Lost in Translation: Navigating Medellin’s Culture of Connection
The tree-lined streets buzzed with manual-shift yellow taxis, the smell of coffee from the panaderias on every corner fills the air and a Blessd song boomed from car speakers. Arriving in Medellin felt like stepping into a different world.
Along Medellín’s busy avenues, street performers set up at intersections. During red lights, the show begins. Knife jugglers tossed blades while clowns and fire breathers entertained drivers. Aerial yoga artists performed on ropes hung from trees and sometimes a rapper or dance team would break out moves, creating a mini-show in just under a minute. Just before the light turned green, performers gathered their tips, cars rolled on and the performers waited for the next show.
Medellín is a place where small acts hold big significance, and the customs here create an environment that feels welcoming from the moment you arrive. Each gesture was small but important and something that I could participate in. Above all, it’s these little rituals that make Medellín’s culture what it is and create the welcoming feeling of the city.
A Common Phrase with Big Meaning: “Gracias a Dios”
One afternoon, I overheard a casual exchange between two women. One asked the other how her day had been, and she replied, "Bien, gracias a Dios"—"Good, thanks to God." Over the next few days, these small expressions of gratitude seemed to ripple through daily life. Friends parted ways with a “Gracias a Dios” or “Que Dios te bendiga” (May God bless you). Restaurant servers added these sentiments and neighbors exchanged them as easily as a wave.
I began to see these phrases as a grounding exercises scattered through the day, each one a gentle pause to acknowledge something larger than oneself. “Gracias a Dios”—Thank God—wasn’t just a cultural saying; it was a quiet ritual, a collective reminder that even the smallest of blessings deserved notice.
For the people of Medellín, these words seemed to transcend religion or formality. They were a way to honor the day’s fleeting moments—a good meal, a safe journey, a friendly exchange—as gifts. It became clear that gratitude here wasn’t reserved for grand occasions or life-altering events; it was in the DNA of daily life. This openness to expressing thanks, however small, was one of the many ways I came to appreciate Medellín. It taught me that gratitude could be a shared experience, tucked into ordinary interactions, making each day interaction carry more weight.
I’ve traveled enough to see that most cultures are quick to overlook the present moment but this habit of gratitude was grounding—a reminder that, even in the simplest exchanges, there is always something to acknowledge, always something worth thanking.
A Car Door Slam and a Cultural Wake-Up Call
I hopped into a taxi with a friend who had been living in Medellín for a while. I climbed in, shut the door behind me with a quick pull. But as soon as I did, I noticed my friend turning to the driver, offering an apology before explaining to me, “Here, the cars are different and slamming a car door, even by accident, can seem disrespectful.”
I felt a bit embarrassed by my carelessness.
As time went on, I started to notice how locals treated shared spaces, what they would do to avoid disturbing others and how they’d make an effort to acknowledge each other with a greeting. Small as it may seem, closing that taxi door gently became a habit I adopted wholeheartedly. It was a reminder that respect often lives in the details.
From that day on, each time I climbed into a taxi or entered someone else’s space, I found myself moving more intentionally. It was a small, yet powerful lesson that the people of Medellín taught me, one taxi ride at a time.
The Ritual of Greetings: “Buenas”
“Buenas!”
The first time it happened, I was in an elevator. The doors opened on the next floor, and a stranger stepped in, looked directly at me with a smile, and said, “Buenas.” For a moment, I was caught off guard by the friendliness. In most places, especially elevators, people avoid eye contact, let alone greet each other. But here, this simple “buenas” felt natural.
This small gesture reminded me of my time in Thailand, where greetings are part of the culture just as seamlessly. There, it’s common to hear “sawasdee” with a gentle nod or bow when you enter a shop. Each time I heard it, it was a small reminder that someone had taken a moment to recognize my presence, to acknowledge me. It was a gesture that, like in Medellín, carried a subtle warmth.
Over time, I found myself adopting Medellín’s “buenas,” just as I had adopted “sawasdee” in Thailand. What began as a simple word gradually became a ritual I looked forward to, a small exchange that connected me to the people around me. This simple greeting bridged the gap between myself and a city that was once foreign.
In both Medellín and Thailand, these greetings made me feel less like an outsider. They transformed ordinary encounters into small moments of connection. Whether it was the familiar “sawasdee” or the warm “buenas,” I realized how a simple greeting could make a big difference. This custom, isn’t found in many parts of the world and it reminded me that a greeting has the power to make a person feel welcomed.
Unspoken Rules of Politeness and Connection
As the days went on, I started to notice the layers of Medellín’s unique culture of connection. People didn’t just pass each other by—each interaction was intentional, thoughtful and rooted in a genuine spirit. Stepping into a restaurant, you’d be greeted by “bienvenido.” In shops, you’d often receive a “¿Cómo estás?”
Every day, I found new examples of these small gestures that helped me understand the culture and people of Medellín. Neighbors would greet each other on the street and strangers were open to conversations, sharing stories or offering bits of advice. It was the kind of place where people asked about your day and genuinely listened, where they’d offer directions or restaurant recommendations with a sense of pride in their city. This constant exchange of kindness and curiosity created a web of connection that wrapped around daily life, making even the simplest interactions feel meaningful.
It became clear that in Medellín, connection was simply a way of life. Just as I’d seen in Thailand, Medellín showed me that these small, everyday interactions—often overlooked in other places—hold deep meaning and create a culture that’s welcoming and easy to embrace. In both places, the customs reminded me that connection doesn’t need to be grand or forced. Medellín has its own rhythm, one that reminded me to be present, to acknowledge the people around me and to find joy in those genuine exchanges.
Conclusion: An Appreciation for Medellín’s Way of Life
Medellín is a place where small acts hold big significance. Each small gesture—a nod on the street, a “buenas” in the elevator, or the gentle closing of a car door—was something simple and easy for me to participate in. It’s these simple gestures and courtesies that create the welcoming feeling of the city.
These intentional acts are a reminder of how meaningful connection can be, no matter where you are. The people of Medellín have shown that respect, kindness and mindfulness toward others can transform everyday life.