Tuesday Night Colombian Side Quest Tings...

Fresh Off The Press at GD 🗞️ 

• Getting Unstuck When You Feel Unfulfilled & Utterly Fucking Empty (My Story)

• Official South America Backpacking Guide (I’ve Been Down Here Too Long)

• Top Solo Travel Spots

And now, our feature presentation…

Tuesday. 7:00 PM.

“Periodically let the gratitude for having what you want—in the future—permeate your body. Embody the person who has and gets what they want.” —Neville Goddard

One of those Medellín nights—the city vibrant with lights and Reggeatón (barrio tings), as I seek to circumnavigate the city on a… Tuesday evening side quest…

Uber: 4 minutes away.

Me: dressed for success. *Chhhh* Splash of cologne.

[The transition from strictly-no-chemicals to cologne-donning Colombiano can only be attributed to the locality.]

Uber can’t make it to my spot. Can’t fit through the cars parked on the tiny, 45° incline streets. No sweat.

I walk down the hill and jump in.

“No cualquier carro puede llegar hasta acá.”

“Así es, parce.”

(“Not just any car can get up here”—referring to the dramatic inclines required to reach my place.)

I’m staying in the fuckin’ barrio in Medellin.

[Barrio translates to “neighborhood” but is often used to describe… the hood.]

In the US, the rich people live in the hills. In Colombia, it’s the opposite.

The driver spots a 2-foot-long driveway (driveway is a generous word) to attempt to turn us around to begin our descent.

The driveway’s owner, a shirtless tío, comes out and helps ensure we don’t hit his house.

I buss down the window. Gracias cabellero, buenas noches…

The 72-point turn is complete. We’re off.

A motorcycle darts by, nearly hitting us. Then another.

Head-to-head car showdowns on the street barely wide enough to fit one car, let alone two.

We descend sharply down a STEEP hill.

Our next challenge is to go UP the steepest incline I’ve ever seen—only wide enough for one car, with an old man walking through.

I’m not sure we’ll make it. I sense that the driver isn’t either.

He takes a deep breath and guns it.

Pulling my arm casually hanging out the window back into the car to avoid hitting the old man by millimeters…

We’re about to hit the peak when the car stalls and begins sliding down.

Driver:

• Restarts the engine…

• Throws it in first gear…

• And by the grace of God… we make it over.

“Un poco complicadito…” (A bit complicated—diminutive unnecessarily added, in proper Colombian fashion…), I say nervously.

A few more near-accidents later, we’ve exited the barrio to greener pastures. We’re flying down Medallo’s main highway.

I’m Back Outside, With No Phone Service Per Usual

“Qué tal Francia hace calor allá no?”

The driver asks me about my assumed homeland, France.

I open WhatsApp.

Loading, loading, loading…

I realize my pre-paid cell data has run out, and I’ve got no way to refill it on the road.

How will I inform the BBBB I’m soon to meet up with that I’ve arrived?

I say this out loud and the driver immediately offers his hotspot to connect.

“De una papa tranquilo, hagale pues…”

He assures me, handing his phone over doing 60mph and closing the navigation while weaving through traffic.

We arrive in one piece.

Caught up in conversation, I exit the vehicle without bothering to inform the BBBB that I’ve arrived via text, and my parce-sponsored data connection drives away.

I’m alone outside in the dark streets of Colombia without comms… Seems like this happens a lot.

Fuck.

Suddenly, a gringo emerges from—a hotel?

Oh shit, that’s right, she said her place was next to a hotel.

Addressing him in Spanish, because, Colombia…

"Caballero qué mas, me regalas internet?” I say, holding my phone.

“WiFi?” he asks, in an unmistakably American accent.

“Epaaa—I speak English too, brother.” In case he wasn’t sure.

Password received. I’m back online. I call shorty on WhatsApp.

The B.B.B.B.

Ya llegaste? (“You here?”)

Sii hace rato. (“Yeah, been here a minute.”)

She opens the door.

Fine as hell. Then, the horrific thought hits me: I didn’t just forget to refill my data, I forgot to bring something else.

After all, anything can happen when you meet up with a BBBB.

[Big Booty Barranquilla Baddie]

In Colombia, there’s no Walmart. You gotta stare down the tía working the farmacia and ask for condoms just like back in the 80s (I assume).

Not a pharmacy in sight. I check Maps using my hotel-sponsored Wi-Fi… nothing walking distance.

Shit.

I wade further into the night despite the uncertainty.

What if shit gets freaky? Do I just hit it raw? Naaaah, I can’t do that. Fuck. What do I do?

These were questions I couldn’t answer.

But just as I’d done 88 times already that night… I pushed forward. Outcome unknown.

We get inside and I order us some food on Rappie.

[A local delivery app where they pull up in 5 minutes on motorcycles having run red lights to get you your food. Food = $5. Delivery = $2. The epitome of service. Take notes, US...]

