Teaching English at a Medellín Language Academy

When I stepped off the plane in Medellín with two suitcases, a TEFL certificate, and a contract that looked more like a promise than a plan, I didn’t expect spring to greet me twice—once on the calendar back home, and again in the city that calls itself la ciudad de la eterna primavera. It smelled like wet earth and coffee. Within a week, I’d be dodging afternoon downpours, misusing the word tinto, and discovering that a language academy job in Colombia can be both the quickest way in and a long lesson in patience.

Why Medellín—and What I Found

I chose Medellín because I wanted a city that had rebuilt itself. I’m in my mid-30s, and I’ve taught in Vietnam and Poland, but Colombia had this magnetic mix of warmth and grit. People older than me still associated Medellín with headlines from the ‘90s. The first time I rode the Metrocable up to Santo Domingo, a teenage student pointed to a library perched like a spaceship and said, “This used to be dangerous; now it’s where we take field trips.” That transformation narrative isn’t a marketing line; it’s in the daily pride of taxi drivers and in the quiet rules you learn for staying safe.

Getting Legal: The Work Visa Maze

If you plan to teach with a local employer, you’ll want the M-type worker visa rather than the digital nomad visa (which doesn’t cover local employment). I started the paperwork from the UK:

• I got my degree and my ACRO police certificate apostilled.
• I scanned everything, then had certified translations into Spanish in Medellín.
• The academy provided a letter, a contract, and their company documents.

The Colombian Cancillería’s online application is mercifully modern: you upload PDFs, pay the study fee, wait for questions (they asked me to re-upload a clearer scan of the degree), then pay the issuance fee. Mine took two weeks end-to-end. Once the e-visa arrived, I had 15 days to register with Migración Colombia and apply for my cédula de extranjería (the foreigner ID that makes everything easier, from banks to phone plans). Book your Migración appointment early; slots vanish, especially around holidays like Semana Santa. Bring your blood type (I got a quick test at a lab near Estadio), passport photos, and patience. Walking out with the cédula felt like leveling up.

My academy hired me on a contrato de prestación de servicios—a contractor-style agreement common here. It means I invoice monthly and sort my own taxes and social security, but the school handled my visa support letter. If you get a full employment contract (contrato laboral), they’ll enroll you in the public health system (EPS) automatically. Ask clear questions before you accept the job.

Finding a Home and a Rhythm

I started in an Airbnb in Laureles for a month—tree-lined streets, joggers circling the stadium, and a cluster of cafés that look suspiciously like remote offices. Landlords often want a fiador (a guarantor), which many foreigners don’t have. You can negotiate with a bigger deposit or find foreigner-friendly agencies in Laureles or Envigado. I ended up with a furnished one-bedroom near Segundo Parque for 3.1 million COP per month. Utilities ran about 250,000 COP, and 100 Mbps internet was 95,000 COP.

Medellín runs on morning sun and afternoon rain this time of year. In April, the sky often opens at four, so I built my schedule around it—classes from 7–11 am, a café lesson or two in early afternoon, then I’d hole up when the storm came, the noise on the tin awnings drowning out pronunciation drills.

What I Earn and What I Spend

The academy started me at 28,000 COP per teaching hour and bumped me to 32,000 after my first quarter. A steady month is 100–120 teaching hours, so I clear around 3.2–3.8 million COP. It’s not flush, but it’s workable with careful choices. A corrientazo lunch (soup, meat, rice, salad, juice) is 16–20k. Cappuccino at a good café is 7–10k. A metro ride with a Cívica card is roughly the price of a small chocolate bar back home, and far cleaner.

Coworking day passes in Poblado are 45–70k (monthly 550–800k). Gyms in Laureles offer monthly plans for 90–180k. It adds up, but not brutally. I track in a notes app, mostly to notice how often “one quick coffee” becomes “an afternoon of cake and flashcards.”

Work at the Academy: Split Shifts and Small Wins

Academy life is split shifts and late reschedules. My first week included a 7 am corporate class in El Poblado followed by a 7 pm teenager group in Belén. Commuting on the metro is a dream compared to my London years, but the evening crush is real—respect the queue, move fast.

The wins sneak up on you. A shy 14-year-old named Laura brought me arepas con quesito after nailing her first presentation. A sixty-something engineer practiced his elevator pitch thirty times until the “th” in “three” stopped being “tree.” The academy asked me to run conversation clubs on rainy Thursdays. We huddled under tin roofs and talked about football, the economy, and the ethics of reggaetón lyrics. My Spanish improved because I had to negotiate room changes and power cuts with the receptionist without the safety net of English.

Learning the Culture and the Language

Colombians will correct your Spanish warmly if you let them. I learned quickly not to call coffee café negro—here, a tinto is the default. I also learned the phrase dar papaya—don’t expose yourself to avoidable trouble. Don’t parade your phone at the bus stop. Don’t walk Centro at night flashing headphones. It’s not fear; it’s manners for your own safety.

