This post was something I was writing, as I was in the midst of the strangest relationship scenario I’d ever experienced. You’ll notice as my tone and opinion changes throughout this post.
The ending of this story is now written in stone.
I’m making this post live for you, my readers, as I’m always candid on this website. And it will hopefully help to keep you from making my mistakes.
Yet, to help her keep her dignity, I’ll change her name to ‘Maria’. But only to do her the last kindness she’ll ever get from me.
Dating a Venezuelan in Colombia
Part 1: The First Date
Maria is a Venezuelan, working as a prostitute in Santa Fe Bogotá. She lives above the brothel in which she works. From completely different worlds, it was only by pure chance that we met.
Living a couple of blocks away in an airbnb, I had Googled barber shops in my area. And I was trying to find a decent barber for a good haircut. Yet, Google sent me into Santa Fe, where I got the worst haircut of my life.
On the way out of Santa Fe, I spotted a girl from behind. I’m a tattoo lover and I also own a tattoo website. And she had a tattoo on her spine of black birds flying upwards. Her tattoo is both a symbol of freedom and prosperity and a visual representation of the path between heaven and earth.
When she turned around, she smiled at me. And at that exact moment, a cloud passed and the warm orange glow of the sun once again fell on Bogotá. I took it as a sign and I had to meet her.
I walked up to her and initiated a conversation. As I would continue to do most days, for months on end.
I would come down everyday, with a new excuse for being in Santa Fe. I would either be buying coffee (tinto) from the bodega across the street or playing roulette next to the bodega.
I’m not even a gambler. I find roulette boring. And poker machines to me are the epitome of boredom. They’re a noisy flashing waste of money. But I was there to see her.
I was there in the hopes that she might realize I’m not a rich potential client. And that I was just a guy who wanted to take a girl on a real date, to a real restaurant.
I wanted to know her as a person and not merely as an object. Unlike so many other men who pass through Santa Fe.
One day she was standing out in the freezing cold evening air, in front of the brothel, as she does every night. And I emerged from the casino at the same time. Then she smiled in my direction. I once again invited her to dinner. Yet, this time she accepted.
I crossed the street and suggested she put on warm clothes. As Bogotá is freezing most of the time. She spends her days standing around in clothing that is less than appropriate, for Bogotá’s freezing cold climate.
At first, she seemed a little stunned that a man would be asking her to put clothes on, and not take them off. And that I was actually considering her well being and comfort. But she agreed and she ran upstairs to change, while I booked us an Uber.
When she emerged, she was even more gorgeous than you could ever imagine. Dressed in khaki coloured pants, a green top and a double breasted old school leather jacket. She was stunning.
Less than a couple of minutes after she came back down, our Uber arrived. And it seems she’s never seen an Uber before. I opened the door for her and she hopped inside. As we left Santa Fe, she began to relax. Even quietly singing along to the radio.
When we arrived at the restaurant, I quickly hopped out to open the door for her, but she was already out. She’s a strong independent woman who needs no man to open a car door for her. We walked across the street to the restaurant. And once again, she seemed taken aback.
She obviously had never been to a proper restaurant. One with beautiful decor, mood lighting, soft music and a near endless menu from which to choose. It also had one of the better selections of cocktails in Bogotá, but as I’d learn, she never drinks alcohol.
We sat on the deck under the heater, overlooking an historic landmark, ordered and began to chat. Well, what conversation I could get from her.
The girls from Santa Fe are guarded around men. Having been lied too so many times before. They’re careful about what they reveal about themselves, so as not to have their hearts broken once more.
But I did manage to find out more about her gym and fitness routines. And that she’s into fitness and goes to the gym 5 days per week, because her whole family is skinny. I also learned she loves electronic music and dreams of one day being a DJ.
Unfortunately, I also found out after selecting the restaurant, that she loves Italian food. And I’d taken her to an upscale asian fusion restaurant. But on the upside, I love Italian food. It’s also my favourite. So I promised her that if she came out with me for dinner again, it would be to go for Italian.
