Medellin feels somewhat familiar as a
city and yet very uniquely different from anything I've ever experienced.
I've been living out of a quaint flat on the 8th floor of
a an old building located directly in el centro de la cuidad. As soon
as I walk outside I'm thrust into the rush and push of
the busy Colombian streets. I'm constantly weaving between people or
them weaving between me, jumping across newly made rain-forest puddles and always aware of the cars and motorcycles that
constantly weave past my little feetsies. The motorcycles like to pull up and drive directly through sidewalk when traffic gets really bad.
I've been to a lot of big cities before
but Medellin feels like the loudest. Maybe it's because I'm living
here and so I tend to notice the noises more than I would as just a
wondering “tourist.” You get the normal noises like the
constant horn honking of the traffic below, the booming bass of the
all night discotheques or the construction men who, shaded by the cool of the night, jackhammer well into the early morning. You can even hear the
sounds of the people passing by often times walking alongside another enjoying their time together caught up in conversation. But in this
city there are also some noises that are most certainly new to me.
The fruit barrel folk run an entire
enterprise out of a large wheel barrel set on four wheels with a
steering rod in the back to control the turning in the front. Think
of it as an amped up wagon similar to the type Calvin and Hobbes
used to roll down a newly treacherous hill every Sunday. Inside these wagons
you're likely to find the freshest mangoes, papayas, oranges and
plantains this side of the Amazon. It seems similar to the fruit
vendors of other towns I've visited except these vendors have an
ingenious and noisy way of marketing their product.
“MANGOES MANGOES MANGOES. I HAVE THE
FRESHEST MANGOES. I WILL CUT THE MANGO AND YOU CAN EAT IT. MANGOES
MANGOES MANGOES. MY MANGOES ARE BETTER THAN HIS MANGOES. YOU WILL LOVE
THESE FRESH MANGOES BECAUSE THEY ARE MY MANGOES AND THEY ARE THE BEST
MANGOES IN MEDELLIN. EAT MY MANGOES!”
This was my favorite pitch so far and
that young man ended up winning my business. He wasn't screaming at
the top of his lungs though. You see, at some point, perhaps after a
highly successful fruit vendor conference held in a local plaza,
everyone decided the best way to get their fruit sold would be
to duct tape amplified microphones to their carts. If 11 is
the top of the hard rock scale I have to believe these guys
have theirs' modified to go twice the highest volume. You can hear them from three streets away, which is incredible because it's
usually the only thing you can decipher outside of the fruit vendor
who's already blasting his product five feet away from you.
These men of fruit have highly
trained vocal chords and can ramble a steady stream of fruit
lingo for five minutes straight without ever stopping to take a
breath. They even continue when they're selling to a patron directly
in front of them. It's like they took lesson one from Kenny G's book
on circular breathing and made it a staple for the fruit industry.
Their talent is beyond compare.
I wonder if perhaps there was a string
of incidents a few years back where people were dropping dead in the
streets from fruit deprivation. These pioneers of marketing decided
they couldn't let their customers lack for fruit any longer and so
they built highly technical boom wagons to make sure that no hungry
fruit fan could go without a taste of the freshest fruit known to man.
It appears to be an incredibly
successful strategy but it's only the fruit guys who seem to be
allowed to use this selling technique. You can literally buy anything
from people on the street. I saw a woman today with a nicely arrayed
spread of old TV remotes. I almost wanted to buy one from her as some
sort of token from the long past era when it made sense to upgrade
your remote to an antique version sold on the side of the road. Perhaps it was my American love for a good repetitive commercial that stopped my hand.
I haven't figured out if their monopoly
on this marketing ploy is something based around a union where they're the only ones who get licenses to shout in the street or if it's
something more sinister like a mafia raquette. I'm half convinced to
buy a speaker and microphone and blast that I'm doing palm readings
on a street corner just to see if a couple of thugs named
Joracio and Jorge will come out of the alley and smash all my stuff
speaking only to remind me as to who runs the speaker selling game in
this town.
But it works. Every day I make a
delicious breakfast of eggs, peppers, tomatoes, avocados and plantains and I'm
happy to support these working class vendors. The only problem I've
encountered is that I have no trouble immediately finding the fruit I
desire and then search endlessly for the other items I'll require for
my meal.
It's experiences like these that remind
me that the only thing I can trust to do is to
participate. Once I'm able to recognize that I am a part of this community the things I need often come to me.
Except with fruit, all you have to do is put you ears out and listen
for that lovely thundering noise: “MANGOS MANGOS MANGOS. IF YOU LIKE
THEM I HAVE THEM. IF I HEAR YOU SELLING SHOES AND SHOUTING INTO A
MICROPHONE I WILL SEND THE THUGS YOUR WAY!”
What a wild world we live in.
PS Don't worry guys the city is as safe as can be. Everyone genuinely seems to think I'm a local resident. I get asked directions daily!
