Leaving Medellin

My last hours in Medellin were a little chaotic. When you arrive in a city with the intent to hang around for a while you take your time visiting the tourist sites... 5 weeks in and I had only ridden one cable car and visited Parque Arvi (Dutch and I had planned to return with the girls [L, his girlfriend and her roommate] to do some horseback riding but it never happened, plus we fled Medellin for a few days after L's baby-daddy put a hit out on Dutch, that didn't help). 1 different cable route, Pablo Escobar tour, day trip to El Penol, many museums, Jardin Botanico, etc all still on my To Do list.

I scurried to El Penol on my 2nd to last day, bolted across town to the other metrocable, and squeezed in a stroll around the botanic gardens before sunset as it began to rain. I decided the Escobar tour was kind of bullshit. Not sure how I feel about someone making money off one of the most violent people in human history, I'll look up pictures of his shit on Flikr and google images instead.

Dutch and I often talked about "the future", future plans to finance further travels, what we were going to do when we got home, if we would ever go home, how he was going to get to Caracas for his flight home in the next few days. But we never directly talked about my leaving, even on the day I left. We had cooked up some fish for dinner at the guest house, our conversation just the same as any other day. I bought one last $1 DVD off the street for some evening entertainment, Prince of Persia--only... the street people fucked up, the disk really had a 40 minute Assassin's Creed mini-movie marketing/promotion thing on it.. at 8pm it was too late to find the vendor on the street and threaten him with physical harm.

I normally bought my dvd's from the same guy near Parque Berrio, 2 blocks south of the metro line about 20 feet away from the corner near a bunch of fruit and vegetable stands. One day I was flipping through the flicks when I thought I felt water (or something) land on my head, as I reach a hand up to feel my head the guy responded with the Spanish equivalent of 'aww shit, those fucking kids are at it again', a few kids lived on the 2nd or 3rd floor of the building and would periodically spray people with squirt guns. So we all lined up with our backs on the brick building wall hiding behind a slight ledge between the 3rd and 2nd floor, and continued our conversation for a few minutes before poking a head around the ledge checking if the coast was clear.

This guy didn't have the best selection of DVD's but he had the worst limp I have ever seen (probably hit by a car or motorcycle accident). Plus when we talked he didn't treat me like a cash-cow gringo nor was he hostile towards me. Normally a single dvd would cost about 2 mil but after I talked to him a few times he would sell me one for 1 mil (.50 cents). If the DVD didn't play on my laptop I could come back and switch it without and grief or fear that he wouldn't be there. Honestly, it was just nice to come around the corner and see a familiar face-- give him a wave, stop by and say hey, chat about the day, pick up a movie for the evening, and continue my stroll. Plus if I was giving my money to a shady guy on the street I felt better about giving it to him than a perfectly healthy young male who could be working in construction or something, or maybe it was just white guilt.

The People you Meet : Part 1

This will be one post of many detailing someone I met in hostels in Colombia and Venezuela. During my time there I wondered why I spent so much time agonizing over my destination, when the most influential factor of your trip is the people you meet.

Profile 1: J

I knew J for 2-3 weeks before I knew his name. When you meet 5+ new people everyday you eventually forget to introduce yourselves, or you hear them say their name but it never sticks in your mind. I never found out his last name, but maybe that is for the better.

J is an American expat living in Colombia on and off for the last 15-20 years, he has spent the last 7 years in Colombia (other than little trips).

His Colombian experience begins in Bogota, where he ran various small businesses and managed his stock portfolio. He made a few hundred dollars a day with his stocks in the early 90's, this allowed him to live in extreme luxury as Colombia was extremely cheap at the time.

When he went to top-tier Bogota restaurants, he would often tip more than 50 USD (possibly more than the weekly income of a typical waiter), so when he occasionally showed up without a reservation on the busiest nights, the employees would run into the back and bring out a table just for him and his guest.

Eventually his small businesses attracted (his "baller" lifestyle was also to blame) the kind of people that required him to pay a monthly "you want to do business here, you pay us" fee. The perks of shelling out to these people that threatened physical harm was that they periodically asked J if anyone was hassling him. One time J said yes, these guys are hanging out front and follow me after I lock up.