When the dinner was finished, I ordered us another Uber to take her home. On the way back, she became more quiet. Probably expecting I’d do what any other man she’d met in Bogotá would do. But I didn’t.
The Uber arrived at her ‘home’ and she typed a message on my phones translator before quickly trying to get it back and delete the message, so I couldn’t read it. It was asking for money because she hadn’t worked that day and she sends her earnings home to Venezuela, for her family.
It was pocket change to me and I chased her as she leapt out of the Uber to gladly give it to her. We sat and chatted some more on her front steps as the myriad of cheap perverts rode past on their motorcycles, stopping to gawk to see if she was available. Each time with me giving them an angry glare in return, so they’d move on.
As we chatted, it seemed she was waiting for me to do or say something in particular. She was obviously tired and I’d brought her home. I was wondering why she wasn’t going inside. Then it dawned on me, she was waiting for me to do what her clients would do.
I once again reiterated I was only being a gentleman and bringing her home. I suggested she should go to bed (alone), so she could get up early for leg day in the gym. She smiled a smile I will never forget, hugged me and went inside.
That was the end of our date, but I would be back the next day.
Once again in the casino and drinking coffee across the street, I watched as no less than 5 men hired her for her services. With her earning no more than $50USD in an entire day of ‘work’.
Once you factor in food costs and room rentals, she’d be lucky if she has anything to save for the future. I’d spent more than she’d earn in 2-3 days ‘work’ on dinner and Ubers the previous night. I’d earn more money in the 2 hours, passively while I was in the Casino, than she’d make in a month.
So, as I walked past once more on my way home and she stopped me for a chat, I sat with her. And I once again bought her dinner and put some more money in her pocket. If I could only keep one other man away from her and stop them from touching her, it was worth it.
This time, I got her takeout and we sat in the brothel’s entrance surrounded by topless, G-string clad ladies. We talked for hours as I found out more about her. And the more I learnt about her, the more I came to care for her.
She was and is, still guarded with me. But we discussed alternate industries in which to work.
Though I’d started working out how to put her into an alternate career like my own, the second I met her. I didn’t dare mention it until she quietly let slip she hates her job.
I knew I could make her a small business owner online, earning far more than she’d ever make as a prostitute in Bogotá. And that I could give her a career where no man would ever see her undress, or touch her again, unless she asked them to.
So, when she mentioned working in the same industry in other countries, I raised the possibility of helping her set up an online business in an area she loved, fitness.
She may or may not yet see it, but her current career is a dead end. It leads nowhere. And as her external beauty fades, as it does for all of us, she would slip further into poverty. But I didn’t say that.
I simply pointed out that doing what she loves and building a career in something she loves doing, was entirely possible. Even for a Venezuelan prostitute. And I offered to help her build it.
Helping her build a real career costs me nothing but time. And it’s time I’d spend with her. So I would gladly agree. Plus, it would give me opportunity to show her life outside of Santa Fe.
As I’ve discovered during our conversations, she’s never seen any other part of Bogotá. She’s never been out of Santa Fe. She merely ‘works’, sleeps and goes to the gym. All on the same block in Santa Fe.
I want to show her what life can really be like, if only she opens herself up to the possibility of experiencing, more. She just needs to believe in herself. And recognise she deserves more than an endless procession of cheap men.
It’s because she deals with men like them each and every day, that I don’t ask for anything. Not even her WhatsApp or other contact. I expect nothing from her and will ask nothing of her.
I let her make her own choices and if she one day decides she wants to give me her WhatsApp, she will of her own accord. It will be her choice and not that of a man expecting something from her.
We might have met in the wrong place (Santa Fe) and under the wrong circumstances, with her current career, but that doesn’t mean that sometimes the big man upstairs does things for a reason. Heck, I don’t know, but it’s said he works in mysterious ways.
To be continued…
Part 2: The Second Date
So, I took ‘Maria’ out on a second date. After she confessed she loved Italian food, I spent the better part of week researching the best Italian restaurants in Bogotá.
