If I wanted to stay I had to sleep on the couch while the four girls slept in the only bedroom. I asked if the girl I was with would stay with me on the couch and she answered no. “Then I’m going back home,” I said, and walked back to my hotel room at eight in the morning.
The fact that I was friend-zoned was obvious when they asked me to go out with them again. I went with the four girls and two kids to a pizza restaurant and we had a good dinner there. The two oldest girls were around thirty and both had children from previous relationships.
Afterwards the kids went home to a nanny and the four girls and I went to Bungalow 6. If I couldn’t score one of them, at least I had massive pre selection walking around with four girls. I felt out the situation with three of the girls but not the one from the night before. The two of us almost didn’t speak that night.
The younger of the two sisters barely spoke English, but when I showed her my pictures on the phone I could make myself clear with my bits of Spanish.
We cuddled up a bit and I showed her pictures of my round-the-world trip so far. In-between all the pictures of me doing cool stuff were some pictures of me with girls. I tried to make it seem like I didn’t want her to see them and she got all excited and punched my arm and said “Show me!” I would sigh and say okay to it. She was falling right into my DHV trap.
Afterwards she didn’t leave my side and the five of us went dancing in Nobar. The tall black girl saw me come in with four girls and so did the hot gold digger. Right back at ya, I thought. The youngest sister and I danced all night to the reggeaton beats.
This twenty-two year old girl had so much energy that I could barely keep up. We kissed all the time while I touched her all over her body.
At the end of the night I tried to get her back to my place but of course the other girls wouldn’t let her leave with me. I went home DIH, dick in hand.
I had gone out almost every night and only pulled one local woman who had seen better days in the mirror. Still, I loved Quito and will probably return here the next time I’m travelling.
In my nine days in Quito I had not taken any extra private Spanish or salsa lessons as I planned to do. I had done quite some of writing for my Dutch website and translated some stories into English. The Adderal tablets Cassie had given me worked miracles and I had never been so focused in my life.
I also had a major email battle with Lilly, the girl I was with for two weeks in Bali/Indonesia. She had found out about my site and threatened me with lawsuits and having my website taken down if I didn’t remove her pictures. The fact that her face was completely blurred out and she had her clothes on didn’t seem to matter, and she stirred up so much drama it was almost an email bombardment. She said she would get someone to take my whole site down, and since she had some money and might actually manage to do it I finally caved in and removed the pictures. She said goodbye to me with some religious stuff like “my hope and prayers will be with you”, and broke contact forever. Well almost forever. I got an “I miss you” email many months later.
Colombia – Cali
The trip to Colombia went well. I had heard horror stories about the border between Ecuador and Colombia. It was supposed to be crawling with FARC terrorists, paramilitary gangs and corrupt cops. A young English student I met on the bus to the border told me he had done this ride before, from Colombia to Ecuador, and got robbed at seven in the evening.
John was ganged up on by eight or nine guys and they told him his papers were not in order. He was all alone there and got scared, which doesn’t surprise me. I would be too. He paid twenty dollars to get out of the situation and I think he was lucky to get away with such a small bride.
The two of us stayed in a hotel at the border town, and the next morning we crossed the border to Colombia without too much hassle and continued our trip. John and I sat in the front of the bus and behind us sat a mom and her daughter. The mom kept smiling at me. I tried to talk to them a bit to kill time on this twelve-hour ride and found out they only spoke Spanish, but it was easy to find out that her name was Juliana. The daughter was only sixteen years old and the mom looked like she was about thirty-six. A MILF, so to say. She kept touching my hair and liked it because it was blond.
The scenery of Colombia was great. We saw lots of green hills, a few mountains and lots of poor but seemingly happy people along the road and the villages. Juliana’s daughter gave me a small bracelet, just like the one Evita had given me in Lima. I often thought about her and was looking forward to seeing her again. After a long ride we finally got off the bus. Juliana invited me to her house, but I wasn’t planning on going there with my backpack, laptop and passport. It was still Cali, one of South America’s most dangerous cities. We agreed to meet the next day.
