At one point Peter was supposed to show up for (business) meetings Mark scheduled and didn’t show up till after another night in a strip club. He even missed his flight back to England and kept asking for more money. I couldn’t understand how an intelligent, business-minded person like Mark got tricked by a numbnuts like Peter. Perhaps he didn’t want to see his own mistakes.
I was planning on moving on to Montego Bay on Sunday but I got up too late after a long night. The days after that I was so damn lazy that I could barely get out of bed in the mornings. My cold was still terrible and didn’t seem to want to get better.
Kingston is not a really exciting city to be in. There’s not much of a center and you can pretty much forget about day-gaming girls. There just aren’t that many attractive girls in the streets or shops.
One afternoon I went to the Bob Marley House Museum but didn’t take the tour, which cost twenty US dollars. I was at the end of my trip and also almost at the end of my money. I regretted it later because I’m quite the reggae fan.
I didn’t do much during the day except get stoned a few times. I hadn’t smoked in a long time and got really high really quickly. It was so bad that I knocked myself out and fell asleep early all the time. It surprised me because I used to be a heavy smoker back home in Holland where quality is good – some say the best in the world.
There was an American guy of Lebanese heritage in the dorm room named Anthony I hung out with from time to time. We went to a strip club called Pablos a lot and I got a few lap dances from stunningly hot Jamaican girls, a few times for free and a few other times for a few dollars. The dancers were amazing, very flexible and able to shake their big firm asses in every way possible.
I badly wanted to go home, though, and even staying on as a wonderful an island as Jamaica, an island most people want to visit, is less fun when you feel like that. The whole trip had just gone on for too long. I should have gone home a little sooner. Over the last few months, I’d been thinking about seeing my family and friends again a lot, and it had sort of taken my mind off travelling and having fun.
On one of my last days I went to Port Royal with a young Dutch guy. Port Royal used to be the pirate capital of the world, where famous pirates like Blackbeard and Henry Morgan came to spend their money on women and booze. Port Royal was destroyed twice in giant earthquakes and tsunamis, so there was little left to see. Most of the city is at the bottom of the sea now. We took a bus there and visited Fort Charles.
We also wanted to go to a small island to get a suntan, so we asked the local fishermen to take us there. The first one asked for way too much money and we went to ask some others. We saw a small group of Rastas and I asked them how much it would cost to take us there and back. Those guys were high as a kite and barely answered. After two minutes one of them got up and took a jerry can of gasoline to his small wooden motorboat. We assumed that was a yes. The Rasta guy had to climb on to two other boats to get to his. He tried to fill the tank of the engine but the jerry can was too heavy to hold with one hand so he kept spilling the gasoline everywhere while he was smoking a blunt. I was afraid he would set himself on fire but it went well after all. We climbed of the dock and into the boat and he brought us to the small island. The view over Kingston Town from there was astounding. Two hours and a sunburn later, we went back to the hostel.
The last night in Jamaica the whole hostel group went to a street party. There were large groups of guys and not many girls around. All those guys were really stoned and were listening to the loud dancehall music. Mark was chasing a fat girl from the hostel; she had some giant boobs but the rest was nothing to be proud of.
Anthony, an American/Lebanese guy, was not that tall but built like a rock and quite muscular too. He was a great guy, a little shy with the girls but at least he had a plan of travelling around the island. He’s the only one I keep in touch with on Facebook.
All in all, the street party sucked and I felt it was a bit dangerous to talk to Jamaican girls at the party because there were so many groups of poor, nothing-to-lose guys around. Although most were friendly and smiling a few looked angry at our group of tourists.
It took me a while but I convinced Anthony to go back to Pablos, where we had some drinks and amazing boner-raising lap dances again. I went straight from the strip club to the airport and didn’t get any sleep.
