No Kilts.

Trip Start Sep 28, 2011
1
135
333
Trip End Ongoing


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Flag of Colombia  ,
Thursday, February 9, 2012

My laptop is meant to be fixed today, so with a bit of luck I can get back on top of my blog, and there won't be too many entries like yesterday.  Still it means you're not getting too bored, and you can scan through a few lines and get back to whatever really important things you were doing, while I'm living it up in Colombia.

I jest.

Not really; get it up ye's...

As luck would have it I bump into Mitch and discover my 'puter isn't ready.  What a surprise.  I've put it in for repair in this crazy mall where every store is about electronics.  I honestly have no idea how they make any business.  I do find a sex shop though.  Laptops and sex toys.  Medellin has it sorted.

We decide to take the metro into town and have a wander around.  Here we discover just why this place is so clean, as Mitch is nearly arrested for eating a bag of crisps on the platform.  He's not only told by the security guard, but a member of the public, and receives a fair few deaths stares for his trouble.  These people are clearly proud of how tidy their city is.  At least from what we've seen anyway.

Medellin centre isn't much to look at.  It's no Paris for example, but it's streets are bustling and bursting with life.  It's interesting to see the city spread out on the hillsides from the metro, which for the most part is actually a good way to get a feel for the place.  The guys want to do a bit of shopping, and it's a relaxed afternoon even though we're dodging hard sell vendors and shop assistants.  If I want to buy something, I'll go to the shop and buy it.  Be prepared to get pressured into parting with your cash.

My laptop is still not ready upon return, which again I'm not really surprised at.  He tells me to come back tomorrow.  So I'll come back on Saturday.  I'm getting the hang of the work ethic down here.

Apparently tonight a pleasingly large amount of local women descend on the town to meet gringos.  I opt to wear the kilt to give myself the pea-cocking edge, and yet, dear reader, I am shocked to report, that for the first time ever, I'm not allowed in any of the pubs and clubs.

It beggars belief.

Totally astounded.

Still can't quite believe it.

Ordinarily I would be welcomed with open arms, in jest, in mirth, in admiration, awe and wonder.  It's been known to create business for bars I've been in, and punters have a talking point.  "Remember that guy in the skirt..."  Without sounding like it's egotistical, it's good for the bars you're in.  It creates a good atmosphere.

Yet here are a few halfwits on the doors of clubs not letting me (and the twenty odd folk I'm with, eager to spend dollars) into the club.  The reason?  I'm showing legs.  It's classed as wearing shorts.  I've never been so affronted in my life.  I make the observation that there are fifty odd women in there all showing legs too, but it doesn't wash.  Someone tries to say it's a national holiday in Scotland.  We pull the international relations card.  We try everything.  Eventually I have no choice but to swallow my pride, head back to the hostel and change.

It wasn't even worth it.
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