Aussie Rules and Queen's English

In this blog, your author learns a few more languages. The Aussie Rules version of English and the Queen's English are two very distinct and different languages from Yankee English. At times, it was hard to understand these foreign speakers, but in time your linguist mastered these tongues. Unfortunately, he never was able to decipher Irish or Scottish.

To begin with, the Aussie Rules

Talkin' Bout Jessie's Girl:

One of my best mates is a real cunt. He used to play footy at uni. But even though he acts like a real joey, he is a good bloke. A lot like you Yanks. He is a mongrel cunt that always has a mongrel erection to fuck mongrel girls. He is hell for leather to slay a dragon or two. He has rooted some real meat axes. Normally, my mate will go get some beans, have some nice tucker, get pissed, and then root a mongrel cunt. He has rooted heaps of them. Fuck man, it's fucked. But he likes to root. So he roots. Full on, mate. He gets a fair few girls, but fuck all hot ones. Never the tip top ones. Usually, they are so mongrel that he has to use a double franger with Tiger Balm.

If you couldn't understant the previous dialogue, you haven't traveled with an Australian. Particulary our Aussie friend, Jess. He is a non-stop ball of energy with a zest for knowledge (and girls), a self-admitted kindred spirit with Steve Irwin (The Crocodile Hunter) who is always chasing dangerous animals and hunting for exotic fruit, and an enthusiastic story teller with a manic way with language. Sadly, after a month of traveling with one of the coolest guys I have ever meet, we parted ways with him in Medellin. This dialogue represents the almagamation of just a sampling of the many things Jess said that needed translating. But after hanging with the always-fired up, always excitable Jess, I can look back and say that, in addition to speaking English and Spanish, I now speak Aussie, which is a different language altogether.

Australian - English Dictionary

Beans - Money, cash
Bloke - Guy, dude
Cunt - Guy, girl, dude, fella, good person, jerk, asshole, dickhead, prick, bitch, bastard.
Fair few - A lot
Franger - Condom
Footy - Football (soccer), rugby, Aussie Rules Football
Fuck all - Not much, none
Full on - All out, 100%, really good
Get pissed - Get drunk, wasted, shit faced
Heaps - Lots, A lot of, Tons, Shit tons
Hell for Leather - Going really fast, hell bent
Mate - Friend
Meat axe - A meat head, big guy or girl
Mongrel - Big erection, ugly girl, crazy guy
Root - Fornicate, fuck
Tiger Balm - An Icy/Hot like- substance
Tip Top - The best
Tucker - Food
Uni - University
Yank - American
Double Franger with Tiger Balm - Putting on one condom, slathering it with Tiger Balm, and then putting another condom on over that. The theory is that if the top condom breaks, the girl will react (negatively, I imagine) to the Tiger Balm and the guy needs to carefully put on another condom. Because the Aussies go to Southeast Asia a lot for the Thai hookers, and the Thai hookers are known for a) occasionally, to many startled Aussies surprise, being men, or b) having LOTS of STDs, this is their means of having peace of mind.

So, that first dialogue may read something like this:

One of my best mates is a real cunt. He used to play footy at uni.
One of my best friends is a real good guy. He used to play rugby at college.

But even though he acts like a real joey, he is a good bloke. A lot like you Yanks.
But even though he acts like an idiot, he is cool. A lot like you American guys.

He is a mongrel cunt that always has a mongrel erection to root mongrel girls.
He is a crazy dude that always has a boner to fuck ugly girls.

He is hell for leather to slay a dragon or two.
He is hell bent to screw a few ugly girls.

He has rooted some real meat axes. Normally, my mate will go get some beans,
He has screwed some real big chicks. Normally, my friend will go get some cash,

have some nice tucker, get pissed, and then root a mongrel cunt. He has rooted
have a nice dinner, get drunk, and then fuck an ugly girl. He has screwed

heaps of them. Fuck man, it's fucked.
lots of them. Man, it is crazy.

But he likes to root. So he roots. Full on, mate.
But he does it. Truthfully, dude.

