The Guayabal Escalators That Nobody Uses

The Guayabal Escalators That Nobody Uses

In a city obsessed with escalators as a symbol of social inclusion, there is a set of them in Guayabal that seems like a monument to contradiction. They are not on a steep hillside in the northeastern zone, but hidden on one side of Avenida Regional, almost at the limit with 4 Sur. They were inaugurated with great fanfare, promising to connect the upper part of the neighborhood with the flat sector, but today, in August 2026, most residents avoid them. Some say it's because of the sun, others because of the smells, and a few, those who know, use them as a secret shortcut to one of the strangest viewpoints in the city. This is what I found after going up and down them a dozen times.

The Mobility Project That Promised to Connect the Upper Area

To understand why these escalators exist, you have to look at Guayabal as a neighborhood with two faces. Towards Avenida Regional, everything is warehouses, mechanic shops, and courier company offices. But towards the western side, between Carrera 77 and Carrera 78, the terrain begins to slope, and one- and two-story houses appear, narrow alleys, and a neighborhood life that has little to do with the vehicular chaos of the main road.

In the late 2010s, the municipal administration identified that hundreds of people lived in the upper part—colloquially called "el hueco" or "el alto de Guayabal"—and that to go down to catch a bus or taxi, they had to walk almost 20 minutes down a steep slope. The solution, instead of a stair-bus or a road improvement, was to install a system of covered escalators, similar to those in Comuna 13 but much more modest in scale.

The project was inaugurated around 2019, with a speech that talked about "dignifying mobility" and "reducing travel times." The escalators are approximately 120 meters long, divided into three sections, and end at a walkway that leads to Calle 48B. In theory, a resident of the upper part could go down in less than three minutes and get directly to a bus stop that goes towards El Poblado or downtown.

But something went wrong. The first months were euphoric: people used them, children went up and down for fun, and local media published photos with headlines like "Guayabal modernizes." However, the novelty didn't last long. Complaints started when residents noticed that the escalators didn't have constant maintenance, that the glass panels of the cover became opaque from the smog of the Regional, and that at night the lighting was poor. What seemed like a star project became ghost infrastructure.

The Design That Ignored Local Culture

There's a detail that desk-bound urban planners overlooked: in Guayabal, people don't trust what they can't see. The escalators, being enclosed in a glass and metal structure, create a tunnel sensation that many perceive as unsafe. "You don't know who's waiting at the top or bottom," a resident of the area told me, who prefers to walk up the street, even if it takes twice as long. This distrust is not irrational: there have been reports of muggings on the upper sections, especially in the late afternoon when natural light fades and security cameras, according to local complaints, don't work.

Moreover, maintenance has been irregular. On several occasions, the escalators have been stopped for weeks, forcing users to climb them as if they were conventional stairs, which is exhausting. The local administration has responded with temporary repairs, but the perception of abandonment persists. As of August 2026, at least two of the three sections work most days, but the third, the one closest to the upper part, has a recurring fault that no one seems to be able to definitively resolve.

Where Exactly They Are (Calle 48B with Carrera 77)

If you arrive in Guayabal and ask about "the escalators," most people will look at you with a confused face. They are not a well-known landmark like Parque de los Deseos or San Antonio station. However, if you mention "las escaleras del alto," residents know exactly what you mean.

The lower entrance is on Calle 48B with Carrera 77, about 300 meters west of Avenida Regional, right after a group of car parts warehouses. It's easy to pass them by if you don't know what to look for: the facade is gray, with a small sign reading "Escaleras Eléctricas" that by 2026 is barely readable due to wear. There's a narrow sidewalk and, often, a couple of motorcycles parked in front of the entrance, making access difficult.

The full climb has three sections. The first is the shortest, about 30 meters, and takes you to a small platform with a view of the warehouse roofs. The second is the longest, about 50 meters, and it's where the slope feels real. The third, which is the one that sometimes doesn't work, is another 40 meters that ends at a concrete walkway that connects directly to upper Calle 48B, already in the middle of the residential neighborhood.

From the upper part, the entrance is even more discreet: a hole in the wall of an alley, with no clear signage. If it weren't for the yellow arrow that residents have painted on the ground (a gesture of community appropriation), it would be impossible to guess that a public infrastructure worth billions of pesos starts there.

