I spent a little over a week in Colombia recently, mostly for work. Believe it or not there are now funds catering to large pools of investment capital that are working over previously ignored parts of South America for investment opportunities. Fun fact about Colombia–as part of the ‘war on drugs’ Bush II created the ‘Andean Trade Promotion and Drug Eradication Act’ which gives Colombia, Peru, Ecuador, and Bolivia some pretty sweet deals on trade with the US (there is a longstanding comprehensive free trade agreement between the US and Colombia that Colombia has ratified and the US has not). Fun fact #2 about Colombia–thanks to Hugo Chavez scaring/pissing off the entire oil industry in Venezuela the majors are now sniffing around Colombia as a more or less decent place to do business. As on oil industry guy said to me over beers in the hotel lounge, ‘It seems like every time you bring a new geologist down to Bolivia or Chile they find something. Cali is a short flight from Houston and the Colombians act like they want our money. Seems to me like that’s worth a look or two.’
Most of my time was spent in Bogota and Cali in meetings and company tours but I managed to schedule a stub of about three days in Medellin. Here’s my experience with ‘the scene’ though keep in mind I was only there a few days. Thus it’s far from definitive, just the first impressions and experiences I had.
Medellin (like BKK) is equatorial so (like BKK) it really has two seasons, one where it rains a good bit and one where it doesn’t. Medellin (unlike BKK) is well over 5000 feet in the air, so (unlike BKK) the temperature is moderate and the air is dry year round, with a high of 75-80 and a low of around 60-65 pretty much every day of the year. After fighting through some of the muckiest 95 degree shit I’ve ever seen in New York the preceding few weeks the cool mountain air was heavenly. Avianca airlines runs one direct non-stop to Medellin per day from JFK, so it’s a quick five hour hop if you’re near NYC.
The city was the murder capitol of the world back during the grimiest days of the drug wars. This means that the same coworkers who look at you funny when you say you’re going to Thailand, because they assume you’re molesting children, will look at you even funnier when you say you’re going to Colombia, because they will assume you like to be kidnapped. Luckily for me I was going for work, so everyone just made jokes about how much I’d be worth in ransom after my inevitable kidnapping (answer: very little). In all seriousness, the security in all of Colombia is vastly improved, and I never felt the least bit threatened while I was there. There are certainly neighborhoods where I wouldn’t walk around with my passport between my teeth and a hundred dollar bill taped to my dick, but I would say the same thing about most of Queens and all of the Bronx.
The exchange rate is around 1850 Colombian pesos/dollar. So when I was converting in my head I covered the last three zeros and divided by half. So, 100,000 pesos is pretty close to USD 50.
I am very, very partial to the Latina version of beauty, so I was floored. Colombian women routinely win international beauty pageants and such pageants are a major, preferred past time in the country. The variety is stunning, from girls who look absolutely African or Amerindian to ones with little button noses who look like they should be shopping in a posh neighborhood in Madrid.
I thought the good lord had put his biggest and most luscious asses on the sweet sisters of Brazil, but the Colos absolutely give them a run for their money. If you’re like Sir Mix-a-Lot (and me) you’ll be in bubble butt heaven in this place. As with their Portuguese speaking cousins in Brazil, what was put on the back often seems to have been taken off the front, so this is not about big tits, or at least big tits that are real. Many of the girls seem more than willing to work around that problem. Medellin is so well known for its boob and nose job industry that it’s become a destination for ‘cosmetic surgery tourists.’ No, I’m not making that up, the good doctors of the city are of such a reputation and charge such reasonable fees that American and European girls are going there for OEM upgrades. Bless. There is even a medical treatment visa especially for people going to the country for a nip and a tuck.
There is a vast if not especially creative club scene in a few neighborhoods, most notably in Parque Lleras in the Poblado district in the south end of the city. Most of the clubs are upstairs above open air restaurants and go well and truly until dawn on the weekends. The music is a lot of Latin house, reggaeton, some dancehall, and a smattering of other dance music. I heard only a couple of DJs who impressed at all but with all of that hot Colombian ass shaking I can check my DJ snobbishness at the door. If you go to these clubs and are under 30 (or maybe 35), reasonably good looking, can speak at least decent Spanish, and dance salsa I bet you you’ll be drowning in hot Latin pussy. Sadly for me I tick not one of those four boxes, so most of the local girls out for a night on the town had very little interest in me.
One other thing I will note about the ‘normal’ party scene is that people are not especially friendly to outsiders. I’ve done more work travel than I’ve ever wanted and more leisure travel than most, so I can usually get a few drinks in and start conversations with people. Colombians, or at least the Medellin version of Colombians, tend to go out in groups, get a table, and enjoy themselves. Most bars do beer and bottle service only, so someone drops by to refill your ice bucket every now and then and that’s about it. Not a critique or a complaint, just something to be noted, that locals socialize in a certain way.
