All posts by Roosh

Re: Poor Fucking Dog

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

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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.

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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.

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

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 www.travelandleisure.com — 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.

Link.

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.

:laugh:

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.

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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.

Salta Argentina Nightlife

Salta is the farthest up you can go into Argentina without seeing any inbreeding with the less attractive Bolivian race. With the eye of a sociologist and a liver of an alcoholic, I studied Salta’s nightlife for almost one week.

Wednesday. I was lucky enough to meet Keith, an Irish guy committed to going out more than me. We go to Salon VIP where they played reggaeton, salsa, and cumbia, apparently like most other clubs in town (two or three American hip hop songs are thrown in, always including the American classic “Yeah” by Usher). Coming from Bolivia this club was paradise, with cute girls averaging 17-24 years in age. A group of four Argentine English teachers approached us and kept us busy until the club closed at 5am. Similar to a problem I had in Lima, we debated if we could do better, but when you roll in at 3:30am you don’t have much time to work the crowd. $4 cover with free gigantic beer.

Thursday. I tagged along with a few French twenty-somethings to Line Out, a club way out in the suburbs of Tres Cerritos. This was the first night that I got to witness the horrible game of Argentine guys, who seem to be more concerned with proving to their guy friends they are macho than actually getting girls. An opener I saw a few times is pulling a girl’s hair (big surprise—it never worked!). Argentine girls, especially the young ones, are not familiar with indirect game, which means there is nothing stopping me from cleaning up in Argentina if I run into ones that know English and don’t mind my hairiness. $3 cover.

Friday. Two Dutch girls and I started in a club called Mao Mao, a place where 40-something Argentines come to get laid (on Friday night anyway). “Everybody Dance Now” played alongside Madonna as I stood in shock watching the Argentine version of my parents grinding with each other on the dancefloor. We stayed there for 45 minutes, mostly to wait for our next destination to get good since it was only 2AM (things get started late in this country). $4 cover with free drink.

We end up in Metropoli, a club packed with young people dancing to reggaeton and cumbia. It’s here I learn that it’s efficient to go after gigantic groups of girls because there is always one bound to speak English, though it’s usually not the cutest one. On this night I couldn’t drink because I started a course of cipro to kill remaining stomach issues that started in Bolivia, but it didn’t matter much because the girls themselves don’t drink like they do in the States; they have their free drink then just dance the rest of the night. Being sober in an Argentine club is easier and more acceptable than at home. $5 cover with free drink.

Saturday. We have a winner! Club XXI (Veinte Uno) is on Balcarce, the Adams Morgan-like strip where all the gringos and young Argentines go. There were three girls for every two guys, most of them in their early 20’s. Excellent house and reggaeton set the mood. It doesn’t get much better than this, and while the girls were of average friendliness, a little effort goes a long way into finding one that is both nice and cute. With another Irish clubbing partner, I’m finding that they are the only people who like going out (maybe because they all have drinking problems). A dozen or so people in my hostel didn’t go out on Saturday night because they were “tired.” $5 cover with free drink.

Sunday. Back to Salon VIP for their pre-Columbus day bash. Not liking the block long line, me and my Dutch wingman decided to bribe the bouncer with a 50 peso bill (about $16 US). Hilarity… uhhh.. ensued, but we did get in with high fives. Quality took a massive hit from the night before and there was some discomfort when I ran into those English teachers from my first night out, but this was the most lively night yet. The girls here were the least friendly of all the nights even though they were the ugliest, but I’m starting to think it’s a response to the aggressiveness of the guys. It was so packed that the only way to get through is to hold up your full beer like a torch to clear a path. For the first time ever I saw music video mixing (perhaps with these).

A strange policy of Salta’s clubs is that you must keep the same glass for the entire night or pay $0.75 for another one. You must also pay if you try to leave the club without a glass. What this means is that you have a bunch of guys walking around with empty cocktail glasses in their jean pockets. As a relatively wealthy gringo I am unaffected by the puny fine so I just pay the charge repeatedly throughout the night.

While Lima had more head-turners, Salta has very good foundation of cute girls in the 7 and 8 range with few fatties. I could live here for the girls, so I can only imagine how much better it will get as I move closer to Buenos Aires. Also, when someone needs a light, they don’t ask if you have a lighter, they ask if you have fire. It reminds me of The Fifth Element.

Beefy Gas

An American, Australian, and Englishgirl walk into a hotel made of salt.

It started in a Toyota Land Cruiser with a driver, a cook, and a few gringos, including myself. We paid for a 4-day tour through the southwest of Bolivia, a place where paved roads, gas stations—and what you might recognize as modern civilization—do not exist.

We stayed in a salt hotel on the third night, a building literally constructed from the salt of the huge Uyuni Salt Plain, the highlight of our tour. We bought some bottles of Chilean red wine, got some candles for when the power went out, and started drinking after dinner. There was nothing else to do.

I’ve written about cockblocks before but the one that happened here stands out for being both brutal and embarrassing. While our lovely cook Sonya tried her best with the meals, there is only so much she can do without running water. Very quickly into the tour I was producing a large amount of digestive gas that everyone in the SUV knew about. It tended to smell like the previous night’s dinner, and since we had paper-thin steak the first night, my nickname became “beefy gas.”

The salt hotel had a hostel vibe to it with communal tables. Gringos from other tours joined us with their bottles of wine and we all shared pictures from the exact same places. A 40-year-old Swiss lady to my left practiced her English on me and a Brazilian man to the left of her bragged how Rio is the best place in the universe. Next to me was a very cute German girl. Bolivia is not blessed with attractive females so she was the best I’ve seen in two weeks. We started talking.