The Contrast with the Comuna 13 Escalators

The comparison is inevitable. In Comuna 13, the escalators are a tourist magnet, with lines of visitors, souvenir vendors, and even local guides explaining the story of social transformation. In Guayabal, there's none of that. No vendors, no guides, no lines. The only constant presence is a couple of stray dogs that have gotten used to sleeping on the landings of the sections, and that residents feed with leftovers from the neighborhood's community pot.

This difference is no coincidence. The Comuna 13 escalators were accompanied by a comprehensive urban intervention plan: murals, artistic lighting, redesigned public spaces, and a community tourism strategy. The Guayabal ones, on the other hand, were conceived as a purely functional solution, without any aesthetic or social component. The result is that they fulfill their technical function but have failed to generate a sense of belonging.

Why People Prefer to Walk Up

I asked several residents of the upper part why they don't use the escalators. The answers varied but can be grouped into four main reasons:

• Security risk: Most mentioned fear of muggings, especially in the early morning hours (when people go to work) and at dusk. "You walk up the street because at least there are houses and people who see you," a woman who carries heavy groceries every Saturday told me.
• Mechanical failures: Nobody wants to arrive at the base and find the escalators stopped. Climbing 120 meters of fixed steps, with the slope they have, is a punishment that people avoid at all costs. They prefer the walk up the street, which, although longer, has a steady pace.
• Smell and atmosphere: The glass structure traps heat and the smells of garbage that some residents leave on the sides. On rainy days, water accumulates on the landings and forms puddles that no one cleans. It's an unpleasant environment.
• Cultural distrust: As I mentioned before, there's a reluctance to use enclosed and isolated spaces. The people of Guayabal are used to the street as a social space, where everyone knows each other. A glass tunnel breaks that logic.

The result is that the escalators have very low traffic. During peak hour (7 a.m. to 8 a.m.), I've counted an average of 8 to 12 users, mostly older adults who have no other option and young people rushing to school. The rest of the day, it's common to see them completely empty, with the motor humming in vain.

The Energy Cost of Underused Infrastructure

A curious fact that few know: the Guayabal escalators consume electricity 24 hours a day, even when no one is using them. The system is programmed to stay in active standby mode, meaning the motors spin at low speed constantly to avoid wear from a sudden start. According to estimates from consulted engineers, the monthly consumption is equivalent to that of about 15 average homes in Medellín.

This fact has been a point of criticism from some council members who have asked for a motion sensor or activation button to be installed, like the ones used on some escalators in Europe. To date, the administration has taken no action, and the waste continues. It's a perfect example of how a good idea can become a problem if its long-term operation isn't considered.

The Graffiti on the Adjacent Wall: Signatures of Local Crews

But not everything is negative. There's an element that has turned this place into a point of interest for urban photographers and the curious: the wall adjacent to the upper section of the escalators. It's a concrete wall about 40 meters long, serving as a boundary between the walkway and an empty lot. And it's completely covered in graffiti.

Unlike the murals commissioned by the Mayor's Office in other parts of the city, this wall is a free canvas, where the signatures of local crews overlap in a fascinating visual chaos. There are tags from crews from the southern zone, names of neighborhood rappers, and some more elaborate pieces dating from 2021 and 2022. It's a living archive of Guayabal's hip-hop culture, a neighborhood that has historically been a cradle of musical talent but rarely appears in tourist guides.

If you're a photographer, this wall is a treasure. The morning light, between 6:30 a.m. and 8:30 a.m., hits from the side and highlights the textures of the paint. In the afternoon, the sun hides behind the empty lot and the wall is in shadow, allowing you to play with contrasts. The only thing to keep in mind is that there's no wide space to step back and take a full photo of the wall; the walkway is narrow, so you'll need a wide-angle lens or a creative eye to compose.

The Risk of the Graffiti Disappearing

Several residents told me that in 2023, the local administration announced a plan to "beautify" the wall with an institutional mural. The idea was to hire a renowned artist to paint an image of Antioquia's biodiversity. The project fell through due to lack of budget, but the threat remains. If you visit the place, you'll see q