Medellin, Columbia

Voix magazine posted this article @ http://voixmag.com/medellin-colombia/

Medellin

Medellin was murder capital of the world in 1991, but the paisa's (the fiercely proud cities inhabitants) swear they can't remember that. To be a paisa is to be proud, to be able to talk the talk. Meeting a paisa father and paisa son in the north was enough to convince me to take a detour.

Medellin gets out the best china for its guests. Chauffeured straight into el poblado, one of the cities wealthiest districts on the immaculate metro. The snooty tea shops invite you to indulge in the cafe culture. On first impressions you'd be forgiven for thinking things feel like manhattan. But not European; Medellin will be anything for you but it is not colonial: this is a city of the future.

I can't help being reminded of some kind of sims computer game effort when I contemplate the forming of this city. The identical mud orange brick rasco cielos (literally skyscrapers in English) give the impression that everything happened so fast and so uniformly.

And it did happen fast, since the thousand day war at the turn of the century, the constant fighting between the left and the right has made it pretty hard to be a campeosino. La Violencia of the 50s following the assignation of the really very popular candidate Gaitan in 1948 was particularly difficult. Population grew rapidly as refugees flocked in from the countryside. At the same time, colonial architecture huddled out of fashion. Medellin launched it's medellin masterplan and the city of the future piled high.

Seemingly perfectly placed remain the churches because the only part of paisa culture that seems to have been preserved from times past is Catholicism. Paisa Catholicism is of the 'sin and repent' format. The largest (brick) church in the world serves as a symbol for the sentiments of the city in more ways than one. The proud declarations that medellin hold the largest church in the world are fantastically paisa and so are the the muffled shuttered afterthoughts of 'largest one of built of brick'. 

At the front the devout catholic paisa's leave their church and at the back thrives the hub of the homosexual sex trade in the city. As we approach the church through the surrounding barrios we are reminded that Medellin is safe now, open for business and the paisa's are happy to see us. 'Welcome to Medellin' greet the infamous residents of this particular square. 

Sergio Fajardo was major between 2003 and 2007. A brilliant mathematician and mayor he championed social architecture. He put beautiful artwork in the seediest places. He made libraries beautiful. This juxtaposition lifted these areas up. Tourists flock to see the fat statues made by Medellin's Botero in the places where previously you would never go.

Make a trip to Medellin: they want to see you. Go because it is a safe sophiscated metropolis. Go because sometimes it is still dark and vibrant and dangerous.

Why Travel?

'Not all those who travel are lost' J.R.R Tolkein

I had decided to cross the Atlantic Ocean and dawdle around the north, central and South Americas for a couple of months. I was electrified with excitement; but  also frequently stopped in my tracts paralysed with fear and anticipation. 'Do something each day that scares you,' said Eleanor Roosevelt in the land of the free. This terrified me.

But the day dawned and I zoomed, cramped in economy, high over the Atlantic Ocean. I managed to persuade the man next to me not to kill me for spilling every hot and cold complementary foodstuff that I laid my hands on. I made it through customs despite calling the custom officer an arsehole. I wrestled with jet lag. I even made it to the second leg of my journey, to the southern states, despite one very early passport scare and an easily avoidable trip to the British embassy. But why was I doing this? Was it for pleasure? My stomach-stretching first real American diner experience sure was pleasurable. Was it for new experiences? Everything I saw in New York City felt like a déjà vu due to the innumerable popular culture references. Was it for something deeper and intangible. I thought so and I was not alone.

Many children of the 80s and 90s come in their hoards either this way or the slightly more popular that way (the trail that snakes across south East Asia). I am sure that children of the 00s will arrive in even bigger crowds. They scrape together tiny budgets bartending or waiting tables which they stretch out over weeks in crowded hostel dorm rooms and blow in days on beer. The come in their flannel trousers and crazy coloured, braided hair; outfits that hark back to times when the hippie trail first etched its foot prints across Athens, Istanbul, Iran and the Indian sub-continent. But why did they and why do we come? Or go?