He gets a fair few girls, but fuck all hot ones.
He gets gets a lot of girls, but no hot ones.

Never the tip top ones. Usually, they are so mongrel that
Never the best ones. Usually they are so gross that

he has to use a double franger with Tiger Balm.
he wears two rubbers slathered in Icy/Hot.

God, I love the Aussies!

And now, on to the Queen's English

The English may have invented the same language that we Americans speak. But often, I don't think it really is the same language at all. But first...

Maybe it is because they are a bit confused about their identity. Are they from the British Isles, The British Commonwealth, Great Britain, or the United Kingdom? Not ONE English/British person could accurately explain to me the difference between these geo/political designations. I had to google it.... Politically, England, Scotland, and Wales are Great Britain. The actual country is Great Britain. Don't tell this to an Englishman, a Scot, or a Welsh, but technically England, Scotland, and Wales are NOT countries. Add Northern Ireland for the United Kingdom. Add the southern Republic of Ireland and you have, geographically the British Isles. And to get the Commonwealth, think of all the old colonies of Britain, like Belize, Australia, and Canada.

Back to language.... To begin, their pronunciation is entirely different from ours. Where there are ''R''s they don't pronunce them, and where they shouldn't be, they add them.

For example, WATER is said, Wa-uh. Hard T's are never pronunced either. So they would ask for a Bah-uhl of wa-uh (a bottle of water). Then they take the ''R'' they removed from words and add them to other words that end in ''A'', so that they have ''an idear what Americar is like''.

I can't tell you how much I enjoyed a young Englishman sing the Team America song:

''Americar, Fuck Yeah!''

The Scots are the only English speakers to roll their ''R''s. So for them a Girl isn't a Girl but a Giddle. Sitting at a table with Scots and English can be a bit confusing. Do I add the ''R'', drop it, or roll it.

Being understood by other English speakers is a lot of work.

And den you trow in dee Irish, who I tinks don't pronunce der ''TH''s dat start words. For example:

''I tink my wife it tirty tree'' - I think my wife is thirty three.

It is all very maddening.

Grammatically, Brits use the word ''have'' in the way we use ''do''.

American English: Do you have a car? Yes, I do.
British English: Have you a car? Yes, I have.

And then there is the vocab.

British English - American English Phrasebook:

Fancy a fag? Would you like a cigarette?
Yes that would be lovely. Yes, I would like that.
I reckon my car got knicked from the carpark. I think my car got stolen from the parking lot.
Sod off, that is bolloks. Fuck off, that is bullshit.
We shagged a fortnight ago at halfnine. We fucked two weeks ago at 8:30.
We were on the piss. We were drinking.
I reckon we were a bit knackered. I think we were a bit tired.
He took off my knickers to proper bugger me. He took off my panties to actually buttfuck me.
I'm canny knackered so I will have a kip. I am quite tired so I will take a nap.
I need a rubber. I need an eraser.
A.B.C.D....W.X.Y. and Zed. A.B.C.D.....W.X.Y. and Z.

And that, folks, wraps up today's English lesson. Too bad learning Spanish isn't this easy. Or fun. And the weird thing is this:

I originally moved to Spain and Costa Rica to teach English. I never imagined I would end up learning it.

Fight Club

In this blog, your resident hypocrite spends an entire blog contradicting himself as he wraps up his last days in the land of flowers, cocaine, and fake breasts - Colombia. To that end, he wants to make it clear that he had his nose in NONE of those things.

Now that I am back in Costa Rica, I can look back and say that Medellin, Colombia, is one of the best cities I have ever been to. It felt safer than any other city I have been to in Latin America. It was set in a beautiful mountain valley. It was clean. The prices were amazing. $2 for a great meal. 40 cents for a beer. And these were legit prices. I usually hear, ''oh it is so cheap here or there'' and by the time I get there the prices are similar to American prices. Not here, though. These were the real deal low prices. One guy we met at the airport just built a 3000sq foot house for $25,000.

The people were friendly, proud of their city, eager to talk to foreigners, happy to practice English, patient with bad spanish, and my personal favorite, extremely good looking.

