Back from the dead

Once dubbed the 'City of Eternal Violence', Medellín is putting its troubled past behind it. Mike Hodgkinson goes in search of the new soul of the city
Tango in Medellin, Colombia
Nightlife ... try 'guaro' the local spirit, before taking a turn on the dance floor. Photograph: Fernando Bengoechea/Beateworks/Corbis

The taxi descent into Medellín is a real eye-opener. It's not just the act of barrelling down the steep eastern slopes of the Aburra Valley, in Colombia's central Andes, that sharpens jet-lagged senses. What really gets the blood pumping as Medellín closes in, chicane by chicane, is the city's reputation.

Not long ago Medellín was a dangerous place — think cocaine overlord Pablo Escobar, and the tangled web of feuds and alliances between "narcotrafico", paramilitary, guerrilla and government factions that held the city hostage to the end of the 20th century. It was known simultaneously as the City of Eternal Spring (the temperate climate is near-perfect year round) and the City of Eternal Violence, or Metrallo (after "metralleta", the word for "machine gun"). These days, things are looking up. Medellín (pronounced by locals with a distinct "J" — as in Med-uh-jean) is emerging as a diamond in the rough, not without its problems, but not lacking the intent and imagination to tackle them.

My first night, at the Intercontinental Hotel, turned out to be far from typical. Clutching a beer in the lobby bar, I was one half of the audience for the resident cabaret act: bald man on keyboards, female singer in white flared trousers and matching waistcoat. The other half was a policeman wearing fatigues and a bullet-proof vest. If I wanted to find the heart and soul of Medellín, evidently I was in the wrong place.

El Son de la Loma salsa bar, Medellin, Colombia
Salsa bar ... El Son de la Loma. Photograph: Mike Hodgkinson
Parque Lleras is on the tidy slopes of El Poblado, a residential area known for its shops and restaurants. The best of the bars surrounding the square is the vine-shaded Le Bon Café, The dreadlocked owner Pato sells beverages made from coca leaves: a tea called Nasa Esh's and a soft drink, Coca Sek, Colombia's alternative to Coca-Cola. Indigenous Colombians have traditionally sucked coca leaves to "clear the mind", Pato tells me, and he's keen to point out that the effects of chemically processed coca (cocaine) are in no way comparable to the mild buzz provided by his drinks. A double espresso offers a more abrasive kick than a cup of Nasa Esh's.

Mind duly cleared, I set about exploring downtown's network of public spaces. The options are endless: al fresco life in Medellín is good. The city has pursued an ambitious policy combining art and architecture, from the central Plaza de las Esculturas (home to a family of sculptures by Fernando Botero) to the artificial forest of giant Star Wars-esque light sabres in Plaza Cisneros. Among the most popular communal areas is Parque de los Pies Descalzos (Barefoot Park), an immense zen garden with copses of bamboo, sand pits, and giant foot spas in which parents soak away the day's stresses while their kids charge in and out of fountains. The place produces a rare feeling of mass contentment.

An afternoon stroll round the San Pedro cemetery-museum turned out to be a good deal more enlightening than it was morbid. Here, a historical time-line of Medellín slowly unfolds, as the graves offer up characters who have shaped the region. Like José María Sierra (died 1921), a self-educated businessman who made a fortune from booze and coffee. Alongside headstones dedicated to former Colombian presidents are shrines to families murdered at the height of the cocaine troubles. One of these tombs is laid out like twin rooms in a house, complete with chandeliers: the women are in one section, the men in another.

There's also a monument to Argentinian tango legend Carlos Gardel who died in a plane crash in Medellín in 1935. His remains were returned to Buenos Aires six months later, but his spirit lives on in tango bars throughout the city. One of the most charming, is the Club de Tango Homero Manzi, also known as the Casa Cultural del Tango. Tucked away on an obscure downtown street, the place is dominated by an enormous jukebox and the hospitable presence of the owner: a stout man who welcomes one and all like family.

At one end of the room regulars sit on tall bar stools, spontaneously erupting into song whenever a favourite lyric possesses them. As they sang, I got talking to a group of peace activists who were toasting the launch of a photographic exhibition, sponsored by the mayor's office, to honour victims of violence. They wore green T-shirts bearing the legend "Víctimas del Conflicto Armado". Their gathering was a wake, of sorts, but one shot through with hope. We raised shot glasses filled with Aguardiente Antioque ñ o, nick-named "guaro" – a clear spirit unique to Medellín, laced with aniseed, and traditionally downed with a side of diced coconut.

Most cities take their public transport systems for granted, only noticing them when they don't work properly. The Medellín Metro, opened in 1995, is still enjoying something of a honeymoon with the vast numbers of people who used to feel isolated in their outlying barrios and "comunas" (regions of barrios). The trains are spotless and well-guarded. Roughly following the north-south route of the River Medellín which bisects the city, the Metro is a lifeline – and has a unique tributary, the Metrocable, an alpine cable car system which takes you three stops into the higher reaches of the once-feared north-eastern neighbourhoods. After a steep ascent from Acevedo station, you can now walk streets formerly controlled by gangs, where the cartels recruited their foot soldiers and "sicarios" (hit-men), and where, until quite recently, the police refused to go.

Natives of Antioquia, of which Medellín is the capital (and Colombia's third largest city after Bogotá and Cali), proudly wear their credentials as "paisas": hard-working people from the country's industrial heartland. The word paisa is heard most often in connection with the local food. The mainstay of a Medellín diet is the "bandeja paisa": a full Colombian brunch, made up of meat, rice, clusters of pork scratchings, fried plantains, beans, chorizo and fried cheese. Where weight-loss loses, deep satisfaction wins. Another staple is the "arepa": a kind of corn pancake, often spread with cheese and a variant of tomato salsa.

Conejos y Conejos cafe, Medellin, Colombia
Where to eat ... Conejos y Conejos roadside café. Photograph: Mike Hodgkinson
These specialities can be found all over the city, but are best enjoyed on a daytrip into the surrounding countryside. Locals tend to exit the metropolis at weekends, to unwind. On the road to Santa Elena, accompanied by newfound Colombian friends, I stopped at Conejos y Conejos, a roadside café stuffed to the gills with antiques. We ate arepas, cooked on a huge outdoor stove. The long, lazy loop back to Medellín took us through the towns of Rionegro, San Antonio and La Fe where we slept off an outstanding lunch on the banks of lake Embalse La Fe.

My last night was spent at El Son de la Loma, a salsa bar in Envigado, Pablo Escobar's old neighbourhood. I could not blame the "guaro" for my pitiful attempts at dancing, only a lack of co-ordination. Yet feckless enjoyment compelled me to dance with mucho gusto, wearing the desperate grin that sometimes squats on faces defeated by an uphill struggle. It wasn't pretty. Some of the locals looked away, more out of pity than disdain. There and then, I vowed to take salsa lessons, so there would be no repeat of the ugliness on my return to Medellín, which, I hoped, would come sooner rather than later.

Getting there

American Airlines flies to Medellín via Miami from London Heathrow daily. Return fares start from £707 including taxes and surcharges (subject to availability and conditions). For bookings and flight information go to or call 08457 789 789.