The founders of free love congregated in Goa on acid trips citing 'finding themselves' as the reason for their trip. Today's travellers are a different set: highly logical science graduates, soceity's future lawyers and bankers - (privilege being a great enabler with regards to long distance travel). Ask travellers today, however, the reason for their trip and you will be answered with a similar stance. But why do people really travel? Because they can? Pure escapism? Why has aimless wondering become a right of passage and does it really teach you all of the things you thought it would?

Early on in the trip, I looked to science to answer my questions and came across an interesting theory by psychologist Lile Jia. The Indiana psychologist conducted research with students of the same university. He asked for them to name transportation options. He said that the answers were needed by Indiana students to the control group. To the research group he said the results were needed by students in Athens. The research group thought far more creatively: they conjoured up images of segways and roller skates and tuck tucks and tractors. Jia theorised that the reason for this was that the students who were conducting the study at a distance were able to put distance between themselves and the problem. Thinking about problems from afar allows the viewer to see with a whole deal of perspective. 

At that point I was approximately 5200 miles from home and the problems that lived there already looked incredibly small on the horizon. We worry about escaping our problems by putting distance in miles and kilometers between us and them; and perhaps the escapism sentiment is a big motivator for travel. But if we are willing to ponder from afar from time to time, it's highly probable we may see some great new solutions.

At some point we sharpened our problem solving skills. Locating a passport carelessly discarded at the cliffside of the Grand Canyon required creativity. Navigating Peru as illegals mid Amazon basin having mindlessly slipped through security required resourcefulness. Can I take these new skills forward? A study by the Kellogg business school in Chicago found that, among it's participants, those who had travelled outside of America were statistically more likely to be able to solve problem solving exercises. My stupidity aside, working your way around new transport systems, legal systems, cultures systems and medical systems takes a little bit of thinking out of your borders.

Over the course of trip I became more decisive: I have always been fickle and found it hard to commit. On becoming a grown up I not only didn't know what I wanted to do or how to make a decision, I also beat myself up about it. I felt confused trying to chose what to have for dinner and then angry and hungry because it had taken so long. I forgot I was young with the luxury of time and with every ticking in my head I felt opportunities were passing me by. 

Taking the decision to stall everything further scared me but it taught me that sometimes you have to give yourself time to work things out. A stitch in time saves nine; the tortoise beats the hare. I found that decisions away sometimes had the same effect on me. Whilst having the world at your feet and every decision your own is beautiful. Some days it can feel a bit scary. It opens your mind to infinite possibilties but without a bit of gumption you will be lost forever. You can not chose every road and travelling puts you completely in charge of which one. 

Once the pressure was of however I felt I was actually much more efficient. I can honestly say that after my trip I feel a lot more comfortable going with head and my heart. Days can be wasted in indecisiveness and you learn to appreciate both these reflective periods and the purpose that comes from making plans and decisions.

I rediscovered my love of learning and reading and I missed the people at home. I had spent the last few years short on time and these things that I loved had become a chore. Not having to learn had me magnetically drawn to museums and sitting in coffee shops going through Spanish grammar. Not having to be up Early had me awake at 5am bright eyed and bushy tailed. Not being able to communicate lead to hours in search of a postbox. Distance does make the heart grow stronger and on my return I find it easier to get up, study much much harder and am a lot nicer to my mum.

In conclusion, why travel? It make you statistically smarter, helps you see problems as smaller and makes you better at making decisions regarding them. It also makes you fall back in love with home.

Dear Russel Brand

To Russel Brand and the world about science,

I think your very clever, I also think that you don't really understand what science is. I don't blame you with its poor representation in the media - nobody in the scientific community thinks that the bee sting experiment is a particularly worthwhile use of space in our newspapers. If it portrays science as trivial then issue changes from trivial to dangerous.

