I received a ton of great comments on my recent post personifying the typical American woman.  Not surprisingly, few girls decided to contribute by adding their valuable perspectives as well.

Of them, “Eurogirl” did an excellent job of validating my post in one long run on sentence:

And, by the way: I speak four languages, I’m well read, well travelled, have exquisite interests such as philosophy, art, medieval music, dark ambient clubs, I love watching sports, going to museums, concerts, markets, etc.

[more validation clipped]

Roosh’s comment was right on the money, but in case someone misunderstood, let me explain. 

Since I feel a bit generous today, I will let Eurogirl and other hapless girls like her in on a little secret.  What Eurogirl doesn’t understand is that everything that she has allegedly accomplished above means absolutely nothing to the average male.

Absolutely, undoubtedly, unconditionally, unquestionably, unambiguously nothing.

Nothing.

The dirty little secret is that men don’t care whether you have a PhD, a Masters, or a Bachelors. 

Men don’t care whether you like medieval or classical music. 

Men don’t care whether you like museums or watching paint dry.

Men don’t care whether you speak 50 languages, or have been to Mars.

Yeah, I know the media, magazines, and “relationship experts” say otherwise.

When I meet a girl that can’t stop talking about her work, my eyes automatically start scanning for the nearest exit. 

What men want is a woman — a real woman.  A woman who oozes femininity.  A classy, elegant woman that supports her man on the street and rocks his world between the sheets. A confident woman that knows how to flirt, how to cock (or open to learning), and how to please a man.

(For Mad Men (great show, btw) fans: think Don Draper’s new French wife, and not that annoying and unattractive man-wannabe copywriter, Peggy)

In return, she will get a real man who will know how to please her.

You know why you never see beautiful, feminine girls of the world validating themselves to blog posts?  Because they’re all being fucked their brains out by real, confident men.

PS: Regarding the Ukraine comment.  I’m not so sure I’d be making that comment being from the country you’re.

–

Genuine Asshole wrote:

Was in New York Last summer.
-Met a girl who was a DJ, Who invited me to a bunch of wild parties. Took me around New York, pointing out where many celebrities live, told me about the underground music scene
-Met a girl who was studying Art Major, who took me to a bunch of museums who she knew all surprisingly well. And a couple of art gallery opening ( open bar FTW)
- Met a girl who worked as a volunteer around the world in poor nations as both a teacher and a nurse. Introduced me to her friends, had a massive roof party for 4th of july.

    …

You just have to decide what you are looking for … The rest wear converse shoes and
flip flops.

So American girls do other things other than going to the movies? Who knew.  In all seriousness, I’m glad you found a girl to show you around NYC.

Now, you asked me to decide what I’m looking for.

Allow me to tell you what I’m looking for:

I’m looking for a girl that doesn’t immediately accuse a man of following some “X day rule” after he calls to setup a future date.

I’m looking for a girl who doesn’t return a sarcastic comment every time she is caught off-balance with my non-scripted flirting and doesn’t have a scripted answer to my question or comment.

I’m looking for a girl who’s confident enough to flirt with a man without needing to be drunk, or without suddenly getting uncomfortable when a man flirts with her in a way she’s never experienced in real life or seen on Jersey Shore.

I’m looking for a girl with emotional intelligence that can intuitively judge a man and not turn the date into a job interview if the man doesn’t spill his life story within the first date or two.

I’m looking for a girl who makes the interaction fun, not some chess match where I have to carefully plan what I say and how I act.

Those qualities simply don’t exist within the American female species.

–

I received an email from a fellow Eastern European New Yorker who provided this insight:

Hey Maverick,
That was a cruel and funny post.  The girl you went out with sounds like a typical Italian/Russian-American princess.  I completely empathize with your situation, as I deal with girls like this ALL the time. 
Now what you should’ve done is just played her game, because these girls are so damn easy!  Answer her stupid questions, listen to her stupid stories, tease her a bit more than usual.  Just stick to basic New York game and you could’ve been fucking her in no time.

That’s a great point, and I personally know many guys that clean up with girls like her.  The problem is that once you venture outside America, and start meeting and dating beautiful, sexy and confident women from countries like Mexico, Colombia, Brazil, Romania and Ukraine, your standards and expectations radically change.

Sadly, American girls begin to pale in comparison in all categories except maybe fast, albeit sloppy and drunk, sex.  But even that is rapidly losing its appeal when you can get a whole package in the girl of your dreams abroad.

Related posts:

1. The Land of The Free and Home of The Soulless, Uninspiring and Robotic Women
2. 66 Things On Life, Men and Women, and America
3. Brazilian Dating Guide For Men

There’s a big difference between being persistent and being desperate.  There are times that even persistence is not necessary because the girl simply likes you and makes the moves for you. 

However, most of my best relationships, and consequently some of the mind-blowing sex I’ve had were the result of a bit of persistence on my part to make it work.

Since most of the girls I meet these days are during daytime (especially in the summer), usually all I end up with is a number that I need to work with to get her out for a more intimate date.

Before I lay down the rules, I want to stress my inner mentality when it comes to the chase.

• I do not “next” a girl.  (In fact, I don’t “next” anyone anymore, but that’s another post.) I never take it personally if she’s been evasive or taking a while to respond to texts.  You can’t next a girl you haven’t slept with.  I don’t suddenly give up on her if I see unfavorable behavior, but I try to see it through until it reaches a point where I need to cut my losses and move on.  So, unlike many guys, I’m willing to invest a bit more into the chase if I feel the prospect (girl) is worth it.
• I do not sit and analyze her SMS’s to predict my chances.  If she’s responding, it’s on. 
• I remove my ego completely.  I view this process as nothing to do with me, but more of a timing/logistics issue that has to do mainly with her.

So, now that I’ve met the girl and have gotten her number the chase begins.  My objective now is to get her off the phone, and see her face-to-face as soon as possible.

• Call or Text
  If the country/culture is very text-heavy, then I only stick to texts.  Here in Romania as well as the rest of Eastern Europe people typically text much more than call.
  The exception here is that if she never replies to your original text, then maybe after 3-4 hours pickup the phone and call her.  Her phone might not receive SMSs, she might not have enough carrier credit to respond to a text, etc.
• The First Text
  I always give every girl I meet a particular nickname.  The Romanian girl I met the other day considered herself ‘non-typical Romanian’ simply because she had short hair, didn’t wear high heels, nor a dress.  My nickname for her was ‘my favorite non-typical Romanian girl’.  The French girl with whom I was hooking up in Brazil, my very first text to her was ‘ma petite cherie’ (something like ‘my baby’).  Another girl I met, Cassandra, kept saying how she always introduces herself by saying her name and appending ‘with 2 S’s’.  I refer to her as “Casssssandra” when I text her.

  Note #1: Don’t give nicknames if you’re unwilling to call her that face-to-face.  For instance, if during the first meeting, the vibe was very serious and there’s no way you could’ve called her by the nickname, don’t call her by nickname when you text her.  She’s going to think you’re trying too hard or just weird.  Your vibe when texting needs to absolutely match the vibe you’ve had when you first met her.

  Note #2: If the girl was very cute, dressed to the 9s, and very flirty when we first met, I sometimes ask her to send me a cute picture to my email with my first text.  Her sending me a sexy picture pretty much sets the tone for our interaction going forward.

