All posts by Roosh

Valparaiso, Chile

My third contribution to the Volette travel blog is up.

Class is not a word I’d use to describe Valparaiso’s nightlife. I had the unfortunate experience of walking into a club called Cosmonova where the owner at some point came up with the idea to combine aspects of a nightclub with a strip club. It took the appearance of a naked Chilean woman for me to understand why there were 60 men forming a semi-circle in a dark room next to the bar. Nearby was a room of ladies being entertained by what I imagine to be a hairless man, stripping Chippendales-style for their pleasure. Once the show was over and the salivating hounds were released on the much smaller female population, I fought my way to the exit. Talk about warming up the crowd.

At risk of tooting my own horn, I think I captured the city with competence.

For more on Chile, check out my Chile travel guide.

Three Months Update

The trip is getting better as designed but an unexpected cost is that I lost a lot of energy and health traveling through the dregs of South America. Peru and Bolivia fucked me up the most. To combat a softening body I started hitting the gym ($3.50 for a day pass) and eating more protein.

Speaking of the gym, I’ve gotten to know a Canadian ‘roid monster who claimed he shagged 20 girls in 30 days in Rio. He told me to keep my beard trimmed to look more European and prepare to do very little work to get laid like a rock star. Sounds a little too good to be true if you ask me but he’s not the first guy to tell me such things.

My stomach is getting better but it still growls like a bear on most days. In fact I’ve named it Bear. Eating yogurt helps but I think I have entered the chronic stage of whatever I got from Bolivia. On the days I go out I avoid complicated foods so it doesn’t end up cockblocking me. At least it’s not getting worse?

The big question of the trip is if I should visit those three small countries in South American that no one ever visits (Suriname, French Guinea, Guyana). There’s nothing there that I specifically want to see but it’d be cool to say I’ve been to every country in South America just for bragging purposes. Guyana is a little rough though.

Chile + beach + big rock + sun

It’s Going To Be Hard To Leave (Conclusion)


Guys get laid by either mostly luck or mostly skill. It’s luck if you switch yourself with another random guy and sex would still occur. That means you got the girl at the right moment. There is nothing wrong with that but you will you be unable to consciously duplicate your effort. Otherwise, you did something that created attraction and sexual desire and it was only you she wanted. And then you try again the next night, with a better than average chance of succeeding.

The gringos I’ve met that have a sex story got it by luck, plain and simple. Only one Israeli guy has been the exception. I wish not so I could learn some new things but the typical story is a gringo goes to a bar, a horny 5 or 6 approaches him, and he goes with it and gets some if her bedroom is far enough from her parents room or if he finds a hotel that doesn’t mind a couple without luggage. Only here have I heard “…and then she just kissed me.” If you are so oblivious to a girl’s attraction to you that she has to make the big move then I know you’re struggling for girls back at home and that’s the reason why you enjoy traveling through third world countries so much.

Standing with the three very pretty Argentine girls next to my hostel door, I knew I couldn’t get any further. After nearly four hours with them, I accepted defeat and settled for green light’s phone number. Then, to validate the confusion and ambiguity I’ve been trying to explain to you, the sister asks me for my cell phone number. Whatever, this old man needed sleep. How do these people have so much energy? The next day I seek out the Argentines working at the hostel to explain to me what the deal is, but they are as confused as I was. With two more months here I’ll have time to figure things out on my own.

Two days later she responds to my text message a typical twenty minutes after I sent it. I hate text messaging more than anyone but the definition of awkward would be me talking in Spanish on the telephone. She! used! a! lot! of! exclamation! points!!! but I loved it. I like chasing girls and putting in work from start to finish, much more than a random club make-out that ends once the cab drives away. I’m sweating bullets trying to translate my game into Spanish but with the hostel chef’s help the messages are going and coming. If it’s not difficult and doesn’t have an awesome payoff, it wouldn’t even be worth thinking about.

I was hanging outside on the sidewalk with a Canadian who was digging into some watermelon. Right by us walks a girl in gym clothes, as close to Western perfection as you can get, more attractive than any female I’d see back at home in half a year. But there are no hoots and hollers, no obvious stares. She is very beautiful, but she’s not rare here, and at night the club will be full of girls like her. Yeah, it’ll be hard to leave, but harder not to come back.

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It’s Going To Be Hard To Leave (Part 1)

If you Google “Argentina models” (or just “models”), you will see nothing better than what I see every day and night. It’s a parade of beautiful girls. As one guy told me, “It’s like they’ve discovered how to engineer hot girls here.” I’ve become so desensitized to it that the only girls I notice are the ones who really stand out—the ugly ones. It’s so brutal to be unattractive here that moving to Chile or the United States would be your only option.