You've picked up on the fact the study design has nothing to do with science. 'I rated the pain between one and ten' is a form of measurement that has nothing to do with science. Science is analytical, science is specific; but I am going to try and explain why science doesn't have to be closed minded. I don't blame you for seeing it this way with the incredibly focused intelligence of Richard Dawkins being such a prominent symbol in the Spirituality and Science debate.

For me the true spirit of science is being prepared to be proved wrong at any point. Science is a search for truth and for me a form of spirituality. The arrogance of Dawkins represents science poorly. At it's essence science is a incredibly humble form of search for truths.

I believe in a higher energy: I have felt it in relationships, nature, from music, through drugs, through exercise and even singing Anglican Protestant hymns during my adolescent god phase. I respect all of the world religions as a metaphor or process that people use to try and get closer to this unknown thing that is as yet unexplained.

But I am also very afraid of blind faith. I know that I am human and have been led astray before. I can see from examples of history that blind faith leads humanity in many evil directions. I can not allow myself to entertain the arrogance to hold anything that I know as fact. In it's truest form science is a search for understanding and knowledge that rests on the premise of constantly expecting to be proved wrong.

Einstein once wrote: 'science without religion is lame, religion without science is blind'. Einstein lived his whole life with the believe of something that he could not prove existed: universal governing forces of energy. He would never have discovered them without faith. But neither would he have found them without doubt.   In his thought experiments he imagined every single way he could possibly be wrong before deciding that in fact he was probably right.

We all take things at face value. And we all must work to change that. To analyse and imagine and get closer to own personal trews. Stop taking science at daily mail face value and continue the good work.

Eliza Turner

A Londoners first impression of New York City

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Across the Atlantic I find an anti-culture shock. Every step feels like a pop culture reference. The large suburban family home of Khalim's red headed Irish American family is so big and full of shiny American things that it feels like the film set of a sitcom about said family. Our train into Grand Central station races past buildings that look like the homes of the stars of Frazier and Friends, Sex in the city and Girls. New York accents really exist. Yellow taxi's really exist. The Statue of Liberty might not exist. The dust men and concierge and train conductors all look to me like they got their uniforms at fancy dress shops. This is because they resemble too closely the ones I've only seen in films.

We stroll around Manhattan. Colour is not chic. Fashion consists of expensive black suits and expensive black gym wear. Anna Wintour is this cities longest serving fashion icon. Breakfast in the diners sprawls over two plates but everywhere I look there's sushi and kale. New York has great dogs. The dogs are the real fashionistas here: every canine has a great coat and a good looking owner.

Two days and two burning feet later and I've done most of the sites: the Chrysler building, the flatiron building, the New York library and the Empire State. At union square I learn that chess isn't just for chess club: chess is for the hustler. 

I'm ready to venture further: so we walk, I think through little Venice, China town and the East Village although I can't be sure. We stare at the skateboarders in Washington State Park. There's some pretty great buskers as always. Busker's, like food and dogs, are in a different league in this city. My first steps into Grand Central Station sound like funk and soul and jazz. New York may not be the best looking or smelling city but it sounds and tastes great. 

Nights out are in Irish bars and restaurants. The Irish have been coming to America by way of New York since the 1400s. Take a ferry over to Ellis Island and you can find the names of all the Irish immigrants. Ellis Island, covered in renovated  hospitals and quarantine centers, was where the initiation took place. This is where the American dream was handed over. Today you are never far from an Irish accent: there are plenty of waitressing jobs in New York City for young Irish girls.This is because the Irish community is big and friendly and owns lots of restaurants. We eat great food, the drinks are always overpoured and people are friendlier that your standard New Yorkers.