As with Argentina I had read horror stories about Colombian women. They were supposed to be beautiful but very flaky and the gringo factor had already died out. Foreigners actually had a bad name now because of all the whoremongers who visit Colombia to bang hookers or take girls on fancy dinners and/or spoiling them with lots of presents which is almost the same in my humble opinion. In both cases you basically pay for sex. Guys like this spoil the goodies for people like me. It’s getting harder and harder to find places where old foreigners or loser guys haven’t spoiled local girls by making them think all “whities” from western countries are dumb guys who throw around money and buy their girls. There are still exotic places where being a foreigner gives you high status, but that world is getting smaller by the day.
The owner of the hostel was a Danish guy who had married an average-looking Colombian girl. There were a couple of older guys in the hostel, one 70-year-old English guy with rude and quite racist humor and a skinny American guy in his fifties. The American had lived in Mexico for a long time and spoke good Spanish. As soon as he found out that I was hunting for poon, he started following me around like a dog. Probably trying to get some action himself. Both were telling me to move to Medellin, where the hottest girls were. I had only time for one city in Colombia so I focused on Cali. Both of them oldies had a screw loose and talked about weed and booze quite a few times. I hope I don’t end up like them when I’m old. The American and his Spanish skills helped me out with buying a Sim card and sending a text to Juliana. She replied immediately by calling me, but I couldn’t understand what she was saying and handed the phone over to the American who arranged a date with Juliana for me.
I was going to meet her at night at a corner of the main street, where there were a few bars. That night I waited for her and wondered how I was going to succeed with only Spanish. She showed up twenty minutes late, with her daughter and another girlfriend. I wasn’t expecting three people and she caught me a bit off- guard.
Juliana had done a full makeover from slouchy mom to hot vamp. She looked amazing wearing a sexy black dress, high heels and with beautiful makeup and hair. I had seen some potential in her looks when I met her at the bus but this exceeded my wildest expectations. Not knowing how to entertain three people in Spanish and not being willing to pay for three people all night I didn’t really know how to handle the situation, and used the help of a giant bald guy who sold cigarettes and other small stuff on the street corner. He was a friendly guy who spoke some English and helped me talk with the three ladies.
The older American from the hostel also “accidently” showed up. I let him translate for me and he made it clear to her that I wasn’t expecting three people.
We made another date, but she flaked on me. Never heard from her again. The weird thing was that she always called me instead of sending me texts, even though I could translate those.
My Spanish stills sucked ass and there was no way I could use it to do day game. This made me worry about capturing the flag and I had to depend on night game only.
Cali is the salsa capital of South America and after my seven hours of private lessons in Peru I felt like I should use this to my advantage. The hostel recommended a famous salsa bar to me and I hopp
ed into a cab and drove all the way to the other side of the city. I sat down at the bar, which was crowded with many foreign couples. It surprised me to see so many foreigners in one place because during the day I didn’t see them at all. They were good dancers and when I saw the Colombian guys dancing almost like professionals all my hopes and dreams of using salsa as a pick-up crutch went out the door. How the hell could I be so stupid and think I could compete with locals? I had already forgotten most salsa moves and it was already weeks since I had my salsa lessons. I quickly downed a few beers and went back to the hostel.
I needed another strategy if I wanted my flag. I had flagged five countries in a row and didn’t want to fail in Colombia, even though I knew it was a hard place to get laid with little money and no place of your own. I’d arranged at the hostel that I could take a private room if I brought someone there. I would only be allowed to once, but that’s enough for me.
