BLONDES HAVE MORE FUN, DON'T THEY?

Before I went away, loads of people were telling me to dye my hair dark, to go traveling to south America. Even the west ( that's the actor Dominic west aka McNulty to you!) was telling me I was crazy not too and that I was going to get molested! I told him to shut up and go and do something useful like acting or something, because we had that kind of relationship where I could talk to him like that ( in fact I seem to have that type of relationship with most actors)! Anyway back to the subject at hand: BLONDE! Because I'm as stubborn as a mule I refused to. I've had my years of experimenting, red, brunette and pink (that was an accident!) and I have come to realise I'm a blonde through and through, besides blondes have more fun, don't they?
It was quite apparent from as soon as I started my travels, that blondes are something of a rarity over here (apart from some local women who try to dye it but it looks more like some bad orange sun kiss)! I had survived it in India; the staring and the touching of hair, but here I have been finding it more difficult. The men here are much more vocal and full on and leave you feeling a lot more uncomfortable, especially as a woman on her own. It becomes quite tiring as well. It was on a day in Cartagena, walking around on my own, when after feeling fragile still from the boat; sick and tired of being harassed by the local men and sad for reasons I will not talk about; I met Martin.

I was standing at the fort taking pictures when a tall, dark, good looking guy approached me. He spoke to me in Spanish and from my little understanding, I guessed he wanted me to take a picture of him, which I did. He carried on talking to me in Spanish, asking me questions like my name, where I was from and wether I wanted to go for a drink with him. I looked like a rabbit in the head lights, but mustered through and explained to him I knew a little Spanish and was trying to learn. We went on like this for a while, me suffering why I fluffed my way through my terrible Spanish conversation skills, Martin listening patiently. Then he turns round and said "We can speak English for a while if you want"?
"You can speak English fluently, then why didn't you"? Was my response.
"Because how are you meant to learn Spanish if you don't try to speak it"! Was his valid reply. Point taken then. It turns out Martin is a Spaniard living in Bogota, Colombia, working in human rights. He also happens to be very good company too. We spent the rest of the day together walking and talking, sometimes in my bad Spanish, most of the time in English. It's funny how you can meet a complete stranger and pore out some of your most deep thoughts and feelings, but that's what I did and him too. As he was leaving that night to catch a flight back to Bogota we sat on the old city Walls and watched the sunset go down. We were exchanging email addresses and as I was typing mine into his phone he grabbed my face moved it to his and kissed me. When he had finished, I sat there completely speechless for once in my life and blushed like a little girl. I had not expected it, but I was completely blown away by it. It was one of the most romantic and passionate kisses I have ever had in my life. We told each other we would meet in Bogota and he left on a plane that night.

Two weeks later I found myself in Bogota. I was unsure whether to call Martin. I guess I wanted to preserve that perfect day and moment between us and not tarnish it with the usual disappointment that follows with these things. I pondered. While I was pondering, I met my new room mate at my hostel: a Bubbly Canadian called Colleen. She was hitting the bars that night with her fellow class mates from language school and asked me if I wanted to come a long. "Why the hell not!" I thought, which seems to be my motto these days. After walking for what seemed like miles to try and find the cheap bars, and having an accidental detour into a brothel thinking it was a bar, we eventually ended up in some cheesy night club as the only Gringo's. Now I have been to a few night clubs in my time but I have never been to one where the playlist ranges from shakin Stevens to the violent femmes. Crazy, but not as crazy as the drunk Colombian guy who wouldn't leave me a lone all night and kept saying he was in love with me and that if I didn't kiss him he was going to die from a broken heart. He then vomited in a glass and passed out, (actually he is probably one of the better guys I have been chatted up by in my life)! I crawled in the early hours of the morning again.

I eventually decided to take the plunge and contact Martin as I figured I'm a lot more use to dealing with the disappointment of the reality of men, than the disappointment of the not knowing. We arranged to meet at his apartment in the city. I was wondering if I was going to feel weird meeting him again, but as soon as he opened the door I knew it was going to be alright. What was weird was being in such a modern fancy apartment after being in such simple surroundings for over 2 months. We started to talk again, drank beers and I realised Martin is one of the most interesting and intelligent guys I have met in a long time. We talked for hours, listened to music and then.....? ANYWAY, later he took me to the good area of Bogota for dinner (as believe me Bogota doesn't have that many of them) but the real treat of the night was going to a real salsa club that all the locals went to. It was amazing and so different from the nightclubs back home. Everyone dances in couples and watches everyone else. Martin dragged me onto the dance floor and tried to make me salsa, but dancing as a couple is something I'm not use to and left me feeling like I had two left feet. I went to the bathroom and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. God I felt so unattractive. I was wearing the same clothes I had worn for the last three days as they were the only warm ones I had (Bogota is freezing); had hardly any make up on; and looked tall and gangly compared to all the curvy beautiful latino women. I look like a tramp, I thought and would never be seen dead like this in London. I came back to the table feeling a bit out of spirits, while Martin departed to go for a cigarette. As he left a Colombian guy came up to the table and asked if I would dance with him. Being very proper and English I said I was here with some one else. As he left Martin came back and asked what happened. I told him and he laughed and told me that I should dance with as many men as I could and he women because that's what everyone does here. It's like one big melting pot of sexual tension and flirtation. How wonderful. The latinos are the most sexual people ever and very open with it, it's very catching too as I found that me and Martin couldn't keep our hands off each other. I have never given or received that kind of public displays of affection before, but I loved it. I was even starting to love salsa, as every time Martin left the table I had a new guy come and ask me to dance and this time I did not refuse. Every single one of them asked me where I was from, what was my name and that they loved my hair. After salsa-ring the night away we left the club in the early hours of the morning in cab driven by colombia's answer to Micheal Schumacher, who I'm sure was trying to kill us. What a night! The next morning, I left Martins with a smile on my face and thought to myself; its true; blondes do have so much more fun.