I made a reservation at Bellini in Zona T. Bellini is a five star Italian restaurant and Zona T is one of the wealthier areas just north of Chapinero in Bogotá. It’s about 20 minutes in an Uber from Santa Fe.
Unlike Santa Fe there is no trash strewn everywhere. The side walks are free of rubbish and graffiti. It’s a clean and modern part of Bogotá, with some of the finest restaurants in the country.
Out for a Sunday walk, I stopped past in the morning to get coffee in Santa Fe. And ‘Maria’ was working as usual. She was shaking her ass on the street corner.
So, before leaving, I bought all of the ladies in the bodega and casino a lollipop. And I wandered across the street to give one to ‘Maria’ and confirm she still wanted to go out.
She assured me she was looking forward to it and hadn’t forgotten. I then went home and reconfirmed the reservation. And 6 hours later I walked back down to Santa Fe.
She was still on the street corner.
She rushed upstairs to change. While I happened upon a vendor selling roses. He just happened to walk past at the perfect time. So I bought a bunch of roses, while waiting for her to shower and change into something warmer.
About 30 minutes later, she came back down looking gorgeous. Yet, knowing Latin ladies and having dated a few now, I knew she might be late and didn’t want to rush her. So I had actually made the booking for an hour later than we had agreed.
Once all dolled up and free from work, I got us an Uber to the restaurant. And she once again relaxed in the Uber on the way out of Santa Fe.
As it turned out, we were the only ones in Bellini’s on a Sunday night. It was a rather picturesque table inside near a window. Though a little chilly as they had turned off the heat.
The food was quite good. Though not as amazing as would be expected of a five star establishment that charges as much as Bellini do. I paid roughly 500,000 (COP) Colombian pesos for dinner.
But I did screw up and accidentally ordered wine for the lady, as well as myself. Remembering she doesn’t drink, I was trying to order myself a glass of red and accidentally got us a bottle.
Yet, apart from the hiccup with the wine, everything appeared to go well. Even with my terrible Spanish. I got to find out more about her. But she seemed far more guarded this time.
Particularly when I enquired as to why she didn’t have a real boyfriend or husband. I enquired as to why she was single, because I know that most of the ladies in Santa Fe do have real boyfriends and husbands. They aren’t in fact single.
She gave me a response that I took on surface value and good faith. And I didn’t push the subject. Because I didn’t wan’t to offend her.
During the meal, I once again saw she hadn’t been to a decent restaurant. She asked for a serviette, not knowing what the material napkin was for. And honestly, I found the little things like that quite adorable.
After the meal was done and we were waiting for the Uber home, I gave her my jacket. Not wanting her to get cold and be uncomfortable. I opened doors, pulled out chairs and was just wanting to be a gentleman the whole night. The opposite of the men she was used to dealing with.
When we got back to her place, we once again sat and talked some more. Before I sent her to bed alone. Not wanting to be mistaken for a client. And once again she asked for money and I gladly gave it to her.
I knew how hard she worked. Out in the freezing cold. Dealing with ‘clients’ all day long. And I knew that if she ever wanted to take herself out to dinner, like the one I’d taken her on with the Uber, dinner, tips and flowers, it would take her more than a week of clients to earn that much.
So, when she asked for money, I gladly gave it to her. I thought she deserved it and was worth more. I honestly wanted to help her take some time for herself and not be out on the street in the cold.
But I was starting to get a ‘gold digger‘ vibe from her. And I had anticipated she’d ask for money and I knew in advance how much she’d likely try for. So as a test, I had it already out of my wallet in one of my pockets.
I’m not stupid. I just look after the people I care about. And I was beginning to care for her.
Yet in the end, I’m ruled by my head and not my heart. And I can be a cold calculating son of a bitch….
Part 3: The Story Ends
I’d given ‘Maria’ all of my contact details. My websites, emails, phone numbers, WhatsApp and yet she still didn’t want get in contact digitally. So, I went back down to Santa Fe the following day and sure enough she was on the street.