In many ways, Medellin reminded me of Madrid (but with a way nicer climate). The styles were very similar. Eurotrendy, a bit flamboyant, and very stylish. The people even looked a like. It was obvious that, among the wealthy Medellin crowd, they had preserved their Spanish ancestry very well. It seems to me that the wealthy Spaniards have kept their heritage at the top of the food chain in Colombia for the past 400 years. The young, wealthy Colombians are a very atractive race of people.

It is safe to say that the girls are the hottest I have ever seen. And of course I dropped the ball and didn't take a single picture. At the Bogota airport yesterday Clint and I saw a girl that ranks in both our ''Top 5 Hottest Girls I Have Ever Seen'' list and so we tried to take her picture. Unlike the very approachable girls in Medellin, she was kinda weirded out and said that we couldn't take her picture. We thought she would be flattered. She thought we were stalker gringos. Maybe it was because we stared at her for 30 minutes trying to work up the nerve to ask her for the photo. Who knows?

Our hostel was in an area with trendy boutiques, funky bars, and pricey restaurants. The hostel itself was one of the best I have ever been to. Called The Casa Kiwi, it is owned by a young American guy who went to school at Boulder. And like the other hostel owners I have met, he seemed to thoroughly enjoy his life. His career is to hang out with cool travelers from all over the world. And I don't think he is doing bad financially either. I am going to give serious consideration to buying a hostel.

And when I do, it will be like the Casa Kiwi. It is a total boys club. Since there aren't many women traveling Colombia yet, it is a great hostel to meet really cool dudes (mostly from Australia and Ireland, which is great because they are typically the best travelers). There was a pool table, tons of couches, a huge flat screen panel TV, and a selection of movies that was totally kick ass - guys movies like Reservoir Dogs, Snatch, and Anchorman. It was a clean place with great amenities and an atmosphere conducive to meeting people. When you wanted a beer or a pop, you just took one out of the well stocked fridge and marked it to your tab on the honor system. It made it feel like home.

Medellin is mostly about the night life. People hit the clubs hard and then hang out in huge parks buying cheap beers from venders. On one night, we took a cab ride out to a suburb to one of the coolest clubs I have ever been in. Tables were set up around a dance floor, so u could sit and drink or dance the night away. The waiters were dressed like transvestites and the waitresses were dressed like 1950s diner waitresses who had been shipped from the George Jetson future.

Every 45 minutes or so, they cleared the dance floor and put on a show. One show was this huge Spider-Dragon puppet and a bunch of women dressed like metallic Medussas dancing around in a way that can either be described as Dancehall Trance or Drunk White Guy. Another show was a bunch of gay men dancing frantically, at once a high energy routine and also one hell of a dry hump.

Off the side of the club was huge museum. It featured hundreds of dismembered dummies in an orgy of subtly painted genitalia. The club itself had decorations everywhere of breasts and cocks and vaginas and weird dogs made of aluminum foil. Try as I might, the place is indescribable, and unfortunately for you, you can't see it as I have because once a month they overhaul the entire club and change the decorations, the musuem, and the shows. The crowd was young, wealthy, extremely attractive, and very Colombian.

So I spent at 2 hours dancing with a 104 year old ugly old lady who had spent the last 20 years living in Tampa.

Ok, she was only in her 50s (is there really a difference?!), but how is it that in the land of latina hotties I end up dancing with a lady my mom's age? I know Bridget was happy, but come on.

On our last night out took us to a few other clubs. When we left the first club, we had the police called on us by the bouncers because we left before they could confirm we had paid our tab (we had), so we jumped into cab and took off. After striking out at another club that was a real sausage fest, we couldnt find a third club that had been recommended to us. I went up to a group of young Colombian guys and asked where it was.

One book, about the most dangerous places in the world, said Colombia was famous for people getting drugged by drinks that people give them, getting kidnapped in ''fake'' taxis, or being lured into the seedy underworld by people posing as friends.