The next day was the last day on Earth for the "leader" of the thugs giving J a hard time. No one ever heard from him again, and a body was never discovered.

The thugs either completely avoided eye contact with J or called him by the nickname they used to call their leader--kind of awkward for J as he thought the leader would be beaten or maybe just threatened.. not whacked. Oops. From this point on he was a little more careful what he said to the guys he was paying for protection.

J was(still is) also subject to money grubbing women asking for some cash to tide them over. Nearly everyday we sat in the lounge area of the guest house talking for an hour or two. Every conversation was always interrupted by text messages or phone calls from different women asking to borrow $$. He had it worse than I ever did, although the girls I was talking to were from 19-27 while his were 30-45 (he's an older guy), so maybe that has something to do with it.

I cannot remember the name of the popular drug/mix that is often used to rob people in Colombia. Once the chemical is on your skin you will experience a rohypnol-like reaction, this is when the robbers either clean out your pockets or take you to an ATM for some withdrawals. Instead of putting it on a business card and having J touch it, he is pretty sure he had it sprayed in his face (and subsequently breathed it in). He remembers walking down a street, and then he wakes up in the hospital a few days later. For the next few months J experienced periodic memory loss, yikes.

One night J was out with some friends at a small mob-run casino. His possibly drunk/buzzing/doped up buddy got into an argument, pulled a gun and actually shot and killed a guy. A small crowd developed on the street in front of this casino/bar, a crowd containing J and his friends.

Normally.. if you just killed someone in public.. wouldn't you leave the scene?

"When the cops came they didn't touch us, they were paid off. Do you know how I know they were paid off? -- I paid them off."

There's more, I'll continue J's profile later.

A Day in the Life : El Centro Medellin

After moving into my place in Prado Centro L and Dutch took me knife (switchblade) shopping, I have never even owned a knife before. If I was ever going to use it it would probably be at night, and most of the clubs here pat you down quite rigorously as you enter.. so I would have to be careful not to get it confiscated.

While traveling along the Caribbean coast Dutch mentioned one of his friend's has an "office". The friend that owns this office is the one who just went to prison for getting caught killing someone. The only other details I had about this place was that "it will be the saddest place you have ever seen, people hanging out laying around tripping out" and that L wanted to lure some semi-homeless girl to the office so she could taser her in a 'safe'(or maybe 'controlled' is a better word) environment.

Dutch and I meet up with L at her place in El centro before we went to the knife shop they normally use. I don't know why we went to the office but it was on the way, this might have been a little 'initiation' or something.

In front of this 2 story crumbling cinder block building some of the office owner's buddies were selling coke etc. If you needed a place to dope up, you went upstairs.
L introduces me to a few of these people, one of them blurts out, "aww man, I used to live in New York City. Taxi driver, lived there for 11 years."

I barely stop myself from asking why he left NYC, shit he probably got deported. I'm thinking don't bring it up, don't bring it up.

"..So, uh, why did you leave?"
Fuck.

"aw yea I would go back. I would go back in a second, I loved it there" He replies, giving me a good view of his crack teeth. He has major yellow and brown discoloring on his shriveling front teeth, with the root starting show on one of them.

Oh phew.. I think this guy misheard me, he probably hasn't spoken English with anyone lately. -- or he didn't want to talk about his deportation.

"Shall we go in?" Dutch says, "You ready for this?".

On our walk to L's apartment he told me if anyone in the office hassles us they're dead. "Oh, so someone will fuck them up a little?" "No, they'll just kill them on the spot if they step out of line".
L has status with these people, so we're supposedly untouchable.

Someone shouts up the stairs that people are coming up and it's cool, don't freak out.

"Oh man it smells" Dutch says as he begins up the stairs, L follows, and I'm the caboose.

The first thing I notice are the walls and the ceiling covered with a wetness you get with concrete and humid rooms. At 6' 4" I'm also hunching over so I don't drag my head on the ceiling. My elbows are curled in towards my body creating a stance that looks like I'm boxing, with my fists level together out front.

As I come up the last few steps I see that there aren't any lights up here, nor furniture (excluding the wooden bucket I discover a few minutes into the future in a smaller room used for shit and vomit). The only light source in the room is sunlight streaming through the cracks and holes in the crumbling cement ceiling (I'm sure that's stable...).

