A Colombian named Carlos hung around the hostel. A nice bloke with perfect English (he chose to speak like an Englishman, despite his US education), we had a few decent chats with him. He hated FARC and Pablo Escobar with a fervour; he also despised the Coke Tourists. We talked about Escobar's days, and as we did so a couple were audibly planning a tour of his properties, to culminate in snorting a line of coke off the evil bastard's tombstone. At the mention of his name, the girl tried to join in our conversation, telling Carlos that what he was saying was very interesting. He blanked her, not even looking in her direction.
But if ever there was a man cut out for a Don't Do Coke, It Turns You Into An Arsehole worldwide advertising campaign...it was the Australian we met on the porch of the hostel one night. Continually sniffing, and moaning about how we'd won The Ashes again. We pointed out that it wasn't over, and at the time England were on the ropes at Headingly. He didn't listen. Babbling on about Bali, I slipped in the guaranteed wind-up for Aussies: the fact that most young Australians actually think Bali is a country. He obviously bit, and started ranting about sticking a broken bottle in my throat. This despite the fact he didn't have one, whereas I had a heavy Coke bottle in my hand. Resisting the intense temptation to smash it over his head, I ignored his theatricals and waited til he cooled down. The broken bottle theme continued, and he told us a tall story of how he chased a thief in Bogota to retrieve $10 a girl had had stolen from her. Apparently he threatened the guy with a bottle, despite the guy wielding a meat cleaver over his head. I struggled not to laugh as he rambled on. Tico came out on the porch and hovered for a few seconds before retreating into the hostel. Either even he was shocked at the bullshit level, or thought he couldn't compete?