• The time span before she responds.
  I don’t care how long it took her to respond to the first text because I’ve found whether it’s 5 mins or 3 hrs makes absolutely no difference.  As she could be working, not hear the phone, be at a gym, etc.  The key is whether she replies by the evening and also if apologizes for not replying sooner. 
• Her response
  Usually if the girl has a sense of humor, she’ll respond by giving me a nickname as well.  About 80-90% of the girls play along.  The non-typical Romanian called me a fake-brazilian, fake-mexican, fake-spanish guy because I’ve lived in all of those countries but it’s not my nationality.  The Cassssandra chick called me a ‘rebel without a cause’ because I joked that’s what my motto in life is when we met.  It’s a great sign that a girl is willing to play a long.
• The frame
  Setting the frame when asking her out:  The frame I want to set right away when asking the girl out is that we won’t be just having a beer and talking about world events.  I don’t want her to think that it’ll be some kind of platonic, friend-only date.
• The ask
  One way I like to ask if I could “kidnap” her for a few hours one weekend night for an “innocent” beer or two.  Girls love to be “kidnapped” by a stranger (even if they’ll never admit it).  If the girl is super flirty, I might add, “don’t worry I won’t try anything.”  but you have to make a judgment call based on the initial interaction and her SMS responses.  Also, remember that if her English is not fluent, she might miss the subtext behind the statement and completely misunderstand.
• If she cancels
  Let’s say you’ve set up a Friday night date, but the girl cancels few hours before.  First you have to assess the situation: did she give a reason and/or present a counter offer?  If you’re in a low-flake country (i.e., you’re not in Colombia), then it’s quite possible she had a valid reason, and it’s worth following up at a later date.

  Let’s say she cancelled, by claiming she’s sick but asked if we can reschedule at a later date.  My typical reply would be “Ok, but you’ll have to make it up to me next time.  Get well soon.”  I achieve two things with such a response: I make sure that she knows that she’ll have to make it worthwhile next time, and two I don’t act like a dick even though she could be lying to me.

• She counteroffers
  If she counteroffers, great, proceed as normal.  If she doesn’t, I wait at least 3-4 days to re-initiate contact, again with a witty comment with her nickname.
• She hasn’t responded
  Let’s say it’s been a week or two since you last texted her but she hasn’t responded to your last text.  Now, this upcoming weekend there’s a cool party your friends are throwing, or a cool DJ playing at a club, or some other cool event.  What I would do is text her, ‘hey <nickname>, so and so DJ is playing at so and so club, you should come’  What I’m doing here is not inviting her directly, but making her an offer that she should check it out.  I hate passive offers like this, but if she’s been silent for a while, it’s an ideal offer.
• She’s MIA
  If you get no response at this point, delete the number and move on.

So drop the ego, and keep pushing for a meet unless you get a definite ‘No’ or the girl simply stops replying to your texts.  If that happens, don’t call, don’t pass Go and just move on to the next girl.

Mastering persistence without crossing into desperation will give you a new arsenal in your ever expanding seduction toolkit.

No related posts.

Life

• Rejection and success are imaginary terms that were created to quantify our lives, compare it to others, make us feel insecure, and ultimately sell us something to fix that.
• It’s perfectly OK to be sad, lonely, and depressed.  Understanding the fact is a huge step closer to finding your inner self.
• When unsure of something, always ask yourself "why" and the world will open up to you.  Just be ready to accept whatever the "answer" may be. 
• Each time you get emotionally hurt is another step towards understanding your inner self.
• Your biggest mistake is believing that the world works how you want it to work  
• We always try to change a person into someone we want them to be.
• There’s no true truth; for it is what we’ve been instilled by family, culture, media and state
• There’s no risk, just very calculated bets that are inline with your convictions.
• The ego is the most destructive thing in the universe.  It works tirelessly to derail you from complete enlightenment and Zen.
• Listening is one of the most valuable skills you have.  Learn to master it.
• The quicker you let go of your ego, the quicker everything else falls into place
• Depression is a term that was created to sell us Prozac. 
• Those 500 "friends" on Facebook that send you birthday greetings once a year are not your friends
• What’s good for society may not be necessarily good for you.
• What’s good for family may not be necessarily good for you
• There’s no perfection.
• Complaining is a symptom of your lack of understanding of how the world works.  Fix the root cause, and complaining will go away
• If you’re not happy, seek change.
• Dump your smartphone’s data plan.  You don’t need the Internet to follow you at all times.
• Instead of having weak relationships with 500 "friends", cultivate 5 strong relationships with real friends.
• Grass is not always greener on the other side.
• Exchange your time and money for experiences instead of physical things.
• The shortcut to happiness is removing emotions from decision making.
• Put yourself on the line with calculated risks every now and then.  It’s the fastest way to learn about yourself.
• Capitalism, Marxism, Leninism, socialism, liberalism, conservatism, neo-conservatism are a handful of a billion of ideologies in this world.  Learn what they really stand for, then pick one that benefits yourself.
• Of all the money I’ve spent on things, travel has the highest ROI.
• Never take anything personally.  There’s no such thing as a personal attack.
• People are very egoistic.  To get what you want, you have see how your existence in their lives will make them happy first.
• I’m happier, smarter, wiser and more confident now that anytime in my past, and I’d never trade for what I know now for my younger years.
• Hold a grudge against someone with a very good reason.  Let go of the simple shit.
• You can never, ever please everyone.  Pick your targets and battles with laser precision.
• The most important thing are your convictions and beliefs.  Lose those and everything crumbles shortly after.

Men & Women:

• There’s no soul mate.  There’s no infatuation.  There’s no love.  There’s just a biological need to mate with good genes.  Use that as your template for women, and you’ll never be disappointed.
• A woman’s true currency is her youth and femininity.  Both of which are being devalued at an alarming rate in the West.
• If you haven’t fucked her (preferably twice, thrice or more), you mean nothing to her and she should mean nothing to you.
• "A quickest way to a man’s heart is through his stomach," Eastern European proverb.
• Seduction is never scripted.  Sometimes it’s movie-worthy perfect: the perfect approach; the perfect flirting; the perfect kiss.  Other times it’s messy: too fast escalation, rejected kiss attempts, followed by eventual sex.  Both are better than wondering "what if" home alone on a Friday night.
• There’s a big difference between persistence and desperation.  Learn the difference and pack an important arsenal in your toolbox.
• Stay true to the bro code.  A good friendship with a guy is much more important than a random fuck with his chick.
• “A man truly matures around the age of 40,” Eastern/Central European proverb.
• Being hungry and horny get you rewarded more often than not.
• Never be ashamed of escalating quickly in the interaction.  You’re sexual and she’s being weird for not reciprocating.
• Hint as soon as possible that there’s a good chance you’ll be fucking her soon.
• "The only thing that matters is that you’re doing something," from the Brazilian school of game on approaching, and escalating with women.
• Drop the aloof bullshit when seducing non-American(ized) girls.
• When you find yourself constantly thinking about a girl, make absolutely sure that she is spending even more time thinking about you.
• There’s no universal game.
• When trying to fuck an American(ized) girl, things follow a predictable set of right and wrong steps, with little room for error.  With non-Americans, there’s a lot of grey areas.
• During seduction, a girl will give you a small window of opportunity to take charge and escalate.  Miss the window, and you’re finished.
• Easy come, easy go.
• There’s no perfect approach.
• A typical conversation with an American(ized) girl is 50% sarcasm, 50% teasing, 0% authenticity, avoiding silent pauses like the plague.  A typical conversation with a non-American girl is 20% verbal seduction, 80% non-verbal seduction, treasuring silent pauses like gold.
• To best way to keep a girl is to indirectly make her realize that your life continues as before, even with her in it.  Meanwhile, keep fucking her like it’s your last, every single time.
• Pickup was invented in USA to counteract the evolution of a new species of women who no longer go by their emotions, but instead follow what the media tells them to do.
• You can’t seduce American women because of their lack of emotional intelligence.
• Woman’s natural state is when she’s not in control and is led by a strong man.
• A man settles down when he finds a suitable mother for his children, and when he begins to focus on the accumulation of wealth and assets instead of accumulation of notches.
• A 32 year old American girl who considers herself "picky" will never make you happy.
• To fuck an American(ized) girl, tease her with complete abandon, ignore anything she’s telling you, and treat her like an abandoned dog in the poor neighborhood; to fuck a non-American girl, seduce her.
• Never, ever listen to a woman for what she likes in a man, or wants out of a relationship, etc. 
• Never, ever take relationship advice from a woman.