The following evening I met up with a girl from the Couchsurfing website. We went for a few drinks and drank a small bottle of aguardiente, a local alcoholic drink. For a long time I thought the drink was called Aqua Calientes (hot water) just like the place I had been in Peru and it reminded me of old cowboy movies where native American Indians would refer to alcohol as hot water. It wasn’t until after I wrote this book and a reader pointed out the mistake that I understood why the girl laughed so hard when I said Aqua caliente. As usual my convo techniques worked and I had her in my pocket. She said we could go out with her friends that night and met them at a nightclub. They were very nice people and we had lots of drinks together.
At one point the two of us went out for a smoke and looked for some food. I saw a park and walked over there with her. I kissed her there and she seemed to be into me. She was a little hottie, twenty years old and at least a seven in looks. We kissed all night and at the end of the night we took a taxi. I tried everything to get her back to my place but she didn’t want to. Over the next few days she would flake on me.
I met two other girls from the same website but it didn’t work out. The first one was a case of misleading profile pictures. She was a six and chubby instead of the slim seven she probably was five years ago in her profile picture.
One thing I noticed when I went out with her was the extremely hot girl and her boyfriend/date that came with her. The girl had big fake boobs and maybe a fake butt too but looked at least like an 8. The guy who was with her was big and strong, dressed sharp as a knife and was handsome. He acted like a total beta. I’d been told that Colombian guys were supplicating betas but this was extreme. Had I seen this guy in my own beta days I would probably have thought he was some smooth player, but when you are focused on pick-up and become somewhat good at it, you will start noticing other men’s mistakes. This guy was making them all. He started off by sitting in front of the girl at a small table instead of sitting on the couches the way I did with my date. The whole date he tried to touch the girl who kept him at a distance, leaning in to the maximum trying to get closer to her. He gave her a love stare but she kept cold. I couldn’t make out his words and I’m sure he could bang a lot of foreign girls with his Latin player romantic approach, but he failed badly with her. Hell, she even gave me a wink when the dude went to the toilet.
On Saturday night I had another meeting with an online girl early in the evening. I had asked the girl working at the hostel reception for a place to go out. All the places I had been exploring in the days before were sit-down places with mixed groups or salsa joints. I asked the receptionist about a big discoteca where all kinds of music were played and people would stand up and dance. I specifically said American pop music, or even better reggeaton. She gave me the name of a discoteca, and I decided to go on the date and ditch the girl if it wasn’t working out so I could go to the club.
The other girl I met for a date brought her younger sister with her boyfriend. The younger sister was really attractive and had a nice-guy boyfriend. We watched a football match in a bar in the mall close to my hostel. The girl I was meeting was mestizo (half native/half white) and had a great head of fine curly hair. It felt great when I touched it but I was slightly bothered by her sister and brother-in-law being there and didn’t want to go into full pick-up mode. I noticed that she had already friend-zoned me and it was time to say goodbye. I asked them directions to the club and they even brought me there with their car. They were very friendly and had even paid my drinks before and I felt a bit bad about making up an excuse and leaving them.
They dropped me off at the club and I walked up to the counter. I had to pay ten dollars just to get in. I had big money in my pocket because it was a Saturday night and I might end up in a love motel, but as soon as I walked in I could see it would be a total bust. There was a large dance floor in the middle of the giant hall and only tables around it. Groups of people were sitting at tables and there wasn’t a bar to stand on.
The waitress put me on a bar stool next to a small dancing stage. Then she tried to sell me a bottle of aguardiente. I objected because why would I want a thirty-dollar bottle of strong liquor? It was already hard to talk to her in Spanish and when I asked for a beer she said they didn’t sell beer. I pointed out the refrigerator with beer they had in the back and some manager guy showed up. After some struggling they finally agreed to give me a beer. I was like “What the fuck? A guy can’t even get a beer here?” The beer was served in a small glass and cost eight dollars. What a rip-off.
The place filled up after a while and people sat down at their tables. Almost all tables were filled with mixed groups and I understood later that Colombian girls would bring guys to pay for drinks. Whenever I looked over at a table, the dudes at it, who were mostly big muscular guys with golden chains around their necks, looked at me with a pissed-off look. I caught on that if I didn’t want my ass beaten I’d better not look at their girls.