Having a round, proportional ass is such a given that there is no need for me to check them out anymore. But I look anyway to see how nice it is. You know those cheesy beer commercials with the party of very pretty girls? It’s better than that. Very few girls are overweight and all of them—even the tomboys—have long long hair. The only women that have hair shorter than me are the rocker wannabes or women over 40, but even that is rare because apparently older women here believe is still looking like a woman. Maybe I’m overhyping things but it really is that much better than back home. When you ask someone how long they’ve been in town, the answer is usually three days. Here in Cordoba, Argentina I’ve gotten several answers approaching two months, and chances are you’ve never heard of Cordoba. Es increible.

Still, many have complained about how “tough” Argentine girls are, but I wonder if that is just beta-speak for, “They don’t approach me like the girls in Peru.” The girls here will not encourage you, will never approach, will not make any sort of eye contact, and will do everything in their power to make it seem like they don’t want to know you. It’s so bad that I’m confident the word unapproachable came from Argentina. But it’s just a front. Once you crack it, and it’s really not that difficult, you are home sweet home.

In Chile I was advised by a native in a club bathroom (not in a stall) to dump my bad Spanish and just open in English to be even more different and exotic. I go up to a group and say something in English or just, “You guys speak English, yes?” It opens better than anything else I’ve tried. In Argentina, depending on the club, it takes only a few approaches to get “in” with a group. It’s the same amount of work you’d have to put in a U.S. megaclub, but unlike the U.S. there are no morbidly obese or warpigs in the group. They’re all good. I tell the gameless gringos I meet here that that’s all they gotta do is speak English but even while drunk they are too scared to approach. They just stand there, getting drunk alone while bobbing their head to house music I know they don’t like, whining about how they can’t wait to get to Brazil. I often have to ditch them in the club because they just fuck things up.

On Saturday night I went to a club called Dorian Gray that surprisingly wasn’t gay. I started talking to three 8’s. Two of them were fraternal twins, with hair almost touching their ass, and all had bodies that would break my buddies necks back at home. I wished I brought my camera. It is very difficult for any reasonable man to choose between the three. While the problem is other countries is “Can I do better?”; the problem here is “Which one do I pick?”

Girls usually go out in large packs so the biggest problem is indeed the picking. When all of them are giving you an equal vibe and they are all on the same level, it’s hard to make a wise decision. If you pick poorly then it will be all for nothing because not only will the girl who liked you go cold because you didn’t pick her, but her friend will too since she knows her friend liked you. Argentine girls are too proud to be second best. So right now I’ve adopted a mediocre, passive strategy of not picking. I make progress on the group and just wait until one of them gives me a green light. Sometimes the green light comes late, but it always comes. With four girls iin Salta I didn’t know what was going on until one of them asked me to sit with her in the front of the cab at the end of the night. It’s so ambiguous that I’ve seriously contemplated just asking “So which one of you likes me the most?”

The club closed at 6AM so we hopped in a cab to the after-hours club called “The Poor Devil.” They wouldn’t let me pay the cab fare. Finally, after almost three hours, the green light comes: one of them grabs my hand and walks me to the bar. BOOYAKASHA! She buys me a drink and refuses to let me pay for it. And I do mean refuse—I picked up her to physically move her away from the bar but she still insisted. She’s a 22-year-old student. That sort of thing never happens to me at home. Maybe this is how Argentine girls are tough?

They walked me back to my hostel a few blocks away, but then the two other girls started hovering like helicopters. Isolate or die, or as a buddy of mine used to say, divide and conquer. Now the other sister is on me talking to me about hanging out. Are they just being friendly? But I’ve never held hands with a lady friend before. And why did she keep asking me how long I was staying in town? The sun is out now and I’m so exhausted I can’t think. Green light still looks good in the light. It’s 7AM but on the streets instead of seeing professionals in suits or storekeepers tending shop you got dozens of drunk guys singing and running on the streets playfully hitting on the girls milling around. It was bizarre.


Ten Years

In medium sized hostels I have been called the “party guy.” Because I am not party anything that gives you an idea of the kind of hippie who travels to South America. They think someone who who goes out on Friday and Saturday night and sleeps off the hangovers until 3PM is a novel character.

Once word gets out that I like to leave the hostel after the sun sets, I get asked if I’m “going out tonight” about every fifteen minutes. And then there is the “Did you meet any girls?” No I stayed out for six hours watching futbal. Even though most gringos are younger than me, they come across like they “did” the going out thing (everyone here tries to brag about how they started going to pubs at 13), and are now more enlightened because they rather stay in to drink cheap red wine in the kitchen with an obese monster and some creepy 45-year-old creepy Danish guy who you know is a pedophile.