America:

• America is the best place in the world to learn how to make money from nothing.  Once you have money and/or skills to make it, leave and never look back.
• If I knew what I know now, I would’ve left America when I was 25 or so (instead of 30).
• Regardless of what everyone says, the end of America is not near.  No one else in the world is innovating like America.  Brazil?  They’re learning how to sell their coffee. China? They’re busy copying America to make cheap shit that will be bought by Americans.  Russia?  They make 80% of earnings by selling oil.
• Nothing is free in America.  To get the "American dream", you have to pay your dues first, namely by signing your life away to constant soulless work, and a 30-year mortgage.
• Come to America with a plan.  Don’t come to America for inspiration or soul-searching.

Related posts:

1. Revisiting The Soulless, Uninspiring and Robotic Women
2. Why America Is Great
3. Why Computer Programmers Can’t Pickup Women

Ipanema, Rio de Janeiro, Brazil
I wake up in my room on a hot and muggy morning in Rio de Janeiro.  It’s February, the carnival is in full swing, the sun is blistering through my window, and it feels to be at least 95 F (35 C) outside.  I’m completely soaked and feel like I’m laying in a puddle of sweat.  I check my bed sheets and they’re completely soaked.  Then I remember how we had to change them three times throughout the night.

I lay next to Celine, a French girl who played hard to get but finally succumbed to my advances.  It was an unusually long seduction (2-3 months), that began when I was inadvertently spitting while talking to her at a posh Zona Sul club, and culminating with me finally taking her home ‘caveman style’ the previous night at a Lapa bar. 

She’s the typical French girl with jet black, short and curly hair, big dark eyes, and the accompanying ‘je ne sais quoi’ attitude that screams ‘I’m French and too good for you.’

Medellin, Colombia
I wake up unusually early for a Saturday morning in my rented room at a high-rise in the El Poblado neighborhood of Medellin, Colombia.  It’s quiet and dark outside.  My alarm is blinking 5:21 am.

I slept poorly.  I remember drifting in and out of sleep because of my paranoia that my "guest," whom I’ve only known for few hours, would take all my valuables and flee.

The guest is a hot MILF that I finally brought home after a two week phone tag after meeting her in Parque Lleras.  She surely looks different this morning than the night before.  She wakes up and announces that she has to go home to see her son, and asks for five dollars for the cab.  I give her the money, walk her out, and go back to sleep.

Kiev, Ukraine
I wake up to a grey and uninspiring early November morning.  It’s miserable and cold in Kiev, Ukraine, and while my rented apartment is not far from the city’s prestigious Independence Square, all I can see from my window are the carcasses of decaying buildings.

I turn over only to find Julia peacefully sleeping on her side of the bed.  She’s beautiful, with long black hair, brown eyes, high cheekbones and a slim figure.  Her sexy leather boots with the rest of our clothes are scattered all over the floor.

We met at a Kiev metro station while I was coming back from dinner.  I was drawn to her immediately and came over to ask her something about Kiev.  She became curious, asked me where was I from (probably sensing a different accent), and I ended up leaving with her number.  I took her to dinner few nights later, then the following week invited her for a few drinks at a bar near my place.  I joked about wanting to show her a beautiful view from my "penthouse" apartment, but once she was lured inside, our priorities changed.
 

Copacabana, Rio de Janeiro, Brazil
It’s Sunday morning, and I find myself in a small studio apartment in the Copacabana neighborhood of Rio de Janeiro few blocks from the beach.  I lay next to Sabrina, a beautiful Carioca whom I met in Lapa exactly a week ago.  She’s the epitome of Brazil: sexy, seductive and sensual.  It’s my second or third week in Rio, but I feel like my life has only just now began.

She’s slowly waking up now, turning her head in my direction and giving me this wide smile exposing a perfect set of white teeth.  Then she leans in closer, caressing my cheek with her hand.  I move closer and start kissing her beautiful tan skin all over again.  I don’t want this morning to end.

Berlin, Germany
I wake up in the Kreuzberg area of Berlin, Germany.  It’s 10am and already shaping up to be another unusually warm August day.  I’m lying on my stomach on a very wide bed in an apartment that I believe belongs to some French guy I met last night.  Next to me is a Finnish girl whose name currently escapes me.  The French guy and I met her and her Turkish friend in a bar.  Later we went dancing to an outdoor area that consisted of a few clubs, a lounge, and a hotdog/burger stand.

It wasn’t long before we lost the Frenchman and the Turkish girl, only to see them heavily making out fifteen minutes later.  We brushed them off and continued dancing.  After a few drinks, my chick was giving me the eye, and I was too happy to reciprocate. 

Few hours later at the apartment it was a race to see whose clothes will come off first.  She won, and I rewarded her with multiple orgasms throughout the night.

Leme, Rio de Janeiro, Brazil
I wake up and find myself on a wide air mattress on an 11th floor high-rise in the Leme neighborhood of Rio de Janeiro.  It’s a tiny condo, with a kitchenette that lacks a stove among other things.  Simone, a petite Mineira is still sleeping and is not about to wake up anytime soon.  I get up, walk next to the window to enjoy a great view of Copacabana beach.  It’s still early, but the beach-obsessed Cariocas are slowly inching towards the shore.

Simone is my latest in a string of conquests from my favorite Lapa club.  The night we met had two distinct parts: pre tequila shots, and post tequila shots courtesy of my Brazilian Jiu Jitsu friend who made a late appearance and promptly disappeared after buying us a round.

Somehow I ended up talking to her, and after several dates she invited me back to her place.  Lately she’s been what my friends and I started calling "Plan C": a backup plan when we didn’t pull at the two prime clubs.  Since the bus to my place passed her place, she’d usually expect me knocking at her door at 3-4am.  Then we had wild sex several times.  In the morning she made me breakfast.  After that I usually weaseled my way out of her apartment to chill with my friends on the beach. 

Belo Horizonte, Brazil
I wake up in the most comfortable bed that I’ve slept in my whole time in Brazil.  I’m in Belo Horizonte, Brazil — a large, vibrant city with beautiful women.  Next to me is Gabriela, a girl who wanted to couch surf at my place in Rio during carnival, but because of one thing or another was unable to.  Few months later as I was wrapping up my life in Brazil, I decided to stop by her hometown and invite her for a beer.  With Brazilian girls, you know immediately whether you’re going to score, and this one sent all the right signals in the first ten minutes. 

We had beers, followed up by heavy make outs in the club.  She wouldn’t come back to my room the first night, but on the third night suggested few beers in a bar in her neighborhood.  She was unusually passive for a Brazilian girl making me work a bit for it.  No stranger to this, I joked about seeing what her building looked, then what her elevator looked, then finally whether her apartment was as nice as the neighborhood.

She wanted me to sleep on the couch, but after 15 mins more of "convincing," finally agreed to share the bed with me.  We had sex four times that night, and once more before her work the next day.