The dance show was cool, with a big-ass girl dancing one meter away from me on the stage I was sitting on. But I hadn’t come there to look at professional dancers. I came there to pick up girls. My glass was empty and I saw no options whatsoever to talk to any girls standing by themselves. I walked out the door to smoke a cigarette and saw two girls doing the same. One of them was a nine in looks and stood close to me. She made a hand movement saying she needed a light and I slowly walked over there to give her one. Don’t let them know they’re hot is my motto, so never hurry up for a girl. I asked her if she spoke English and tried to make conversation but she just gave me a quick no. I’d had enough of it, got a taxi back to the hostel and looked around in the streets close to the hostel if I could find a reasonable bar. It was pointless and I went to bed all grumpy.
I complained to the receptionist the next morning that she had sent me to the wrong place but she didn’t know what she’d done wrong. I realized that this was all she knew and that she’d probably never seen a regular disco from inside.
I tried to day game a bit at the supermarket but failed and gave up after a couple of tries. The language barrier kept blocking me and everywhere I went was Spanish only.
The girls at the mall weren’t that hot and I wanted to check out some other places and parks. Since I could only ask the receptionist girl for directions, I was stuck asking her. I asked her for a large park with lots of people. She said she knew one and gave me directions for the buses.
After a few buses and lots of walking I finally arrived at the park she’d recommended. It was small and there weren’t any girls around. The malls I hadn’t been to yet were on the other side of the city and I went back again. This sucked badly and I was losing hope of getting a flag. I had gone out every night, visited the mall a couple of times, visited a “park”, met three girls from the travel website and all I had done was some kissing. I got really nervous, smoked a lot and started drinking early. I had eleven girls who mailed me back to meet them but it was a big flake fest. Girls at the mall and supermarket didn’t give me the light of day and made no eye contact whatsoever. I was ready to
give up.
There was a Guatemalan woman in the hostel with giant fake tits, who responded well to my flirting and said she would go on a date with me soon if I stayed a bit longer. I ran into her a couple of times but I only heard excuses when I texted her for a date. Apparently Guatemalans is no stranger to flaking either.
Two Australians had arrived at the hostel. Both were pilots in their early forties. I didn’t like them much because they always seemed to talk a lot but without saying much.
One of them said he’d got laid the night before and showed me a picture of a hot girl on his phone. He didn’t speak a word of Spanish but his friend did. He had translated for him and they had met her in an English pub nearby the hostel. My first thought was Why didn’t that stupid bitch receptionist tell me about that bar?
The old English guy said to the Aussie that I’d been trying to get laid all week. The Aussie laughed and said it had happened on his first night there. I asked him lots of questions to find out how he did it. He had met her in the bar, spent quite a lot of money on drinks, took a taxi to a club outside the city, paid entrance and cocktails again and then went to a hotel with her. He said that the hotel was “only” sixty dollars. That guy had spent way over a hundred dollars on that lay, and such amounts are too much for me. It made me feel a bit better and who knows, he might have paid her something in the room. Nobody would ever know.
I was totally fed up with Cali and had no time left to go to Bogota or Medellin anymore. My mission of visiting and flagging every country in South America had failed. My 80-girls challenge, a challenge I was losing since the clock was ticking and the date I went home was already set. I was at 51; getting 29 in just a few months would be impossible, even for me.
That didn’t mean, of course, that I wasn’t determined to get as damn close to 80 as I could. I had set the bar high by refusing to get to the 80 by only being with Asian girls. I felt that after Cambodia, I needed a short break to let everything sink in. I could have easily gotten 20 notches in Thailand too but wasn’t too bothered with it. Of course I the Phils I went overboard again to an extent.
Around the World in 80 Girls: The Epic 3 Year Trip of a Backpacking Casanova Page 37
