I was standing on the sidewalk in Cartagena, Colombia with my date and the party bus had just pulled up. I paid the 20, pesos, pushed my date on the bus, while grabbing her ass with both hands, and climbed on.
La Chiva cruises around the city, stopping periodically at tourist spots and designated pickup spots. On its route, it picks bemused tourists and up Colombians who would rather dance the night away in a bus without windows than sit in the back of a taxi.
So trying to bust out my best moves while standing on a moving bus and hanging on to the bus strap was too much. At the same time, I was trying to grind up on my date, trying to peek out the window at the passing tourist sights, and trying not to fall over when the driver slammed on the breaks at a red light.
We passed the place we were going to eat at. We soon came up on my street. I had to make another executive decision: Let my date enjoy herself doing salsa moves on the shaky busβ¦. The party bus dropped us off right outside my building β I tipped the driver and climbed out. As soon as we got upstairs, she headed to the bathroom β maybe she sweated a lot on the minute bus ride. I lay on the bed with the hands folded behind my head waiting. Cartagena is certainly more rocking than semi-sleepy Santa Marta down the road.
The best clubs, the worst clubs, how to stay safe, and how you can weasel your way into the panties of a Cartagena girl after a night of drinking and dancing. In ways both good and bad. Two groups dominate the Cartagena nightlife scene: middle-class Colombians on holiday, and backpackers.
