Pass the Dutchie, Harry the parasite, and the most beautiful women in the world.

So I am starting to understand why foreign countries don´t build toilets that you can flush toilet paper down. It´s because they know that everything that comes out of me is like piss, so why the need for toilet paper? I can imagine the foreman on site saying,

¨well, if it´s all water let´s go for the cheaper pipes¨

I have now realized that I have a parasite living in my stomach, and until the drugs kick in, this parasite has been named Harry. I wouldn´t say we´re getting on too well but he lives inside me so I have to tolerate him I suppose.

And he´s no real fuss or bother, only the 13 - 17 times a day I have to have ´alone time´with him in the toilet. Other than that he´s a delight.

I find myself alone in Cartagena with a very peeling back and shoulders, but the Dutch chaps from the trek are still in town so we arrange to meet up.

Now I like the Dutch, always have. Any nation that can essentially have the same three foods for breakfast, lunch, and dinner is alright by me.

It is this basic mix of cold meat, bread and cheese that has made them a very easy going, straight talking, and pleasent people, and why wouldn´t you be anything other than cool if you always knew what was going to be on the table?

And they all speak English in a sort of drawl that makes them all sound stoned. Which is always amusing. And when they switch back to Dutch it sounds like the language version of a car crash, with jagged bits of word metal thrown all over the conversational road.

Hansie has been hit by illness and won´t join us. I suspect he´s saying this as he´s had enough of listening to me harp on about nothing, talking shit, and bothering him about being tall. I suspect this right up until he takes himself to hospital.

So Emon, Idris and myself make our way into the Old town for some beers.

The night before we had unsuccesfully tried to get into a local club called ´Bar Barbila´ we were wearing shorts and were turned away. So we´ve all got our jeans on this time and after some food and warm up beers we head down there.

The same 3 doorman from the night before can´t hide their dissapointment as we bound up to the door, but, true to their word, they let us in.

Now I´m going to find it very difficult to describe what I saw within these walls but I´ll try.

You walk through the entrance way to meet the loud but clear sound of quality salsa, on the right is a small bar that seems to be giving out panama hats, fake football shirts, and blow up footballs. It appears to be a World Cup themed night.

Past this bar you walk into the main bar area, to the right is a small DJ booth with no dancefloor. No big square space where everyone stares at a ugly, fat, old, sweaty DJ, playing music with a right moody look on his face. This lad was dancing and jumping around having a right laugh.

And the reason for this is because everyone dances EVERYWHERE!

On tables, on the bar, in the corridors, wherever they want. It´s mad but strangely liberating. If they´re sitting at a table they just get up and start dancing.

Anyway, in front of you is a bar around 7 meters long, further to the right is another bar, around about the same length, to the left of this was another room, quite long with yet another bar on the left. I would say that the place good easily hold 7 - 800 people but rather than fill it like a dance club they put tables everywhere. I would say about 90 - 100 tables.

Now this is where it gets hard. On every single table sat a woman of such beauty that I found it difficult to look. Some were young, some with their husbands, some maybe pushing 50, but all of them stunning. And then, and then! on most of these tables there was 4 or more beautiful women all sitting together!

We got some drinks and wandered around passing these tables of ladies, the like of which I had never been privvy to before. And I´ve met some beautiful women before, I´ve even been lucky enough to go out with a few (I mean you obviously) in my time but this was outrageous.

After a while I had to go and sit down, I just couldn´t face seeing all these girls over and over. We take a seat in a side room which we assume is the restaurant and is empty.

I sit there with my hand in my hands while Idris laughs at my inability to deal with melee of ladies in this place. We order a bottle of rum to share and take a pew.

Within 30 - 40 minutes the ´restaraunt´is FULL of women, big groups of women, with maybe 2 blokes between them. My mood veers between feeling like I´m in heaven, to being absolutley furious that these women are dancing all around me.

Emon is slowly getting his prowl on, dancing with the ladies and having conversations in Spanish. Idris casually smokes and drinks rum, regulary stopping both to chuckle at me. I am sitting with my back to the wall staring at the floor.

I don´t know what to do, all the girls are single and dancing, and love being approached to dance and chat with people. And by all accounts they love foreigners. Never before has there been a greater chance or reason for me to step up and get my groove on.

So I revert to the classic British way of going out and meeting girls:

I get drunk on the rum and jump up to dance to any house tune the DJ plays, immediately sitting down again when a salsa songs come on. I perhaps overdo the shoulder drop to compensate that I´m not consistently dancing but either way a table of girls start to dance in our general direction.

I then proceed to buy a load of beers and casually wait for a girl to come my way.

They don´t. None of them take the burnt, peeling bait.

It would appear that they like to be approached, and over here there is no such thing as the 2am emergency girl either.

I fall out of the bar at 4am and go home. lessons have been learnt.

The next night Emon, Idris, and a valiant Hans intend to go again, if only to show Hans. I decline, I can´t face it.

I decide to make good my escape and head to Bogota, where I will start Spanish lessons.

It´s been bought to my attention that my spelling and use of the words they, their, and there is wrong. I can only apologise.

You try doing this in a sweaty internet cafe, with local kids hassling you, and using a keyboard where all the functions aren´t where they´re meant to be!

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