This is how I look at it: What can I do now that I can’t do in 10 years? Get trashed at some shitty club hitting on 21-year-old girls. Shit I don’t think I can even do this in 2 years.

Postscript: Thankfully as I get closer to Buenos Aires my partying nature is revealed for what is really is: tame and weak.

Santiago Chile Nightlife

It’s difficult to explore nightlife is cities that are both prosperous and large because everything is so segmented. There’s the weird house clubs, and there’s the expensive lounges, and there’s the area where the grunge kids go. Therefore I don’t know how representative my two nights in Santiago were.

Friday. A horrible misunderstanding sent me and a few gringos into The Circuit, a gay house club in Bellavista. The gringos followed my stupid ass in even though there were warning signs like guys wearing shirts two sizes too small and a complete absence of females in line, all because I didn’t want to “walk all night to find a club.” Once inside it was too late. It was fun for a half an hour until I ran out of gay jokes (e.g. “Hey look it’s so crowded that those two men are forced to hug tightly). Several men were wearing Abercrombie & Fitch shirts, which should tell you all you need to know about that brand, but disappointingly no gay guy approached me beyond some deep stares. I don’t know what makes a large gay scene but I imagine Santiago has it because this club was packed. The house music was actually very decent. $10 ass rape cover.

We then went into a heterosexual house club called La Feria nearby but I think it had only four more girls than the gay club. The rule so far in South America is that the clubs have hotter girls than what you see on the streets (somewhat opposite of the States), but that turned out to be not true in Santiago. Quality sucked and the DJ played music that had a lot of beeps. $8 regretful cover.

This was my most expensive night out in South America ($30), and probably the worst.

Saturday. We take a 20 minute cab ride to Plaza Ñuñoa, a hard to pronounce hot spot that only had sit-down bars. Another 20 minutes walking landed us in Kmasu, a decent club playing popular music, including a lengthy hip hop set featuring Dr Dre and Sean Paul. Halfway through the night I conclude that Chilean girls are unattractive; homely faces with pale skin and a culture of obesity that rivals that of the States means the few lookers know they are lookers. The homely girls are quite friendly though. We all got trashed at the reasonably priced drinks and stayed until 6am. The girl I ended up talking to wasn’t a drinker so I had to act sober like I just got pulled over by the cops. On the other hand, the American girl with us got so drunk she passed out and needed to be carried back to the hostel. USA! USA! $8 cover.

Santiago doesn’t have Salta’s weird all-night glass policy, but it does have an interesting way of buying a drink. You have to wait in an orderly line at the register, pay, and then take your receipt to the bartender who makes your drink. It’s actually a very nice first-come first-serve system instead of having to wait next to a mob of people snapping their fingers and waving paper money to get the bartenders attention.

Overall, Santiago was a bust.

La Feria

For more on Chile, check out my Chile travel guide.

Re: Poor Fucking Dog

Here’s the beer drinking dog working on the last drop of Cristal beer.


Me and two other German gringos clamored for a photo as locals in the line of a club watched on, disturbed by the behavior of individuals from the Western world.

I was the only one who got a clean shot!

For more on Chile, check out my Chile travel guide.

Poor Fucking Dog

I saw about 400 feral dogs a day in Chile but this is the only one worth a picture.


Towards the end of the movie Ghostbusters 2, a lady’s fur coat touches Vigo’s slime and becomes a monster or whatever and scampers down the street. That’s almost like how this carpet freak looks like when walking around. I imagine when it lays down to sleep you can’t tell which side is its head and which its ass.

Postscript: Since writing this I’ve met a beer drinking dog who was also picture worthy.

10 Common Travel Scams

I thought I had advanced street smarts when coming to South America, but then I got pick pocketed on my third day. Here’s a list of popular scams I’ve learned about.

1. The pick pocket. This is usually an organized team effort. You are first marked as a tourist and a pocket is identified for picking. Success depends on you being distracted away from the pocket being picked, and this is usually done by a physical bump or shove. Or you do all the work distracting yourself by walking into a crowd at an outdoor celebration. Sometimes you are discreetly marked with chalk beforehand as a signal to nearby pick pocket accomplices.

Defense: Reach for your pockets when you get bumped. Don’t walk into crowds and at the minimum don’t put anything valuable in your back pockets.

2. The bag lift. Either sitting in a park or outdoor cafe, you notice keys or change on the ground. As you pick it up, the backpack you left a couple feet behind has disapeared.

