could have been a totally different social setting and experience. But this harkens back to my initial fear (question) list:
What if there are only 20-somethings traveling? Am I going to feel so old in comparison?
In this particular instance, the feeling of being isolated from others was powerful, especially when you add in this culture of partying that made that separation like the Grand Canyon. This was the most beautiful hostel I’ve stayed at so far and yet the most lonely.
Like most of my blog posts I don’t have a simple way of wrapping these up in a tiny and perfect package. Just writing to share with you my experiences, struggles and hopefully triumphs. This moment of solitude was a good reminder and reflection that I haven’t changed my expectations based on those around me. I am staying the course regardless of those external influences. It feels wonderful to remember who you are and what you care about in the most bizarre of circumstances. And, to be honest, I hope that feeling old and being old continue to be a lesson I never stop learning. It doesn’t serve me to say no to any event or outing that I feel too old to do. It also would be detrimental if I never stayed in a hostel again because of this experience.
Part of this journey is to just be. And sometimes I’m just going to be uncool, or old, or both.
- M
Side story
One of the most interesting tourist trips was to Comuna 13. In recent years this neighborhood has gone through a major transformation from holding the former title, world’s deadliest neighborhood thanks to gangs and former drug lord Pablo Escobar. The local dump is a mass burial grave from criminal related murders.
The city built a set of free outdoor escalators that allow for easy transportation and mobility for the neighborhood while also encouraging the locals to express themselves with art and graffiti. You definitely don’t want to end up here at night, but during the day it was fascinating to understand this neighborhood’s very brutal past and bright future.
There’s a local coffee shop that is where all of the Gringos get rounded up at the end of the tour. From the looks of it, Bill Clinton visited too! No one seemed to know (or remember) why, but they had a laminated photo to prove it.
Everything in this art has symbolism and meaning, focusing specifically on the dark and violent crimes that have impacted this neighborhood both by gangs and law enforcement.
