Why Colombia?
One of the questions that I've managed to stumble over multiple times since arriving in Colombia is what exactly it is I'm doing here. The night before leaving I felt the need to give a preemptive attack of individualist to my parents about how life is too short to do that which makes you unhappy but the more I think of it, I really have no idea how or why I got here.
What is it I'm searching for in Colombia? Sex? Drugs? Rumba? The truth is I don't know, but with every minute of every day I feel closer to that answer.
A Few Hours in the Life of Danny Levy
I wake up at 1030 am in my empty hostel dorm room with a nasty allergy attack presumably launched by tigre, the owner's cat. Shortly after showering I make my way down to the metro to head over to my favorite place in Medellin: el Centro. As soon as I make my way outside of the hostel my eyes are flooded with walking billboards of people with gigantic "Minuto Celular" signs draped across their shoulders. This aint Miami.
While standing in line to buy tickets for the metro I notice a couple of young paisas standing behind me and start thinking about how I should approach them. I explain that the lines are always so long and I'd rather buy a bunch of tickets at once. One of the girls suffers from a sudden loss of vision (better than delayed back ache or an erection lasting longer than six hours, I guess( but her younger sister tells me that I can get 3 for 3500 pesos. We get on the metro together and are quickly followed by some other gringos who I assure my new friend are my long lost cousins (de corazon, no sangre(.
So after trading numbers I say nos vemos and get off at my stop in el Centro. While sitting down at a jugo bar I'm approached by a street wanderer whose routine is to stand next to you and stare at you while you sip your drink. He seems amazed when I dont reward him for a job well done.
After paying the bill and bajando a la calle I go inside to a tiny centro comercial and am bombarded by shouts of "hola orden" coming out the mouths of cute paisas trying to get some commission to help pay for those navidad gifts. I tell one of them that even though I'm not really interested in the giant tiger cloth she's selling, I'd love to take her out one day para tomar un cafe. She says sure, as long as I take her to church first so we could "hear the word of G-d."
All the walking builds up an appetite so I decide to pick up some green platano chips from an elderly street vendor who laughs hysterically as I jump up and down after my last 500 peso coin falls directly into her giant hot grease bowl which spits up hot lava onto my hand.
Once it starts raining I head back to el poblado and wonder aloud to my Colombian friend if I should start mixing things up with this girl I've been seeing who on our last night out brought her brothers and aunt along. "Las chicas buenas son asi aca en Medellin... muy lento."
I get back to the hostel and see the proverbial wise old man who spits out words of wisdom in between waiting for the local burger joint to open and playing intense games of solitaire. "I like the way they put gloves on and wear hair nets."
"So you came all the way to Medellin to sit around in the most sterile part of town and smoke cigarettes all day?, I feel like saying. Convinced he'd merely retort that paying for sex constitutes a cultural experience, I hold back on the condescension. At least he's here.
So, here's my question... how was your Monday?
Transformation
They say people don’t change, that our genetic makeup determines our personality before we are even born. Guys with no game or girls with no brains resign themselves to their fates based on their shared traits. Of course, just because people don’t change doesn’t mean they can’t change. Essentialism is easily dwarfed by the power of life experience.
The Art of Travel
One of my favorite parts about traveling is the people I meet while staying in youth hostels. Nothing makes me believe more in the idea of universalism than having deep philosophical conversations with other travelers who, no matter who they are or where they’re from, all share the same common hopes and desires—for the destination to make them a happier person and teach them how to live a better, more complete life.
Yet the unfortunate reality of travel is that no matter where we go, we all must bring the same unwanted piece of luggage: ourselves. It is for this reason that so many travelers spend their time abroad killing themselves with alcohol instead of realizing that the destination is the journey.
It was with this in mind that I started philosophizing with a 32 year old Aussie who was staying at my hostel and seemed legitimately heartbroken by his inability to find a connection with any of the local girls. “If this girl would quit being a prostitute, I’d marry her,” he told me. Fighting back laughter, I begged him to never utter those words again. “I don’t know man. The girls in this part of Medellin are kind of arrogant. They aren’t impressed that you’re a gringo… I’m thinking about moving on to Barranquilla or Cali, I heard it’s not like that at all there.”
It was time for me to chime in. “You know, I used to think just like that. The truth is it’s not about where you are. Everywhere else always seems so much more appealing simply because it isn’t here. You can hop on a plane tomorrow for Cali and be surrounded by the hottest dark-skinned girls in the world but your brain will beg you to search out a caramel delight. That’s life, man. Desires are desires no matter where you are. You say you’d marry this girl you took out to dinner tonight. At least wait until you have sex with her before you even think about saying something like that. The moment you get what you want, human nature kicks in and the desire for something different once again rears its ugly head.”
An Introduction to Colombian Girls
I had never felt so self-conscious of my whiteness in my entire life. The scene was a Salsa Club in Fort Lauderdale, Florida. The object of my desire: a cute paisa who had just separated from her husband and was sulking to herself in between dancing with every guy in the club with sadness written all over her face. The limiting factors: my salsa virginity, my seemingly immovable gringo hips and overwhelming insecurities about being the only white guy in the club. Walking home that night, my thoughts ranged from “it’s her loss, not mine” to “I hate Miami.”
So why, a mere month later, have I fallen so in love with Medellin to the point that I’m considering staying here long-term and postponing my trip to Brazil indefinitely? I’m honestly at a loss for words when confronted with that question. Is it the women? A woman? The people? The scenery?
More like a combination of all of the above.