My eyes adjust and I see about 50+ people laying on the floor all over in filth. We have to step over their bodies to pass through the hallway which leads to a larger room also packed with more people on the floor. This larger room was darker than the hallway, I see and hear the flick of a lighter against tinfoil in the corner.

After checking the place out someone from a corner in the dark shouted in a deep slow voice, "Norte Americanos..." L later said they thought we were looking for whores to fuck. We decided it was time to leave and made our way to the stairs, once again hopscotching over the mass of bodies covering the floors in every room and hallway, hoping no one stabs me in the leg with a knife or a needle. Once again I was the last one out, delicately walking down these dark steps trying not to touch the walls HOPING (again) no one grabs me from behind. If they had, the stairs were too narrow for me to turn around, I would have been fucked.

A few years earlier L saw the husband of the school administrator her roommate works at fucking two hookers up here. In the ass. Without a condom.
He also has 2 young children, if it matters.

As we walk into the bright sunlight and along the sidewalk L and Dutch shoot me inquisitive glances. "..So.. how was that?"

When I first met L I didn't think she liked me very much, I probably looked like the hundredth gringo trying to fuck her roommate. But after this day she was much, much warmer towards me. When Dutch took the Brits up there they looked nervous as hell, she even had to pat one on the back to make him chill out. My facial expression for the entire thing was the exact same; nothing, and I guess she likes that. L's daughter, S (4.5 years old), has expressionless eyes, and L has been heard saying that's how she wants them, expressionless and cold.

Mexican Cartel - Baby daddy

A few days ago I woke up to a text from Dutch earrrly in the morning (5:30) that didn't make much sense. He normally isn't awake until 9-10ish, I didn't think too much of it and figured he'd call me later and explain.

Sure enough around 9 he calls me sounding very nervous and rushed. His first words are..
"B, is there room at your place?"
Groggily, "Uh yea, I think some people left yesterday or the day before. Why?"
"Ok, good. I'm coming over. I need a room."
"Yea? What happened?"
"I'll explain when I get there, see you soon." Click.

I met him at the door and helped him check in and get his room. I'm staring at him silently waiting for him to explain what the fuck is going on. Dutch has been sleeping at L's place for the last few months. Did they break up? Have a fight?

He finally understands my dirty look and motions for me to follow him into his room and close the door so no one else can hear our conversation. (this must have looked suuuper gay)

Sitting on the corner of his new bed fidgeting, rubbing the side of his face and looking down at the floor he finally begins..
"It started a couple days ago. People calling my phone asking questions about me, all on different numbers. Last night someone kept calling over and over, I answered at around 3:00. It was some girl asking if I remembered her from Leticia, says we fucked a lot and that she misses me and wants me again. L is lying next to me in bed listening to all of this, so I had to explain to her that this was all lies man, uhgg that took forever. This girl kept saying she wanted to meet me somewhere in Medellin, and using the same nickname L uses for me."

"This sounds like the guy in Mexico fucking with you."
"Yea, we determined that. She's trying to get me isolated man, this guy is trying to fucking kill me. L told him I left last month, but he obviously knows that's a lie. One of her cousins who is good friends with this guy has my number, he even has pictures of my face. Fuck man, I can't walk around the center anymore. L wanted me to set a time to meet this girl, but then she would go and fuck this girl up."
"I don't think that's very safe for her."
"She said he might kill her to get S (L's daughter)."
"Hm, yea. Killing you or her makes his life easier".

Now, a couple weeks ago Dutch and I have already had some conversations about this guy working as muscle for the Mexican cartels. That consisted of this bit:
"That guy better fucking die soon man, he's really pushing it working with the cartels. In his position, it's only a matter of time"
"We can only hope"
"L mentioned setting something up to kill him, but if it didn't work he would definitely come and kill her. If this gets too bad, I'll just marry her and take her with me."
"How will that work with her black list thing?" (L can't leave the country, she's on a gov't watch list of some type)
"Shit I don't know, but I can't just let her die here. I was thinking about sending those people in ------ (a small colonial town) a message asking if they would let her live there if things got really bad, I would send them the money. It would be some place for her to hide out, no one would know where she is except us."
"That might be a good option to have."