It was time for my last travel destination and I had saved the best for last: New York
When I look back at my week of Jamaica, I feel bad about going to Trinidad and Tobago. I should have used those days in Jamaica. My time there was just too short to party in the weekend and go for the beach in the next days. I never visited the Blue Lagoon and Errol Flynn’s island nor did I go to Montego Bay or Negril like I planned too. I would love to go back and stay at least six weeks to explore the island properly. It’s a great place with friendly people, a laid-back vibe and impressive natural scenery.
Chapter Eight – The United States
USA – New York
I was sick and tired of travelling. For the last months I had been longing to return home, to get some luxury and routine back in my life. It all changed when I looked out of my airplane window and looked over New York. A lifelong dream to visit this city had come true. It was fucking NEW YORK!! A city I had admired since I was a little boy and did a class project on it. I couldn’t believe how happy I was to be there and I almost became a bit emotional. New York, the Big Apple, the city were so many of my favorite movies and television shows were filmed. I loved series like Seinfeld, Friends, How I Met Your Mother and Law and Order SVU. I couldn’t think of a better place than New York to end my trip.
The American customs were not as strict or hardcore as I’d expected and after a few questions they let me into the land of milk and honey. An hour later I stepped off the metro. The metros weren’t that different from what I’d been in in dozens of other countries, but it all changed when I walked up to the street.
The smell of hot dogs reached my nose and it was like I had stepped into an American movie. There were yellow cabs everywhere; a big school bus drove by. The hotdog guy was reading his newspaper and I asked him to make me a supersized hot dog. I looked around while I was walking towards the hostel. The city blocks with their typical fire stairs were on both sides of me and in my mind I could see a cop chasing down some bad guy, like I had seen so many times in the Hollywood movies. Fuck nature walks, this was one of the best walks I ever took. All that was missing were homeless guys warming their hands on a fire in a barrel and the typical crazy lady with a shopping cart full of tin cans.
After walking about eight blocks I arrived at my hostel at 120th and 1st. After some flirting with the Brazilian girl working at the reception I went up to my dorm. It was a big, brand-new luxurious apartment and the bedroom had only four beds. I was the only one in the room so it felt like I had made a great deal on this place for only twenty-five dollar a night. The last time I had seen such luxury was probably the hotel in Jakarta where I stayed with Donna or the love hotels I visited in Rio.
After the first excitement I thought about the fact that I hadn’t slept for nearly thirty hours and decided it was best to relax a bit that day. I walked over to the East River Plaza mall and went to Target, one of those giant superstores where you can buy pretty much anything.
In America everything is Bigger and Better, so I couldn’t even find some small bags of chips or small bottles of soda. Everything was giant, including the women shopping there. In the electronics department I saw the same Sony camera I’d bought in Brazil, at half the price. Damn, everything was cheap as fuck here. I bought some food and relaxed the rest of the day.
The following day I walked around all day and took many pictures. I walked across the famous Brooklyn Bridge and back before I headed to the center. Unfortunately the bridge was under construction and it was hard to make a good picture of it.
Half of New York’s names were former Dutch names from back when it was New Amste
rdam: Brooklyn (Breukelen), Harlem (Haarlem) Broadway (brede weg) and Wall Street are the most famous, but also Flushing, the Bronx, Coney Island, Long Island, Staten island, the Bowery, Bushwick, Greenwich, Flatbush, Hempstead and Yonkers. Even the words “dollar” and “yankee” are derived from Dutch. Even more: the first Dutch colonists brought with them a holiday for children named Sinterklaas, who nowadays is Santa Claus in America and the rest of the world. It’s still celebrated in its original form in Holland till this day.
I walked towards Wall Street and bought a SIM card along the way in an AT&T store. The girl who sold it to me was a cute girl from the Dominican Republic. She tested out if my number worked with her cell phone and I asked if I could call her later. She said no and also didn’t reply to the text I send her. Well, it was worth a shot.
Later that day I walked through Wall Street and took the free ferry to Staten Island to see the Statue of Liberty, which was a lot smaller than I imagined.