Mexico City, Mexico
I wake up in a house in the Balbuena neighborhood of Mexico City.   I lay next to Alejandra or Ale, a girl I initially met in California few months back but decided to accept her invitation and visit her hometown.  She looks like a Spanish princess with beautiful olive skin, jet black shoulder length hair, dark and piercing eyes, and that ‘coqueta’ sex appeal that all Latinas have in their blood.

I’m at her parents’ second house, right opposite the street from where her parents are living.  It’s a modest, nondescript house that her mother uses as an office for her optometry practice.

We had a fun night exploring this megapolis of 21 million inhabitants.  We had good food, good drinks, great dancing and the best ‘churros rellenos’ I’ve had in my life.

I look outside and it’s a chilly yet peaceful grey morning, save for two dogs barking in the background. 

Granada, Nicaragua
I wake up in a hotel room on a typical muggy morning in this small Central American country.  It’s New Years day and I smell of alcohol and my clothes reek of smoke.  I’m laying next to an American girl in her early 30s.  She’s completely passed out, and won’t be waking up for a while.  There’s a half-empty bottle of rum and plastic cups nearby. 

I slowly retrace the previous night.  I remember somehow ending up at an all-local party by the lake with a French Canadian friend from the hostel.  I remember immediately noticing two American girls sticking out like patches of white in a sea of dark Latinos. 

I remember going for the one with the huge boobs, while the Montreal native took the other one.  I remember making out with her and then the four of us grabbing a taxi together.

I start looking for the door to plan my escape but the shattering headache has its own agenda.  Feeling helpless, I close my eyes and drift back to sleep.

Bangkok, Thailand
I wake up due to an angry alarm clock in a modest hotel room with the A/C blowing at full speed.  I find myself fully embraced by a petite Thai girl who doesn’t want to let me go. 

After meeting her in a mall in Bangkok, she followed me up to Chiang Mai where we spent a week just hanging out and exploring.  She showed me some amazing night markets, introduced me to spicy foods (with a glass of water within reach), and negotiated with the tuk-tuks for rides to the Wats.  I still remember her petite and tight body when we made love.

I want to close my eyes and keep sleeping but I can’t: my flight back to USA leaves in 3 hours.

Related posts:

1. The Last Time I Got Played By Colombian Girls

Medellin was a tough city to settle into in the first few weeks.  While I expected the same warmth, flirtatiousness, and femininity from the girls that I was basking in Brazil, what I discovered instead was that most of the girls were spoiled, picky, and very savvy in taking advantage of a newbie gringo anyway they could.

Practically all of my dates started out great, with mutual attraction, passionate make outs, but somehow ending with me going home solo each time.  So after spending all that money on liquor, clubs, taxis, the only person wasn’t “getting paid” at the end of the night was me.

I was determined to put an end to this, and the turning point eventually came in the form of Eliza.

I met Eliza on a busy street corner in downtown Medellin.  I was running late for my BJJ class, and having forgotten to get off at the right bus stop, ended up getting lost in downtown.  She gave me that warm Paisa* smile, provided me with directions, and immediately asked me where I was from.  We chatted a bit and I ended up leaving with her cell number and Facebook id. 

We spent a couple of weeks flirting on Facebook, each time unable to make concrete plans to go out.  Finally, sensing that I wasn’t giving up, she yielded to my persistence and decided to go out to a club in Medellin’s nightlife area.

I picked her up at the closest metro stop, and together we hopped into a taxi and headed to the club. 

In the club we joined some of the other friends that were already there.  We ordered the standard Medellin club fare: a bottle of rum, coke and plenty of ice.

I sat next to her, and slowly began to stroke her thigh.  I started off with innocent, ‘accidental’ touches, until eventually my hand became a permanent fixture on her left thigh.

We danced to reggaeton for a while.  Then we salsa danced (at least she did, while I tried my best to imitate her).  At some point our eyes locked, and we kissed.  It was a short kiss, her feeling a bit embarrassed with all my friends watching.  Later on I pulled her into a corner safe from prying eyes and heavily made out with her with my hands freely running up and down her slim and tight figure.

We went to another club and repeated the process all over again.  Again the bottle, the chaser and ice.  More dancing.  More kissing.  More touching.

She was mine and she knew it.

It was getting late by now.  My friends and their dates were ready to call it a night, and so was my date and I.  It was a perfect first date with chemistry, passion, and soon to be followed with more perfect love making at my love shack. 

But things don’t always work out the way you want.

As soon as we stepped out of the club, she announced that she won’t be spending the night with me and will be going home.  Fine, I thought, as I was no stranger to this type of behavior from Medellin girls.

Then she made a request, that astonishes me to this day.

     "Can I have cab money to get home?"

At first I thought I misunderstood, so I asked her to repeat herself.  She repeated the same sentence again. 

I looked at her in disbelief.  I couldn’t comprehend the utter arrogance of what she’d just said.

In the last few hours, I paid for everything: the taxi to the club, the cover charges, the bottles of rum, in the first club, then in the second, yet here she was asking for yet another handout completely unashamed of how ridiculous her request is.

     "I don’t have any money on me."  It was a lie; I had plenty of money on me.

     "What do you mean? You asked me out, how would you come without money?"

     "It’s a dangerous city, and I don’t like to carry a lot of money on me."

She turned away and suddenly started to cry right there on sidewalk outside the club.  I don’t remember the last time I saw a 28 year old woman cry over something so childish.

     "I find it hard to believe that you would go out without any money at all," I persisted

     "I only brought enough for the metro.  Also, when guys ask girls out here in Colombia, it’s expected of them to pay for everything,"  she sobbed while trying to guilt me with the cultural angle.

I turned around towards the road which, at this point, was rapidly being filled with queuing cabs waiting to be dispatched.

I was wrestling with a dilemma.  On one hand I felt truly sorry for her and wanted to help her as a nice a guy, on the other hand I was sick and tired of being blue-balled by countless Colombian girls where all I gotten was a make out and nothing else.

I really didn’t want to go home alone again, and was willing to take this as far as I could.

     "Ok, you will get your money, but first we have to go to my place so I can get it."

She knew my place was on the very opposite side of town as her place, so for her to agree she was making a big commitment

She refused, saying how she didn’t want to come over, and that all she wanted was to go  home.  She continued to cry without saying another word.

I didn’t say a word, and after five minutes of deliberating just walked towards the curb and signaled to the next available cab.  Bracing for more resistance, I nevertheless grabbed her hand to lead her in.  Surprisingly, she came quickly, got inside the cab, and off we went.

She kept crying on the way to my place, while I put my arm around her constantly repeating that everything would be OK.

Fifteen minutes later we arrived at my apartment complex.  I paid the driver and both of us got out and made our way towards the elevator.  At this point most of the
tears had dried of her face, but she was still skeptical of my true intentions by prudently choosing to walk few steps behind me.

She barely entered my apartment.  She came inside, and stood next to the front door, getting even more suspicious and watching my every move.

I went to the kitchen and asked her what kind of drink she wanted.  She refused any offers, so I poured her a glass of Medellin’s finest tap water and slowly handed it to her.

I tried to put her at ease by asking her to sit down, telling that as a guest in my place, I don’t feel comfortable when someone views me, as a host, with so much suspicion and hostility.

She finally eased a little, and sat on the couch with me.  I sat next to her giving her just enough space to remain comfortable.

I looked deep into her eyes, and told her how much I enjoyed finally meeting her after talking so long on Facebook.  I told her that I had a great night with her, and that I greatly enjoyed her company.  Then I told her that it made me very upset seeing her cry earlier, and that I hate to see any girl cry especially if she’s with me.