I arrived later than usual, because I couldn’t be bothered pretending to like the Casino. I was there to get some deep fried foods. And I knew the Venezuelan food vender opens at 5pm. So I arrived around 4:30pm.
I had coffee with the bodega ladies, gave money and food to the lovely pregnant homeless lady that wanders past each night. And I bought more lollipops for the casino ladies.
Then, I went to get some deep fried foods from my favorite food stand. And that’s when s**t hit the proverbial fan.
While eating, ‘Maria’ came across the road in a bit of a grumpy mood and asked me to buy her something to eat. So I did. But while I was pulling the money out of my pocket to pay the man for the food she just ordered, she didn’t even bother sticking around to chat.
Simple telling the vendor what she wanted and that she’d be back when it was ready. She then turned and walked off. Leaving myself and the food vendor wondering what the f**k had just happened.
His response was the most telling. Though my casino ladies weighed in, telling me that she was no good. And from the utter disrespect I’d just received and the vibe I had been getting the past week, I had to agree with them.
She was only seeing me as a wallet. Some sucker to sponge off.
While I was still paying for her food, she was wandering inside with another random client. Not even bothering to talk to me while I was buying her food. She just wandered off so she could f**k another random man.
It was at that point my demeanour changed. Why was I turning down dates with good girls who do walk up to me in the better parts of town to give me their numbers? Why was I not looking at, let alone talking to, other women?
I hadn’t even had a beer in weeks just because she told me I drink too much. So, I walked my ass back to the bodega. And I ordered an Aguilar. The bodega ladies were surprised. As were the casino ladies. For weeks, I’d drank only water and coffee.
I left ‘Maria’ standing on the street corner. In the same place I first saw her. Because as I’ve learned, you can take the hooker out of Santa Fe. But you can’t take Santa Fe out of the hooker.
The Afterword
So, I still head down to Santa Fe from time to time. Heck, salchipapa from Cocheros or empanadas from the place two blocks down are some of my favourite post gym snacks. And they’re both made by Venezuelans.
It seems I love deep fried foods made by Venezuelans. And for my Argentine audience, Venezuelan empanadas are so much better than Argentinian empanadas. Venezuela wins that battle in my opinion.
Yet, whenever I walk past, sure enough ‘Maria’ is standing out front of her brothel looking for clients. I don’t even bother chatting to her. I’d rather talk to my casino ladies, bodega ladies or the beautiful massage therapist and her amigas opposite the Casino.
Funnily enough, the neighborhood watch still keeps an eye on me. The women who are friends with ‘Maria’ are always watching where I go. Yeah ladies, I do see you watching me.
But ladies, you never saw the homeless people I had watching all of you in return. Nobody ever notices the homeless. They’re the best source of intel one can find in Latin America.
I also see the ladies watching me when I buy coffee or aromatica (warm mixed fruit juices) for half the ladies working on the street. Or when I chat to one of the coolest ladies I’ve met in Colombia, who’s opposite the casino.
What they also probably don’t see, is the huge amount of foreigners who read this website and recognize me in Santa Fe. Stopping to chat with me. And the barrage of foreigners whom I educate on the real local prices in Santa Fe, that then get sent back to ‘Maria’.
Yeah, I’ve sent more than a few back to her after telling them she loves ‘surprise @n@l’. Which would be more surprising given she’s actually a lesbian. No word of a lie. That’s what she was hiding.
Given I’m the ‘nice’ guy who looks after all the ladies I talk to, they’ve all spilled the beans. I’ve been told ‘Maria’ is actually a lesbian many different times, by many different ladies.
I was right. She was just looking at me as a walking wallet.
She had ample opportunity to just tell me she was gay. Or that she only wanted to be friends. And if she had done any research on me, she would have found out that one of my best friends is a lesbian.
So, I’d have been cool with her being gay. And I still would have helped her escape her terrible ‘job’.
Instead, she chose to be a gold digger. The one thing I hate. So, I chose to send her foreign clients at bargain basement local rates, who all wanted to put it in her @ss.
See, like I said before, I can be a cold son of a b**ch.
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