L recently told Dutch that while we were in Cartagena one of her friends called in a favor. L dressed up all hot and slutty and went to a certain store to distract a guy. Her instructions were to get this guy to walk to the very back of the store so her friend could shoot him, it was a success. This is basically the same tactic being used on Dutch.

The Spiral / Mother's Day

The first time L killed someone it was on accident. She intended only to put fear (I don't know why) into this girl by surprising her with the barrel of a revolver pressed to her temple. In all the excitement a finger found a trigger and split this girls head open.

Dutch compares the life of L to the main girl in "Rosario Tijeras", I just watched the movie a few days ago and it is surprisingly close. L's older brother bled out on the street from bullet wounds right in front of her at a fairly young age, which was a contributing factor to L's future violent actions. After she accidentally wasted that girl, she started to freak the fuck out and got involved with her Uncle's antics. L's mother recently told me this Uncle used to cut the feet off of live cows for fun, this guy is not a good influence on anyone.

It's midnight the day before Mother's Day and I receive a text from Dutch saying, "B, you're coming tomorrow".
I already knew he was going to L's sister's apartment for a family get-together, but I had no intentions of inviting myself or coming with.
"But.. I don't want to crash your thing with her family."
"I knew you would be like this, that's why I told you were coming, I didn't ask."
It was final.

I didn't even consider to ask where this family hangout was taking place until we had been in the cab for 20 minutes. I forgot the name of the barrio 30 seconds after they told me, but it was in the North of Medellin, a fair ways up the valley wall.
(In Medellin, a basic rule of thumb is the further south you go, the safer the neighborhoods are. The north consists of barrios resembling the shanty-like buildings you see in pictures of Rio de Janeiro. Another generalization of safety here is the higher you go up the mountain the shittier the neighborhoods get, of course there are a lot of exceptions, but it's generally correct.)

We walk up their steps, through their front door, and there are a bunch of faces I have never seen before.
"Aqui", the apparent man of the house (everyone is dressed up and he's in his boxers, nothing else) says to me and puts a cold
beer in my hand.
"Oh, hey watch out. They're going to get us hammered today, it's only a matter of time until the break out the whiskey." Dutch warns me.
Sure enough 2-3 hours and several beers later I get a glass with a few ice cubes in it and about 6 shots of whiskey. Fuck.
I'm trying to be polite and converse with these people, and they keep impeding my efforts by making my brain useless.

Someone brings out a chess board and a conversation of who vs who runs on for a few minutes. Thankfully I dodged the bullet and the first match (match? game?) is between Dutch and Boxers Only.

They apparently have two chess boards and L challenges me to a duel. We prop the table on a stool on the front balcony overlooking the street and a small community park. The day is beginning to cool off, the sky is a few shades darker, and children are out playing soccer in the park. Aside from the drug dealers hanging out in the part of the park with a few closely placed tree's, the atmosphere is heaven.

This was one of those moments you capture in your mind and cling to. It was during this time I began to realize how hard it is going to be to leave not only Colombia but specifically Medellin. I really felt like I belonged, L's sisters apartment and awesome family are giving me flashbacks to my home-stay in Suva, Fiji (one of the best experiences of my life).

Now, I haven't played a game of chess since 3rd grade. Which was also when I first learned how to play it..
I polished off the glass of whiskey only to have it replaced with a splash of coke and another 3 inches of rum. uhh "What are the rules again?" I struggle to muster up. L on the other hand, is 100% sober.

She begins by taking 6 of my pieces and severely neutering my attacking ability. My ego damaged I swallow the remainder of my glass and devote all of my focus on showing some cojones. L's sister comes by and throws 3 more inches of rum in my glass before I can politely decline, god dammit people. Somehow I am able to kill a few of her pieces, so if I lose I at least have something to show for myself.

All the while I'm wondering.. do I let her win because she's a girl? Nah, chivalry is pretty much dead anyways, ladies want equality, I'll show her equality. Do I let her win because she's Dutch's gf? Or because she has invited me to a family gathering and pumped me full of alcohol and food, or do I let her win because she has killed at least 8 people and I know she has a tazer stronger than the electrical outlets in The States resting in her back pocket?

