Interview with Thomas Kohnstamm – Author and Professional World Traveler


The most challenging thing about pursuing a career as an author is the lack of structured support. With no official guidelines, the only true markers of success, is success itself. Whether it’s having an article published online or becoming a Best Selling author,the fulfillment of most writers ambitions relies very much on some sort of final outcome.

During my Kickstarter campaign for Five Weeks in the Amazon, I reached out to Thomas Kohnstamm, the author of  “Do Travel Writers Go to Hell? A Swashbuckling Tale of High Adventures, Questionable Ethics and Professional Hedonism.

This was in the early stages of my transition from the Californicated-self I had became to my true self, A liberated, and free, artist, who travels the world, practicing the art and craft of writing.

Back when I was the Team Manager for Plan B Skateboards. Taking a walk with Ryan Sheckler while on a filming road trip in Oregon, circa 2008.

Thomas Kohnstamm is from Seattle, Washington, which is close enough to my hometown that we both had views of the same snow capped mountain growing up (Mt. Baker). He still call Seattle home, which is where he live with his family and is completing the manuscript for his next book, which is very much anticipated (stay tuned for more info).

As I have traveled and continued to write, Thomas has kindly divulged great advice whenever I have asked him for it. He has been a mentor to me in ways, and from Colombia I reached out to ask him a few questions. I’m really excited to read his next book, and even though he isn’t saying much about it, I’m sure it is going to be worth reading.

Mt. Baker

You can click here to check out his awesome first book, “Do Travel Writers Go to Hell?” (which I read in one sitting). But first, check out his interview below, and if you want to connect with Thomas, you can reach him through his website, or leave a comment below. Thanks again for everything, Thomas, and may the Spring wind’s bring you nine muses worth of inspiration.

Edited LR -1-3 

Sean Hayes: What are you currently working on? 

Thomas Kohnstamm: I am just finishing up a novel I’ve been working on for a few years. Keeping it under wraps for now.

Would you rather be a worried genius or a joyful simpleton?

Worried genius. Although I’d rather come in short of being a genius and experience a mix of worry and joy. I’d pass on being a simpleton just to be more consistently happy.

Who defines good and evil?


Why did you become an author?

I’ve always been interested in stories and trying to better understand the world – especially people and how they related to each other and to a place. I thought for a while that I wanted to be a professor but it was too rule-bound and there was too much emphasis on quantitative research. Writing lets me visit some of the same subjects but allows me to do it however I want.

For a recent high school graduate; Would you recommend 4 years traveling abroad, or 4 years of college?

It depends what you want to do with your life. If you think you want to be a doctor then, obviously, you’d better go to college. It’s a harder call for those who want to pursue a creative career. I’d probably say travel for them but it depends what you do with the travel. Nowadays you could go abroad and still spend all of your time watching Netflix. Just going someplace doesn’t mean much. You’d have to dig in.

Who do you envy?

I try not to envy anyone. That said I do get jealous of those who found a clear calling at a young age and were able to take a lot of risks and make a lot of investment in their careers. I didn’t go all-in on writing until I was 27 or 28. I am also impressed by people who are proficient in a lot of different areas, like Donald Glover.

What are you bored of?

Between writing, having a family, two dogs and way too many other interests, I don’t remember the last time I had open time on my hands, let alone experienced boredom.

That said, I am not a fan of pharmaceutical ads on TV. Am also kind of burnt on social media. I like to read some things on it but am kind of over posting. I can scratch that itch through bigger writing projects.

How would you describe yourself?

I like to do things my own way. I try to be good to the people I care about. I like to push my boundaries. I like to stay up late. I can drink a lot of beers for my size.

What does writing mean to you?

I always try to contextualize my life experience, so it’s a way to get out all of the stuff swirling in my head. I also try to make myself laugh when writing.

What do you want to be remembered for?

Except for a tiny percentage of very famous people, you’re really only remembered by your own family and close friends. The rest doesn’t much matter.

Thomas, on a recent heli-skiing adventure.

Want to check out my last Interview with an Interesting Person? Click Here, and stay tuned for more updates from the road. My Colombia Visa expires soon, and I am starting a new adventure in the United States of America.

God Bless, Sean:)

The Wait – A Short Story from Colombia


The Wait...

“Excuse me, will this bus ever be coming?”  The man looked at her, but how should she have any idea?  She sat here almost every day wondering the same thing.

“I guess it will get here when it gets here, sir.” her voice was low and she was uninterested in starting a conversation with this man.

“I was told I should be here at noon” he looked at the other people with concern on his face, “Is that the correct time?”  He wondered how they could be so laid back all the time.

She turned to him and said, “Sometimes the engine gets too hot coming over the pass and they must wait until later in the day when it cools down.  Then they can come down without them brakes getting too hot.”

“Yes, but will it be much longer? I have a flight to catch.”

“I really can’t say sir, there is never any way to know and so we must wait.”