These guys didn't know where our club was, but they offered us the drinks they were drinking and said we could go to a better club with them that was aways off by taxi. So of course the four of us split up and jumped into three cabs with the nine of them and where off.

And nothing dodgy happened. I was by myself with three Colombian guys and had nothing to worry about. One of the guys was the touchy-feely type and was always patting my back or putting his hand on my thigh. This didn't bother me until they all made a big deal to point out to me that we were in the gay zone while I had a stranger man's hand halfway up my thigh.

When we arrived outside the massive club I told one of the guys I had to piss. He took me to the wall and started to urinate in front of 100s of other people. ''This is Colombia man, this is how we do it''. I happily joined in and sword fought him a bit.

We partied the night away in the huge warehouse. It is very Colombian to not have a dance floor, so we danced in the small walk areas between the tables full of people drinking from their bottles of booze. It is also very Colombian to just buy the entire bottle from the bar and then buy cokes and make your own drink.

As we were leaving the club, a young thuggish type guy, his ultra hot girlfriend, his ultra hot girlfriend's ultra hot mom, and his friend, accused Clint and I of calling his girlfriend a Chickenhead. I was drunk enough that I didn't remember the previous two minutes. And while I was pretty sure I didn't call her a Chickenhead, and neither did Clint, there was a chance that we had said something like ''holy fuck you are hot''. Clint, who was so drunk he could only see out of one eye was standing from a distance, oblivious of the hot water I was in as the group accosted me. First they accused me and then they pointed to Clint and accused him, which makes me think they were just targeting gringos. In English and Spanish they accused us of talking shit to them, and in English and Spanish I said, ''no way we said that. We might have given you a compliment, but we aren't here to start trouble.'' After one of them went and brought Clint over, he apologized as well, even though he wasn't sure what the hell they were talking about. Clint and I both realized that Colombia isn't a place to be Billy Badass. Who knows what guns or knives or gangs are backing these guys up? And even in a ''victorious'' fight, what would the Colombian cops do? Spending time in a Colombian clink isn't my idea of a good time.

Eventually, the group backed off us from our repeated apologies. After they left us, and I was a bit spooked, I went and talked to a cop just to tell him what happened. Then we found Jess and another cool Aussie named Sean. Sean's first words were, ''you should have come and got us, I could use a good fight.'' God I love the Aussies. But by that time, everything was cool, and in fact the whole group of them came up to us, and inexplicably, apologized profusely to us.

So even though I have spent most of these blogs hailing the safety and comfort of Colombia, this situation was a bit dicey.

But the next few minutes were more like the Colombia I love. A group of girls made ''fuck me'' eyes at Jess and Sean, and another group of guys came curiously up to the only gringos among 100s of Colombians and proceeded to feed us bunches of shots of tequila at 5 a.m., happy to party with us, share their drinks, and tell us how happy they were that we chose to party in Colombia.

That night ended a four night bender for me. We spent our last day relaxing and watching movies (we slept in until 3:30 pm after staying out past 6a.m.), and yesterday we made the journey from Medellin to San Jose, Costa Rica. We did in a few hours what had taken us weeks to do by bus, taxi, hitchhiking, and sailboating. The ease and comfort of a coach class is something that I will never take for granted again. I could fly from New York to Australia with my eyes closed, upside down, and holding my breath.

And after such a great trip seeing this part of the world, I just might.

Zygomatick - Gumpop Trash Electro

In this blog, your author discovers his High Voltage Personality that was Transmorphed by a Mediatical World. If you aren´t sure what this means, join the club.

It seems to me that Colombians speak less English than in a lot of countries. But the people I have met have all been very eager to practice their English with me. And at the expense of my Spanish, I have let them because they are so very friendly.