Nah I really want to beat this bitch. I'm finally getting into the chess game and really, really, do not want to lose.

Nearly an hour later I finally hit her with a check-mate. In order to show her the upmost respect.. I stand up on my stool (quite wobbly as L's sister filled my glass for a THIRD time during the match) and shout some "whoo's!" and "in your face!"'s.

Instead of tazing me she just put her face in her hands and moped a little, I'll call that a success.

TOV - Aids, and L's background

While Dutch, myself, and the Brits traveled along the coast up to the Guajira Peninsula (pic below) he was waiting for some news from L. She is really paranoid of Aids and takes a test every few years. She does the 2 part series where the 2nd round comes 3 months later to guarantee that you didn't contract it a few weeks before your first test.



L has a little girl of 4 (I think) years.

Her baby-daddy is up in Mexico working with the cartels you're probably reading about in the news (if you're in the USA right now), making some $$ and sending it back to L to kiss her ass.

Dutch was feeling a little nervous about her Aids test because he wasn't as smart as he should have been with a girl in Ecuador - he came to Colombia after Ecuador. He wanted to get the phone call from L that her test came back negative before he went back to Medellin, because if she was positive.. she would probably kill him. And if not kill him, try to cut off his dick or something, she wants to be around for her daughter, so anyone standing in her way is going to get fucked up.

L lives in El Centro, which is one of the worst parts of the city to live. The pollution and homeless beggers laying on the sidewalks hit their highest density here. There is a hooker that will fuck you without a condom for about 30 US cents that hangs out around their street. Last weekend Dutch and L woke up in the middle of the night and looked out their window to see a crowd of people fighting and screaming.

A bunch of white guys had caught a black guy (he stole something) and were trying to hold him down while a guy swung a machete at him. Half the crowd was calling for blood, and others were shouting to let him go. Apparently shit like this is not all that unusual for them, so they went back to bed.

Two weeks ago L found a homeless guy sleeping in their stairwell on the top floor, which is where they live. My place in Prado Centro a few blocks away has two main gates/doors that require keys, their door off the street just swings open.

L first filled up a pot with water and threw it on this guys face, jolting him awake and confused.
She began screaming at him and kicking him in the stomach and face, stomp, stomp.

The man tries to get up while being fiercely kicked and falls down the stairs.

The edges to these stairs are not rubber like they are in some places in the States, each lip here has a sharp metal plate screwed to it. This stair well also does not have hand railings..

This lack of hand railings means when the man barrel-rolled off the top floor instead on crashing down one flight of stairs, he rolled off the sharp edge and hit the stairs after the landing that were further down. Crashing down face-first and then grinding down the remaining starts until the second landing he came to stop barely conscious in a growing pool of blood.

As he tried to get up and run (before his tumble off the stair ledge) he was shouting, "Porque Yo, porque Yo?!?!". (Why me, why me?!?) This haunts me a little.

Later that day Dutch and L saw him laying on the street, possibly unconscious.

The thing about this that bothers me the most is that because this guy was homeless, he hardly had enough money to feed himself. He DEFINITELY does not have money to go to the hospital and get some help. This guy's teeth were all fucked up (those that remained in his mouth) and his life just became that much harder.

"Tales" of Violence - Continued 2

During our strolls around Cartagena, and over a few beers from a Balcony in the Old Town at night before we hit the clubs Dutch brought me in on more happenings.

It is important to point out that L (his gf, remember?) is nearly 30 years old. This means that she grew up in the most violent times in Medellin, when Pablo Escobar was doing his thing. ($5,000 to anyone who kills a police officer). -> a small fortune at the time.

When L was around 7 years old (I'll check this and correct it later) her mother took her to see a dead black dude. This guy was murdered on the street and left on the sidewalk to rot for over a week. When L saw this rotting body, it had sat in the sun for about 5 days, while people stepped around him and went upon their daily routines.

Dutch said she was still able to describe the scent and sight of the maggots boring into the discolored flesh, also, this man was not shot to death. He was hacked by a machete.

L's Uncle apparently was involved in a lot of shady dealings and brought her into the shit as she grew up.. it shows.