“Thank you, and I am sorry to bother you, it’s just that I have been told my son is sick and I must return home immediately.”  When he said this his brow furrowed into deep lines and his worry was intense.  She thought to herself that he looked like he was wishing the bus would come as much as anyone she’d ever seen.

“I am sorry sir, things are just very slow here.  The bus will come, it always does, but I cannot say when.  And I wish your son well; having a sick child is always quite frightening.”

“Thank you and yes; yes, it is indeed, and I am aware that things are very slow here.” His voice wavered slightly, “that’s the reason I came here, to be honest.”

I was honored to be welcomed and taken in like family and when the brother of a good friend passed away this was his last dance before being laid to rest.
They rocked his tiny coffin, his last dance before being laid to rest.

It was a waste of time to talk to this man and she knew it, but she asked him anyway, “And where are you from sir?”  The breeze was pleasant today and strong enough to keep the temperature right on the edge of where she liked it.  This man surely was strange to be here at a time like this.  She wondered what he would have been like before, in the good days.

“He is damned sick,” he said, “It’s happened before with him; they say I must come immediately.”  Preoccupied by the heat, he didn’t notice the breeze.  It wasn’t much but it blew small gusts from the west.  The man sat hanging his head.

“The bus will come sir; you mustn’t worry, it is just that things are slow here.”

“I know” He said, his head hanging even lower, “that’s part of the reason I came.”

He never expected when he was younger that this is how it would end.  Although he knew it wasn’t truly the end, he just felt closer to the end now than when he was younger.  Now he could hear the sound of the clock, counting the seconds in his race against time.

“He will get better I am sure; the last time they said it might happen again, but I pray he is in good hands.  Perhaps Marie-Angel or his sister Olivia have found where they took him.  I just need to get on this damned bus.”

“I understand sir, but it’s hot right now and maybe that bus is waiting till the suns drops down past the other side, then it can come through the pass with no problem; it is an old bus.”  She shook her head slowly when she said this to him, she was staring straight ahead now looking up the pass.  Didn’t this man know anything?

She turned back to him one last time; in her mind it all made sense.  “It happens mostly after the big rains, when it gets real hot, most times after lunch, but now it should come any time; won’t rain for a couple months I guess.  You will get to the airport for the night flight; will that work for you? The night flight?”

“Yes, the night flight will be fine, as long as this damn bus ever shows up.”

“It’ll come like I told ya.  Did ya happen to know they used to bet on it?”

“Bet one what?” He raised his head slightly.

“The time the bus was gonna come in.”

“Who would bet?”

“We all would, but the men on the platform ran the bets.” She nodded towards a few of the guys leaning against the wall who had their shirts up above their bellies to stay cool.  He hadn’t seen them but she knew they would all try to hire on as a porter when the tourists came in, if there were any left.  “Them boys and us would all wager on what time the bus was coming in, but now of course we all stopped.”

“What made you stop?” The man picked his nose, the dry air always made his nose itchy.  He was sitting with his head raised.

“A lady they all say was a witch cursed the bus one day and it crashed coming down the pass and everyone on it died.”

“That is a horrendous tragedy, I am sorry for any losses you had.” He looked towards her now.

“Yes, so if you don’t mind I hope you can understand why I would not like to talk about what time the bus comes anymore.”

“Yes, yes; I am very sorry to bother you, I only worry about my son, they didn’t tell me much over the wire.”

“The bus will come sir, things are just slow here.”  She looked away.  What a waste of energy to talk to this man, and at a time like this?  There was nothing to do but wait.

Day is done, gone the sun


Day is done, gone the sun

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With Love, The Bar Staff… – A Short Story from Colombia

“Can I please get an Aguila?” he said this politely, but he knew things were different after last night.  She looked up at him from her phone.  She was damned pretty he thought.  Like so many girls he had known before, her eyes held the truth and most of her beauty.

Of course things would be different now.  They were always different situations in situations like this, and her eyes looked sad and maybe a little angry.  Her beauty could not hide, but the truth he’d seen last night was protected by her absent gaze.

“Here,” she placed the beer on the warped and worn wooden bar in front of him.

Como estas?” he smiled, trying his best to speak her native tongue politely.

Tu es loco!” there it was, the truth and beauty became bright in her eyes now.

“No….” He grinned and said sarcastically.  “Yo todo normal…”  He laughed when he said it because they both knew he wasn’t normal, and maybe she liked crazy guys.  So he asked, with a more serious tone, “Ti gusta loco chicos?”

“No se.” Her eyes flashed away and then she flashed away, spinning on one heel towards the sink behind her.  He had seen it in her eyes though, it was quick, but she’d been thinking about him too.  It made him happy when her eyes softened.

Just then the Australian couple with dreadlocks walked into the bar and sat down on the stool next to him and the .  “Dos Mojitos, poor fave-vor” said the big, tanned Australian guy.

Turning to the man sitting next to him at the bar he said, “Oi mate, how ya going? Ya shoulda seen all these cunts out in the water today.  Mate, I tell ya it was outrageous.  One of the poms that’s staying here, he went and puked right in his mask 5m down and all these fish started coming up and eating it.  Mate, I’m telling ya it was the best shit I’ve seen in a long time.”