The Australian guy and Englishgirl had been traveling together for a month. I assumed they were banging every night, with hair pulling and all that, but in fact she was teasing the guy and using him as a travel bodyguard / buddy, more or less. He was spending the bulk of his two month trip in South America trying to have sex with a girl who openly talked of banging other guys.

Discussion of my beefy gas disappeared by this point, so boy was I surprised when the Englishgirl said, with the utmost concern, “So how’s your beefy gas doing?” Everyone heard. Less damage would have been done if she accused me of giving her genital herpes. My comeback was silence.

What a sad story if it all collapsed because of my beefy gas, but the German had a boyfriend, one that she has found was “much harder to leave” than she thought. I was just flirting, having fun, and I can’t say I was making much progress. But still, this cockblock got to me. I was steaming, sitting there on three hard blocks of salt. I had to say something.

“Did you bring up my beefy gas because you just weren’t thinking or you wanted to make me look bad? This is the first time you see me talking to a girl and then say something that any normal person would agree is pretty embarrassing.” The Australian looked uncomfortable.

Blah blah blah, “I just wasn’t thinking,” she said. I pushed a little bit more because I wanted her to at least feel as uncomfortable as I felt. Then, the truth came out in what may be the first time in human history that a girl has told the truth behind her cockblock.

“Maybe I was a little bit jealous.”

The things I’ve done to get into a girl’s pants—the guys I have cockblocked. I can’t get on her for worrying I might bang some other girl besides her. We were now friends, because honesty is a big part of what friendship is. I mean, when was the last time you told someone you took an extra hour to call because you wanted them to think you were busy?

An American, Australian, and Englishgirl walk into a hotel made of salt. They left nine bottles of empty wine bottles on their table before going to sleep. They next morning they saw the damage: underneath the salt was now red. It looked like a murder scene.

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Uyuni Salt Flat

Going Out Alone

Approaching girls here is less automatic and fun than it is at home. Regardless of how much alcohol is in me, it just doesn’t feel the same. It’s almost like a chore.

Like any other complicated skill, approaching is very mood based. The better mood you are in, the more social you feel, the more likely you will not only approach but approach well. This is why in Bang I wrote to get yourself in a room with girls if your state is especially great. For most guys feeling confident and looking good increases the chance of the approach, but I’m learning there are other factors as well. Two big ones:

1. Wingman. The best nights I’ve had on this trip was when I went out with a cool guy. He doesn’t have to be good looking but he has to be funny, smiley, reasonably dressed, and most importantly, a flirt. Most of the guys here have zero game so with their hiking boots they feel like mannequins for a generic hiking company. Plus, wingmen actually serve as emotional support so you can laugh off the rejections and keep pushing without getting frustrated or upset (“Damn what’s her problem—hey check out that girl over there!”).

2. Music. Music is great at putting you in a good mood, but if you don’t like it then it has the opposite effect. I can’t tell you how much I hate salsa music and the salsa / house hybrid that goes along with it. I just stand there, waiting for it to change, but even a a good 15-minute set of music I like does not do much for me in a 4-hour night. I like reggaeton though (I think I’m the only white person who does).

The reason I go out alone is because I refuse to go to bed early just to avoid feeling uncomfortable. My nighttime options shouldn’t be determined by anyone but myself. If you find yourself having to go out alone, the best thing you can do is to make friends with a group as soon as you get in. They will serve as your comfortable home base. If not then you will enter anti-social mode and the alcohol you drink will just make it worse.

I’m in some mediocre club alone holding a can of warm Quilmes beer. It’s a tough crowd and the salsa will not end. I’m leaning against the bar, not having talked to anyone except the bartender for 45 minutes. But I see a few cute girls. I just have to ask myself one question: do I want to get some or not? If not I’ll leave and stop wasting my time, my liver. Otherwise I go to that group of five girls, with one very nice brunette, yell “Hola” loud enough to cut through the shit that is playing and ask if they speak English. Either I suck it up and work with what I got or go jerk off on the hostel toilet.

This is going to be so easy once I get back home.

Commenting Change

I’m bringing back anonymous comments somewhat. If you are already registered you can continue logging in.

A couple of my friends that I know well in real life stopped commenting because of registration. It may be too restrictive and cumbersome. But it sure did keep out the haters!

Maybe I miss the haters. :sob:

The Incan Ruins Of Cuzco, Peru

My second contribution to the Volette travel blog is up. It guides you through the most interesting ruins of Cuzco, Peru (with pictures). You can read it here.

I found that I liked Machu Picchu a bit more after writing and thinking about it.

Two Month Update

Now that my major health problems have passed, the trip has become “okay” with fun highlights combined with many hours in internet cafes.

1. I’m having really bad nightmares. They are usually about me getting physically hurt or maimed in some way.

2. Bolivia, the poorest country in South America, is the limit of where I can travel. The hygienic practices of the people are the worst I’ve ever seen, and it trickles down into the restaurants and those cooking the food. The main ingredient in every Bolivian dish is oil (most likely recycled) and I haven’t gone more than a couple meals without finding a bunch of little hairs in the food.

3. My stomach will never be the same: it has been in a permanent state of discomfort (cramps, gas) for weeks. No one makes it through Bolivia with their stomach unscathed, not even travelers from other South American countries. I’ve been living on a diet of pizza and candy bars to minimize symptoms.

4. It was either the the best or worst idea to start in the Ecuador, Peru, and Bolivia. I made it but there was a moment when I didn’t think I could continue. That would be when I was in the hospital with an IV in my forearm (salmonella).

The next month will find me in Salta, Argentina for a stop to view the girl mummy and then on to Chile for a couple weeks. I think the worst is over.