I was going to pass on Machu Picchu but the peer pressure was too great. It was an expensive notch:

$75 train ride to the town nearest Machu Picchu
$12 round-trip bus ride to Machu Picchu
$40 entrance fee
$7 rip-off mini pizza in town

That’s fine as I can say I took this picture:

The views were beautiful and I’m glad I went, but the magic of Machu Picchu is less when you’ve already visited Pompeii in Italy. I would have been more impressed if I was a ruin virgin, but as you know I get around. I’m at the point in life where I’m more excited by a nightclub’s interesting bathroom than an ancient stone structure.

Intestinal parasite survivor

It’s time for Bolivia. Please say a prayer for my stomach.

I hopped on a local bus back to Cusco after a visit to the Incan ruins of Pisac. The bus was packed so I had to stand in the aisle, and was faced with the serious decision of whether I should give ass or crotch to the gentleman sitting down next to me. I had to go with crotch because it was the best way I could hold on. Well, after about ten minutes, he fell asleep on my package. I could feel his head on my head. This being one of the top five highlights of my trip so far, I took a picture with my replacement camera (same one as before).

At one point he got up, lifted his head, stared off into space for five seconds and then went right back to my crotch. (They always come back for more.) I wanted to put my hand on his head for the photo but I estimated a high probability of conflict.

On Monday the 200th copy of Bang was sold. The positive response has given me the encouragement to write a sequel in 10 years called “Advanced Bang.” I rarely buy books without browsing through them at the bookstore so it means a lot when someone buys my book sight mostly unseen. That’s trust! Here are two more reviews…

From Roissy:

So when I read Bang I already understood not only the concepts of pickup from meet to bedroom, but many of the specific openers, qualification tactics, and conversational routines, and have spent many nights out applying those lessons and improving my skills. But after reading it, I was surprised to find that Roosh has brought a welcome dimension to the study of game — elegant simplicity and clear-headedness, as well as some new tactics I was previously unaware of. This slim but powerfully condensed book lays out the foundations of game — from female psychology to the winning male attitude to the sequence of pickup from approach to sex — in a concise, detailed, and readily-accessible manner that can get any guy on the ground and running right away without spending weeks of time and thousands of dollars on a vast library of pickup material. The occasional flashes of droll humor also make it an entertaining read.

From CurledUp.com:

This book is exactly what it says it is: A dating guide for someone who only wants to shag chicks without commitment. (Thus the title, don’t let its simplicity confuse you like it did for me with the musical Rent.) Those of you who are looking to live this lifestyle and would like another viewpoint on how to do so, or else need a bit of help being the best player you can be, this book is for you.

Thanks to everyone who has bought it so far.

I have parasites attached to the wall of my small intestine, sucking away my nutrients and causing unspeakable bathroom adventures. I saw a doctor and she prescribed me something to defeat the flagellated monsters that are dampening my already mediocre South American experience. The only side effect is urine that has a neon yellow appearance. It’s like I’m radioactive!

There are a couples ways to get giardia, but this is how I think I got it:

1. Some guy took a monster dump and wiped his ass. He did not wash his hands, which now contained fecal matter.
2. He cooked up a meal, poking and prodding said meal with his feces soaked paw.
3. He served that meal to me.
4. I ingested his feces.

What’s good about South America is that when something good happens, like you find an internet connection faster than dial-up or a clean toilet bowl not dirtied by someone with the same condition as you, it brings you that much more happiness. Still, I’m going to need a little more than being able to watch a YouTube video.

I was only going to stay in Lima for a couple nights but the nightlife sucked me in and I ended up staying for a week.

Tuesday. There is a mall built into a beach cliff called LarcoMar that has several clubs, including Bartini, a house venue that is most similar to Spank back in D.C. The girls were unfriendly and no one danced until after 1AM, maybe because the DJ’s refused to spin any Ministry of Sound-like anthems. My buzz was killed due to gunfire outside the club. $3 cover includes a free beer. 1.5 vodka shots out of 5.

Wednesday. A $5 cover gets you into El Dragon with a free Pisco Sour. A much nicer crowd danced to popular house, rock, and some 80′s and 90′s, the best mix I heard in Lima. A bit of a sausage fest but the girls were cute and wanted to be talked to. I got a kick out of partying until 4:30AM on a Wednesday night. 3.5 vodka shots out of 5.