Defense: Don’t take your eyes off your bag. Everyone who had their bag snatched says they only looked away “for a second.”

3. The bag slash. Usually on a crowded bus, someone slashes the outside of your backpack while you are distracted with some random commotion. Once slashed, someone sticks their hand in hoping to find something valuable. You don’t realize your bag has been slashed. Variation: Instead of slashing they just open the zipper and reach inside.

Defense: Put your bag in front of you when taking public transport.

4. The mustard spray. Someone sprays a condiment around your waist as you are walking outside. A very polite accomplice with toilet paper then offers to help clean up the mess but to get it out all you need to do is take off your backpack. You never see it again.

Defense: Walk with the mustard until you get to a safehouse.

5. The fake police. This is a particularly dangerous scam operated by organized gangs that involves an English speaking confederate who befriends you in a public space like a bus station. A “policeman” arrives to do a random check and finds out your new friend has contraband, and demands you come with him to the fake police station where you tied up and relived of your credit cards and their PINs. Sometimes you are held for days as the robbers withdraw the daily maximum amount from your accounts. Variation: You are in a cab and someone wants to share the ride with you. Almost immediately, a fake policeman pulls the cab over and discovers contraband on the new passenger. The key to this type of scam working is you making the decision to voluntarily follow the fake policeman.

Defense: Ignore a lone officer by pretending you don’t understand him. Don’t follow any policeman unless multiple vehicle backup arrives and it’s obvious they are real. Two Austrian tourists were victims of this scam in Bolivia and were killed.

6. The bus overhead grab. Once you fall asleep on the bus someone either sifts through your bag in the overhead or grabs it and gets off at the next stop. Nearly 100% chance of happening on overnight buses in countries like Ecuador and Bolivia. A variation is grabbing things from your jacket / fleece pockets as you sleep (while you are wearing it).

Defense: Keep your bag on your lap or check everything in underneath the bus, where it will be safer. Putting your bag on the floor is a poor defense if the robber gets in the seat behind you.

7. The taxi runaround. If you are coming out of a bar or club at night piss drunk, a crooked cab driver will disorient you by driving around. Then he pulls into an alley where an accomplice with a weapon relieves you of your money and clothes. This is an opportunistic crime because the cab driver selects people who he thinks wouldn’t notice being driven in the wrong direction.

Defense: Don’t get so trashed that you don’t know the route home. Speak up if you think something is off to let the cab driver know you won’t be an easy victim. If you are certain he’s driving you into a trap, get behind his seat and go apeshit. Sitting next to a cab driver is a poor defense because accomplices can get in the backseat.

8. The bar tab. An English speaker befriends you and tells you about this really great bar down the street. You get there and see two girls at the table next to you raise their glasses in salud after opening an expensive bottle of wine. Your tab comes and turns out you bought that bottle of wine and several more for the many mediocre ladies in the bar. Burly bouncers won’t let you leave until you charge an exorbitant sum to your credit card. Primitive variation: You are led into a “bar” (abandoned building) where you are immediately relieved of your goods.

Defense: Don’t follow someone you just met on the street into a bar or club unless it’s a really hot girl.

9. The found money. You are walking down the street and a man walking next to you finds a large roll of cash on the floor. He offers to split it with you. Out of nowhere an accomplice enters and claims it was his money and there is a significant amount missing. The man who found the money pays up and urges you to do the same to avoid serious trouble.

Defense: If it’s too good to be true…

10. The switcharoo. A guy on the street is hawking cheap cameras that seem legit. Vendor is long gone by the time you realize you bought a box of rocks. Sometimes even stores will give you a box that is already opened.

Defense: Examine the goods.

Even if you know every travel scam, you will still be defenseless against a mugger with a knife or gun, or someone who randomly karate kicks you in the head. This usually happens at night where you are not carrying things like passport, jewelry, credit cards, or your Canon digital SLR camera. It’s best to give up the goods when attacked unless you have a weapon of your own and want to battle.

Bottom line: Be skeptical of people and use your brain but don’t but don’t let paranoia rob you of what could be a sexual experience with a local. Not everyone is trying to rob you.

Oh Is That How It Happened?

The last place I want a cute Irish girl into me is in a club in Argentina. It was a weekend night and we were the only two from our hostel that went out. Since she was a drinker, hooking up would be as certain as a Chilean from Santiago eating a hot dog piled disgustingly high with mayonnaise and a mix of other condiments that even an American wouldn’t touch.

I didn’t want to pull the trigger too soon because the girls in the club were nicer. Do you go for the sure thing or roll the dice and risk a silent jerk in the bottom bunk underneath some guy from New Zealand? I couldn’t decide so I did the lean against the wall thing where she danced in front of me. I don’t know if you have seen an Irish girl dance to house or reggaeton, but it was quite embarrassing—for me! I kept my options open.

