headed to cali

We left Popoyan and headed to Cali, the augmentation Mecca.

We greet our taxi driver with caution “How much?” I ask, the driver replies “metoro”- we jump inside.

We found Hostal Calidad, embedded hillside overlooking the many full breasted hookers of Cali. Buzzing to get in, now my speech may become a little harsh and biased solely because I lived this moment prior to writing it, but this four eyed, nerdy hand flailing, loose-lisped, greased up, temper-tantrum prone, steamrolling with power, Napoleon complex, anally raging, Colombian homosexual opened the door- we didn’t have a good vibe from the start.

We took the room, strictly because it was late- luckily there was a good group of people chilling about, otherwise the almighty glory holed manager would have lead a lot more heat on us.

We ran into Jeremy, an old mate we met in Mancora, Peru and the three of us went for a jaunt to the local mom and pop liquor shop. After shelling out pennies for a bottle of aguadiente, a sweet licorice liquor resembling zambuca, i realized I just threw away a few good pennies.

Anyways it was already bought and we had some schwepps to mix so I said farewell to sober hood. The first club we hit was a 20,000 peso all you can drink orgy. But getting there with an hour before close left us in a rush to down as much booze… fast!

I… am not a good all you can drink drinker, nor am I a good all you can eat eater. It’s a complex of mine- but that’s where the parties at so I indulged.

Rum and cokes. Vodka and juice. Whiskey this and that’s. Then Jeremy walks over to me with a drink “ taste this” he says handing me the drink “I know the bartender”. I immediately puked in a planter that was thankfully standing right next to me- and I could feel the fire growing inside of me.

The lights flash- beastlike Colombian bouncers circle the terrace. “I’m trapped”, I mumble crouched in the corner.

A beckoning call brews through the thick sweaty air “todos vamos”. The bar is closing and they want everyone out- they don’t want me, I’m not in trouble and I won’t have to perform anything with my ass- I’m saved!

Exiting the club I met a metal head in a jet black Metallica shirt- who says hes from the states. We shoot the shite for a little while about his childhood and returning to his family that once let him go- he seemed to be at peace and not harboring any anger the only difficulty is that he doesn’t speak Spanish and his parents don’t speak English- talk about awahhhh!

He told us where the after party was – the famed discotech district of Juanchito. We grabbed a taxi and drove through the night to our unknown destination… the tires rolling along dirt roads through foreign neighborhoods until lights started beaming through gaps… it got brighter and brighter until we crossed a little bridge into the famed town- it resembled the Vegas strip in the only sense that it didn’t sleep and you knew things happened here that wouldn’t be making its way back home.

We entered a club and I made eyes almost immediately with a chocolate beauty, middle aged with a sexy figure, and we were drawn to each other through music. We salsa’d around the room swinging and swaying and shaking our sweaty bodies to the fiery tempo. What I learned was that after each dance both of you would part ways and wait for the next song to be played before you’d be back up on your feet again.

The lady and I met up on the floor throughout the night, locking lips and swaying hips, bodies bound by the music. The art of dance can be very beautiful and moving and it can be erotic and nasty much like they art of reggaeton- which is like ass fucking only with clothes on.