And they certainly don't let their lack of English keep them from trying. I was handed this flyer the other night, I am not sure if it is because a) I am not a part of the Gumpop Trash Electro music scene or b) my English has taken a real beating, but I can't understand just what the fuck this thing is saying. Here is the word-for-word script of this flyer from a bar called Illicit:

Zygomatik - Gumpop Trash Electro

''Influenced by nu-electro & new wave, Zygomatick contrasts those nostalgic synthetic melodies evoking 80's with lyrics that re-constructs the irony of a blind society which values were transmorphed by money, ambition and a mediatical world. The identity of this project is Dann Mecklar, a young artist with a multicolor sexy-trashy voice, who finds both in english or german the way of materializing those stories without loosing [sic] his `latin american' high-voltage personality as main referent.''

I think my main question is this: will I ever be described as having a a multicolor sexy-trashy voice?

I hope so!

Silicone City

In this blog, your author gives a brief history lesson and tells you how he managed to waste a day indoors - watching five movies he has already seen - rather than enjoy the picture perfect climate of Medellin.

Medellin (Med-eh-JEAN) is a city of 2.2 Million people. That means it is one of the biggest cities I have ever visited in my life. Top ten for sure. Yet, until this trip, I had never even heard of it. Medellin is the home of the notorious Pablo Escobar, the now dead cocaine kingpin. At one point, Pablo controlled 80% of the world's supply of cocaine and was listed as the world's seventh richest man by Forbes magazine in 1989.

I saw his grave two days ago. It was less impressive than my grandmother's, who died in poverty.

Medellin is a bit like Salt Like City. No, it is not full of white people trying to convert you. It is set in the middle of a mountain valley. Here, though, the mountains are all scooted in closer. So no matter where you go, you are on a hill and have a view of the rest of the city. One whole section of the city, climbing a mountain a bit like Cheyenne Mountain or Horsetooth Mountain, is nothing but shanties. Tens of thousands of little shanties. In other directions you can see red high-rise apartments, cropped in clusters all over the city-scape.

In spite of this, Medellin is actually a very beautiful city. The downtown manages to be third-world, yet doesn´t have a trashy feel like San Jose. There are nice museums, beautiful European-style cathedrals, pedestrian areas, and trees all around. The main square is filled with those Fat People statues. You will know what I am talking about if you have seen one. The artist is from here and has donated them to the city.

The climate here is AMAZING. Medellin means ''eternal spring'' and that is because the weather is always like a perfect April day. Never too hot, never too cold. It is a nice change from the unrelenting heat of Latin America.

Yesterday, I took advantage of the great weather.

I stayed inside and watched FIVE movies, ONE episode of The Sopranos, and spent an hour on the internet.

Today, though, I actually did take advantage of the outdoors. Nine of us from the hostel went Paintballing. We spent about $13 for several hours of pelting each other with paint. Those little fuckers hurt! I had the shot of the day, though, as I snuck around a fence and found a guy on his hands and knees. His ass was in my sight and I blasted a shot right into his exposed ass. Something bit me! The gallery of guys sitting above me, watching cause they were already out , roared in laughter as the aussie Dean rolled around on the ground in agony, clutching his buttocks.

They call that the million dollar wound, but I never saw any of that money.

Tonight, we are finally going out. There is a big karoake ''club'' that is filled with the super uber hot girls of Medellin, world-renowned for their copious amounts of plastic surgery. I am looking forward to watching Latina Barbie sing.

Have You Ever?

In this blog, your weary traveler makes like Willie Nelson and gets on the rode again. And for far too long. Have you ever done something like this?

Have you ever:

- had a bus company not sell three seats to the public so that they could sell them to you under the table and pocket the dough?

- gotten on a bus not sure if you were even going to have seats because the ticket office didn´t give you tickets because they were secretly frauding their employer?

- taken a 14 hour overnight ride on a bus with no A/C?

- sat next to a six foot Norwegian man who smells vaguely of moldy swim suits?

- been on a bus boarded by a man wearing fatigues carrying an Israeli-made assualt rifle?

- been on a bus that shows a movie called ''The Karate Dog'' staring Pat Morita (Mr. Miyagi), Jon Voight, Simon Rex, Jaime Presley, Chevy Chase, and a dog that really does karate?

- been on a bus that was traveling so fast - at least 100mph - that the cars it was passing in the same direction appeared to be moving in the opposite direction?