The p4p scene seems to be roughly broken up into four groups; street walkers, massage parlors, strip/hooker clubs, and escort services. For starters, keep in mind that prostitution is LEGAL in Colombia, so there isn’t even a nod-and-a-wink deal necessary with the cops, though I suspect they get a cut at some point. Security might be vastly improved, but I’m far too risk-averse to be messing around with a Colombian street hooker while on vacation, so that was out. I’m not YP or ROLLN, especially traveling alone I’m not taking that chance. My first day in Medellin II hit a massage place near my hotel called simply ‘Blue’ and got pretty much the standard MP experience one gets worldwide. I was NOT offered a chance to pick a girl, but assigned one, and the 60 minute massage up front was about USD 15. I was upsold to a covered (my demand, not hers) BJ at the end and paid about USD 55 for it. While expertly, if not artfully, accomplished in retrospect I was scandalously ripped off. I suspect 20 or 25 was the correct market clearing price, but you’re going to pay a newbie/gringo tax on these things sometimes I guess. MP = solid relaxing experience (the basic massage was excellent) where I should have bargained better.
That night was spent out clubbing and drinking, and the next day was spent kicking around the city. That night I hooked up with a guy who was clearly a hardcore monger in town for nothing other than banging whores. He couldn’t speak a word of Spanish and couldn’t even say correctly the name of the city he was visiting (he called it roughly ‘mejadeen’), but he knew all about the hookers. We first hit a strip bar which was surprisingly awful. Girls were not at all hot and were super pushy. This place (like many/most/all? don’t know) had short time rooms attached where you could bang the scary old hag of your choosing. Prices seemed to be in the 60,000-70,000 peso range (USD 30-35 or so, now you see how much I overpaid for my massage parlor BJ) but were not set by the house. To be fair, I was the one who told my new pal that I wanted to hit a strip bar, so it was mostly my fault, but it was a one drink and move on kind of stop. Oh, there were a number of locals offering what appeared to be absurdly good deals on what YP calls disco dust and I prefer to call jazz-salt.
After the strip club we went to a place called Dolce Vita, oddly enough since nothing in it reminded me of Fellini, that is apparently a pretty standard setup all over S. America. It’s more or less like any other club in Medellin, save that all of the girls are working. All of them. Think Q Bar maybe, but way, way bigger and with reggaeton. Part of what’s nice about the setup is that nobody HAS to go home with anyone, you chat up the girls you like and see which one fits the bill. My buddy zoomed in on one girl in about ten minutes and was gone, I shopped around a bit more and finally settled on Diana. I wasn’t sure about the guest policy at my hotel so we went to a local short time hotel that rented in absurdly ambitious blocks of six hours. Price was about USD 20 for the room, USD 70 for Diana’s attentions and she was outstanding. Hot, aggressive, booty bouncing latina sex, two pops in about an hour and we were on our way. I can’t say this was a GFE by any stretch, but Diana sure as hell knew how to fuck.
As we packed up and left I made my first party-mistake of the trip. Do I really dislike jazz-salt THAT much? And here I am, in Pablo Escobar’s very own home town, and god knows I enjoyed plenty of his fine product whenever I could afford it back in the late 80’s. So I asked Diana if she knew where I could get a little, she arranged a deal and I was off. Off drinking hard until about 4.30 AM, fueled the jazz-salt, likely reinforcing many negative stereotypes of aging, wasted gringos trying to dance to salsa music. Sorry you had to see that, paisas.
I woke up the next day with a serious problem. I had a Category 4 hangover, but I had one more vaguely work related thing to attend to. A friend of a friend of a friend had invited me to his house for dinner with his family that night, so I had to be more or less presentable later that day, but I felt like I needed about six margaritas before I could even consider leaving my hotel. I took a cab back to Parque Lleras and stumbled on a bar that was offering a special of three mixed drinks for 15,000 pesos (USD 7.50). Paired up with a pretty good take on a national dish, salty corn soup, this was quite the hangover cure. One of the ways that Medellin is like BKK is that it’s close to lots of fruit and vegetable farming regions (and lots of flowers as well), so fresh fruit juice is all over the place. I ordered a guava juice margarita and they actually ran fresh guava fruit through a juicer for the drinks, which were absolutely fucking fantastic. Feeling as good as possible after pushing it way too hard for a man in my dotage, I headed out to the address of my friend of a friend of a friend’s place chewing serial Altoids to try to cover the tequila on my breath.
Which turned out to be absolutely pointless. Being a clueless gringo I guess I was expecting family dining in the country with about fifty close and distant relatives and then a Catholic mass afterwards, but in fact I could have pretty much been at a dinner with an investment banker on the upper east side of NYC. My hosts were a guy who had gone to Stanford business school and thus spoke English probably just a bit better than I do, and his absurdly hot wife. Their kids were out of town at something like summer camp and they were clearly looking at the night as a chance to meet a foreigner and drink a lot. They were truly delightful people, poured me fantastic Chilean wine, and explained to me more about Colombian history and politics of the past 30 years than all of my research about the country put together had yielded. After dinner my host invited me out to the balcony to smoke a cigar (I don’t smoke), and asked me (presumably now that the women folk were absent) if I liked Colombian women. Of course, yes, they are lovely. He asked if I had met any? I said no, not much time, I don’t speak Spanish, etc. ‘So,’ he said with a big smile, ‘you know there are, well, shortcuts to meeting a beautiful Colombian girl.’ Smoothest pimp ever.
