🇨🇴 Gun Shy in South America

Hello Adventurers, 

Happy New Year! As we ease into 2023, I’m easing into the first week of my Marathon Earth Challenge. Amidst the warm weather here in Colombia, I too have been warming up: acclimating to higher altitudes, getting used to striding through dark clouds of exhaust fumes, and firing-up my dormant spidey senses. 

What does the latter mean? Well, it’s just the interplay between dodging vehicles, doing risk assessment in real-time, and developing a sense of when it’s safe to document the people and places I come across. Admittedly, I was gun shy on my first few marathons — just hesitant to whip out cameras and click their shutter release buttons — but I’ve since gotten the lay of the land and have found my groove. As such, the newsletter imagery should improve with each issue…or at least that’s the hope!

Before we get into it, I wanted to welcome the hundred or so new subscribers that signed up over the last week! Hello! You are joining an illustrious readership comprised of my sympathetic friends and my dutiful family, LOL. Jokes aside, new readers can get the project’s back story here and/or follow me on Instagram for individually visualized, near-daily marathon recaps. Many of you are here because Changmang™ kindly posted about this newsletter. Thanks Brett, you're a real one!

Lastly, this whole project is DIY. As in, just me: planning everything, marathoning everywhere, and documenting everything with words and images. If you like what you’re about to read — and see — then please help spread the word! 🙏

This dispatch covers five marathons done in Bogotá, Medellín, and Caldas. Let’s see what they revealed (of themselves to me).

- Ben Pobjoy

2023 TREK TRACKER

Where in the world...record am I?

• Countries visited: 1

• Flights taken: 3

• Kilometres flown: 5,240

• Marathons completed: 5

• Kilometres trekked by foot: 223.8

• Total kilometres trekked since 2015: 63,315

RAPID WEEKLY RECAP

A speedy synopsis for time-crunched readers

• The Wildest Thing: It’s a tie between accidentally having a coffee with a possible sexagenarian fugitive from Armagh that appeared to be on the run in Bogotá, and the Paisas’ ability in Medellín to ride motorcycles speedily — and take hard turns — in super heavy rain storms without bailing.

• The Biggest Obstacle: Physically adapting to the plumes of vehicular emissions cradled by the Aburrá Valley in Medellín. Lung butter and hocking loogies are now on tap at Bar Benny. My sinuses feel like they may explode!

• The Lesson Learned: Busted, angular, uneven, hole-filled, and pockmarked ‘sidewalks’ in Colombia are ankle assassins. I should have prepared with more ankle strengthening — and range of motion exercises — prior to departure. Live and learn!

FIELD NOTES: BOGOTÁ, COLOMBIA

How to jump-start an adventure at altitude...with coffee and fruit salad?

I will be the first to admit that I did not show Bogotá the respect it deserves. Why? Well, because I caught a turbulent red-eye flight there on New Year’s Eve, landed at 5AM on New Year’s Day, exited the airport around 6AM, and immediately commenced my first marathon into town. It was a very sleepy Sunday: I was groggy, the city was eerily quiet (save for a few maniacs still partying at sunrise), and my sole goal was to get one marathon done while acclimating to the altitude (my hometown of Toronto is only 76 metres above sea level whereas Bogota sits at a staggering 2,640 metres).

What I can say, is that local street vendors sell a mix of amazing coffee as well as delicious fruit salads (full of pineapple, banana, mango and papaya). I’d encourage you to try it all. This is all homegrown here...and the tastes are so much richer than the imports of such back in North America.

The only hard recommendation I can make — because it’s the one thing I did on my second marathon of Bogotá — is to ascend Monserrate, the mountain that flanks the city’s eastern edge. It is free to hike, has an altitude of 3,152 metres, and is a great way to snap your heart and lungs into acclimating (because the average grade of steepness is 25 percent). The mountain is full of donkeys, roosters, occasional fruit and beverage vendors, and pilgrims en route to the Catholic shrine and sanctuary that sits atop it. The views are definitely worth it. Oh, and don’t want to hike it? No probs, there’s a cable car AND a funicular!

One thing that confused me in Bogotá was its alleged Ciclovia, a weekly event where hundreds of kilometres of city streets are closed to cars on Sundays from 7AM to 2PM…but cars were in fact driving everywhere on the Sunday I was there. What gives?

Also, this Dorothy quickly learnt that he wasn’t in Kansas anymore: Bogotá has lots of cops, military personnel, bomb sniffing dogs, security guards, armoured vehicles, and visibly strapped locals. Sun’s out, guns out, bb.