About one hour in, she asked if I could hold her coat while she goes on the main dance floor. I said no and placed it on the floor. She said, “If you want to find me, you’ll find me,” and did a little head flick and off she went. I laughed at this attempt at game and started talking to the three Argentine girls next to me. They were extremely nice since they saw me with the Irish girl, who came back in four minutes, maybe three. She made it seem like she’d be gone for such a long time that reuniting with her would be on par with winning a rigged carnival game.

It’s around now she makes a very strong effort on this here, but I wasn’t surprised because she earlier admitted she likes “Persian guys.” I find it amusing how there’s a significant number of white girls with no body hair or pigment who have a type that can be best described as “hairy beast.” Something about diversifying the gene pool I guess.

This isn’t about what happened that night, but what happened a day later. The Irish girl makes friends with a Scottish bird and they tried to get me to come out. I declined because I was leaving the next morning. The Irish girl said, “Oh come on it’ll be fun.” She looked at the Scottish girl and continued, “We went out to this club last night and I gave him my coat and got lost and danced all night long.” That would be like me saying, “I fucked two supermodels in the bathroom and it was grand. They didn’t want me to use a condom so I didn’t and I don’t regret it one bit.”

She wasn’t lying, just viewing the night through the mess of her female brain. If a girl is not being chased or in control, minor alternations to reality will be made to make it so.


I jerked off. It’s a long story.

I Miss DC

About 60,000 people responded to the online survey — at — which ranked 25 cities in categories including shopping, food, culture, and cityscape, said Amy Farley, senior editor at the magazine.

For unattractiveness, Philadelphia just beat out Washington DC and Dallas/Fort Worth for the bottom spot.


The picture is coming together. For years men have been told to that DC has a excess of single women and now we know why. Let us never speak of DC having a great singles scene (#10) again.

Democrats and Republicans alike debate (and flirt) over drinks everywhere from intimate lounges to rowdy sports bars, while the capital’s monuments and museums make for romantic backdrops when lit up at night. With a tantalizing mix of transplants from all over the U.S. and abroad, you’re sure to make some interesting—and hopefully high-powered—connections.


Moths… Flame

I sat next to a Brazilian guy on the 23 hour bus ride to Santiago, where we stayed at a hostel that had a guitar laying around. He didn’t bring this up on the bus but apparently he studied music theory, has been playing guitar for 13 years, and knows most popular American rock songs, including lyrics.


While he played I sat quietly with my hands on my lap. To the girls my physical presence was disturbing his acoustic treatments.

Toilet Travel Rules

I remember when taking a dump used to be something that needed very little thought, but in South America you’ll need a sound and effective toilet strategy. Here’s mine.

1. Flush before you sit. Not only to clean smears left by your dorm mates but to make sure the toilet isn’t clogged. Sometimes you know it’s clogged but you have to go so bad that you decide to deal with the repercussions later (actually you let the cleaning lady deal with the repercussions). I took a memorable dump in Bolivia in a broken toilet bowl that was still there one day later.

2. Flush often. Your log will not make it down. I repeat, your gigantic shit log will not make it down a South American toilet. I’m not saying chop it up with a stick but if you know a log is coming then access the toilet in a more discrete manner so no one knows you fucked everything up. Otherwise just keep flushing until it goes down. I clog toilets about 25% of the time, which makes every shit the possible highlight (or downside) of my day.

3. If you’re a guy, protect your penis head. Don’t let it touch the toilet bowl because god knows what will infect your hole. Either cradle your package with your hand or lay a little toilet paper curtain in front of it. The method I select depends on my mood and how long I estimate the shit will last.

4. Pay attention to the toilet paper. While most hostels give you toilet paper that has the consistency of elementary school construction paper, often times one side will be softer. Use this soft side to avoid the abraded anus (no big deal since it heals in a day or two). If you start seeing blood on the toilet paper then it’s probably time to buy your own toilet paper.

5. Time your dumps to the maid cleaning schedule. They usually clean the bathrooms in the afternoon (1-2PM) while the gringos are doing whatever the Lonely Planet tells them to do. There is nothing like being the first to take a massive shit in a sparkling clean bowl. If you travel to South America as an evening shitter like me then just hold it overnight one day to put yourself on an afternoon shit schedule.

The dirtier the toilet bowls, the dirtier the stomachs, the dirtier the country. Peru and Bolivia are big winners here, with bathrooms that look like it was play time for kids with diarrhea water balloons.