Santa Marta, Colombia. Day 5.
Jerry recommends me not to write this. He says to rather take a nap. In fact, I imagine there are some topics I would be smart not to write about. Like drug use and casual sex. Unfortunately, this article contains both.
Frankly, I have spend this whole hell-hot Sunday thinking about ways to write this story. And if I should write it at all.
What I will write might piss you off.
It all started with a game of Jenga…
After spending the day walking around in Santa Marta, sweating, trying to find food and rolling tobacco, I was tired. I napped for a bit in my ten-bed dorm, munched on a self-prepared egg’n cheese wrap and played some ping pong. I kicked ass… somewhat.
My plan was to not drink or smoke for a day.
At this point, I was still confident.
Our hostel here has its own pool and a fully-equipped bar. That was my next stop. I had a beer and a cigarette. Oh well, I tried. I joined the little pre-game shit-chat and rolled some dice as part of a drinking game.
We were about 8 people.
After a while, the guy with a mustache, Hawaiian shirt and khakis pointed to the Jenga table. In case you don’t know what Jenga is, I am going to refresh your memory a bit.
The object is to build the tower as high as possible.
Every block that is pulled out has a little action item written onto it. Like “let the dog lick your face,” or “lick someone’s belly button,” or “lick someone’s ear”. No kidding. I assume the creator must like licks.
But than, who doesn’t?
Ok, I am getting off track here.
After some licking, I was the guy who broke the tower and lost the game for us.
I went to the bar, now on my first mojito, and stood next to the guy in the Hawaiian shirt. Out of the blue, and I don’t like this expression much, but in this case, it fits, he asked “do you want to do a line of cocaine with me?”
Out of the blue, I said, “Sure.”
We went to the bathroom. It was 11pm.
He broke out a pack of coke. I broke out my black journal. He educated me about cocaine in Colombia. For about 3 Euro, he said, I could buy a whole gram. I don’t know jackshit about cocaine, I had it five times in Mexico, but I know that’s almost nothing. That’s a candy bar in Manhattan.
Anyways, I did not want to buy any. But I sure did a line with him. Two, in fact.
Yes, it was good.
We went back down to the bar. About 20 minutes later, I was really high. We played that dice drinking game again. This time, I was really into it… and into smoking cigarettes.
I had to drink four tequila shots. I barely noticed them.
At around 12, we hopped into a cab and went to Taganga, a small surfer town outside of Santa Marta. Supposedly, that is where the party happens Saturdays. Damn right.
We went to a bar with ocean view. It was jammed. No cover. Two floors with a direct exit to the beach. Wonderful.
We did a little more cocaine and had some more beers and cigarettes.
By accident, I met a cute girl from the hostel. The first Colombian girl I have seen with a bunch of tattoos. By accident means, I did not do much. She was in our group. I suck at meeting women these days… mostly.
We talked and hugged and danced and kissed. I genuinely liked (and still do) her.
At the end of the night, after sitting at the beach, we went back to the hostel and got a private room. We did it. Twice. After that, I was dead. My throat was dry, my nose hurt and my body was shaking.
I slept it off.
Today was another day… without beers and cigarettes (so far).
If you read until now, let me add this:
I am afraid to post this.
Yet, this is the truth. This is what happened and I like to share the truth here. I have mixed thoughts and feelings about the whole day. I am struggling with my mind today. I am not (and don’t intend to be) perfect. Just experimenting with generally good intentions for myself and others.