- been on a bus that was going so fast you were actually terrified for your life?

- prayed for 14 hours?

- been on a bus that made you so sea-sick you actually dreamed of being on a small yacht?

- been on a bus that had to stop every 40 minutes for repairs because the driver was pushing the engine too hard?

- been on a bus with no A/C yet there was melted freon leaking from the vents on your head in some sadistic Water Torture while you tried to sleep?

- been on a bus that ended up having to stop in the world's ugliest town for four hours to repair a radiator (and just what does a radiator do? Radiate something? Does it have anything to do with the A/C? Why don't I know this stuff? Do our cars and buses have radiaters?)

- been on a bus that was supposed to take 14 hours to arrive - which is bad enough - but ends up taking 23?

- spent one day of your life on a bus?

- moved one day closer to death without having done anything but stare at the back of a seat for an entire day?

- been on a bus for 23 hours with only a bag of chips and a bottle of luke warm water?

- rode a bus for 23 hours in order to visit the world's greatest ''silicone'' -enhanced city only to find out all the hostals are full?

well... have you ever?

Tyrona and Back Again

In this blog, your author skips ''funny'' and goes straight to the ''news'' to catch you up.

We arrived in Santa Marta in time for a huge party... The Party of the Sea. There was a huge parade, food, street vendors, etc. Of all the tens of thousands of people, we were the only white faces. It was a really cool feeling to be such a unique minority. People looked at us like men look at a cleavage shot. They look, they do a double take, and then they look away before being ''caught''.

One person who did get caught was a crook. Clint was watching the parade when he felt himself get sprayed with water. At the same time, somebody yanked off his necklace. But Clint saw the guy looking for it on the ground. Clint grabbed back his chain and pushed the guy. The rest of the crowd wrapped him up and called for the police. That is about as good as you can hope for when getting robbed.

That night was another crazy party night. Everyone was so nice. Guys kept buying us shots because they were so amazed that Americans would be out partying with them. Girls kept wanting to dance with us because we were American. And hot. For the first time, being an American traveler was a benefit for me.

All the partying caught up to me the next day. I am not sure what yellow fever feels like, but I think this must be it. Headache, body ache, stuffy, sore throat, fatigue, sweaty, diahrea.... the works. I suffered through this for a few days before the penicillin did its magic. I was so sick I didn't even leave our hostel in Taganga for 2 days.

Once I was better we left for Tyrona National Park. Last week, i promised myself I would never get on a small boat again.

So there I found myself, with 10 other people, on a 25ft boat headed to Tyrona on a 3 hour open ocean crossing. Imagine flying from Denver to Atlanta. But doing so on a small, barely sea weather boat. There is MAJOR turbulence the whole time (which makes you sick). And someone is throwing buckets of water on you about once every five seconds (and your luggage too).

Also, there is no in-flight movie.

But Tyrona was worth it. It certainly rivals the San Blas for the most beautiful places in the world. It is another paradise. We spent our days body surfing in the dangerous currents, taking pictures of the landscape, spying on the nude sunbathers, and trying to convince ourselves we werent hungry. The food at the little restaurant was so bad that it was better to be hungry than to eat. At night, we (tried) to sleep in the little hamacks. I didn't bring anything to Tyrona except my swimsuit, so at night I friggin froze to death. Luckily, my travel towel insulates pretty well, and I used that as a blanket.

We are now back in Taganga, making plans to head to Medellin. This is the former home of Pablo Escobar's drug cartel. In fact, his grave is there now. These days, it is known for its silicone culture. I guess every girl there, EVERY GIRL, starts getting work done at age 15. Every traveler I have talked to, girl or guy, has said that the women of Medellin are the most beautiful in the world. Ali, an Irish guy, said that it is the one place that is always BETTER than advertized. Lisa, a Kiwi, said it is a man's fantasy come true because the women are amazing, the men are very ugly, the women outnumber the men, and the women absolutely LOVE gringos.

There is a good chance that a) I spend the rest of my time there b) I never come home.