I asked her if she had a good time with me.  She nodded slowly, but decisively.  I told her that she looked very sexy that night, and how every guy was checking her out and was probably jealous of me.

She let out a slight smile, then looked down at the floor in an effort to avoid any further eye contact.

I commented on how delicious her lips looked all night, and how much I wanted to kiss them.  She eased up a little, her body becoming more relaxed and comfortable.  I paused, looked away, looked back, and slowly leaned in for the kiss.  There was slight resistance, but nothing that I haven’t experienced before.

We made out for a bit on the couch, slowly escalating the sexual tension.  After it was too much, I grabbed her hand and lead her to my bedroom.

I pushed her onto my narrow bed and began removing all her clothes, while kissing all over her smooth skin.  Once the clothes off, the true extent of her slim and tight
figure was revealed.  She was maybe 5’6 and weighing not more than 100 lbs.

We made love several times that night.  Around five in the morning, remembering that she had somewhere else to be early in the morning, she started to get ready by putting on sexy clothing that covered her irresistible body. 

I walked her to the door, gave her a kiss, and wished her a nice day. 

Several hours later, after I woke up for the second time, I finally realized that she went home allegedly penniless since I never gave her any cab money.

The next day, she sent me a series of Facebook messages accusing me of being "bad" by "taking advantage" of her and luring her into my home, etc.  She messaged me almost every evening from then on — a marked change from a couple times a week before we went out.

She wanted to see me again, but never did.  I was too busy luring new prospects into my man cave anyway I could, and by pretending that the cab money is safely stored in my apartment usually worked with predictable accuracy. 

Related posts:

1. 10 Nights with 10 Girls Around The World
2. My Problem With Medellin’s Nightlife
3. Your Number One Priority When Going Out

Let’s say you’re in a new town/city/country, you look good, your game is tight and you’re planning to have an excellent night.

What should be your number one concern at this point?

Venue selection. 

Your number one priority should be able to figure out a place where you will have the absolute best odds of hooking up and picking up.  And many times those places aren’t as obvious as you think.

–

One of my other jobs used to be online marketing.  And what you figure out rather quickly is that there exists a certain subset of the market that is ready to buy what you’re selling. 

You don’t need to convince this market that your product is what they need; they’ve done their research and are ready to pull out their wallet. 

A superset of this market may contain people that aren’t sure that what you’re selling is for them, so they still need further persuasion to come onboard.

The sexual market works exactly the same way.

If you’re a foreigner in a country, you already have few things working against you.  You might not know the city, the language, the dating culture (and they differ hugely, believe me!).  So your job becomes that of a chief marketing officer: strategize and figure out places where you can market yourself more efficiently.

Some markets (cities, clubs) are highly competitive so even if you have tight game, you need to work harder while getting the same (or worse) results you’d gotten in a more suitable bar or club.

Now you can work hard, or you can work smart.  I prefer to work smart.

–

I have a friend here in Barcelona who loves to go to the poshest clubs.  Last weekend he took me a huge club that attracted all kinds of people, from local Spaniards to all kinds of foreigners (other Europeans, Americans and Latin Americans).

I did a few approaches, but no one was biting.  Not that Mexican hottie who has lived ten years in Spain, or that little Catalan girl who I teased looked Brazilian, nor even that average Polish girl who was barricaded by seven hungry Spaniards. 

My friend fared even worse, spending his whole night stalking a tall Serbian girl who kept running away to "get a drink."

Few days later we met up with a tall Croatian who castigated my friend for taking me to that club.  He was a bit older than both of us, and hated the club for being too pretentious, calling it a ‘Las Vegas experience.’  He looked at me, asked me what kind of girls I liked, and suggested three other clubs where he’s been cleaning up and assured me I’d do the same.

–

In Rio de Janeiro, Brazil it took me about two weeks of trial and error to figure out places where I’d do well.  I kept going out to the poshest clubs in Zona Sul and Barra only to come home disappointed.

On a long weekend in Buzios (a resort city two hours from Rio), I got rejected fifteen times in one night before hooking up with an average girl.  My expat friends fared even worse, eventually retiring to their hotel rooms dejected. 

In retrospect it made sense: we were the only foreigners in a party frequented by wealthy Brazilians, who weren’t interested in hooking up with foreigners, instead opting for the big fish within their own culture.

After lots of trial and error, I finally settled on a couple of clubs in the Lapa neighborhood of Rio where I had a huge stream of successes.  The girls were more down to earth, played less games, and genuinely liked foreigners. 

I still went out to the posh clubs in Zona Sul from time to time, but it was mostly to hang out with friends or close the deal with a girl I already knew.

–

In Medellin, Colombia, my main go-to spot was Parque Lleras, and the surrounding clubs.  What’s strange about Parque Lleras (and its surrounding neighborhood of El Poblado) was that it was an oasis of fairly well off area in an otherwise poor city and country. 

The girls who frequented the area were usually from poorer suburbs who all had one thing in common: they were all looking for something. 

That something usually meant money.  It could’ve been in a form of a rich Colombian sugar daddy, or even in the form of the world’s oldest profession: a simple exchange of money for sex.

Only after I began to venture outside this bubble to places like Sabaneta and Bello, my odds greatly improved.

–

In Riga, Latvia, I mostly stuck to the old center and found most girls rather cold and distant, even when addressing them in their native language. 

After few trials and errors, I finally befriended a local girl who pointed me to some places out of the old center where bouncers spoke only in Russian.  I took my Australian friend under my wing, and we experienced a scene that was the opposite of the large tourist trap the old town really is.

It was an absolute surreal experience.  Most of the people we spoke to were genuinely interested in our presence in their tiny country.  It was one of the best nights we’ve had in Baltics up to this point.

–

Game is a peculiar thing.  Having excellent game doesn’t necessarily mean you can pick up the hottest French girls on the Champs-Élysées, or steal oligarchs’ mistresses in the poshest Russian clubs.

An equal component to game is strategizing, while leveraging your strengths and downplaying your weaknesses.  

And that’s why venue selection is of such paramount importance.  Smart venue selection allows you to work less, while reaping even greater rewards.

Related posts:

1. My Problem With Medellin’s Nightlife

These days most of my friends are around 28 years old.

A good friend who recently moved to New York is 28.  Also, plenty of people I met in Latin America and Europe are around 28.

It’s that perfect combination between still "being in your 20s" and some level of adulthood and maturity.

Having just turned 33 earlier this month, I don’t believe it’s a huge gap in age, but it sure gets me thinking about when I was 28.

And boy, what a different world it was.

–

At that time I was slaving away for a large company in Silicon Valley, enduring a soul-sucking 1-2 hour commute each way. 

I was surrounded by politically-correct pencil pushers at work, and by spineless "men" at home in the most politically-correct and liberal place in America.

I was a slave to the system blindly unaware of the choices I’ve made to get there.

Never realizing how foolish I was to be seduced by the idea of working in the "technology mecca" of the world.

I was wasting my youth working for a company I didn’t respect, living in a place I didn’t understand, and surrounded by women I couldn’t connect with.

–

So I sold everything I own, bought a one-way ticket and got the fuck out as soon as I could.

Few months later I was living in a huge beach front apartment in Rio de Janeiro with two other Latin American expats.

And that’s when my life really began. 

We went out.  We partied.  We lived.

The past was done with.  Future was unknown. We lived in the moment.

We made no excuses for the actions we did.

There was no success nor rejection.  Just life.

And we grabbed life with all we’ve had by living everyday like it was our last.