Punctuality is flexible. “Ya casi” can mean “on my way” or “still in the shower.” But class time is respected; parents demand it, and so do companies. Handshakes are firm, eye contact sincere. People ask after your family even if they’ve never met them. It’s disarming in the best way.

Semana Santa fell right before this writing date, and the city softened. Students either left town or appeared with damp hair from evening processions. I stood outside a church in Laureles on Holy Thursday and listened to a brass band step through a slow hymn while the smell of buñuelos drifted from a bakery. The next day the city emptied, buses to Santa Fe de Antioquia packed by dawn. Spring, here, is less about temperature and more about ritual and rain.

Safety Then and Now

Medellín is not the city your uncle remembers from the news. The pride in transformation is real—libraries, cable cars, and cultural centers. That said, petty theft still happens. I’ve had one close call: a motorbike slowed as I brandished my map like a lighthouse on a dark street. A man behind me simply said, “Guarda el celular, parcero.” I did, and learned.

Know your neighborhoods. Laureles and Envigado are relaxed. Poblado is shiny and busy (and pricier), with more opportunistic theft late at night. Comuna 13 is colorful and welcoming by day; go with a guide your first time. The police presence is visible. I avoid ATMs on the street and use bank branches. I don’t bring strangers home, and I treat dating apps like public parks—meet in a café first.

The Digital Nomad Tide

Even though my work is local, I swim in the nomad current. Poblado’s cafés are full of laptops and accents. Laureles has its own scene now—language exchanges on Tuesdays, salsa on Fridays, impromptu coworking at tables meant for two. I’ve met developers from Argentina, designers from Spain, and a Canadian who edits podcasts for a living. It’s energizing, but it also means rents rise faster near the hotspots. If you’re coming to teach, factor in a bit of neighborhood reconnaissance: a ten-minute walk can shave 500k off your rent.

Health and Handling the Bumps

With a cédula, you can enroll in an EPS. I chose SURA, paid my monthly share, and within two weeks had a GP appointment for a minor chest infection. It cost me time, not money. For faster service, private clinics offer same-day appointments; I paid 180k for a specialist check-up. Dental care is excellent and affordable; a cleaning set me back 120k and came with unsolicited life advice from the hygienist about sunscreen.

I carry a small umbrella, rehydration salts, and an extra shirt in my backpack. The rainy season doesn’t ask for permission.

Building Community

Most of my friendships came from two places: the staff room and language exchanges. The staff room is where you trade lesson plans and gossip about who gets the 6 am class. One fellow teacher, a Paisa named Juli, invited me to her family's Sunday sancocho in Bello. I brought brownies (poor substitute for abuela's arepas, but appreciated). Language exchanges are not just for students; they're for us. You can arrive alone and leave with plans to hike Cerro Quitasol—or with an invitation to a cousin's birthday where you'll eat cake at midnight.

On Saturdays, I take the metro north and get off where the weekend markets spill over. I buy mango biche with lime and salt and correct my students Monday when they call it “green mango” instead of “unripe.” Teaching gives you a license to turn daily life into lesson material.

Spring in the City of Eternal Spring

April here means fat drops on warm pavements, jasmine peeking over garden walls, and Semana Santa candles flickering in doorways. I miss the UK’s sudden burst of tulips, but Medellín’s spring is steady: bougainvillea sprawls in every direction, and the hills stay a glossy green. I’ve learned to time my grocery runs: beat the 4 pm cloud build-up or accept that you’ll get soaked and smile about it.

If You’re Considering It

• Bring your documents apostilled before you fly: degree, police check. It will save you tears and courier fees.
• Budget for gaps. Academy schedules fluctuate; build a one-month buffer if you can.
• Decide visa strategy early. If your income is foreign, the digital nomad visa might suit you. If you’re teaching locally, aim for the M-type worker visa and get a straightforward contract letter.
• Get your Cívica metro card on day one and learn the buses. They’re safe, fast, and cheap.
• Practice Spanish daily. Order your lunch, ask your barber for a “corte bajo,” stumble, laugh, try again.
• Respect the rain, and don’t dar papaya. Common sense goes far.
• Choose community over convenience. Join a language exchange, a football five-a-side, or a salsa class. Colombia responds to effort.

Closing Thoughts

Six months in, I no longer mistake thunder for fireworks. I can hold a room of teenagers with a Kahoot and a grin. The city’s transformation is not abstract to me; it’s the daily choreography of people who’ve decided to build rather than brood. On evenings when the storm clears and the light turns the Aburrá Valley gold, I walk home past families on plastic chairs, voices carrying across the street, and I think: this is the sound of a place trusting tomorrow.

If you’re standing at your own gate with a TEFL certificate in your bag and doubt in your stomach, know this: it won’t be seamless. It will be wet, noisy, occasionally bureaucratic, and completely human. And if you give Medellín your patience and your best lesson plans, it will give you a life that feels earned.

Best wishes from Medellín,