Deeptravelingthoughts.blogspot.com
One of the questions that I've managed to stumble over multiple times since arriving in Colombia is what exactly it is I'm doing here. The night before leaving I felt the need to give a preemptive attack of individualist to my parents about how life is too short to do that which makes you unhappy but the more I think of it, I really have no idea how or why I got here.
What is it I'm searching for in Colombia? Sex? Drugs? Rumba? The truth is I don't know, but with every minute of every day I feel closer to that answer.
A Few Hours in the Life of Danny Levy
I wake up at 1030 am in my empty hostel dorm room with a nasty allergy attack presumably launched by tigre, the owner's cat. Shortly after showering I make my way down to the metro to head over to my favorite place in Medellin: el Centro. As soon as I make my way outside of the hostel my eyes are flooded with walking billboards of people with gigantic "Minuto Celular" signs draped across their shoulders. This aint Miami.
While standing in line to buy tickets for the metro I notice a couple of young paisas standing behind me and start thinking about how I should approach them. I explain that the lines are always so long and I'd rather buy a bunch of tickets at once. One of the girls suffers from a sudden loss of vision (better than delayed back ache or an erection lasting longer than six hours, I guess( but her younger sister tells me that I can get 3 for 3500 pesos. We get on the metro together and are quickly followed by some other gringos who I assure my new friend are my long lost cousins (de corazon, no sangre(.
So after trading numbers I say nos vemos and get off at my stop in el Centro. While sitting down at a jugo bar I'm approached by a street wanderer whose routine is to stand next to you and stare at you while you sip your drink. He seems amazed when I dont reward him for a job well done.
After paying the bill and bajando a la calle I go inside to a tiny centro comercial and am bombarded by shouts of "hola orden" coming out the mouths of cute paisas trying to get some commission to help pay for those navidad gifts. I tell one of them that even though I'm not really interested in the giant tiger cloth she's selling, I'd love to take her out one day para tomar un cafe. She says sure, as long as I take her to church first so we could "hear the word of G-d."
All the walking builds up an appetite so I decide to pick up some green platano chips from an elderly street vendor who laughs hysterically as I jump up and down after my last 500 peso coin falls directly into her giant hot grease bowl which spits up hot lava onto my hand.
Once it starts raining I head back to el poblado and wonder aloud to my Colombian friend if I should start mixing things up with this girl I've been seeing who on our last night out brought her brothers and aunt along. "Las chicas buenas son asi aca en Medellin... muy lento."
I get back to the hostel and see the proverbial wise old man who spits out words of wisdom in between waiting for the local burger joint to open and playing intense games of solitaire. "I like the way they put gloves on and wear hair nets."
"So you came all the way to Medellin to sit around in the most sterile part of town and smoke cigarettes all day?, I feel like saying. Convinced he'd merely retort that paying for sex constitutes a cultural experience, I hold back on the condescension. At least he's here.
So, here's my question... how was your Monday?
Transformation
They say people don’t change, that our genetic makeup determines our personality before we are even born. Guys with no game or girls with no brains resign themselves to their fates based on their shared traits. Of course, just because people don’t change doesn’t mean they can’t change. Essentialism is easily dwarfed by the power of life experience.
The Art of Travel
One of my favorite parts about traveling is the people I meet while staying in youth hostels. Nothing makes me believe more in the idea of universalism than having deep philosophical conversations with other travelers who, no matter who they are or where they’re from, all share the same common hopes and desires—for the destination to make them a happier person and teach them how to live a better, more complete life.
Yet the unfortunate reality of travel is that no matter where we go, we all must bring the same unwanted piece of luggage: ourselves. It is for this reason that so many travelers spend their time abroad killing themselves with alcohol instead of realizing that the destination is the journey.
It was with this in mind that I started philosophizing with a 32 year old Aussie who was staying at my hostel and seemed legitimately heartbroken by his inability to find a connection with any of the local girls. “If this girl would quit being a prostitute, I’d marry her,” he told me. Fighting back laughter, I begged him to never utter those words again. “I don’t know man. The girls in this part of Medellin are kind of arrogant. They aren’t impressed that you’re a gringo… I’m thinking about moving on to Barranquilla or Cali, I heard it’s not like that at all there.”
It was time for me to chime in. “You know, I used to think just like that. The truth is it’s not about where you are. Everywhere else always seems so much more appealing simply because it isn’t here. You can hop on a plane tomorrow for Cali and be surrounded by the hottest dark-skinned girls in the world but your brain will beg you to search out a caramel delight. That’s life, man. Desires are desires no matter where you are. You say you’d marry this girl you took out to dinner tonight. At least wait until you have sex with her before you even think about saying something like that. The moment you get what you want, human nature kicks in and the desire for something different once again rears its ugly head.”
An Introduction to Colombian Girls
I had never felt so self-conscious of my whiteness in my entire life. The scene was a Salsa Club in Fort Lauderdale, Florida. The object of my desire: a cute paisa who had just separated from her husband and was sulking to herself in between dancing with every guy in the club with sadness written all over her face. The limiting factors: my salsa virginity, my seemingly immovable gringo hips and overwhelming insecurities about being the only white guy in the club. Walking home that night, my thoughts ranged from “it’s her loss, not mine” to “I hate Miami.”
So why, a mere month later, have I fallen so in love with Medellin to the point that I’m considering staying here long-term and postponing my trip to Brazil indefinitely? I’m honestly at a loss for words when confronted with that question. Is it the women? A woman? The people? The scenery?
More like a combination of all of the above.
Deeptravelingthoughts.blogspot.com