—

It was truly a new normal.

There was no political correctness, no feminine males, no masculine females, no hipsters, no "scene", no cliques. 

No judging.  No fakeness.  No platonic bullshit.

People were normal.  Men were men.  Women were women.  Women liked men and men liked women.

I was no longer surrounded by girls full of sarcastic comebacks, afraid of showing affection in public, and mortified of doing anything the culture deems "inappropriate."

Nor was I surrounded by men with weak handshakes, high-pitched voices, who couldn’t look you in the eye, and were always full of excuses why they can’t do this or that.

I traded my soulless existence of being surrounded by synthetic, conformant, sterile and lackluster individuals to being surrounded by go-getters with stories, drive, ambition and motivation.

I unknowingly swallowed the red pill, and there was no going back.

–

It’s one thing to read stories online of experiences of what life’s like on the other side, whether it’s in another city, country or continent. 

It’s completely another to drop everything and move. 

–

We’re thought from an early age to go to school, college, get a job, buy a house with a 30 year mortgage.

But we never think that what maybe what is best for society isn’t necessarily best for the individual.

It’s hard to judge your own existence when you’re stuck in the system.  Sometimes one needs to give up everything to gain something.

–

Few years later I came back to San Francisco to visit a friend.  My first few days could be best described as utter and mass confusion.

I didn’t understand why my friend’s female friend was so combative, so eager to prove herself in any situation.  Always testing me by prefacing every comment with, "you’re not in Brazil anymore."

I didn’t understand why the girl who I found attractive and who found me attractive got so uncomfortable when I slowly caressed my hand against her skin at a San Francisco party.

I felt dazed, lost and confused while everyone around me was happy, enjoying their lives.

I didn’t understand why the men need to consult every minor event with their girlfriends instead of making a firm decision and standing their ground.

I didn’t understand why it wasn’t fun dealing with women anymore.  It was always "work", completely void of any charm, emotions, or playfulness.

I became angry, anti-social, and unwilling to compromise my standards in this new reality I suddenly found myself in.

I became super sarcastic with every woman I met, trying everything I could to make her feel self-conscious, and finding any way to push her buttons.

I became ruthless with every man I met, savoring every moment to put him on the spot when he was wishy-washy about a decision.

I became unhappy, jaded, sour and unaccepting of this new normal.

–

I left.

–

Every year I spend less and less time in this place we call America.

And when I do come, I have a plan.

I don’t go out.  I rarely drink.  I don’t validate a woman because she has a vagina. 

I see my family and friends, buy cheap shit on Amazon.com, replace my broken equipment, and get out on the next plane.

–

Year 28 was good to me.  It taught me that there’s a better, more exciting, more colorful world out there.  A place that truly motivates a man. 

But it rewards only those that are willing to risk all by giving up all.

And then, and only then, will you be ready to experience something new.

Related posts:

1. Random thoughts on Brazil
2. Training Brazilian Jiu Jitsu in Brazil
3. Living Series: Rio de Janeiro, Brazil

"I need a drink," were her first words after I introduced myself.   

It was a rainy Thursday evening as we hurried into a lounge in Midtown Manhattan.

I met Julia through a mutual friend a week before.  We were both immigrants to the USA, born in the same part of the world and emigrating around the same time.  I viewed our similar backgrounds with great optimism since I wouldn’t be meeting a stranger but someone who’d I be able to relate with, and vice-versa.

Julia, 25, 5’5", 100lbs, wearing black business clothes and black stilettos was the first to sit on a small cushion-like chair opposite of me.

We made ourselves comfortable, and right away I knew it was going to be "one of those dates."  I knew I’d have to do most of the talking, and that I’d have to work to make her feel comfortable with me.

I began by telling her about me.  I told her I like traveling, that I’ve lived abroad for many years in various exotic locales, met various people — some interesting, some boring, some who’ve changed my life.  Even picked up a few languages along the way.  Basically qualifying myself as someone remotely interesting and perhaps even making it worthwhile for her to be spending her precious time with me.

It got uncomfortable a few times.  There’s only so much talking and flirting I can do before it becomes forced.  When I listened, she kept circling back to her work and how it makes her happy.  Her eyes lit up when she recounted how she was given more responsibility due to the absence of her co-worker who was on maternity leave.

That was pretty much the only time her eyes glowed.

What becomes apparent very quickly with American women is that the most important thing to them is how how they feel.  Maybe it’s an artifact of the cut-through capitalism or a severe lack of emotional intelligence, but it is always the self that reigns supreme.  Her emotional and physical state are what must be tended to at all times.

She’s not trying to get you to like her.  She’s not relying on you for emotional support.  She’s not relying on you for financial support.  She’s using you as a vehicle for her own validation and empowerment. 

Thanks to the feminist revolution and the battle against the "oppressive" males, she’s is, for better or worse, your equal, and your job is to somehow make yourself useful — namely by delivering that validation and empowerment. 

—

We moved over to share a couch with the hope that she’d feel more comfortable and loosen up a bit.  She sat at the farthest end possible while I sat comfortably in the middle facing her. 

In Brazil, you usually get physical with a girl quickly (usually within an hour of meeting her, sometimes even quicker).  Kiss just comes so naturally, like a handshake and is no big deal.

While Brazil is definitely at the extreme, things are not radically different in other parts of the world.  In Central and Eastern Europe, while a kiss is a bigger deal, comfort is built much, much smoother and quicker.  Maybe its the constant scare-mongering in the US media that makes people more isolated and less eager to connect. 

In Ukraine, we’re usually best friends within an hour, enjoying our company, making future plans, etc.

In America, things are more like chess game.  Each "opponent" waits the other’s calculated move.  And each move has to have a perfect balance of aggressiveness and aloofness. 

Making plans for a second date on the first?  Too desperate.  Not going for a kiss at the right time?  Not aggressive enough.

Date #2

I invited her for some Spanish tapas the next weekend.  My idea was to take her to an environment where I can break through her shield and see the real her, hopefully getting her to open up a bit more.

I told her about my multiple visits to Spain and the kind of tapas they have there.  I told her that I have a good friend living in Barcelona whom I’ve visited few times, and how beautiful the city really is.  I also told her how funny Spanish accent from Spain sounds and how people make fun of it in Latin America.  She seemed interested but couldn’t relate; she has never traveled outside the US since coming here twelve years ago.

As we sat down she told me that she has duly researched the restaurant the night before and checked all the reviews.  She even had ideas as to what to order.  I asked her if she’d ever go into some hole next door without checking out the reviews before hand.  She said she’d never do it at the risk at that place having awful food.

After the restaurant, I invited her to a Cuban bar in the East Village.  We sat at the bar and ordered mojitos.

I sat next to her, facing her with our knees and legs touching.  She was still holding back, playing it cool, and acting like a prize feeding on my flirting and innuendos. 

Another thing you quickly learn about American women is their complete mastery of sarcastic expressions.  Julia’s favorite was adding a disclaimer of "just don’t get too excited" every time she uttered anything remotely sexual.

Maybe it was the third mojito, but I admit she looked sexy that night.  She carried herself with that black skirt and stilettos that even at some point she was worth the asking price in terms of all those games she was making me put up with just for me to get closer.  Maybe reading "The Rules" and all those magazines were paying off for her, and that even a moderately attractive girl like her can become several points more desirable just by applying few techniques in flirting and body language.

As the night progressed, she was getting more flirty, smiling, playfully touching me and asking me more personal questions. 