"Tales" of Violence in Colombia

Before I go any further I'm going to post this warning in case anyone in the DEA or legal person of any kind would like to use my words in court.

"The stories and information posted here are artistic works of fiction and falsehood.
Only a fool would take anything posted here as fact."

One of my favorite things about traveling is that you can make a "close" friend in a day. You typically cut through the bullshit and will give up secrets you normally wouldn't tell anyone at home.

Even though these friendships are forged over a short amount of time, I think they're just as strong, and in some case even stronger than "normal" ones.

Over lunch that first or second full day in Cartagena with Dutch he told me about his hellish experience in a hospital in Ecuador. He's 23, and has some major kidney stones, after numerous tests in ghetto Ecuadorian hospitals finally deterined.


[Cartagena]

I decided to tell him about my hydrocele, one of my balls has a bunch of fluid surrounding it. Pretty sure it was caused by a hit to the groin during soccer or the time I caught the business end of a metal baseball bat in 5th grade. The doc's won't do surgery on this bad boy until it's causing me extreme amounts of pain, which will probably slowly increase over the course of a few weeks, months, or years because recovery time is 6-8 weeks of hell (so they tell me). Dutch on the other hand is going to feel completely fine one minute, and then the fury of god will be striking him down when he tries to take a piss.

He is going to be in incredible amounts of pain with absolutely no warning. I told him I would rather keep my hydrocele than trade with him, he on the other hand preferred his issue. Comparing our trips to the urologist with someone you have only known for a few hours definitely opens the doors for more conversation.

It also turns out we have both experienced very similar pregnancy scares, the interesting thing is we were both freaking out at the same time for the most recent ones, laying awake in bed during the same nights.

At this point either of us really has nothing to hide from the other, he decided to let me know about his girlfriend in Medellin named "L", and her acquaintances.

One day Dutch was sitting with one of L's coke dealing friends for lunch. The tables were near or on the sidewalk and some guy walks over towards them shouting giving them shit. Words are exchanged with the coke dealer and random guy. The random guy is holding a big pink bunny stuffed animal and throws it at the dealer, Dutch is still sitting at the table, fork in hand, wondering what is going on.

Random guy calls the dealer some word that sounds like gonorrhea (this word is apparently extremely offensive).
Dealer jumps up from the table, pulls out a butterfly knife whips it around in front of this guy's face, whilst holding the knife in his right hand punches the guy in the face (note what that would look like from the random guys view).

Random guy falls down on his back, dealer stands over him and starts stomping on this guys face and throat for a few seconds. Takes his foot off his face, looks at the damage, decides it's not enough and continues to stomp in this guys throat/face a few more times. He flips the butterfly knife back into it's smaller shape so it fits in his pocket, strolls back other to the table, sits down, and goes back to eating.

Confession - Bar

I.. like.. a reggae bar.

I don't know the name, but from the South East corner of Parque poblado, you walk about 50 meters and it's on the left. There's a big patio thing with tons of people sitting around.

I'm not sure why I feel embarrassed to like a reggae bar, I know a year ago I would have said it with no shame. I think it's because all of the gringo hippies here are so fucking dirty and annoying. They all seem to have weed farms at home and wear nothing but hemp, and carry around 6 little bags filled with string and other crap they made and are trying to sell.

These people are the reason for comments like, "fukkin' hippies". If I had to touch their hand, a large glob of purel would be the next thing touching my hand.

Within the first few minutes of my arrival they played a Caribbean/Latin American version of Rihanna's You Don't Love Me, and Akon's Mama Africa, they were very well done, and I was smitten.

The clientèle is pretty much all college kids, which is pretty nice after navigating through old dudes in Blue or other bars near Parque Lleras.

Disorganized Thoughts - week 2.5 in Medellin

Yesterday the guesthouse I am staying at received some new faces. For the first 10 days I stayed here the group of people didn’t change at all, now in the last three days we went from half-full to turning people away for a lack of space. Semi-related, the longest staying resident (6+ months) just moved out less than 5 minutes ago because he found a cheap place within walking distance of his school. He was a cool guy (taught English in China for a few years, so we had a lot to talk about), but I won’t miss waking up in the late morning to his girlfriend’s squeals while they fucked. His room was the penthouse upstairs, so her uh’s and ooh’s echoed down through the open laundry space right through my bedroom window.

