Plaza Berrio in Medellin, Colombia is teeming with visitors this Sunday morning. Tourist and locals alike stroll between towering palm trees, watching and listening to the local street performers. I stop my meandering as I notice two musicians playing from twangy guitars and harmonizing old Colombian songs in a ranchera style. They wear suits that are old and wrinkled; the faded colors match their worn faces. The taller of the two has snow-white hair that is slicked back across his head in waves. A pencil mustache stretches to the corners of his mouth. Between songs he reaches in his pocket for a small bottle of aguardiente, the most popular liquor in Colombia, and a plastic shot glass. His partner drinks an Aguilla Beer, which leans against one of the massive palms while they play. The majority of the spectators are men of similar age and dress. A young Colombian man, noticeably drunk, steps into the half circle that has been formed. He briefly attempts to speak with a stranger in the audience. An older man slowly turns and puts his index finger across his lips, motioning for silence. The young Colombian quickly sobers up and quietly remains; now only listening. Many reflectively join in with the singing. The songs seem to evoke memories, good and bad, from Colombia’s turbulent past.

The city of Medellin has an especially troubled and violent history. Less than twenty years ago it was considered one of the world’s deadliest cities, with one of the highest murder rates. It gained international infamy as the home of cartel kingpin Pablo Escobar. The two major Colombian cartels, the other residing about six hours to the southwest in Cali, once controlled nearly ninety percent of the global cocaine trade. The Medellin cartel, at its height, was estimated to be bringing in sixty million dollars a day.

It is a new day in Medellin. With vast investments from the government, a first rate metro has been built along with modern neighborhoods, which remind me of cities in the States. The police and military are now better equipped and trained, and dot the city streets. Strangely, the abundant presence of Colombian soldiers holding assault rifles in public places puts me at ease.

As the musicians take a break and share a few drinks with their audience members, I watch a father buy coconut ice-cream for his two daughters, next to a soldier wearing street fatigues and a bullet proof vest. The younger of the two girls is dressed in pink, with a matching pink balloon hanging above her head.

I begin wandering around the city in search of an original Colombian national team soccer jersey. This takes me to the soccer stadium Atanasio Girardot, home of the two professional teams Atlético Nacional and Deportivo Independiente Medellin. The two teams have loyal followings, and it can be detrimental to your health to wear an opposing team’s jersey around the stadium on game day. This can also be said when the team is traveling outside of Medellin. I’ve been in other cities when Atlético Nacional was visiting, and witnessed MPs asking fans of the home team to take off their jerseys before walking through the visitor’s parking lot.

Atanasio Girardot stadium is comparable to those found in Europe. It is the location of the FIFA U-20 World Cup this year, so money has been made available for certain upgrades. The improvements are obvious. A huge concession area, equipped with TVs and a variety snacks, is positioned in the middle of the enormous sporting complex. I happen to be visiting during a youth soccer tournament, which is being played inside one of the many sporting facilities positioned next to the professional field. I walk through the crowds to a strip of venders where I was told I could find a Colombian national jersey. I am not disappointed. I find a good quality yellow long-sleeve. The vender and I begin negotiations, and I am able to knock ten dollars off the price. Satisfied with my purchase, I slowly make my way back to my hostel.