Rappie has a feature where, after ordering food, you can add items to be delivered, from supermarkets, convenience stores… pharmacies.

You thinking what I’m thinking?

In two clicks, gloves are now in the cart. Problem solved.

Not that shorty thinks I’m there for innocuous reasons, I hid my little cart addition.

[First rule of fight club… you don’t TALK about fight club…]

They send the deliveries separately. 15 minutes later, the first shipment arrives. Gloves.

I go out and meet dude—I grab the contraband and stuff it into my pocket and go back inside.

“Where’s the food?”

“Hmm… not here yet.”

“So what’d you just go outside for?”

“Nothin…”

15 more minutes later, the second shipment is here. Food.

We eat and watch a Netflix movie with Mark Wahlberg and the actor whose name I cannot recall.

“Ain’t that the guy fucking Zendaya? Jack something?”

“Tu roncas?” (“Do you snore?”), she asks me.

This must be how people from Barranquilla ask if you want to sleep over.

My first thought: Nooo way, I sleep like SHIT next to people. Solo always.

But her bed was comfy. Food, movies, an affectionate BBBB…

Still unsure, I remember my Flintstones bed back in the hood… a surge of pain rips through my lower back upon merely recalling the nights of sleeping on the near-concrete surface.

I oblige, knowing I have an early flight to Bogotá the next morning.

Fuck it…

Lo Qué Pasó

I did not hit.

Wasn’t mad.

Earlier that day, sexual energy raging, I’d been at a fork in the road:

• Risk it all: take the treacherous trip to her place, spend money, somehow find… gloves…, probably stay up later, and possibly still fail the mission.

• Give up: jerk off. Easy button.

I’d recently watched a podcast with Dr. Anna Lembke.

She talked about the epidemic of young men who, without having learned the skills of navigating relational complexity and courting women, stay inside and jerk off.

I didn’t want to be that.

Decision made. ✅

I accepted that even if I failed my mission, at least I embarked on the fucking thing.

And fail I did.

The mission itself brought me satisfaction. Life lesson.

[To the women who read this newsletter, yes, this is how men think.]

Morning Manifestations

Another day, another Uber struggling to make it up the hill.

Wheeling my entire life (my now barely functioning suitcase) down the hill, I jump in the car.

Leaving far too late to the airport, I think to myself:

Yeah, I ain’t making this flight…

Given my tardiness, the airport’s distance from the city, and traffic, ain’t no way I make it. Plus, the airport is slow as hell.

Talking about BBBBs with my friendly Venezuelan driver, the GPS suddenly announces that our route’s been cut by 15 minutes.

Oh shit… Now I’ve got a shot.

It turns out, just at that moment, they re-opened an important tunnel that cuts through the mountain and diminishes the transit time to the airport. It had been closed.

We’re flying through that bad boy, but once emerging back into daylight… traffic jam.

Without hesitation, the driver cuts over to a minor road and we fly by the traffic. I get to the airport with a fighting chance.

Until…

MASSIVE lines to enter the security area. I’m fuckkkked.

UNTIL…

Just as I arrive at the back of the line, a new line opens up that no one seems to notice but me. The Colombian airport agent waves me over, smiling.

I hit the booth, show my boarding pass, and I’m on the other side of security de una (immediately).

I’m at my gate sipping coffee having not been in the airport more than 5 minutes—record time at MDE airport.

Once in Bogotá, my Uber gets pulled over and the moment the officer sees my US passport:

“Drogas? Cargas? Baja por favor”

(Are you carrying drugs? Get out of the car, please)

He searches me, finds nothing, and we’re on our way.

[Note: If ever transporting drugs, hide ‘em under ya balls. He didn’t search there.]

Dancing With Uncertainty

The alarming part: through this entire experience, nothing ever felt odd.

It felt… incredibly routine.

And holy shit, how many times did the universe rearrange itself to help me win?

From…

• Sliding down a hill in reverse and somehow making it back up

• To stumbling upon internet connection twice

• To hand-delivered gloves

• To the tunnel magically opening

• To a new line forming just as I arrived to security

• To the Colombian police being satisfied with a quick groping and not feeling like harassing me more that day…

How did I keep hitting green lights? 🚦

Things like this happen all the time. I wasn’t just relaxed amid the chaos, I was having fun.

A normal Tuesday a few years back would’ve perhaps been in the house on YouTube after a long day at the office.

That’s when I realized: this shit kinda crazy, fam.

Is this life when you’re confronting chaos and creating plays?

The Universe seems to have a way of rewarding those willing to dance with uncertainty.

So fuck it, I say we go on more side quests. Take some fuckin’ risks, baby… just to see what happens.

Now, I much prefer to risk it all on the blacktop, even if I die, instead of staying in the house again scrolling the internet.

“Embody the person who has and gets what they want. Watch the Universe shift around to let you win.” —Neville Goddard.

To your dangerous growth and rewarding travels,