That night I went out with Clarisa, a Colombian girl I had met on Couchsurfing. I met up with her and a friend named Rafael, also a Colombian. We headed to a bar and had some drinks there.
Clarisa, Rafael, a Mexican guy and I went to a club afterwards, drank some beers and had fun. Rafael and I were looking to talk to girls. The club wasn’t exactly packed with them but I opened a few girls and Rafael was kind of shocked with the ease with which I walked up to girls. He was more of a shy guy.
We were having fun laughing at two guys who had bottle service and had to stay put at their table to guard their bottle. They were getting drunk but without any girls. Later some girl walked up to them and I said to Rafael, “Hey, watch, this girl is going to get some free drinks and then dump the guys again.” And this is exactly what happened.
Rafael was looking at some girls and I told him he should approach them. He got a bit scared, I guess, and I said, “Let me do it for you” and walked up to the (drunk) girl he liked. I talked to her a bit about my Colombian friend and got her phone number to give to him. The girl left with her friends a few minutes later. When I joined with the group and gave Rafael the girl’s phone number he was flabbergasted.
When the club closed and we went for after-drinking food where I talked and joked with some more girls. I was on fire that night.
Although New York is an expensive place to go out, I had barely spent more than twenty dollars that night. We said goodbye and agreed to meet again that weekend.
On Saturday afternoon I met up with a girl from Belarus who lived illegally in New York, and we walked through Central park. It was freezing cold that day and of course I barely had anything warm to wear, so we had to warm up at McDonalds a few times. Later we explored Broadway a bit. It was fantastic; all those billboards and lights were amazing.
We ended up in a Mexican bar where a girlfriend of hers worked, and we ended up with free drinks because her friend brought them over without charging. Although the Belarusian girl was only a six on the hotness scale, I liked her accent, and she was hiding some nice boobs under her sweater. I kissed her in the Mexican bar and we made out all evening.
The problem was that she shared an apartment with some Russians and I lived in the hostel apartment where I couldn’t bring anyone. There was simply no place where I could take her and I decided to bail on her and maybe meet her later that week when I might have better options. She was hesitant when I brought up the possibility of getting together again. She knew I was going to push for more the next time. I really wish I’d had a place of my own that night. For sure I’d have got my flag. Good logistics is half your inner game and bang possibility.
I hopped on a metro and an hour later I was back in the hostel apartment. Rafael and Clarisa had been texting me a few times asking me to go out with them again to a birthday party at a club.
Around one at night I walked out of the hostel again and went looking for it. Long story short, it took me over one-and-a-half hours and lots of cursing to take several metros and find that club.
When I walked into the club it was already three o’clock. I ordered a beer and tried to text Rafael to locate where he was in the club. A blonde girl bumped into me and I gave her a smile. I said something lame and she rubbed her tits on me before walking away. I was like, Damn I screwed that one up, but she happened to be part of the large group of Colombian girls at the birthday party. Rafael and a few others I already knew were happy to see me. The girls were acting crazy and there was a bottle of Aguardientes going around. When I said I’d had it before in Cali, Colombia, the group was impressed, and it was a good way to break in my travelling-around-the-world background.
Half a dance later I was making out with the blonde girl and continued to do that for my time there. Afterwards we all left in taxis and cars for Rafael’s house in Jersey and continued to party there. Rafael, who had lived in New York for seven years, had a house full of big flat-screens and game consoles, a giant lounge couch and some reclining chairs. This guy had it made, in my opinion.
We drank and danced away the whole night. The blonde Colombian girl and I kissed a lot and I was also flirting with a skinny Bolivian girl who was pretty hot. A lot happened that night but no banging.
The house had only one bedroom so I had to sleep on the giant lounge couch with three girls. I was fingering one of the girls, who kept moaning “fuck me, fuck me”, but she didn’t want to go to the bathroom and actually do it.