Annyways, I was hanging out in the foyer area when three newbies poked their heads in. One was/is a cool older Jew(we talked about Israel and Jordan a lot, plus he gave me about 25 movies off his hard drive) named Moses, maybe 60. I think he’s in Colombia just to see what it’s like post-Escobar before he dies, the other is a couple from Florida.
“So, what is the area around here like”, asks the guy with his novia.
“Crack heads and underage prostitutes”
*Moses throws his head back as a flinch and grimaces, then nods with acceptance pursing his lips together.

Throughout our conversation I tried to tone down how shitty our neighborhood was, but I couldn’t lie and mislead them. If you want a nice clean safe neighbor hood that feels like an extension of the US, get your ass back to Poblado and don’t leave your padded room. Voluntarily living in Prado Centro is to live in the “real”, grimy, disgusting Medellin that is a much more accurate representation of the city.

“Is there any good nightlife around here?”
“Only if you take a cab or walk straight to the Metro, the streets aren’t safe at night”
“Oh..”
“Well, I guess you can—in some places—but you have to turn on your ‘don’t fuck with me face’”
“What does that look like?” He smirks, waiting for me to provide an example.
Christ, this guy is going to get eaten alive out there.
“It’s your atmosphere, you have to eat and breath confidence, walk like you know where you’re going no matter what. Like you’ll rip anyone who gives you shit apart”
I will fill another post on just this matter later..

This guy made me think how green I must have looked in Cartagena.
“Omg there’s nearly naked street beggers covered in 2 months of filth pissing and shitting in the streets”
“Eek, no traffic rules, or driving lanes, how do I cross the street?”
“That hooker is looking at me, oh no, aids!”

Later in the evening I was out having a few drinks with some of my local friends (in Poblado, I’ll mock the neighborhood, but Poblado has 90% of the cities bars, alright?).
It was my first time “partying” near Parque Lleras (full of gringo chumps paying for sex or taking girls they barely know on shopping sprees and shit so they can fuck them later).
Thankfully we were about 4 blocks off the square and around bars that actually had near-local prices again. We sat on this little ledge overlooking the street, I had a local girl under my arm, surrounded in good company, speaking Spanish well enough to carry a conversation; life was good. I think back to my first few days in Medellin and reminisce on my “green-ness”, once again struggling to even remember what worries were on my mind at the time.

The rumors about Medellin being a hotspot for gorgeous women is completely accurate. You can’t go on the Metro without running into a Colombiana that would stand out in a crowd back home. All of this hotness DOES come at a cost though.
Bitch list:
-Sex tourists, fuck off you pervy twats that can’t get laid at home. You are pathetic. You ruin it for every other man by throwing cash at these girls all day long. I woke up two days ago to a text from a girl saying, “Corazoon! No tengo dinero.. :(“

She invited me to go to a Finca with her friends this weekend, two days before we’re supposed to go she says she doesn’t have enough cash, and that she can only go if she can *somehow find the dinero* -> i.e. convince me to pay for everything, perhaps even for her friends too.

Another guy at this guesthouse gets calls everyday from women asking for 50mil or whatever to “tide them over” for a few days.

Two weekends ago the female friend of a girl I was hanging out with (I had only known this girl for a few hours) goes up to a street vender late at night, grabs a bunch of shit, then looks at me and sticks her hand out silently waiting for me to put some paper in it.

Bitch, I am not an ATM.

I can keep going with these examples but I want to save it for another post to really do it justice.

All it takes is a few guys without backbones to give in to these stupid demands and the whole city is wrecked. Every girl here seems to have a friend who is extorting cash from a North American or European, so when they meet one in a bar.. they want a sugar daddy too.

The girl I was out with last night went up to the bar (on her own) and bought me a beer while she got her own drink. I was absolutely astounded. I told the guys back at the guesthouse and received, “that’s when you know she’s a good girl”, “you better hold on to that one” and similar comments. The only problem is that I don’t get the “butterflies” with this one, that could be another post on it’s own.. again.