FIELD NOTES: MEDELLÍN, COLOMBIA

A diamond in the rough(est sense)

I did two proper marathons around Medellín, which is a single city full of divergent and stratified worlds. Much of the city is pleasant, but some pockets are heartbreaking: there’s rampant drug addiction to bazuco (which is more potent than crack cocaine), there’s people passed out all over, there’s shoeless people sorting through trash for food and/or items to resell, and there’s impoverishment that disproportionately affects Indigenous peoples (where babies with ballooned heads are held by malnourished mothers sitting on sidewalks). Yes, you can avoid this stuff as a tourist, but as a human being I believe it is important to observe reality, bear witness, and reflect on it all. That said, I don’t often document these things in image — if just a sliver of a place — because exaggerated ‘photographic poverty porn’ created by tourists from wealthier places isn’t just low-hanging fruit as visual clickbait, it represents the worst kind of privilege. 

With that caveat communicated, here is what resonated with me in Medellín:

Skatepark Del Puente De La 4 Sur: While I’m forty and balding, I’ll always be a punk rocker. So when there’s a skatepark nestled under a highway full of youth shredding, tunes blasting, weed being smoked, and people being wonderfully carefree…I’m there checking it out. Skaters are a universally nice tribe, and locals welcomed my presence — and my documentarian interest — with smiles and fist-bumps.

La Alpujarra Administrative Center: This government complex is grounds to the ‘Monumento a la Raza’ sculpture by Rodrigo Arenas Betancourt. It is wild, inventive, and well, something you really have to see in person to experience. The photo doesn't do it justice. It's like a mushroom trip through history rendered in 38 metres of concrete and brass. And it's falling apart. And birds live in it. And it's just spectacular from all angles. Go see it and walk around it.

Plaza Botero: Located in the Old Quarter, this plaza contains 23 sculptures by celebrated Colombian artist Fernando Botero. I have long loved his work, and seeing his work up-close — and in his hometown — was a real privilege, very much contextualized by the flavour of place. Oh, and you likely know his work via the ‘y tho’ meme. Anyway, what was most fascinating is that this plaza is full of curvy, bulbous sex workers — some in fishnet tops sans bras, others in barely existent hungry-bum bottoms — and the total effect is life imitating art or art imitating life.

Parque San Antonio: This plaza contains a Botero ‘Bird or Peace’ sculpture that was severely damaged in 1995 when FARC detonated a bomb (which killed and injured many locals). Instead of removing or repairing the sculpture, Botero donated a duplicate sculpture, and the resulting diptych is a dramatic exemplification of the effects of political violence. I found this art very powerful to take in. Do note that this plaza is full of riff-raff, and one should exercise caution.

Villa Central: There’s nothing remarkable about this little neighbourhood in Itagüí. However, I liked the unassuming vibes: it’s vibrant, full of families and people enjoying one another, and has lots of shops and cafés. It felt really local-y, and I enjoyed watching locals live as they do.

Virgen Rosa Mystica: This Catholic shrine was allegedly visited by Pablo Escobar’s sicarios prior to hit jobs. It was located around the corner from my Airbnb so I passed it on a marathon (and posted a photo of it to Instagram). Anyway, if you like Catholicism, cartels and cocaine, then you can hit three birds with one stoner here.

FIELD NOTES: CALDAS, COLOMBIA

To escape the hustle and bustle of city life, I gave my nervous system (aka the spidey senses) a break and did one chill marathon out to Caldas (which is just south of Medellín). In between the small towns and villages of Pueblo Viejo and Caldas, I enjoyed observing all the artisans hand making wooden furniture (adorned with interwoven raw leather strapping), old men hammering metal into decorative pieces, and women pouring plaster molds of all things Catholic. When you see so many workshops in such a short succession, you sorta get the sense that labour is the source of all wealth. Anyway, when I got to Caldas, I enjoyed a coffee in a restaurant / café under the Notaría Única de Caldas. It had a great view of people as well as the Parque de Caldas across the street.

WORLD'S WORST FOODIE

I’ll cut to the chase: if you’re hoping this newsletter will be a gastronomic guide then I’ll probably disappoint! Truthfully, I have to de-prioritize eating at restaurants to minimize costs, and to ensure my day is most available to marathoning. So what am I eating? Currently, a typical day in Colombia starts with bananas and coffee from street vendors in the morning, lots of nuts as I trek throughout the day (they’re calorie dense and the consumption of salt is essential when sweating), and then a typically simple dinner of whatever beans and veggies I can smash together in the evening! Bon appétit?

BEST LOCAL THING-Y

These ‘La Especial’ brand of lime peppered peanuts are this week’s best discovery. I have eaten at least three bags, and would describe them as follows: when you pop them into your mouth, you’re immediately hit with a jolt of lime flavour. The crunchy chew of the flavour-coated nut gives way to a soft peanut-y taste that is followed by light peppery notes. It is an amazing snack — surprisingly nuanced in how all the flavours play nice with one another — and, well, totally superior to those barbecue flavoured peanuts back in North America.

