(Download the PDF file for all five parts by clicking here.)
Karl said it was the Americans who ruined it for all gringos. “In the past two years there have been boatloads of Americans coming to Colombia to have sex with prostitutes. You can go on the internet and see it—sites devoted just to fucking them like which brothel to go to and who will let you do it in their butt without a condom. The families here know what’s going on and now they’re very hesitant to let their daughters date a gringo, because they think we’re all like the Americans. Are American girls that hard to fuck?”
“No actually I think they’re pretty easy,” I said.
“So why are millions of American men fucking prostitutes here and pretty much anywhere that’s poor?”
“Well you need game to have sex with American girls. It’s like a special key, and once you have it it’s somewhat automatic. Lots of guys never learn it or they’re old and fat and don’t care anymore.”
I had been in Colombia for only two weeks. The first ten days was in Bogotá and now I moved into a sort of gringo boarding house in Medellín. Most of the residents were single guys who were in Colombia either for sex or drugs. There were a few older men in their 40′s who would tell me about the prostitutes they were banging with such excitement that I think they expected me to give them a high five or a pat on the back.
Karl, who was Swedish, was staying in the room next to me. He was approaching a year in Medellín, well past the date on his entry stamp. “I’ll just pay a stupid fine,” he told me. He had blonde hair and baby blue eyes, a deadly combination in South America that would get his foot in the door more often than not. It didn’t matter that he was short and had to balance on his tippy toes to reach the top cabinet in the kitchen—girls were drawn to something their country could not produce. Unfortunately my complexion is the perfect shade of brown that allows me to fit in just about anywhere on the American side of the world, and unless I open my mouth girls think I’m a local. I’ll only stand out in Africa, Asia, or Iceland. Even Sweden, Karl told me, is stocked full of Turkish immigrants who work in döner kebab restaurants and look just like me.
My fifth night in Medellín was a Sunday. I finally got over a case of laryngitis and was ready to go out and flirt. I didn’t get much action in Bogotá so the pressure was building to get my Colombian flag out of the way before it became a big deal.
I asked Karl if there was a good place to go out on Sunday night. Two hours later we were in a cab on our way to a small hip-hop club called Karma. Sunday was their busiest night.
“I don’t want to spend a lot of money tonight,” Karl said as we got in line.
“Yeah neither do I.”
“You want to go in on a bottle of rum? It’ll be cheaper that way.”
“How much is it?
“48 thousand.” $24 dollars.
“Yeah sure.” I figured my half of the bottle would last me the entire night. We went inside and made our way to the bar. The club was packed.
From the few nights that I went out in Bogotá, it was clear that girls hang out in big groups of guys, and according to Karl it’s because they can’t afford their own drinks. They need to go out with someone who can buy them liquor.
“A lot of these guys are drug dealers so you have to be careful,” Karl said.
“What does that mean?”
“Just don’t talk to any girls with guys who look mean.”
“But all the girls here are with mean-looking guys.”
“Yeah that’s a problem in this place.”
In Colombian clubs there’d be several girls who would stare at me, but when I’d walk up to say hi a random guy would pop in from nowhere to listen to the conversation or butt in. Isolation was difficult. The guys were very protective of the girls and the only option I saw was to approach the guys first. Maybe compliment their ubiquitous graphic t-shirt or something.
The rum was sweet and the hip-hop music made it go down my throat easier. Even when the ice cubes in my glass melted I drank the rum straight, warm. It didn’t take long to finish my half of the bottle. I lost Karl at some point and later found him outside smoking a cigarette while texting on his phone. “Bro the girls are hot, but it’s hard to pick up here,” I said.
“Yeah you don’t pick up in the clubs—you pick them up on the internet and then you invite them with you to the club. Buy a bottle and have a good time.”
“Plus the guys… I don’t think they like me.”
“Yeah because you’re making them jealous. When a guy looks at you twice it’s because he caught his girl checking you out.”
“What happens if he looks at you three times?”
“That could be serious. Be careful because I almost got killed one time.”
“It was one night that I was so drunk.”
“Isn’t that every night?”
“No shutup.” He looked up from his phone and took a drag from his cigarette. “I talked to this girl who was with a big guy and even when he got in my face I kept talking to her. He wouldn’t go away and I said, ‘What are you going to do?’ He said he was going to take me outside and stab me in the neck. I said, ‘Let’s go bitch.’”
“I was really drunk.” He laughed and took another drag. “The bouncer saw what was going on though and pulled me out while the guy was yelling and pointing at me with his hand shaped like a gun. I waited outside 45 minutes for him to come out but he never did. I got into a cab and went home. What they do is call the sicarios—assassins—who live in the hills. They ride to the club in their cheap motorbikes and wait for you to get into a taxi. Then they follow you and when you stop at a red light they pull alongside the taxi and start shooting. And you’re done. Sometimes they give money to the taxi driver to help pay for the damage.”
Thing is Karl didn’t learn his lesson. When we went back inside the club he kept trying to talk to guys who obviously didn’t want to talk to him, and I had to keep pulling him away. The bouncer kept his eyes on us. I realized that Karl was the type of guy that could get me killed, without doing it on purpose of course.
I went to the bathroom and when I came back Karl had a fresh bottle of rum and was drinking straight from it. He could barely stand. The bouncer eventually had enough when he started talking shit to another guy and kicked us both out. Karl’s bottle had disappeared by then and I think someone stole it, since he told me never to leave bottles of booze laying around in a club.
On the cab ride back to the house my head started to spin. Both of us ended up puking.
