You’ll probably hear about girls that look like supermodels, their fake boobs, or their fake butts. You might also hear about the weather.

What you won’t hear about is how many cool, young female expats there are here.

Why?

Because there aren’t a lot (that I know of).

Can you spot me?

I have met a few foreign women who live here, but they are usually doing a semester abroad, are volunteering, or are married to a Colombian. But the ones who are here just because it seems like the place to be?

In fact, when I first meet the other expats living here (all boys) they sometimes say to me, “You’re the only foreigner I’ve met here who…”

“Has a vagina?” I reply.

“Yeah…” they say.

“Yeah…” I say.

If you were to ask me why I like Medellin so much, what’s in it for me, I have trouble finding the words. There are a lot of little things I like about the city but none of them pinpoint what it is EXACTLY that I like.

Upon arrival, a tourist is likely to be underwhelmed by the typical tourist attractions found here. You can take pictures with the fat Botero sculptures and go to the museum. You can take the metrocable up to Santo Domingo and take some pretty photos of the city’s skyline. If you didn’t have time to go to a real pueblo, you might jet up to Pueblito Paisa.

After that? I’m not really sure what you’d do. If you didn’t lose yourself in the nightlife, you’d probably go somewhere else after a few days.

For living, however, Medellin is a great city. It’s easy to get around (the metro is efficient and taxis are pretty cheap and abundant). There are lots of restaurant and bar options in different parts of the city. The nightlife is super fun – one of the most fun cities I’ve lived in.

One of the best parts of the city is the people, the Paisas. Maybe I have watched too many telenovelas or eaten too many arepas, but I am a super fan of Paisas and on most days, wish I was one.

You can also get a lot of different experiences here. You can posh it up in Poblado and rent a flashy apartment on the 24th floor, or you can go for a more traditional vibe in Envigado or Sabaneta and live on $500 a month.

If you have an entrepreneurial spirit and can’t afford cities like New York or Melbourne, you will love Medellin. There are lots of young people here starting businesses and doing their digital nomad thing like me.

And to my ladies… I will be straight with you. Yes, it’s true that there are a lot of supermodel-caliber girls walking around with air-filled butts and boobs, but there are also a lot of normal girls here too. And as far as I’ve seen, the normal girls are able to find guys to date and be with too.

In fact, if you come here with your blond hair or your light-colored eyes, you’ll be a bit of a novelty and might even be considered exotic. (I, on the other hand, have no such advantage as I look Colombian).

And if you are into Latinos, you won’t be disappointed. I’m quite partial to the selection that Colombia offers.

Ladies – have I convinced you to move here yet?

(By the way, if you are a female expat in Medellin and have come across this article, holler at your girl! Let’s meet and talk about how we can get more recruits.)

—

Have you been to Medellin? Why do you think there are so few female foreigners living here? PS – If the comments run in to the footer, try to refresh the page.

Thanks for subscribing to Jasmine Wanders! Let's connect on Facebook and Twitter.

subtle

close-up

Medellin skyline

Untitled

we can't take ourselves too seriously!

Thanks for subscribing to Jasmine Wanders! Let's connect on Facebook and Twitter.

But I’m not here to shop for myself. I’ve come to buy a wedding present.

On the third floor, I’m directed down a long, gray hall equipped with special service desks. There’s the desk to pay your bills, the travel desk, the insurance desk, and the wedding desk. I stop in front of the latter and sit down in front of two perky shop assistants.

I smile back at them and offer up the names of the bride and groom. One of them starts clacking away at her keyboard, the glow of her computer screen reflecting off her hot pink lipstick.

Underneath the glass surface of her desk, the cover of a wedding album stares back at me. The shot is taken from above, showcasing the perfectly polished and gorgeous Paisa bride and her groom, another perfectly polished specimen. Her blonde hair is set in perfect ringlets, her French manicured nails clasped around her new husband’s hand.

On top of the desk are two stacks of flyers. One features a wistful looking bride in white gloves and matching white veil, the words above her head stating, “One more motivation to get married. Choose your list of gifts in Falabella.” The next pictures a smiling baby, advertising baby shower list services.

What else could a young woman need?

The clerk stops typing and prints out a list of available presents the couple has chosen. I circle a knife set and some other piece of kitchenware. She floats off to check the store’s inventory and leaves me to my thoughts.