He gave me the numbers of two escort agencies he assured me spoke enough English to arrange delivery to my hotel, and also assured me that my hotel, while posh, would have no problem with a hooker dropping in for a visit. Other than the front desk staff being jealous he said. I was in a pickle. It was my last night in town. Diana had assured me she would be working and she was killer so trying to negotiate and all night rate (sans the jazz-salt this time) was not at all a bad prospect. Then again, judging by the condo, wine, and wife I had just dined with my man had fine fucking taste. I decided try the escort service in the interest of reporting to you, the Mango reading public, the widest variety of p4p experiences I could manage in three days. That trumped the sure bet of Diana.
Went back to the hotel and called the first number. Zero problems. They found an English speaker immediately. Yes, someone right away, the sooner the better. What kind of girl do I like? Hmm. A hot one? Um, athletic, I don’t like fake boobs and I hate fake blond hair, tall is nice but not necessary. Is 250,000 pesos for 80 minutes OK? Sure. Um, I don’t have that much cash, can I pay with a debit card or in USD? No problem, sir, that will be USD 140, please let the desk know you are
expecting a guest.
Less than an hour later, call from the desk that my guest is waiting. Knock knock on the door and I was just floored by the girl they had sent. 5’7” or so, lovely face, dressed slightly tartish not super sluttish, but there were two things about her that were off the charts. First, a truly world class body, if you absolutely MUST have big tits maybe you dock her a point or two, but for me she was nearly perfect. Light tan lines, back dimples, big but firm ass. Seriously, a 9.5 panther on the body front, the missing half point only because she wasn’t Gisele Bunchen. Second, I had never understood the phrase of ‘copper skin’ but I do now. The sex was just absurd. Hot, sweaty, south of the border smashup and, in a phrase a friend uses, she sucked cock like she was poisoned and the antidote was in there. On top of the 140 I gave her upon arrival I found a 50 and a 10 to make it a round $200. She asked if I’d like her to stay another half hour and I said no thanks, I think I slipped a disk somewhere in round 2 anyway, toddle on home dear. But you paid too much. Long story short she stuck around an extra half hour, drank some wine, and gave me a little massage while we watched the world cup recap in mystifying Colombian Spanish. She’s a Messi fan, but her favorite player is Juan Pablo Angel (now of the NYC Red Bulls believe it or not) because he grew up in Medellin and played for Ateletico Nacionel, the team her family supports. Hands down, no doubt, best p4p experience ever. As close as I’ll ever get to an hour and a half of a Victoria’s Secret model trying to remove my life force via my cock.
Various extra notes.
I thought the time was the same as the east coast of the US, GMT -5, but it was one hour earlier, like Central Time.
My friend who couldn’t pronounce the name of the city he was in sang the praises of the Dominican Republic as the best place to go a-whoring in the new world. He certainly ought to know.
Colombian food is excellent, cheap, and served in absurdly large amounts. The further you get from Colombia the greater the drop-off in quality. I had some inedible Thai food, some pretty shaky Italian, just decent French, and quite good Mexican. Stick to what the locals eat, which is true almost anywhere anyway.
I like me a threesome, and while I didn’t try one on this trip there was one odd thing. The girls who _advertised_ themselves as pairs seemed to charge absurdly more than 2X one hot girl. I don’t know if that’s standard practice or if you can negotiate that down, my guess is the latter.
Unsurprisingly for a country with a butt obsessed notion of what makes a hot girl body, butt sex seems to be available for a fee. I’m not into butt sex (that’s where poo comes from!), but if that’s your thing it seemed like a 50,000 peso premium, roughly speaking, and available more often than not.
Cab drivers have a well-earned rep for being potentially violent thieves. My hotel insisted that they arrange cabs for me, which I’m sure cost me a few bucks but was worth the piece of mind. Most cab rides were sub USD 5 in any case.
There is an excellent, cheap metro system (the only light local rail in Colombia) to get around town. There is also a cable care extension that will take you up the side of the hill over the worst slums in town (where Pablo found many of his assassins), but then on to an observation deck that gives staggering views of the whole valley. It truly is a beautiful place.
Colombians are VERY excited to have tourists visiting, and one encouraged me to go back to the states and ‘Tell everyone Colombia is good to visit.’ As problematic as their past is, and as tough as the challenges of the present are, they seem to be a country truly sick of violence and poverty. I can’t think of many places more blessed with resources, natural beauty, and absurdly hot chicks; they have a hell of a lot going for them. I wish them great luck getting it together and I will contribute via hotels, hospitality and the odd whore whenever I can.