The quest for Palinuro

When I was in Bogotá, I came across a fantastic book publisher based in Medellín called Tragaluz. At the time, I bought a limited edition of Viajeros by writer Pablo Montoya, illustrated by José Antonio Suárez Londoño. I told myself, "You have to find a Tragaluz bookshop when you are in Medellín." Well, I am now in Medellín, and although I didn't find a physical Tragaluz storefront, I found Palinuro: a tiny second-hand bookshop lost in the labyrinthine streets of the city.

I had read about Palinuro by chance while picking up a small newspaper called Universo Centro in the restaurant where I had dinner last night. The article was about the 10th anniversary of the bookshop and featured an interview with the owner. I confess I didn't read the whole article, but I took note of the name and address and decided to try to find it today. I left the hostel around 11 a.m., had some breakfast, and walked for almost 90 minutes through the streets of Medellín. I lost my way a couple of times and ended up in some pretty rough areas, where the stares of groups of young men made me uneasy. At some point, it started pouring. Drenched, I almost gave up, but an encouraging "Usted está cerca" from a local I asked for directions kept me going.

I finally find the bookstore. Squeezed between two houses, a big square brown sign reads Palinuro. I shake the rain from my hair and clothes and apologetically make my way in. The bookstore has two floors; its walls are lined with used books, neatly displayed on old, dark wooden shelves. Open cardboard boxes full of old paperbacks lie randomly on the tiled floor. It resembles the living room of a well-read retired academic.

I'm greeted by the owner, Luis Alberto Puerta, who kindly asks how he can help me. I'm not really looking for anything specific. I tell him the story of how I came to know about the shop. To my dismay, he doesn't seem very impressed, so I change the subject.

"I'm looking for illustrated travel diaries from South America… something like Chatwin, but with drawings as well. Maybe you have something in mind?"

He gives me a curious look and, noticing my accent, asks where I'm from and what I'm doing in Colombia. Then he looks around the shop.

"I'm not sure I have what you're looking for. We're short on travel literature." He glances at my wet clothes. "But I might have just the perfect title for you."

He searches along the "M" row and hands me a novel by the Colombian writer Álvaro Mutis: Ilona llega con la lluvia. I read the title out loud, and we both smile. I thank him and spend the next half hour browsing the shelves. In the end, I buy an anthology of plays by García Lorca and the book Mr. Puerta recommended.

I leave Palinuro almost dry. The sky has cleared and the sun is shining again. I make my way back to the hostel like a schoolboy, a book in each hand.