I continued flirting and then just looked into her eyes and paused.  She gave the usual sarcastic reply, trivially downplaying my slowly escalating flirting, but started to grow uncomfortable.  I didn’t say a word and kept looking, our eyes fully locked, waiting for her reaction, like a predator carefully stalking their prey.

She grew more uncomfortable even starting to ask me logical questions, a common technique to throw off any escalation — a complete one eighty degree turn from her previous flirtation self. 

I didn’t flinch. 

Feeling the tension rise, she began to feel self-conscious, lost in the interaction, unsure and unable to counter my advances.

And just like that it was gone.  I took my eyes off her and stared outside to the right, towards the window.  Like on cue, she began to re-compose herself, slowly regaining her artistic ability to crack witty questions and sarcastic remarks.
 
But it was all over.  It was just façade; the empress had no clothes after all.

Then it all made sense, and I knew exactly with whom I was dealing with.

The harsh reality is that there can be only one Madonna, Lady Gaga, Shakira, or that slutty girl from Sex and The City, but because they’re such huge brands, there’re millions of women trying to emulate them with the understanding that that’s how women should behave.  Maybe there’s a market of men who love to be with a girl who carries herself like she just walked off the set of a popular sitcom.  (In fact there has to be some demand otherwise they’d be a lot of lonely, depressed and disappointed women.)

Personally, I don’t settle for anything less than the real thing, and thankfully, I’m usually pretty good at judging who is and isn’t.

It was all over.  There’s nothing she could’ve said or done that could’ve changed it.  This time it was me that gave her a window of opportunity but like a deer caught in the headlights she fumbled and fell exposing her lack of social and emotional intelligence.

Date #3

I reluctantly made plans with her the following weekend and not the one to cancel, agreed to see her again.  Instead of meeting in Manhattan, she offered to pick me up, with a proclamation that "on weekends, I drive." 

Her generous act of offering to pick me up felt less than something nice one does for another but more of her declaration of independence validating her womanly role in modern society.

She picked me up, and asked where we are going.  Feeling completely uninspired, I told her it was her choice.  So, like a good American girl, she suggested the movies.

That right there is why I travel.  To learn other cultures, talk to other people, and get other perspectives on life.   I want to know that there’s something more this world can offer me than going to see some mass produced product in some generic mass produced franchised venue with some generic person shaped by mass produced popular culture.

In Brazil, the most gorgeous girl I met in my life begged me to spend the night with her on the beach the night we met.  She enjoyed meeting me and didn’t want the night to end.  We fooled around on the sands of one of the most well-known beaches in the world laughing, smiling, kissing all while trying to communicate in any way possible.

A French girl invited me to check out a museum for a gallery she was curious about.  She was the stereotypical French girl of how you imagine French girls: snobbish yet sophisticated.  I loved that about her.  She told me that Paris was too snobbish  and that I should go to Toulouse or Bordeaux instead.

A Colombian girl took me to her favorite bar in a working-class neighborhood where I was the only foreigner.  She ordered for me, introduced me to her friends, and made sure I had a good time.

A Lithuanian girl showed me around her city, showing me some monuments of important people while proudly explaining me the history of her small country.

A Czech girl showed me Prague like few tourists get to experience, ending in a local bar with the best beer I’ve ever had.

The American girl suggested we go see a movie.

—

After the movie, while we were having Sushi, she told me she wanted to ask me some questions.  When I thought my night can’t get any worse, she duly pulled out her blackberry and began asking me a series of well thought-out questions that she designed to satisfy her great curiosity about me:

"What are your strengths?"

"What are your weaknesses?"

"Where do you see yourself in 5 years"

She viewed our interaction as job interview, explaining that like in job interviews our ultimate goal is to sell ourselves, and that’s what I should be doing. 

So what you’re saying is that you don’t have enough emotional intelligence to satisfy those questions via other means and therefore must resort to explicitly asking me such questions with the hope that my answers would help you come to certain conclusions about me?

Interesting.  All I knew that there’s no way I’d buy anything she’s selling because there would be absolutely no value in it whatsoever.

Sure, I could’ve thought of some clever answers to seem more desirable in her eyes, but why bother.  I long began to view myself as an observer, perhaps as a marketing researcher, psychologist or a social scientist who was experimenting with some newly found human specie – Woman Americanus. 

I was no longer in seduction mode but more interested in satisfying my curiosity by reverse engineering her behavior and see why and how it all came about.

Surely she was normal once?

—-

When you meet an American girl, what you’re really meeting is the walking and talking brand represented by thousands of hours that were spent marketing, advertising and selling to her and her demographic.  That girl who sits next to you on the B train in Manhattan wearing skinny jeans, a nice fitting leather jacket, high heels, and carrying a Louis Vuitton bag is a live advertisement representing a handful of corporations that have won the battle for her heart and mind.

Furthermore it’s not only her tastes in fashion that were carefully constructed and molded, but more importantly her mind as well. 

What’s left is a shell of her former self.  She learns how to interact with men through magazines, mass media and relationship websites.  She dates online, flirting and rejecting candidates from the comfort and security of her laptop.

She reads articles that explain everything from when to return a guy’s call to when is the right time to sleep with a guy.

She thinks that being overly sarcastic is sexy, and that being distant and unattainable drives men wild.

She has no personality, no originality and no femininity.

She’s a workaholic, trying to progress career-wise in the face of continuing "male oppression."  She also has a chip on her shoulder, using any opportunity to prove that she’s in control by whipping out the credit card as soon as the bill comes and doing anything she can to prevent you from paying.

—–

If there’s one thing I love more than women is seducing them. 

I love seducing Mexican, Brazilian, Colombian, Russian, Lithuanian and Argentinian women. 

American women, on the other hand, are not seducible.  You can’t seduce American women. 

You can get them drunk and have sex with them in the club’s bathroom, but that’s not seduction.

They won’t make you grow. They won’t inspire you. They won’t teach you new things you don’t already know. 

After getting home, the first thing I did was devise a plan of yet again leaving this country for far greener and inspiring lands.

Related posts:

1. Revisiting The Soulless, Uninspiring and Robotic Women
2. 66 Things On Life, Men and Women, and America
3. Why Computer Programmers Can’t Pickup Women

It’s easy to get carried away in the romanticism of living in some faraway place,
soaking in the culture, learning the language, meeting the people (many of whom are beautiful women waiting to be seduced by an exotic foreigner).

There also are times when it’s precisely the opposite.  There times when you’re stuck in a place you end up hating; a place that you do not understand; a place that has no interest in understanding you.  And the only thing that keeps you from leaving is your own stubbornness to see it through and understand it.

The hard reality is that if you’re serious about living abroad get ready for one or all of the factors below to affect you.

You will always be a guest in the country.

I wasn’t born in US, and despite living here for 22 years, people can tell I’m a foreigner by my name or my slight accent.  People might get curious at times but no one will ever tell me to go back to my country.  No one will call me by my nationality in a condescending matter.  As far as anyone is concerned, I’m an American.  As American as someone that was born here in the first place.  As American as my American passport.  Probably not as American as apple pie though.

Unfortunately it doesn’t work like that pretty much anywhere else.  Want to live in Madrid?  You will never become a Spaniard unless you can fake it with fluent Spanish, Spanish accent, and LOOK Spanish.  Want to live in Denmark?  You’ll always be an immigrant unless you’re tall, blonde and are Scandinavian in the first place.

Same for Mexico, Brazil, Denmark, France, Japan, and pretty much every other country on the planet.

Even in an immigrant country like Brazil, a South American melting pot, which prides itself as the “um pais de todos” (country of everyone), you will always be an outsider unless you were born there.

