In mid-summer 2013 my son brought his new love and her preteen daughter to visit us for a couple of weeks from Medellin, Colombia. If you are trying to sell Minneapolis to denizens of “the city of eternal spring” (Medellin), a July visit is a good tactic. Having visited Medellin and its gorgeous mountainous environs twice before, I was aware of the need for a hard sell of Flatland.
Of course, we would show off our pristine lakes, since we are walking distance from two of them: Brownie (not pristine) and Cedar Lake. We took the 11 year old Mara, who was only Spanish-speaking at the time, on a walk to the closest Cedar Lake beach– Hidden Beach. Those of you from Minneapolis might question our judgment. When we got there we saw the usual cast of thousands of youth–playing bongo drums, selling drugs, interacting with the couple of police cars and visiting the Sister Camelot bus providing free food to the down-and-outers in the crowd. We walked past them nonchalantly and found a bare spot near the water to cast down our towels and get ready to enjoy the sun and cooling waters.
Except we noticed that Mara had turned to stone, with tension and fear. We waited a while longer to see if she gradually became accustomed to the scene, but it did not happen. We were unable to communicate well enough with her to find out what exactly was wrong, so we left. When we got back home we found out from her mother that she was reminded of some beaches in Colombia she had visited which were full of Israeli young adults on a gap year after their compulsory military service. They got into a lot of fights, generally going wild after a year of military discipline.
Our next step in the hard sell was showing off our wonderful bicycling trails. We outfitted Marcela and daughter in bikes and they practiced a bit in our driveway before we set off down the Kenwood hill to the Walker Art Museum and Sculpture Garden. No complaints as we enjoyed the gentle slope and took lots of pictures among the sculptures. The way up was a different story. No audible complaints, but it turned out that biking was really not a thing in Medellin. No special trails and wild car traffic that put all but the most skillful bikers at risk. While we were trying to make a good impression, they were trying to do the same, while gritting their teeth and trying to stay upright and catch their collective breaths.
No unfixable damage done, however. We took another trip to Medellin to attend their wedding in late November. I stayed around a few weeks, while Phil returned back to work.
It was time for payback!
Marcela searched the web for a plan for some adventure travel. She chose the city of Jardin which was a 3 hour bus ride from Medellin and in the foothills of the northern Andes, about a mile above sea level. The adventure was to climb up the mountains about three hours to the Cave of Splendor and rappel down 150 feet into the cave past the waterfall into the frigid water below! I have climbed a few minor waterfalls, but never rappelled down anything. I have a moderate fear of heights, which shows itself occasionally in dreams I have of leaning over cliffs and sometimes falling. I never wake up dead. Marcela and daughter Mara are not particularly athletic, but they both have a love of pole dancing and aerobatics which requires arm strength and ability to hang from high up.
Luckily, I am not prone to anxiety and tend to live in the moment. 
The walk was splendid through the Andes Mountains. It had been rainy so wader boots were offered by the guides to hike through the mud. I kept on my red ECCO walking shoes, which I could count on not to give me blisters, and hopped from dry spot to dry spot whenever possible.
When we got to the cave, the guides led us up above to a shelter with some benches. This was the jumping off point. They handed out helmets and rappel gear–harnesses with carabiners to attach to the rappelling ropes. Then they started showing us how to hold the ropes and let our hands release the ropes at the rate we could handle. It looked horrifying, with the main trust issue being the need to lean out over the cliff while holding the ropes in order to begin the descent. We were advised to push off slightly and continuously from the side of the cliff to avoid just hanging from the ropes. Would my slightly arthritic 68 year old hands be strong enough to hold my weight? Would the autolock keep me from hurdling down if I let go of the ropes? Needless to say, I would not be the first one down.
A note to other senior women who might try this. Although I would not consider myself to be an athlete, I have always been strong, with wide shoulders, and have done weight training all my adult life. I was a competitive diver in middle school, until my scoliosis required (at the time) a spinal fusion of 9 vertebrae, which put an end to my imagined career in the circus. I am an active bicyclist, hiker, and cross country skier, with good balance, but NOT A COMPETITIVE ATHLETE. Just a gal who likes to keep moving, carry my own pack, hoist a kayak, and have adventures. I am only competitive to the extent that I don’t like to be left behind when the youngsters take off. “Pretty good for a girl” was my mantra in the unliberated 50s and 60s, long before Title IX.
Finally it was my turn after hearing several of our group call up from the cavern below that they had survived the descent. I snapped in my harness carabiner to the loop on the ropes, with help from the guide, and leaned back. As soon as I tried to loosen my hand to slide one rope down I realized that it was not easy to slide down and I would not have to hold my whole weight at all. Then I looked down. Hey, 150 feet is not so far! There was also a belaying guide below who would pull out the rope at the end so I would have minimal time in the water and would be guided to the large boulder in the cave that previous rappelers were sitting on until everyone was down.
Yippee! The large waterfall near the rappel cliff was misty but not a cold shower on the way down. The water below I entered was freezing, but I had years of experience during ski trips to northern Minnesota of plunging into a hole in a frozen lake in between saunas. 
Leaving the cave was a bit tricky, but the guides helped us scramble up the slippery rocks. Hooray for our team!
The walk down was icing on the cake, or salsa on the empanadas they brought for us. I threw away the red ECCOs at the end of the day. If you visit Colombia, I highly recommend a visit to Jardin. It is a little gem, holding onto its sesquicentennial heritage. The Cave of Splendor rappel is not obligatory unless you are trying to impress a new daughter-in-law. In fact, it may be closed now.
Other states, other lives, other souls 