Zanjón La Iguana: The Crack That Tells Aranjuez's Invisible History

The crack nobody sees: welcome to Zanjón La Iguana

If you stand at the Aranjuez Metro station and walk two blocks east, you'll find a crack in the concrete. It's not just any crack: it's an open wound in the pavement where a creek that official maps no longer want to name still breathes. Zanjón La Iguana is an open-air channel running parallel to Carrera 45 that the city has tried to hide for decades. But there it is, with its murky water, wild plantain plants, and a smell of wet earth that almost no one in Medellín recognizes anymore.

This article is not for tourists looking for pretty photos. It's for those who walk with their heads up, wondering what was here before the cement swallowed everything. Because Zanjón La Iguana is not just a sewage channel: it's the liquid memory of Aranjuez, the last witness to an ecosystem that existed before Medellín learned to channel its rivers, and it still has a lot to tell.

From the wild creek to the domesticated ditch: Aranjuez's water history

Aranjuez wasn't always the neighborhood of two-story houses and corner stores you see today. In the late 19th century, this area was a collection of farms and pastures crossed by several creeks that came down from the eastern hills. The most important one was what old residents called La Iguana, not because there were iguanas (though there were), but because its course was zigzagging, unpredictable, like the movements of that animal when it slides between rocks.

The first inhabitants of Aranjuez used La Iguana's water to wash clothes, water crops, and even bathe in the pools that formed during rainy seasons. The oldest residents of the neighborhood say that in the 1940s you could still catch guppies and small mojarras in the puddles the creek left after a downpour. It was clean, clear water that sang as it flowed down among guava trees and giant ferns growing on its banks.

The channeling that split history in two

Everything changed in the 1960s. Medellín was growing at a breakneck pace, and creeks were seen as a public health problem, not natural heritage. The Municipality launched a massive plan to channel all the city's watercourses, and La Iguana was no exception. In 1968, the machines arrived in Aranjuez and within months transformed the winding creek into a straight, concrete-walled channel designed solely to drain rainwater and sewage.

The testimonies of old residents are striking. Doña Graciela Zapata, who is now 84 and lives on Carrera 45 with Calle 89, remembers the exact day the creek stopped being a meeting place and became a danger: "When they channeled it, I was 26. My mom cried because that's where we washed the whole family's clothes. Then the wastewater from the new houses started flowing in, and nobody could get close anymore. La Iguana died that year; what was left was a ditch".

That's the story few tell: Zanjón La Iguana is a cemetery of living water. The channeling didn't just change the landscape; it changed the community's relationship with its surroundings. Houses that once faced the creek turned their backs on it. Those with backyards walled them up. La Iguana went from being a place of life to a dumping site, and over time, residents themselves started calling it "el zanjón," as if it had never had a proper name.

What to see and feel: a sensory tour of the ditch

Exploring Zanjón La Iguana is not a conventional tourist outing. There are no viewpoints, no cafés, no souvenir shops. What you get is a raw experience of contrast between the planned city and the city that refuses to die. If you decide to do the tour, I recommend starting near the Aranjuez station and walking east, following the channel's course. It's a route of about 3 kilometers that can be done in two hours if you stop to observe.

The flora that survives the concrete

The first thing that stands out is the vegetation. Despite the channel being lined with cement, species that seem from another time have sprouted in the cracks and edges. There are water ferns, wild watercress, and a type of yellow lily that urban botanists call Hedychium coronarium, but locals know as "flor de mariposa." In sections where the channel has less flow, plantain plants grow, and even an avocado tree someone planted years ago now stands defiantly amid the concrete.

If you're someone who notices details, you'll see the vegetation changes by stretch. Near the Metro station, invasive species like kikuyu grass and lengua de vaca dominate. But as you approach Calle 92, native plants like sietecueros and yellow guayacán appear, likely descendants of the trees that existed before the channeling. It's a small open-air botanical museum, free and open all year.

The hidden fauna: what lives among the stones

Don't expect to see jaguars or spectacled bears. But if you stay still for a few minutes, you'll discover the ditch is full of life. There are white herons that arrive at dawn to hunt insects among the stones, kingfishers that dive to catch small fish, and a surprising population of rain frogs that croak during downpours. Residents living across from the channel say there are also opossums (the famous "chuchas" that roam the rooftops) and a wild cat that comes down from the hill when the neighborhood falls silent.