Well, my time is up for now. I will check in later from Medellin after our 18hr overnight bus ride tonight.

Kurt

''Cartagena'' - Spanish for ''Camel Toe''

In this blog, your author braves the dangerous streets of the world's deadliest country. Along the way, he learns it is not the Guerrillas or the Drug Lords to fear, but the waitresses, the price of beer, and dance-club mirrors.

Certainly, Colombia is a dangerous place. It is still the world´s leading producer of cocaine. Guerrilla warfare is responsible for thousands of deaths every year. Kidnapping is a major problem. The violent death rate is one of the worst in the world. Books with titles like 100 Most Dangerous Places in the World and Places to Get Yo' Ass Shanked always rate it right around #1. And maybe the surest sign that Colombia is dangerous is that there aren´t any Americans here.
I have met a few travelers along the way that have been to Colombia, but in my every day life back home, I had never ever met anybody who had been. Colombia just has a certain reputation, I guess.

But so far, Cartagena has been none of that. It is a beautiful Colonial city. The Old Town has been well-kept and/or well-refurbished. The girls are amazing. The people are nice, friendly, and helpful. The food is cheap. The streets are kept safe. The girls are amazing. They have a type of taxi that I have never seen before: the motorcycle. Fresh fruit is sold everywhere. The girls are amazing.

I really think that, based on Cartagena alone, the women of Colombia can make a strong case for being the most beautiful in the world. They certainly give Italian and American women a run for their money. What may set them apart, though, is the way the dress. They certainly know what to wear to a) flatter the ''assets'' - as opposed to many women who wear clothes to flatten their asses - and b) get guys staring at them.

I really didn´t know jeans could be that tight.

The Old Town is the main attraction in this city of 850,000. We saw every last charming street of it during the afternoon as wandered around for five hours in the blazing Colombian sun. Some people might call this ''lost'', but I call it ''sightseeing''.

With chapped arses and sunburned noses, we returned there last night to go clubbing. After walking in and out of a few clubs that weren´t really busy, we sat in the main city square. As a gringo, it is almost impossible not to be accosted there. Not by criminals. No, the police and military men with huge automatic weapons on every corner insure the safety of the pristine Old Town. Instead, it is from little street vendors, beggars, and oddly, waitresses. I have never seen anything like it. In this little square, about the size of a football field, there are probably 5 or 6 restaurants with outdoor seating areas. And, apparently, the waitresses work not on salary or tips, but on commission. As soon as they see you walking they all run from their area and try to get you to look at their menu. I actually saw one waitress elbow another out of the way to get a better spot. It looked exactly like Shaq under the hoop, getting in position for a rebound.

We avoided the crush and just sat on a curb, buying 60Cent beers from the guys walking by. We sat talking for a while, enjoying the perfect weather and getting a nice buzz. From there, we headed back to the bars, which had gotten busier.

We were pleasantly surprised to see that the guy to girl ratio was in our favor. There must have been 10 girls for every 1 guy. And they were all uber hot. And the ratio of latinos/latinas to gringos was even better. It was 100 of them and the 3 of us.

But neither of these numbers really worked in our favor, because as it turns out, the entire dance club was filled with prostitutes. Didn´t I just leave that in Costa Rica? But here, it was a lot different. In CR, it was a meat market where the girls just stood around a bar waiting to leave with a guy. All business. In this bar, everything appeared normal. Everyone was relaxed, dancing, laughing, having fun, drinking, and partying. I ended up asking the waitress at one point,

''Are there any normal girls here, who aren´t prostitutes?''
''Yeah... me.''

She was the only one.

The fact that we were the only white people didn´t help us either. It made us targets. Some big black guys, undoubtedly drug dealers (I say that because we are in Colombia, not because they are black), started talking shit to Jess.

Literally.

They accused him of taking a shit in the bathroom (which he didn´t) and then not flushing the toilet (he flushed it). It is a bit of an unorthodox method for picking a fight, but nonetheless, they used this as a reason to try and start a bit of drama. Me, I sat back on a couch, ready to bum rush the three guys and then make our escape. Luckily, Jess has that brilliant Aussie ability to charm the pants off people - or at least charm the pants off drug dealing black GUYS because he certainly didn´t charm any girls pants off last night - smoothed the situation out with his humor.