The next day everyone was hung-over and I took the bus with the four girls back to Manhattan Island where we said goodbye to each other. I Facebooked pretty much everyone there. I will definitely go back to New York when I have the chance – and it doesn’t hurt to make some Colombian contacts either, since that country is high on my list for another visit.
Just a few hours later I met an American girl off the travel website. She was pretty hot, around thirty but still looking very good. She was white, but she came from a mixed bloodline and had some African American features. Her lips were massive and very sexy. We met at Times square and went for a beer in several bars. I spat all my game but she wasn’t biting much. When we walked back to her place, I asked her if I could take a pee at her apartment and she agreed. It’s one of the best ways to get into a girl’s place. (A tip from Roosh.)
She had a nice studio apartment in a better part of Manhattan. I tried to kiss her there but she gave me the head turn. She said she wanted to go to bed but I kept hanging around. Eventually I made it into her bed, and all I wanted was to kiss those luscious lips and have sex with her to make it to number 60 on my 80 girls challenge. I pushed very far with her. She agreed to a naked massage but when my hand went down her panties she was dry as a bone and didn’t get turned on and wanted to stop. She said her mind wasn’t there because she had lost her job and had to move out in a few days.
I went home at eight in the morning and packed my bags to go to Washington for one night.
USA – Washington
I left a lot of stuff and souvenirs in the locker in my hostel room, dumped my bag in the storage and only took some necessities with me to Washington; it was time to shake hands with Obama. I arrived at New York’s giant bus station around noon and I knew it was already too late, but I had slept at the girl’s house so I couldn’t complain about it too much. Bus tickets are cheap if you buy them online but expensive if you have to buy a ticket at the counter on the day of departure. A four-hour ride cost thirty-six dollars.
The bus left and I used my laptop and the onboard Wi-Fi to kill some time.
In Washington I still had to walk quite far to find the hostel. The hostel was filled with Chinese travelers, who are not the most exciting people to hang out with. Most of them were shy and kept to themselves and their computer screens. I shared a two-bed room with its own bathroom with one guy, not bad for only twenty-six dollars a night.
It was getting dark and it was pointless to try and do some sightseeing, so I ate some pizza nearby. It was the largest slice of pizza I had ever seen in my life and I only
paid five dollars for it. No wonder lots of Americans are obese. The food is cheap and comes in giant portions. It was a struggle to eat all of it but I managed to do it – a full stomach will keep you sober at night.
I met up with a guy named Gmac, who like me has his own website about picking up girls. We went to a club named Marvin’s that was quite full for a Monday night. We drank some beers at the bar. We talked about picking up girls and the dating scene in DC, which according to some people is the most horrible in America.
I was still tired from the wild weekend before and not in the mood to chase skirts again, but we gave it a go at another bar where I found out I’d lost my ID card. I’d my small driver’s license card in my back pocket for almost a year now and I couldn’t believe I lost it three nights before heading home. The Dutch government really fucks you over when you apply for a new one. Replacing the card cost about $110. At that time I thought it would be around sixty and even that pissed me off.
Gmac and I went back to Marvin’s, that by now was filled with about 90% black people. I saw three girls in the corner and pointed them out to Gmac, who said it would be hard because they looked occupied with talking. I called bullshit and walked right in there and introduced myself. Those girls were all Ethiopian, and in my mind I was already waving my first African flag. The girl I talked to seemed hesitant and gave me a bitch test, the shoulder turn and whatnot. I had nothing to lose and just kept talking.
Gmac joined us and talked to one of the other girls. It looked like he had a rough time with them. I focused on the sexy girl I was talking to, who now started smiling a bit and told me she lived in New York. We exchanged phone numbers. When I looked around I couldn’t see Gmac anywhere, and the girls went home a few minutes later.
Around the World in 80 Girls: The Epic 3 Year Trip of a Backpacking Casanova Page 48
