My travels in Colombia were incredible. People were friendly. Everything was dirt-cheap. The women certainly weren’t ugly. To top it off – I was able to avoid any real trouble or danger. Staying out of harm’s way was a big deal for me, as I had heard some bad things about safety in Colombia. However, I felt fairly safe during my time in the country. And these stories from my travels in Colombia aren’t filled with real danger, either. Actually, I think you’ll find them funny.
The Jews are Parasites
One day – the mindset of upper-class Colombian people was shoved right in my face, and in a humorous manner. I was wrapping up my workout in the gym when I heard someone mumble something behind me. I turned around and muttered, “Que?” to a kid standing behind me. He was about eighteen years old and was quite pale. Rocking Bayern Munich weight lifting gloves and shorts, he was only 5’7” tall.
He looked at me in a perplexed manner, “You’re not Colombian – are you?”
I laughed, “No, man.”
He continued, “You’re from the United States?”
“Yeah,” I chuckled.
He stared me down, “Well, what do you think about Donald Trump?”
I hesitated before deciding to speak my mind, “I like him – a lot.”
He smiled for the first time since we started speaking, “Me too!”
I laughed, “Really?”
“Yeah,” he yelled before looking away for a couple seconds.
His pause was odd and I started to turn back to my workout. Then he blurted out something that still cracks me up.
With a straight faces, he yelled, “The Jews are parasites.”
I started cracking up, but he remained focused on spouting his rhetoric. He continued on with his hatred of Jews, Hollywood, Obama, Muslims, blacks, Mexicans, and more. His broken English made his comments even more humorous. Each day he saw me at the gym – he made sure to continue his borderline racist remarks. No stone was left unturned. I started referring to him as, “the Colombian white supremacist” and we tended to get along splendidly.
Mi Negra Teresa
Latin American culture is much more frank than Western culture. Most Latinos have little concern for the feelings of others when communicating. For example, if someone is fat – the company they keep will often refer them to as “gordo” or “gorda”. Imagine referring for your one overweight aunt as “fatty” instead of her name. Shit wouldn’t fly in the USA, but it’s common in Latin America.
With this in mind, I wasn’t a bit surprised when “mi negra Teresa” came to sell her services at the beach one day. My friend and I were relaxing on the beach with two sexy Colombianas when a very large black woman approached us. Instantly, we tried to brush her off. We had seen way too many hustlers for one day already, but she was persistent.
She introduced herself as, “mi negra Teresa” or in English, “my black Teresa.” This cracked my friend and I up. Our Colombianas didn’t find her so amusing. She started in on her sales pitch while continuing to refer to herself in third-person. It was charming, in a third-world hustler way. She was selling massages and the free samples she gave us were tempting. Thos strong hands of hers could work magic. However, we ended up declining the services of “mi negra Teresa” in order to ride jet skis in the ocean.
Real-Life Tower of Terror
You take some risks when traveling. You don’t expect everything to work like it does in the Western world. The quality of infrastructure is certainly not a reason I travel. I travel to experience new cultures, go on adventures, and meet a sexy woman or three. Inevitably, you’re going to have some type of issue that you have no control over – if you travel enough. During my travels in Colombia, I encountered one of these issues. I had rented a brand new apartment for a month with a good friend. The apartment was on the sixth floor of the new building, which featured a pool, gym, doorman, and elevators.
After our second week in our new place, we decided to head to the mall for some daygame. We called a cab on Easy Taxi and hopped in the elevator. We hit the bottom floor button and the doors closed. Then it happened. The elevator suddenly started to free fall. The elevator cabin we were in was shaking back and forth – making a crazy noise. For about five seconds, we were free falling to the ground. Then we stopped. Lights starting flashing.
I looked at my friend in a panicked stated. He looked just as scared as I was. We frantically began pressing the alarm in the elevator. I began looking for ways to get out as my breath began quickening. You see – I’m claustrophobic. I freak out while in confined spaces, and this elevator was fucking tiny. Plus, we were in Colombia. Things don’t work the same in Colombia as they do in the USA.
In the states, we would have a fireman getting us out within 15-30 minutes. In Colombia, we could have been stuck for 2-3 hours. I began trying to rip the doors off the elevator. We had no idea what floor we were on or if the elevator would continue to fall. I just knew we needed to get out. We heard someone yell down the shaft that they were bringing help, but I didn’t have faith or patience.
After a few minutes of prying, I got one door to break off. I could see the elevator shaft, but I had opened the wrong side. Luckily, my breathing slowed down just a bit once I was able to see anything outside the elevator. I moved to the other side and quickly began trying to crack open the other door. The door wasn’t giving for about five straight minutes. Finally, I ripped the thing off the hinges and we saw the elevator door that faced the outside world. A quick assessment and we found the release latch. I pulled the lever and the outer door slid open. We both jumped out quickly.
Falling nearly three floors then being stuck in an elevator for about twenty minutes stressed us out. We could barely catch our breath as we finally found a taxi to take to the mall. Flustered – we couldn’t even manage to make an approach. We just sat at the food court eating ice cream.