**Note to the Reader: This particular post contains explicit language, that is not gratuitous but rather, central to the telling of this particular story.  If you are at all offended by foul language, however, than by all means, do not read this post.  For everyone else ~ enjoy this little tale of the fateful day I arrived in Medellin…

At this moment, I sit on a roof terrace overlooking Medellin, Pablo Escobar’s infamous city, sipping my coffee.

But how I got to Medellin, on a wonderful yet terrible bus ride from Guatape ~ that, is another story…

Guatape, Colombia, On the Road to Medellin

The journey to Medellin started here, 2 hours away, in Guatape, Colombia…


We’re stopped on the edge of the highway overlooking the once infamous, now edgy city of Medellin.  Fifty motorcycles are to our right.  Like us, they are waiting to get past a construction barricade about thirty minutes outside of Medellin.  We’re high up in the hills above the city.  A Colombian man with a blue baseball cap is on the right side of the highway, taking a long piss next to a cow.

Just watching him piss, pisses me off.

For about the last twenty minutes, my urge to pee has grown from mild desire to full-on, outright panic mode.  My body is shaking, trying to hold this piss in.  I’m involuntarily making groaning noises.  And I’ve had to squeeze my damn Kegel muscles so tightly that, if a penis was inside of me right now, I just might cut off his air supply.

That’s pretty damn tight.

I want to jump out the window and make a run for it, find the nearest bush ~ or even just some pavement, and feel that “Sweet Jesus” moment of sweet relief as I relieve myself.

But I can’t.  I’m stuck inside a bus with a driver who won’t let me off.

Moments before, in desperation, I’d pushed my way up to the front of the bus.  “Senor!  Necissita banos!!”  He looked at me blankly, not taking much interest.

I pointed down to my crotch, then out the window.  “Necessita banos, SENOR!!”

He just shrugged his shoulders and nodded his head.  “No.”

Por que no?!” I ask.  Like I’m really going to understand his answer.  He replies in Spanish, and I have no idea what he’s saying.  But the answer is definitely, “NO.”  Neither of us knows when this construction barricade will lift, and I suspect he’s telling me that, when it does lift, he’s leaving.  And if I’m on the side of the road, peeing ~ he’ll leave without me.  At this point, I’m willing to roll the dice and take my chances.  Apparently, he is not.

Pissing Over Medellin, Colombia Travel

This is where I want to be: on the side of the road, pissing over Medellin

I return to my seat, exasperated.  While walking back, I realize that standing actually gives me some relief from wanting to piss all over myself, so I remain standing.  That is, until Asshole Bus Driver glares at me, telling me with his eyes to “sit the fuck down.”

We’re not really seeing eye-to-eye today, me and this bus driver.

I glare back at him and roll my eyes while climbing over the guy seated next to me.  Almost immediately, I regret my decision.  Sitting places so much pressure on my now-full bladder that I almost squirt myself right then and there.  My piss-all-over-myself anxiety needs some relief, so I begin to laugh so hard I can’t breathe.  I’ve become hysterical.  In my imagination, I see myself pissing all over this guy’s bus, and for some reason ~ the thought brings me immense pleasure.  “How you like them apples, SENOR??!”  I can’t stop laughing.  Until I look at the next guy seated next to me, who is worriedly glancing sideways, probably wondering what the hell is wrong with me.


How did this all happen, you ask?  How did I get myself into this Colombian predicament?

Cut to two hours and fifteen minutes prior: I’m at my favorite little cafe having breakfast in Guatape, a town I’d grown to love, with its brightly colored streets and painted murals.  I’d also grown to love the adorable couple who ran the cafe, eating breakfast there every morning of my trip.

Guatape, On the Road to Medellin, Colombia

Brightly-colored shops and streets of Guatape, Colombia

That day, I started my morning with a double espresso, at the best coffee place in town.  Then, I polished off two bottles of agua frio, washed down with about 16-ounces of mango juice ~ her specialty at the cafe that day.  Normally, I don’t drink juice.  But she offered it to me as a a gift on my last day ~ how could I refuse her?

Now it’s two hours and thirty minutes later: I’ve got that double espresso, two bottles of water, plus 16-ounces of juice swishing around in my belly or bladder or wherever the hell it is by now.  The main pressure, though, seems to be occurring at a point right above my pussy.  It’s excruciating trying to hold this shit in.

Because this shit just ain’t gonna wait.

We’ve been stopped now, by the construction barricade, for about twelve to fifteen minutes.  Or my mind could be playing tricks on me…maybe its been five minutes or thirty minutes: I just don’t know.

But my bladder knows.  And she will not wait.

