I remember it clearly, or as clearly as any one of us can remember anything. I was at an outdoor café in Parque Lleras in the upscale neighborhood of Poblado in Medellín, Colombia. This was my first visit to Medellín and I had been there just long enough to realize how ridiculous my irrational fears of being kidnapped or killed in a drug war shootout were.
Lleras was an appropriate spot for a semi-nervous turista to grab some food and people watch. It felt muy tranquilo. Most of the people looked as if they had been lifted out of a scene from a hot nightclub in Miami or Los Angeles. The girls were dressed sexy and the guys were unabashedly sizing them up while drinking beer or shooting aguardiente; a Colombian liqueur sometimes called firewater.