Stephen Bailey explores the transformation of Medellin in Columbia with the help of Robert Escobar,brother and accountant to his more notorious brother Pablo.

Roberto Escobar’s house offers sublime views over his home city of Medellin, Colombia. A framed Wanted poster shows mugshots of him and his brother Pablo with a multi-million tag on their heads.

Bullet holes litter the walls, while Pablo’s first ever cocaine smuggling cars stand in the garage.

We’re drinking tea, me and Roberto, and I ask whether he would do it all differently if he had his time again. He replies in melodic Spanish which my guide translates. “Without Pablo’s business, more horses would have HIV.”

Is this a Colombian metaphor? Or just another evocation of Medellin’s wonderful ability to throw up surprises?

Another of the iconic statues in Botero Square. Photo: Michaelpuche/Shutterstock.com

Roberto was the accountant for the world’s most powerful drug cartel. He’s served a jail sentence and drinking tea with him epitomises the transformation of Medellin. Back in the early 1990s, this was considered the most violent city on the planet, with an average of 20 people getting murdered every day.

Now, the scent of eternal spring has returned and Medellin delights in surprising visitors. Roberto now hosts tourists as part of a guided tour. He says he wants to tell the world that his brother did bad things, but that Pablo’s global reputation is undeserved.

The guide is more pragmatic: “It’s my job to tell you that Pablo was a great man. I don’t think that. He was a brutal murderer. But he was good at smuggling cocaine.”

The walls move in Roberto’s house and, when I lean on one, it opens into a secret hideaway. Unfortunately, I don’t find any of the billions of dollars said to be hidden around Medellin.

Even when you meet a famousformer part of the Medellin cartel,the talk is of saving life not destroying it

On the other side of the city a cable car rises through the working class barrios.

These neighbourhoods were once sceptical of foreigners, but they now welcome the tourist hoards that ride one of the world’s most innovative commuter systems. Medellin tumbles down steep valleys and the poorest suburbs were traditionally built on the steepest slopes.

The locals ascend with the tourists who are seeking out stunning views over the city. These cable cars ascend to different stations and barrios climbing far above the city. Murals cover walls but they no longer incite cartel violence... they request peace, a peace that’s surprisingly omnipresent across the whole of Medellin.

A Chiva truck parked on Pueblito Paisa. Photo: Daniel-Alvarez/Shutterstock.com

At first I was a little unnerved by the armed police that stand on street corners. Eventually, I understood their presence. They’re symbols of the new government’s control, welcome markers that make the cities safe to walk after dark.

Especially after visiting other large Latin American cities, Medellin is a place that makes me feel at ease. My only predicament in the barrios is which bakery to buy lunch at. Fresh smells cascade through the streets, the croissants mingling with thick Colombian coffee fumes.

Every fifth house seems to waft temptingly indulgent smells. Then, I turn a corner and dark Colombian cacao floats on the breeze.

Back in the heart of the city I join a free walking tour, with the guide’s first words being “this is not a tour about Pablo Escobar”. Over the next three hours he chronicles the city’s lesser-known history, interweaving a political narrative with peace parks, chaotic markets and the work of artist Fernando Botero.

Twenty-three metal sculptures fill the central city plaza, each character with exaggerated rolls of fat and bizarre proportions. They feel like another symbol of the city... indecipherable, unexpected, yet strangely seductive.

Because this is a city I don’t want to leave. A seemingly infinite number of coffee shops start my day, each organic and fair trade without having to try. Eclectic museums and contrasting neighbourhoods fill the day with surprise, taking me on a journey through the cultures and faces of the city.

An aerial view. Photo: Luis Echeverri Urrea/Shutterstock.com

The al fresco terraces of fine dining restaurants take me through the evening and into the inviting sounds of salsa. Somewhere in Europe, or the US, all this would be called hipster – wooden-crate cafe stands, experimental galleries, neighbourhood food markets. In Medellin, it’s just a return to normality.

There’s always been good coffee, great food and salsa in the city. And these tones have returned in the past 15 years. Flamboyant dresses twirl as musicians wipe sweat from their faces, the live band before launching into another upbeat serenade with a rumbling double bass rhythm. I change my opinion. These scenes could never hipster. The people move with an inhibition that doesn’t belong to a trend.

The more I explore the city, the more I recognise how Colombia’s civil conflicts have helped pre-serve local culture, keeping it away from the Western mono-tone that spreads its web across the planet.

For decades, Colombia was off the map for foreign investment. Instead, the roots to modern Medellin are a colourful maze of small local businesses, each providing a slice of intrigue to the day. Empanada stalls deliver fragrances of chilli, vivid Afro-Colombian dresses hang in shop windows and historic courtyards are home to entrepreneurs.

Empanada stalls deliver fragrances of chilli, vivid Afro-Colombian dresses hang in shop windows and historic courtyards are home to entrepreneurs

Only at the airport in the capital city of Bogota did I see a McDonalds. It was completely empty, while the Colombian burger chain next door was packed.

There’s a swagger that accompanies it all, one vested in an unconfined show of pride. The walking tour guide ex-plains that Medellin’s residents have traditionally been seen as arrogant and pretentious by other Colombians. “Of course, I think we’re better,” he winks. “That’s just how I was brought up.”

The Parque de las Luces. Photo: Fotos593/Shutterstock.com

But, while I could spend days exploring through a philosopher’s eye, discovering in comparison to the past, this is a city that has me actively being immersed in its appeal. One day I’m paragliding, soaring high above the valley and admiring how Medellin is neatly enclosed within the mountains. A spine of peaks tumble into the distance and I’m scanning the green for one of Pablo’s hideaways when the tandem pilot shouts “gymnastics”.

I agree, thinking the mis-interpretation is caused by my bad Spanish until he brings the parachute horizontal and has us spinning towards what looks like a forest helipad. I scream and motion sickness-induced vomit only narrowly misses my shoes.

A new evening and I’m taking salsa lessons, another em-barrassing moment that makes me realise the gap between tense shoulders and rhythmic local atmosphere. Even the shots of rum can’t help keep pace and there’s only so many times you can step on a partner’s toes. Before meeting Roberto I’m taken to Pablo’s grave and his house that was bombed during the cartel wars. Then, I contrast this with another courtyard of local residents, one dotted with some of the great musicians and artists the entire continent has seen.

Even Roberto’s confusing answers come to take on some symbolic sign of Medellin’s appeal. After allowing me to muse in confusion, the guide provides some clarity. Roberto is a horse lover and now invests his money into developing a vaccine to prevent equine Aids.

With the ‘Wanted’ poster beside me, I’m still not completely sold on the man. But it’s another example of the way everyone in the city is part of its vibrant transformation. And that even when you meet a famous former part of the Medellin cartel, the talk is of saving life not destroying it.