On Sunday we are wise not to miss a browse around the Williamsburg Flea market, the winter branch of the Brooklyn Flea. Maybe my vision is rose tinted by the new johnlennonesque sunglasses I bought from a street vendor but I think we find better vintage shop that can be found in all of East London, Notting Hill or Camden high Street. I try on the jumpsuit of my dreams and feel pretty sad because I know we have to travel light and cheap. The smorsbourg market has expensive literal 'bites' to eat (not the portions New Yorkers are accustomed to). Wacky morsels such as 'ramen burgers', burgers with buns made out of noodle, make me laugh. On our way back we browse through rough trade records and stumble upon a candle lit talk by art legend Brewer P-oridge. Lots of the gems we find in Williamsburg are not for sale.

On our last day, we walk freezing along the Brooklyn bridge. I finally spy the Statue of Liberty and I feel I can say goodbye to New York City. I've found that there's a lot more to this city than that particular green lady.

A letter to people who are worried because they don't know what to do with their lives.

I took the road less travelled by,

And that has made all the difference. Robert Frost

Today I lost my job, got locked out, got stuck in a tiny window trying to climb back in and started this blog. My name is Eliza Turner and recently i've been stuck by this floating feeling. A feeling that i'm wasting my life. From a young age I had my life mapped out; I made large sweeping statements and stuck to them: I was decisive. At some point this decisiveness became hazy. I traded in my black and white for grey. I didn't know what I wanted to do with my life anymore. Did I really want to be a doctor?

I'm taking a year out of medical school to regroup and I suppose work out the meaning of my life and I thought i'd start this blog to make a collection of my reflections. What have I learnt so far?

I've learnt that 'not knowing what you want to do with your life' is a problematic symptom of privilege and opportunity. The world is my oyster; I've got the world at my feet: more than two roads diverge in a yellow wood and and I, like many of us in our generation, feel sorry we can not take them all. With so much opportunity ahead of us we find it cripplingly hard to give something or someone all of ourselves. When we are told we can be anything we want to be, settling on that anything can be confusing. 

But it can important to settle to sharpen your focus. Goodwin RE et al. argue that by nature to strive is to settle. To decide one wants to become an incredibly successful anything means giving up the chance to explore other paths to fruition. Although, should she desire, she can skim through the New Scientist, Beyoncé will never be a famous physicist. I imagine Barack Obama doesn't lose much sleep over the fact he will never win the Turner prize. That isn't to say that not knowing what you want to be when you grow up right now matters: Colonel Sanders only found his crunchy fried calling in life at age 65. If your still feeling anxiety over your indecisiveness, it can help to to gain some perspective to realise how unimportant the decision may be. 

Consider that there are 7 billion people in the world and that every time you refresh the world clock counter homepage, the number climbs. Ponder over the fact that 99% of your body is made up of just six elements:oxygen, carbon, hydrogen, nitrogen, calcium, and phosphorus. Consider that when you die you will biodegrade and all of those elements will turn into seas and mountains and mountain goats. When you die you will probably be forgotten within 50 years. In 100 years, chances are nobody will even remember you ever existed. That may sound daunting but it can be an incredibly comforting reminder to live in the moment.

Having said that, it's important to remember that delayed gratification is a thing. Work hard and be nice to people you find annoying because it will pay of for you and make you happy. But don't put in to much effort for too little returns. Don't stress about getting something done everyday or you'll waste your life running errands and be too tired to have fun. 

Thats what I've learnt this year so far. Except I already knew it. I wrote the exact same thing down following a previous existential crisis following a life altering minor break up. The kind of trivial break-up that requires psychotherapy for both breakees after. The kind of break up where you break into their house in the middle of the night and hide behind a curtain crying with their cat.

Another thing i've learnt is that life doesn't tell stories. You're life is a series of unfortunate events and somehow you get somewhere good or bad. We all want a narrative. We all want to sit in heaven and tell are lost relatives 'the story of our lives'. We want a moral at the end not a cliff hanger and we want it all to have a deep meaning. But 99% of the stuff that happens doesn't change anything or add to your plot. And you just have to get on with it and ride the rollercoaster like Ronan Keating Tells you to. And sometimes you have to learn life's lessons over and over again.