While I wait, I imagine my good friend and his bride-to-be sitting in these chairs scanning catalogs, or walking around the store picking out cutlery and rice cookers and washer/dryer combinations. I picture their excited faces, their giddiness, not because appliance shopping is so thrilling, but because it must all feel so grown up.

I try to envision myself in the hot seat, choosing my own list of household goods. My mind rejects the thought. I glance at the flyers again. The baby stares back at me. A slight shudder washes through my insides.

—

It’s not that I am anti marriage or babies. I’m not. Anyone who is living the life of their dreams, whether it be traipsing around faraway places or raising babies with their high school sweetheart in their hometown, rock on.

I just don’t see it for myself. While it’s long been evident that the life I lead now and in the future will always be far from ordinary, for the better part of my adult years I had wished that someday I would have a nomadic partner and kids of my own.

It’s only recently that the fantasy has begun to fade. It’s been replaced with visions of myself running a successful internet-based empire, expat-ing in some of the world’s most cosmopolitan hubs, going to uber-cool events with an uber-cool group of international friends, acting with complete freedom and confidence at every turn.

When I see the future me, the me of my fantasies, I’m not wearing a ring. There’s no man’s hand attached to mine. No picking out toasters for my bridal registry. And yet I am satisfied.

—

At this point, my dear, caring readers, whom have offered me lots of support and advice over the years, like when I broke up with my boyfriend almost a year ago, may have the urge to write in the comment box: “Don’t give up! You might change your mind!” or “You’re just saying that because you haven’t found Mr. Right yet. Don’t worry, he’s out there waiting for you!”

And I’d say to you that you might be right. It’s possible that in a month’s time I’ll be caught eloping in some drive-through wedding chapel in Vegas. I’ve been known to change my mind.

But if you’re not right, if there really is no Mr. Right but a few Mr. Pretty-Cools-But-Not-For-Forever, I’m still going to feel satisfied with my life.

—

I am so happy for my friend, marrying the woman he loves, following what his heart says is right.

And I’m so happy it’s not me.

Thanks for subscribing to Jasmine Wanders! Let's connect on Facebook and Twitter.

“I started at the bottom of the company I’m at now, painting doors. On my first day, I went to a client’s house and ended up selling him $1500 worth of supplies.” She laughs. “Now I’m thinking about moving to Turkey and working in a higher up position within the company.”

Medellin - the city where women prosper?

She pulls out her cell phone and shows me her desktop background, a photo of a 4-year-old girl with tan skin and bouncy curls in a pink checkered dress. The model pose she strikes reveals the princess status she has been awarded.

“I want the best for my daughter,” she tells me. “Look at me. I’m 28, I have a good job. I come from one of the most dangerous neighborhoods in this city. I have enough money to leave it, but I love it. People respect me there. And I don’t need a man to take care of us.”

—

I rolled into the club an hour earlier with four men – two French, one Irish, and one Colombian. After a bit of forceful coaxing, I managed to lure them away from the foreigner and upper class-saturated Parque Lleras to go somewhere less pretentious and more interesting – Barrio Colombia.

We gathered at the bar and scoped out our surroundings. Joanna was at a table nearby us, confidently dancing alone, long hair and hips swaying to the beat. The Irish member of our group took a liking to her and the two began to dance together. His limited Spanish prevented them from getting much farther than a few reggaeton songs.

—

We migrate outside, where she begins to tell me about herself. She asks me a few questions, and I tell her about my desire to make Colombia a permanent residence and my options for obtaining a visa (one of them being via marriage).

“Marriage?! Don’t ever marry a Colombian! I was engaged to my daughter’s father but I couldn’t walk down the aisle. I would never marry a Colombian!!! Don’t be stupid!”

We laugh hysterically, an impromptu bonding moment between two women who have little in common except for a fierce independence.

I admire Joanna instantly. She’s gorgeous, ambitious, and despite her humble beginnings has done quite well for herself. A single mom in her late 20s, the last thing she’s worried about is snagging a man.

She’s an all-around bad ass.

Thanks for subscribing to Jasmine Wanders! Let's connect on Facebook and Twitter.

To see more photos, visit the Flickr photostream.

To get to Parque El Salado, jump on the metro to the Envigado stop. Walk outside and look for green buses that say “El Salado” on the signs in front. They’ll drop you off right at the entrance. Don’t worry about bringing food, there are several vendors inside the park. 

Thanks for subscribing to Jasmine Wanders! Let's connect on Facebook and Twitter.