You will be lonely a lot

Unless you have close friends or family already in the country, prepare to spend a lot of time in solitude.  Some people view it as a required right of passage; some even boast how it even builds character.  I think it’s much simpler than that.  You were basically dumb enough to buy a ticket to a country you knew no one in, so unless you’re extremely sociable AND so are the locals, all you’re going to be doing will be sitting on your ass on Facebook all day in your tiny studio apartment.

On weekend afternoons you will see families celebrating life together.  The grandparents playing with their grandchildren while the parents meeting other parents over discussing business deals or just life.  In affluent parts of the city, you’ll see malls with well dressed men and their beautiful trophy wives pampering their children with ice cream or anything else they want.  They’ll all be genuinely happy together surrounded with those who matter in their lives.  You, on the other hand, will observe this over the screen of your laptop while browsing Facebook or commenting your favorite blog.  Maybe you’ll even post a status on how happy you’re living your “nomadic lifestyle” knowing all too well that true happiness is few tables ahead of you in the cafe.

Some people remedy it by staying in touch with other travelers or expats via social networking sites.  But what’s the point of hanging out with other expats when the reason that you’ve left your home country was to escape all that?

The advantage is that it will test you to move outside your comfort zone, and will test you HARD.  So get ready to sell yourself to other people in order to have any kind of companionship.

You will trade your culture for theirs.

You will learn that the locals are very proud of their culture, even more so than Americans.  In Brazil, almost every single Brazilian I met asked me if I liked their country.  Well, since no one put a gun to my head and forced me to come here against my will, and since it’s a decent country, how could I not?  Even if I was rubbed at gunpoint (which I wasn’t), I doubt that there would be a time when I would start hating Brazil.

Now, out of all of those Brazilians, I can count on one hand how many asked me about my own culture/country.

At first it was cool, and I had no problems stroking their egos by boasting how friendly the people are, how beautiful the women are and above all how much I admired the quality of life there.

But I also greatly admire where I come from and the city I grew up, New York.  The problem is that the locals you’re meeting are not like you; vast majority of them have never left their city, much less their country, and as a result they believe that their country is the best place in the world (Brazil is one of the most nationalistic countries I’ve ever been to).  And because it was you that decided to buy the ticket and visit their country, you can’t really go around telling everyone how great your country which means the reverse will be happening.

It can be a complete waste of time.

Nothing in life is truly a waste of time because life’s is about the journey not the destination.  Having said that they’re times you can reflect on that could’ve truly been accomplished differently if it wasn’t for pure stubbornness, short-sightedness or the like.

Sure the journey aspect was there, time passed which hopefully provided some valuable lesson.

In other words the time was well spent in absolute terms, but when thought in relative terms, could you have done something better? Perhaps started a business, learning new skill or perfecting an existing one?

I live with no regrets, but I sure could’ve done a few things a bit differently.

It all takes one crack to see foundation’s weakness.  And just like in business or life in general, sometimes it’s that one outlying experience that opens your eyes to the big picture.

And so there comes a time when it’s hard to be swept away by the romanticism of endless nomadic living when you’re reminded of the hard reality of how things can really turn out.

Most often than not, it’s not a bad thing at all.

Related posts:

1. Living Series: Medellin, Colombia
2. Burned Out in Colombia: Rethinking Long Term Living
3. A Russian Who Spoke Fluent Spanish

1. The Travel Blogger
   Traveling the world full time.  Maintains an active blog along with a corresponding Facebook fan page and a twitter account.  Recurring topics on the blog include: the surprise friendliness of locals over their Western counterparts, reasons as to why you too can travel like me, and how to not get robbed abroad.  Eventually gets robbed in broad daylight in a very friendly city in Latin America.  Notifies everyone via every social media then writes a long blog post detailing the ordeal.
2. The Travel Photographer
   Buys the latest Canon SLR for $2000 along with $5000 lens.  Loves to travel to places where the aforementioned sum can pay a worker for several years of labor. Takes pictures of every single old town square, church, and dog shit on the sidewalks that he or she sees.  Thinks that not a single person on the Internet has seen that particular old town square, church or dog shit on the sidewalks before.  Sometimes runs it through a Photoshop filter which lightens the colors, or gives it a more “vintage” effect.  Usually ends up getting robbed in places like Peru, Ecuador or Brazil losing all the gear.
3. The Pickup Artist (PUA)
   Views seduction of women as a discrete series of steps that must be carefully executed in order to reach the final level: procreation.  Views the world in black and white consisting of alphas and betas.  Usually has a blog where he boasts how many “approaches” he did and discusses strategies to a successful “date 2” or “kiss close”.
   Compensates for extreme celibacy of earlier years by preaching being an “approach machine” or approaching every woman in sight – that is unless you want to be considered a lesser man (beta).  Sometimes takes a philosophical approach by debating the pros and cons of “direct” or “indirect” approach.
4. The Minimalist
   Believes that the absolute key to life’s happiness is the ability to store one’s possessions in a suitcase or a backpack.  Has a blog where he boasts how having less things and no permanent place of living is “liberating”.  Loves to post pictures of himself sitting on a mattress (real or air) while working on a Macbook Air in an empty room.
5. The Location Independent
   Considers himself a trailblazer because he/she has an online business and is able to travel the world while making money.  Constantly boasts what a great lifestyle this is and how everyone should be doing it.  Usually sells an E-Book on his site that details how you too can have this dream lifestyle.  Talks in buzzwords such as “passive income” or running a “muse”.  Has no attachment to a particular country or place but loves to keep moving around only to reinforce the inherent “freedom” that this lifestyle duly provides.
6. The Tim Ferriss Groupie
   Experienced a life-changing event after reading The Four Hour Workweek.  Can be found on Tim’s blog leaving comments such as ‘Awesome post Tim!’ or ‘Well played, Tim!’  Loves to jerk off to self-help money-making blogs all day long but is too cool to put in the sweat for his own business and be soul-crushed when, god forbid, it may take more than four hours per week.  Imagines himself on a Caribbean beach somewhere working on a laptop four or less hours per week while making thousands of dollars per month.  Wants to outsource his whole life but doesn’t know where to start.  Favorite buzzwords are “information diet” and “mini retirement.”
7. The Facebook Traveler
   Always carries a smartphone with him with an international data plan.  Views life is a series of Facebook “check-ins” after arriving to a new city or country.  Loves airport layovers because they give him a chance to checkin while en-route to another city.  Given the choice of making the check-in and making his flight, he would probably choose the former.  Would probably not travel if it weren’t for Facebook and the ability to show off in front of hundreds of your closest “friends”.
8. The Armchair Traveler
   Rarely, if ever, sets his foot outside his native city but knows perfectly what things are like in other countries thanks to mostly second-hand accounts such as the Internet, friends, social networking sites, media, etc.  Has a strong opinion of foreign lands and will not yield any argument to anyone — especially to those that have lived in places of question.  Favorite pastime is lecturing people who’ve lived in these places what it’s really like to live there and how dangerous they are.
9. The Vicarious Traveler
   Does not travel due to due lack of time, lack of passport or the most common condition: ghastly fear of the unknown.  Religiously reads every single travel blog on the Internet for clues on what other countries are like.  Favorite questions usually asked in the comments are: “Is it dangerous” or “What’s it like?”  Digs deeper with very important objective questions such as: What’s your favorite country?  Do you like Brazil or Italy better? Always affirms his desire to start travelling but never really makes it happen.

Related posts:

1. Why Computer Programmers Can’t Pickup Women
2. Is Latin America Really Dangerous?
3. 10 Nights with 10 Girls Around The World