To wrap up this spiraling mess of a post, cute girls in Medellin that don’t want your money DO exist, it just requires a lot of searching, and that’s a shame.

I promise I'll write today... err tomorrow, yea, I'll do it tomorrow.

For over a month now I have tried to start writing shit that happened in Cartagena and the first few weeks of my time in Colombia. I have even written new posts about things that had just happened only to find myself physically unable to sum up the effort to dig up the 'old' memories.

I blame at least half of this laziness on the heat in Cartagena/Mompos/Santa Marta. You couldn't even think without sweating.

The first morning in Cartagena, Colombia was to be spent at the international film festival watching El Secreto en Sus Ojos (the secret in your eyes) an Argentinian film that was supposed to be really good, with Holland, Argentina, and West Coast USA (I seem to remember where people are from better than their actual names).

The night before our Hostel's owner had a party for his girlfriend who just returned from visiting her home (Spain) and invited a ton of his friends to hang out at the hostel. At the time it seemed pretty cool, you just arrived and you're already mingling with a local crowd. It was a lot less cool when they kept hanging out the next few days taking up all the spots on the couches, watching shitty tv, and hogging the computer.

Anyways, within the first 8 hours of life in Cartagena I had already encountered a really hot Colombiana. I did not spot her from across the street or through a shop window, she was sitting on the couch across from me, staring.

A lot of the black/really dark girls on the coast seem to have really light gray eyes, I think this was the first time I had seen this great combination. A bright yellow top thing with 4in heels and shoooort black shorts never looked so good.

"Hey man" the 25 yr old hostel owner says to me, "you should go talk to her". I don't understand what it is about me that makes other guys think I need help (see my Bucaramanga - Zona Rosa post) but I thought it was pretty obvious that that was what I was already moments away from doing.
Before I can reply he has decided to change plans, and calls her off the couch and introduces us.

Earlier in the day I showed him how terrible my Spanish is/was (it's still pretty rough), so he knows I can only carry a conversation in English. This friend of his, ONLY speaks Spanish. The whole night felt like a cruel joke. All in all this was a great motivation maker for improving my Spanish.

The next morning I chill around the hostel looking for the guys to go to the movie and they aren't in sight. Damn. I end up taking the 30 minute stroll down Bocagrande's beach to El Centro, the old Colonial part of Cartagena with this very unique 55+ yr old Black lady who was really into Ebonics. She has been all over Latin America (especially Cuba) so I actually did enjoy talking with her.

In the evening I run into West Coast USA.
"Oh here you are now" she says.
"Hm? I should be saying that to you"
"What do you mean, you stood up Holland."
"What? No way, I was here at the time we said, where were you?"
"I went out in the morning and Holland stayed behind to pick you up"
"Well god dammit, I don't know how we missed each other."

Holland and I both thought we were stood up, the next day we were both sitting around the hostel looking for something to do. The beach is our best option, and gets our votes.

While we're walking 1.5 blocks to the beach (Bocagrande is only 3 blocks wide, our hostel is in the middle, no matter which way we walk, we get a beach) Holland gets a phone call from his girlfriend in Medellin. One of their friends was shot a few times earlier that morning (dead), and the night before, one of their other friends shot and killed some guy and was caught by the police. In one phone call he lost two friends, less than 20 steps from the hostel.

He paused a little after the conversation, filled me in on the details and then we continued to the beach. At that moment I should have understood it was likely we were going to have more conversations like this, I was naive though and chalked it up to a one time event. I was wrong..

4 months to burn?

Why not go to Colombia?

After reading and reading and reading and trying to determine what exactly I want to get out of a trip for the next four months I have finally chosen Colombia. Runners up are Panama, and Turkey.

I was all set to nab a flight to Istanbul when I noticed the flight price dropped $300 if I went a month later. And a round trip ticket to Central America right away was... that's right, $300. A "free" trip/new destination!

After my year in Korea (if I want to try another country at that point) I figure it will be easier (cheaper) to get to Turkey than South/Central America. Plus I want to visit with some friends in Germany at some point, the round trip from Turkey is really reasonable.

I picked up a 1 way, so if I am not feeling Colombia I can bail in April and still go to Turkey without blowing too much more cash than I was already planning on.