Thursday. Sargento Pimienta (Sargent Pepper) is a warehouse with speakers where all the young, very white Peruvians go to party. The old school music is the type that would clear most American dance floors (Celebrate, Getting Jiggy With It, etc), and there was a horrible one hour set by a wannabe Eminem rapper who has only mastered saying “Uh” and “Wooooh!” in the microphone. A breakdancer got on stage and shouted “Fuck Bush,” but gave props to Los Angeles. Cover is $5. 1.5 vodka shots out of 5.

The night ended at Eka, a lounge bar that serves more as a date venue than a pick-up spot. Downstairs is the “Factoria” where Death Speed Trance was being played at an insanely fast 148 beats per minute. The four people who were on the dancefloor looked like they were having seizures. I’m pretty confident the DJ killed small furry animals as a child. 0 methamphetamine hits out of 5.

Friday. Gotica is a mega-club in Larcomar, with an astronomical $16 cover (by Peruvian standards) that keeps out the gringo riff-raff who rather drink cheaply and talk sports in the hostel bar.

It’s not easy to work the club solo due to its impersonal size, but it had the most beautiful girls I’ve ever seen in my life. Some were friendly, some weren’t, but it’s quite a feeling to be standing with your manly beer and looking down at this sea of fine exotic women. Believe me when I say I savored the moment, and I would have taken a picture for you with my second disposable camera had it not been stolen while I danced. An Israeli who introduced me to the club summed it up nicely: “It’s hard not to hook up with a girl there. The only problem is you’ll have a girl early but you’ll be thinking if you can get something hotter.” 5 vodka shots out of 5.

Saturday. Gotica.

Everyone has bad things to say about Lima, starting with the depressing fog that permanently blankets the city during winter, but it’s been the highlight of my trip so far.

Last Tuesday night I went to Bartini, an unfortunate name for what is an okay house club in the very wealthy Miraflores area of Lima.

At around 2AM I was leaning against the bar near the front of the club, keeping my eye on a drunk bodybuilder who earlier fell on his ass and tried to blame me for it, when I heard pop pop. My body jumped and I turned to the front door—the sound came from right outside the club. No one seemed to care so I wrote it off as nothing serious but then five seconds later two burly bouncers braced themselves against the door. A third guy came up behind them and pulled out a gun with his right hand and cocked the barrel back with his left. The bouncers let him out and he disappeared. I was about 10 feet away.

There is no “Is this really happening?” hesitation when you see a gun. Right away I got down against the bar and a lot of other people did the same. I was scared but not pants urinating scared. There was a circle of people around me so I selfishly thought I’d be fine if gun shots came inside. Everyone was calm and quiet, and the DJ kept spinning. No one jumped out the windows.

After three minutes the coast seemed clear and I walked towards the back of the club. I stood there and watched as people resumed drinking, smoking, and laughing, like this happens all the time (it actually doesn’t in this area of Lima). I looked to the girl next to me and asked, “¿Que paso?”

She made the universal gun sign with her hand, grinned, and said, “Bong bong.” I left a few minutes later in case the shooter returned to finish the job.

Jewcano opened up shop at The Cannon And The Cutlass.

I talked to a girl who showed me a stack of napkins with notes written in Spanish by Ecuadorian men, mostly waiters. She couldn’t understand them so I translated. They were all along these lines:

It was nice to meet you. You are very pretty. I hope I can see you again.

juan@lovesgringas.com
Juan

My napkins have no words of affection, just email addresses, mostly of European men. Girls who travel don’t realize their experience is very different than a guy’s. Unless the girl is busted, which unfortunately happens, she is getting ten times more attention than me. I know some of that is bad attention, but you only see a smile on a gringa’s face when she’s being spun around on the salsa dancefloor. And disappointment on the native’s face when she doesn’t want to make out.

(Side note: girls who don’t get much love back in the States are treated like queens by South American man. It’s very common to see an American 5 walking arm-in-arm with a decent looking guy. Many of these girls end up staying for much longer than they had planned.)

When crossing Ecuador’s border into Peru, I was a little confused on where to get my Peru entry stamp. I walked towards an Ecuadorian border agent to ask him, but before I could open my mouth he shooed me down the road with a hand-sweep motion. When I returned with my stamp an American girl was having the same problem. This time the same guy waited for her to come to him, let her ask her question in bad Spanish, and then very politely talked to her, smiled, and pointed down the road. Multiple this by a dozen interactions a day and I imagine the overall experience would be quite different.

Expectedly, girls here refuse to admit that they are getting different treatment than me. (They remind me of the girls back home who think they will physically peak past 30.) Next time a girl asks me why I don’t think South Americans are “wonderful” and the nicest people in the world, I’m going to point to her vagina.