The wider city of Medellín was once known as a violent city during the height of cartel activity in the late 20th century. Photo / Gary Nunn
From shanty town to success story: Once a no-go area, the Colombian slum, Comuna 13 Medellin has raised itself from poverty to global attraction, writes Gary Nunn.
Wheezing from the steep but satisfying hill climb, I’m admiring both a statue and the stunning backdrop below. Tingles travel up my spine.
The grey statue features Christ, arms horizontally outstretched, in elegant robes. He stands perched high on a hillside; people come from miles around for the uniquely arresting view. It takes away what little breath I have left.
Beneath him sprawls a fascinating, bustling city: tiny colourful Lego-like houses stacked on top of each other in unique hillside slums and neighbouring hills that rise up and swoop down into dramatic valleys.
The statue is called “Christ the Redeemer”.
You’d be forgiven for thinking I’m in Rio de Janeiro, viewing one of the new seven wonders of the modern world. I’m not.
I’m, in fact, in a different city and country altogether: Medellin, Colombia’s second city.
Specifically, I’m at the top of Comuna 13, a hillside shantytown that was once, in living memory, an absolute no-go zone – even for the city’s locals, let alone for travellers.
It’s a blue day with only a couple of small white clouds and we’re so high up, I feel like I could scrunch them. It’s always like this here; Medellin is nicknamed the “city of eternal spring” for its consistently and pleasantly temperate climate.
A queue forms in front of this version of Christ the Redeemer, who is draped in a cheeky Colombian flag. Locals are shrewd; they’ve monetised that Instagram picture, for influencers and tourists alike.
So they charge people to ascend a mini metal staircase which stops at where Christ’s heart would be and get a picture of themselves in front of the sculptures with a view of the valley on the other side.
Two influencer types outstretch their arms, having paid their fee, and the Comuna’s resident obligingly snaps them, knowing they’re helping people like him raise themselves out of poverty by transforming the shanty-town into a wonderland of art, imagination and expression.
Graffiti, breakdancing and rap
Comuna 13 has risen from its violent past and its residents are rising out of poverty by harnessing their non-violent commitment, spirit and creativity – via dance, graffiti, art and sculpture.
Next to Christ the Redeemer, another giant statue of a Buddha-like head with a gold bandanna reaches with huge hands sprawled out – hands so big, several people can stand inside them. People pay for pictures of themselves standing in the giant hands, outreached into a beckon, an invitation that says “welcome; witness our resurrection”.
The Comuna was once like many of the world’s shanty-towns: dangerous. In fact, Medellin was, in living memory, the world’s most murderous city. This was, largely, down to one man: Pablo Escobar and his gangland, drug cartel violence.
In just 20 years, it has transformed into one of the country’s most-visited tourist attractions (and the most visited in Medellin) – and this has come from the ingenuity of the locals themselves – with a little help from the local government.
The comuna is unique because it has a series of 384m-long escalators which help both tourists and locals traverse the steepness of those hills (in other hilly parts of the city, cable cars form part of the public transport system.) It has connected the slum to the city; a 35-minute hike now takes six minutes. Then, the tours start.
I’ve seen all this in a daytime tour by a local resident and also a night-time solo visit – unthinkable in almost any other slum in the world.
Displacement, kidnappings and murder have, largely, been replaced by street dance, music, graffiti art and sculpture. Former battlegrounds are now dancefloors.
It begins with a dance
My daytime tour, run by Get Your Guide, starts with a breakdancing performance on a basketball court at the bottom of the steep shantytown. The tumble turns, one-arm handstands and head-spins wow me. The crowd, many fellow British or American digital nomads, tip generously.
Then we see the murals: covering every surface from tunnels to rooftops. Much is political.
One depicts Operation Orion, when in October 2002 the Government stormed the comuna, killing suspected cartel members, not caring when civilians were caught in the crossfire.
“The escalators were an apology,” my guide, Juan says. Together with a sprawling cable car network, they make Comuna 13 the world’s most accessible hillside slum. “We’re not a slum any more,” Juan says. “We’re a global attraction.”
We soon see why. In addition to the murals, sculptures, break-dancers and graffiti, we’re taken to an enchanted neon art cave and fed mango iced pops dipped in herbs; a Colombian speciality.
When I return at night, reggaeton and rap by Medellín’s locals Karol G and Maluma play as I rock up, echoing the city’s newfound cultural confidence and reinvention as a tourist and digital nomad destination.
Then I meet one of the comuna’s famed “rappers for peace”. For five escalators, he stands on the steadily ascending step below me, freestyling about everything from aguardiente (aniseed liquor) to a final, poignant line: “Medellin isn’t all about Escobar, it’s all about art”.
These newer icons of Medellin replace that world-famous, narco-violent old one the city is desperate to move on from.
Nowhere is this more apparent than when, at night, I decide to treat myself to a beverage at the bottom of this unique hillside wonder. The bar’s cleverly punned name says it all. It’s called The Beyond EscoBar.
The writer travelled at their own expense.