Medellín

Some cities boast about their climate; Medellín simply is hers: a perpetual twenty-two degrees that convinced an entire valley to live outdoors — on balconies, on sidewalks, on football courts and farmhouse porches. They call it the city of eternal spring and for once the slogan undersells: here even the hillsides bloom, and every August the whole city parades with flowers on its back.

The sensible traveller takes her floor by floor: El Poblado and Provenza for the table and the night; Laureles to see how the city actually lives — on foot, bakery to bakery —; the Centro for memory, with Botero's bronzes in the sun; and Comuna 13, up the hillside by open-air escalators, to hear a neighborhood sing that chose to rewrite its story.

The Guide walks her with its usual honesty: the transformation is real and so is the past — denying it would be lying to the traveller —; the Metro is spotless because it is pride, not fines; and the best cheap plan in town is a cable car at dusk, when the whole valley lights up like a nativity scene.