At about 3 a.m. We left that bar for home, but only temporarily. We were told by the waitress that the real place to be was a late night club at 4 a.m. So we went home, got some more money, and went back out on the town.

We arrived at the club and were happy to see that there were far fewer hookers and shady types who are concerned about proper bathroom protocol. We weren´t happy to find out that beers at this bar cost 10,000 pesos, which is about $4.

That might be a bargain in LA, but in Colombia, it is absolute insanity. In most restaurants (and from guys on the street) a beer costs under a dollar. Colombia is one of the poorer countries in the world. How does anybody afford this?! Besides selling cocaine, that is.

Two nights ago, we had experienced something similar when looking for a restaurant. Some of the places were charging $40 for a plate. One place wanted $10 for a tiny personal pizza. Apparently prostitution and cocaine pays a lot better than teaching, cause I can´t afford $10 for pizza. I am not a mathematician. I am not an economist. Heck, I'm not even employed. But I think I can make the case that Cartagena, when using a comparison of the prices of food and beer against the Gross National Product or the Average Household Income, is The Most Expensive Place In The World.

But that didn´t stop us from buying plenty of beers.

After hanging out on some couches near the dance floor for a while, we noticed this one smoking hot lady, CLEARLY a prostitute, who was dancing in front of a mirror and just staring at herself. I hadn´t seen vanity like that since... since.... since a few hours earlier, when I was getting ready to go out and I admired my hotness in the mirror for quite some time. In our drunken state, we thought it would be funny if we all danced in front of the mirror and watched ourselves too. Somehow, this went from what should have been a two minute gag, into our entire night. Clint, Jess, and I danced the night away in front of the mirror, watching ourselves with every jiggle. And let me tell you, my Hips Don´t Lie.

Apparently, this is a popular thing to do down here. Either that or we are trendsetters. Because a few more people came over and started doing this as well. One of these was another hot girl who was most likely a hooker.

Besides Bridget, Clint´s girlfriend Tracy, and, uh, my older sister, we all agreed that she had the nicest body we had ever seen. Absolutely incredible. Jugs that could deflect bullets (but not my penetrating stare!!!!), hips that lied even less than mine, and an ass like a 10-year old boy. Whoever first designed low- cut extremely tight jeans had this girl in mind.

But the thing was, she was so friggin hot that nobody ever talked to her all night. She was simply unapproachable. I felt bad for her, dancing by herself all night. I felt it was my duty to boost her confidence by giving her a word of encouragement. It turned out to be my Dumb & Dumber moment, like the time Lloyd was trying to say that Mary made him feel like a school boy and, thus, wanted to make love to her... and instead said, '' I want to make love to a school boy.''

I reached around Clint, who was busy doing his impression of Patrick Swayze in the mirror (and a damn good impression it was too), and tapped her on the shoulder. I meant to say,

''I don´t think guys approach you because you are wayyyyyyy too hot.''

But my Spanish failed me. Either that, or the 14 beers slightly slurred my speech, and I said at the top of my lungs,

''I don't think you are too hot.''

It seems this wasn´t the cheering up she needed. And much to my girlfriend's eternal happiness, I probably missed out on my one chance to dance with a really really really hot Colombian hooker.

By six a.m. we stumbled out of the bar, in disbelief that a) we had danced by ourselves in front of a mirror for 2.5 hours and b) that it was already sunlight. We took a cab home and gorged ourselves on that delicious drunk food, uncooked Ramon noodles sprinkled with seasoning salt.

Our late night meant we wasted the day today, and we missed out on our chance to visit a volcano that creates a mud bath that you can jump in and get insanely crazily dirty. Tomorrow, we are leaving Cartagena and heading to a beach town.

A more relaxed place. Cheap beer. No hookers. No ''shit''- talking drug dealers.

And no mirrors.