The crowd of motorcycles to the right of the bus is now approaching one-hundred strong.  If I take a piss, not only will I need to do it in front of them, but then I’ll need to pass back through them on my return to the bus.  Unless the barricade lifts while I’m pissing.  In which case, the bus, along with all the motorcycles, will roar the hell out of there, leaving me on the side of the road, with only my purse, wallet, and phone.  Everything else ~ my backpack, luggage, everything ~ will be on the bus.   What would I do then….hitchhike down to Medellin, of all places?!?

Don’t hitchhike in South America!”  I’d read and heard this warning many, many times during my South America research.  And to be potentially hitchhiking outside of one of the most dangerous cities in the world??  Was I crazy?!

I don’t know.  But I do know, sometimes you just have to say, “Fuck it.”

Pissing Over Medellin, Colombia Travel

What would Pablo do?

 

The longer I waited, the greater the chance the barricade would lift.  I couldn’t even sit still at this point, the pressure on my bladder was too intense.  So I grabbed my purse again, slung my jacket over my shoulder, and swaggered up to the front of the bus like a little blonde boss.  I channeled my inner Escobar.  At the front of the bus, I point to the doors and say, “Abierto!  Por favor.  NECESSITAS BANOS!!!!!”  If I knew how to say, “I’m going to piss all over your fucking bus sir and do you really want to clean that shit up?” I probably would have.

But I don’t need to.  The bus driver simply shrugs, but this time, he opens the doors.  The look on his face says, “If the barricade lifts, I’m leaving.  Without you.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah….whatever,” I mumble in Spanglish.

And just like that….I’m out!  I’m free!!!

This is one of the happiest moments of my life.

I make my way through the Medellin motorcyclists.  “Excuse me!  Pardon me!  Permiso!”  Get out ‘da way, motherfuckers!!!

I come to the edge of the highway.  There’s a barbed wire fence.  Shit.  And a cow, staring at me on the other side.

FUCK.  IT.

I look around.  There’s a smaller guardrail just left of the barbed wire fence that I can hop over ~ but it means that I’ll be pissing in front of EVERYONE: all the motorcyclists, my entire bus, the gazillions of cars that are trapped here, and of course, the cow.

FUCK IT.  I make the decision within about half a second.  This is war…it’s an outright assault against my bladder…what the hell do I care if a bunch of Medellin-ites see me pissing on the side of the road??

I don’t.

So I leap over the guardrail, drop my purse and jacket beside me, then rip my shorts down so fast and start pissing so hard, I feel like a horse when it really let’s it rip.  The relief is so powerful, so heady, so immediate ~ I don’t even care if I piss on my own two fucking feet.

Pissing Over Medellin, Colombia Travel

Medellin….you’re beautiful. And I’m pissing all over you.

Sweeeeeettt Jesussssss!!!!  Sweet sweet sweet little baby Jesus!!  I see Will Ferrell beside me, in my heady hallucinations, wearing his signature burgundy suit, remarking in Ron Burgundy’s voice: “Surrounded by the Colombian hills and with the faint aroma of rich mahogany, here she squats, taking a long, long pisser on the side of the highway, while drug deals are being struck below in the fine, fine city of Medellin…”.

In my hallucinations, induced by relief such as I have never known, I imagine the godfather of Medellin himself, Pablo Escobar, is just to my left, lazily smoking a cigar, with a half-grin, half-I-could-have-you-assassinated kind of look on his face.  A friend and I watched “Narcos” a week ago, so this hallucination is both timely and completely understandable.

You’re pissing on top of my city, Noelia.”

Si, Pablo.  Claro.”

He gives me a vacant stare.  Then shrugs, lips turned down, and nods his head as if to say, “Fuck it.  Medellin has seen worse.”  Then he wanders away, in my imagination, back down the highway, back towards what is still very much today, his city.

I’ve rarely been so goddamned happy about anything in my life.  That’s how good this piss is.  I pee for so long, I wonder if the bus will leave me ~ not because the barricade has lifted, but simply because this is the longest piss anyone, anywhere, has ever taken.

I don’t really know.  And I don’t really care.

As the danger zone passes, my body no longer flooded with wild adrenaline, I actually manage to take a good, hard look at the city before me, spread out across a valley of sprawling hills.  The cow shuffles beside me.

This thriving, sprawling, enormous metropolis called Medellin, Pablo Escobar’s Medellin, is spread out right before my very eyes, right before my very pussy, as it were: waiting and beckoning, with its tall buildings, pollution, grit, and green hills that all slope down…down into that massive valley that is Medellin.  Where the dirty mixes with the beautiful.  This is Medellin.  And all of that is right in front of me, as I finish taking the best piss of my life.

I am on the edge of that terrible, great city.

I’m pissing over Medellin.

I think Pablo would be proud.  And I think he would have done the same.

 

Footnote to the Reader: I did indeed make it back to the bus in time, just minutes before the construction barricade lifted.  And relieved as hell.  

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