CONTINUED: Part 2Tweet Follow @rooshv
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This is so fucking Colombia right here.
i’m betting that Karl became a mule
The Rookie’s last blog post: Dates: So 2000-and-Late.
Why is this lame story TBC?
Third! You’re a fucking moron! will read the post now…
I wonder if those mean looking guys understand just why so many women are going out with them. wouldn’t the obvious indifference to them be a clear give-away that they’re doing something wrong? Guess drug lords can be beta’s too.
Hmmm, that actually sounds interesting… I hope it’s not just another four chapters about how a girl actually talked to you. Is it four chapters about how some badasses talked to you but how you outsmarted them and you all went your separate ways because you are so savvy?
Also, I can’t believe I beat the autistic clown G Man who’ll post some tough internet thug “steez” soon.
Please tell me you guys puked on each other like that One Family Guy Episode.
So what you’re telling me is I could never go to Columbian club, I’d be dead in 20 minutes.
The Rookie would be dead in 5 minutes, he’s a pretty mother fucker
another dummy attempt to look like a tough guy. they wouldn’t kill a gringo for smth like that of course, but getting your skinny ass kicked over some hoes you didn’t even get to fuck… that’s totally worth it!
Virgle, you can go anywhere don’t worry, they’ll shit their pants looking at you. Besides, he’s exagerrating the danger, those guys won’t fight gringos unless they’re trying to rob you or you’re really stupid (which Roosh and his buddy clearly are)… calling assassins from the hills on Roosh?? LMFAO!
I enjoyed this story very well written, your wing can make or break you in the field.
Solo’s last blog post: Update–Scalleywag Central aka The most Awkward date….
damn, that is the typical Colombian story about the mixed sets!
It is a really serious hindrance for gaming in Medellin, but maybe it is better in Bogotá – what do you reckon, Roosh?
Strangely silent on the g man front here…he must have come to the realization he is fooling no one.
Sounds like the dude has a death wish.
Great story!! lookin’ forward to reading the subsequent medellin stories.
This dude, has got to learn to control his alcohol…
yeah I heard about some of the brothels there…wish i went. some 40 US guy was hitting it daily..
$60 i heard and the girls were supposed to be 8/10 minimum. Full rub down and sex.
“Strangely silent on the g man front here…he must have come to the realization he is fooling no one.”
Nah he’s meeting with some Russian ex-KGB or sitting at the Waldorf Astoria planning a heist. Or maybe he’s suited down at the French Riviera with his heater and his zippo while the Superfly soundtrack plays in the background
Or maybe he’s reading some more travel and restaurant guides and listening to rap songs so he can research how to make up more bullshit. Or maybe he’s just ‘swooping’ his dick while he looks at ‘fly girls’ on the internet.
I really enjoy all the posts. I just have one question…….
what is wrong with being forty and trying to pick up girls. I mean, James Bond does it.
I am forty-one and i am single. i go out and try to meet girls from ages 27 – 35. Is it bad to be forty something, look good, have some game and try to meet some ladies.
Just reading some of Roosh´s posts i would think that once you hit forty the game is over……
Someone better call 007 and let him know that he is past his prime.
in your 40′s with some cash…fit and grey hair…some b-yatches druel for that shit!
There’s nothing wrong with being 40 and trying to pick up chicks. There is something wrong with being 40 and bragging about banging hookers like it’s a major life acomplishment.
yes. i completely agree. picking up a pro is soooooooooo lame. all you got to do is pay.
if a man can get in there with a girl and take the hits and get a kiss or something because she likes you and you have won her over.
that is the real deal for sure. paying for sex is loserville.
here in brazil i see all these italian guys walking around so arrogantly. Wow…….you can pick up a prostitute…..good for you. loser.
[...] – “The Medellin Diaries“, “The Medellin Diaries (Part 2 of 5)“, “The Medellin Diaries (Part 3 of [...]
There are two types of girls in Medellin
1. The pre-pagos, with breast implants, surgery and so on (these hang around the drug lords, simply ignore them as you’re messing with some escobar wannabe mistress.
2. The normal everyday ones, most of them VERY SEXY!! these are the best but since they are normal they expect a relationship outta you…. (many are very pretty and if I lived in Medellin I probably would date one of them in a heartbeat!)
I forgot to add a lot of pre-pagos that get rejected by drug lords (dont make the cut), turn into being pre-pagos for gringos!
They expect sex for money, gifts and so on.
Once again, stick to the normal ones.
Roosh, I laughted my ass off. I’ve seen guys like Carl over and over again. I visit my girlfriend who lives in a small town in the Philippines. All the expats who have made there home there are sort of like Karl. I don’t think there is drugs there but they are all alcoholics. I first thought I could learn a lot from these guys, but found out they are too gone to teach me anything. They drink daily and have different spots in town they go to at different times. I have watched them grow in fatness over the two years I’ve been going there. At about 5 they hang out infront of the college where the girls are leaving and watch them. One of the guys got married and was so drunk, the priest had a problem marrying them because he was so out of it from the bachaelor party the night before. All the guys are like Karl, they care a lot less about pussy, there addiction is alcohol. I’ve forgotten the exact price but if you go to a local bar, beer is cheaper than bottled water.
I guess all these 3rd world countries that have cheap alcohol, and, drugs are all the same.
women. These countries are magnets for these addicted guys!
Roosh hopefully you come up with some other stories of your travels that are this good. If I missed them please point me to them! Take care. =
[...] could suck so hard after all I had heard about it. I understood why Karl and so many other Swedes high tail it to South America, a place where it’s far easier to get a more beautiful and feminine [...]