POBJOY'S GLOBAL PRICE INDEX

Prior to leaving Canada, the big dog Scotty O™ suggested that I dedicate some of the newsletter to documenting how much things cost in different places. I thought it was a great suggestion. So here are some things I bought in Bogotá (with prices converted to USD):

• Street vendor coffee (imagine a shorter Americano on steroids): 20¢

• Street vendor fruit salad (approximately three cups of banana, pineapple, mango, and papaya): $2.65

• 200 grams of shelled peanuts, a granny smith apple, and 310 grams of canned garbanzo beans from a grocery store: $3.30

MARATHON MUSINGS

An essay on adventure, accommodations, and atonement

On New Year’s Eve, my Mum sucker-punched me, and I uncharacteristically burst into tears. We were standing in the departures hall at Lester B. Pearson International Airport — and before saying our final goodbyes — she reached into her purse and handed me what she called my, “Baby bracelet.”

It had been affixed to my wrist (by a nurse?) when I was born in some since rebranded Mississauga hospital. I don’t think I was even named yet. It just lists ‘Boy Pobjoy Ann’ on one line, and ‘Aug 16/81 @ 0906’ on the other line.

No name.

Just ‘Boy’ … of a Mother. As in me, something she made. Something — both as a man and a non-parent — I can’t even begin to wrap my head around and understand.

Staring at me through anxious tears atop a quivering yet supportive smile, my Mum asked me to observe how small it was — to essentially know how small I had once been (to her) — and to note that she had been holding onto it for more than 40 years. As she gently pressed it into my hand, she lovingly looked me in the eyes and told me it was my duty to return it to her, and, "For her boy to make it back home safely.”

This was approximately 90 minutes after I had an embrace-heavy, tearful goodbye with Christine back at our apartment. She’s my wife, my partner, my best friend, and someone with a propensity for love like no other: evidenced by her granting me the time and space — with very reasonable conditions — to answer a calling I felt within. All at the expense of her needs.

This was a day after my Mother-in-Law Aida texted me her prayers to God for my protection and safety.

And this was a week or so after my Brother Elliot commented how morbid it was to be looking over my will — as well as my instructions for tying up loose ends — should I die.

I don’t mention these anecdotes to curry pity from you. I am undeserving of such. To think otherwise would be borderline psychopathic.

What must be stated, is that this project is of my own design and doing. I bear all responsibility if it goes wrong. And if it goes right, then it’s a victory for my team of loved ones who more than shared in the sacrifices.

Yes, the parameters were co-created through frank and hard conversations with my inner circle, especially with my missus. But there’s just no other way to cut it: I am the bad guy in a good adventure story, and doing hurt — or at least causing much worry — to the people I love most.

I would never want this for them. But here I am serving my people shit soup. And that’s tough for me to swallow.

I thought about this lots over many months before I left — I’m not a full-bore idiot — and I have been thinking about it very deeply on this week’s five marathons: easy to do when you’re alone for hours electing to suffer and — in turn — contemplating how you’re involuntarily making others suffer back home. 

I can’t wholly justify what I’m doing. It’s a straight-up frivolous adventure. But it is also the culmination of a personal comeback story: from someone who wasn’t well to someone who’s doing something well-beyond what their former self could ever have imagined. And that’s the crux of it all. I defeating I as metamorphosis to expedite growth into something else.

To my Wife, and my Mum, and my Dad, and my Brother, and my Family, and all my Friends…I know I am asking a lot from you all. Please know that I do not take your understanding and/or accommodations for granted. I know you’re all supportive, but I know that this is all a huge stressor too.

So I am sorry (for being me).

What this project demands of me physically, is but half of what it demands of others emotionally. I’ve already paid with two pounds of downsized flesh this week, but that is easier to suffer than feeling the unease, anxiety, and fear emanating off of loved ones.

The personalities behind these types of gonzo projects tend to present them as 'all fun and games' but I can assure you that there's collateral damage behind the scenes. And I just wanted to be real and address the selfishness of the 'doer' versus the selflessness of the 'supporters'.

I don’t know what this project will ultimately yield. All I know is that it can’t be all for naught. Not after I’ve asked so much of so many.

Anyway, my favourite young poet Drew Thomson once brashly wrote, “Tried to fight it, tried to hide it. But fuck it! I am who I am. And that's not going to change.” I agree with some of his sentences, but know others within it to be death sentences…especially as they concern relationships.

So blessings to my loved ones back home.

I'll mend what I'm straining.

And I promise that I won't let things get broken.

Have any questions about the content of this newsletter? Reply to it, and I'll try and answer you when it's safe to do so!