Head falling off.

Trip Start Sep 28, 2011
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Trip End Ongoing


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Flag of Colombia  ,
Monday, February 6, 2012

After the sleep of champions, I take a wander into town, with the express interest of finding a place to fix my cracked laptop screen.  Now I'm not going to lie to you, apart from having no laptop, the reason I'm a week behind on my blog is because I've been getting larey every single night.  Apart from Tuesday.  Tomorrow.  I'll tell you about Tuesday when I get to Tuesday.

For now I'm just content to get my bearings, buy a new razor and shave the hideousness off my face.  I love days like this.  When I return to the hostel mid afternoon, I've purchased a whole load of new supplies, from mouthwash to guitar strings, and I'm safely putting my nightmare sail behind me.

In the evening I arrange to meet my Canadian friend and partner in crime.  I've not seen Mitch since our bar brawl cohorts in San Juan Del Sur, so it's nice to catch up and go for a few beers.  Hopefully we won't get into as much trouble this time.  Monday nights are usually pretty quiet, but we do manage to find a nice stretch of bars with some activity.  Mitch can speak Spanish, so that would stand us in good stead should we meet some nice girls.

Here a little word on the opposite sex is required.  I've never been anywhere in my life where I have fallen madly in love more times than I have here, just walking down the street on a quiet evening.  My head has twisted off my neck and rolled down the hill.  Colombian women are beautiful.  Out of this world.  Way out of my league.  They take care of their appearance, they're slim, have not damaged themselves from years of boozing, and their make up and hair is stunningly perfect.  European (UK) women should take a leaf out of a Colombians' book, especially with the make up.  Every girl here, without exception, could teach you a thing or two about how to apply the slap.  Without the trowel.

There isn't such a gulf between young and old either.  Back home there are so many attractive girls aged eighteen to twenty-three odd.  Then for some reason (drink and diet?) it all goes downhill and they vanish into their thirties.  Not so it seems in Medellin.

Of course I have to be careful about sweeping with an enormously large brush, but when I think of the general standard of women in a club in Scotland, compared to what I see here on a quiet Monday night, you just can't help it.  Of course the same can be said for men, but I'm not looking at them at all.

Which is interesting considering Mitch and I have managed to wind up in a gay bar.

Where I maintain my 100% record of kissing girls.

Go figure.

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