But the ditch's most emblematic resident isn't a flashy animal: it's the babilla. Yes, you read that right. In the deeper sections of the channel, where the water flows slower, small river babillas have been spotted, likely arriving during floods in recent years. The oldest residents say that's a sign the water is healing, though municipal engineers prefer not to comment. The truth is, Zanjón La Iguana is the only channel in Medellín where you can see wildlife less than 500 meters from a Metro station.

The human footprint: graffiti, altars, and trash

The ditch is also a canvas of popular memory. Along its concrete walls, you'll find graffiti telling the neighborhood's story: gang tags from the 90s, love messages from the 2000s, and more recently, social protest murals calling for the channel's recovery. Between Calle 86 and Calle 88, there's a small altar dedicated to the Virgen de la Candelaria, where residents leave flowers and candles every February 2nd. It's a reminder that even in abandonment, communities build sacred places.

There's also trash, and lots of it. Mattresses, tires, old appliances, and plastic bags that the water drags until they form small dams. This is the uncomfortable part of the tour, but also the most honest. Zanjón La Iguana is not one of those ecological parks you see in travel guides. It's a marginal space that survives despite neglect, and that's exactly what makes it interesting. Here there are no curators or gardeners: there's a community fighting every day to keep what little remains.

Where to eat and drink near the ditch

After the tour, you'll need to recharge. Aranjuez has a food scene few tourists know about, and it's worth exploring. But forget fancy restaurants. Here the food is neighborhood-style, hearty, and honest.

Hunger corner: the empanada stand on Calle 87

On the corner of Carrera 44 with Calle 87, there's an empanada stand that's been running for over 20 years. It has no official name, but everyone knows it as "doña Nelly's stand." The empanadas are filled with shredded beef and criolla potato, fried in very hot oil so they're crispy outside and juicy inside. They cost around $2,500 COP each (reference price as of August 2026). The stand is open Monday to Saturday, from 6:00 am to 8:00 pm, or until the dough runs out. It's recommended to arrive early because by around 11:00 am there's almost nothing left.

The ice cream shop that survived time

Two blocks from the ditch, on Carrera 45 with Calle 90, is Heladería Aranjuez, an establishment dating back to 1975 that still keeps the same wooden display case and beveled mirrors from that era. Here they sell Medellín's most traditional cream ice creams: arequipe, blackberry, coconut, and soursop. A small cup costs $4,000 COP and a large one $7,000 COP. The owner, don Alonso Restrepo, is a character: he loves telling neighborhood stories while serving ice cream, and if you mention Zanjón La Iguana, he'll take 20 minutes telling you everything he knows. They're open every day from 10:00 am to 9:00 pm.

For lunch: the bandeja paisa at El Rincón de Aranjuez

If you're looking for a full meal, El Rincón de Aranjuez, on Calle 88 with Carrera 43, is a safe bet. This family restaurant has been serving bandeja paisa, costilla sancocho, and mondongo for 15 years. The bandeja costs $18,000 COP and includes beans, rice, egg, chicharrón, avocado, arepa, and powdered meat. The sancocho, the most ordered dish, costs $15,000 COP and comes with a generous portion of yuca, plantain, and corn on the cob. They're open Tuesday to Sunday, from 11:00 am to 4:00 pm. It's recommended to check hours before visiting because they sometimes close for family reasons.

How to get to Zanjón La Iguana

Getting there is easier than you think. The recommended starting point is the Aranjuez station on Medellín's Metro, on Line A. From there, walk two blocks east along Calle 89 and you'll find the channel on Carrera 45. If you're coming from downtown, you can take any bus heading to Aranjuez and get off at Calle 89. If you're driving, there's parking on Calle 89 with Carrera 44, though I warn you the area is residential and space is limited.

Another option is the Metrocable, which has a station in Aranjuez (Line K, Andalucía station). From there, it's a 10-minute walk to the channel. This route is recommended if you want to see the neighborhood from