“It was rank” his girlfriend added, “the guy said he was eating pizza and drinking rum and coke last night, it was mess!”  She would have been a lot more attractive without the dreadlocks but her face was beautiful and you could tell she knew it.  They both smelled the same, it was a clean smell.

One of the things the man loved about the bar his beer was sitting on, was how it turned into an ongoing organic art piece as the night continued.  The cold glass beer bottles would sweat and water would drip down over the soggy label onto the wooden bar.

It would create circles on the bar that varied in size, depending on how fast you drank your beer.  The circles would be a light grayish color on the dark-stained bar.  If you sat in the same seat and drank enough beers, over time, they would join together and create circular designs which only make sense at the time, and were always gone in the morning.

The man looked up at her making the drinks.  He liked the way the bartender looked from behind.  Thinking back to last night he remembered how soft her skin had been and he wanted to touch it again.  Those legs, the color of cafe’ con leche; her calves ascending toward the back of her thighs and then disappearing into the shadows of her short dress, and her light summer dress which blew flirtatiously in the wind.

She was mulling the mint leaves and lemon syrup and her hair looked pretty, she was freshly showered and wore a tight braid.  He hoped when she turned around things would get better but the Australian turned to the man at the bar and said “Oi mate, we saw you and ol’ miss here having a toss in the hammock last night!  Good on ya, fine piece of tail for a place like this.”

“Andy shut up.” His girlfriend punched his huge shoulder with her tiny hand.  Australians were never conservative when they drink, were they?, the man thought.  The bartender looked pissed off.  “Would you like to pay cash or should I put these on your room?” she asked this as she slammed the drinks down hard, causing one of the mint leaves to fall off the edge of the glass onto the bar.

“Oh you can go ahead and chuck ‘em on the room, and don’t worry sweet-stuff, your secret’s safe with us, I was just taking the piss out of ol’ mate here.”  All the hippies the man at the bar had ever known smelled like patchouli oil and body odor but the two Australians always smelled like the ocean and nature and they never smelled dirty even though they both had dreadlocks.

The bartender didn’t look at any of them, she got red in the face and turned around quickly and busied herself by cleaning up after making the drinks.  Embarrassed and angry and this damn Australian wasn’t helping anybody out, the man at the bar thought, and tried to change the subject by asking for another beer.  “Una mas Aguila?”

Pulling open the door of the fridge, frosty air poured out into the warm Caribbean night.  She grabbed an icy cold, sweating beer, and placed it in the center of the water circles stamped in the bar in front of him.  She did all of this without looking at him but he couldn’t stand it.

Gracias mi amor,” He said smoothly and with a confident voice.

Her eyes flicked up and in an instant her truth and beauty were there.  Her cheeks were flushed when she looked into his eyes.  The thing he never could have known was that she desired him as much, if not more, than he desired her.  That was what made her so angry.  He was just a boy and she had let herself get too drunk.

“Con mucho gusto,” she said with a mix of confidence and humility.  His heart melted and he fell in love with her all over again when she said this.  It reminded him of the bedroom last night and the thankfulness she had expressed in her soft Spanish voice.  He wished he could make her thankful again right now.  She was so distant and he wanted to see her truth and beauty.

Their eyes were still locked, like they had been last night, well before at least.  Before it all went to hell.  It had started when he opened his bedroom door as she walked past it after coming downstairs from the bar.  She looked up at him with a look of yearning and then fell into his arms and without a word they had their first kiss.  Her tongue and her lips were as soft as anything he had ever touched, but there wasn’t time to think about that now.

“How’s about some tequila’s darlin’?” The Aussi guy said, with so much volume and force they both turned to look at him.

“Do you want the good stuff or the shit?” With her Latin accent it sounded so cute even though she was angry.

“Get us the good stuff and throw it on my tab and you two cunts have one with us, will ya?!.”

The bartender shrugged.  The man at the bar looked over at him and then back at the bartender and shrugged as well.

“Ok then,” she said half cheerfully, it was just business and there was no truth or beauty in her eyes when she lined up the four shots and cut the slices of lime.

So that’s what is going on, the man at the bar thought to himself, he had a flash and remembered the prices of the expensive tequila and he thought about how fresh and clean the hippies always were, even with their dreadlocks, and he decided at that moment they weren’t real hippies.  It was all an act, they were fake-hippies.  Fancy Australian fake-hippies.

Salud” the bartender tipped her head to them and then tipped it backward, downing hers before any of them had picked theirs up.

“Here’s to you two lovebirds!” the Aussie guy always seemed to shout when he spoke and he winked at the bartender and raised his glass.

“Andy shut your trap, ya dick!” his girlfriend tried to punch him, but this time he leaned backwards on his stool and her fist swung past his chest and missed him completely.  The force of her punch sent her tumbling off her stool and into his lap and her tequila shot spilled onto both of them.  Unfazed, the Aussie guy raised his shot glass a little higher and looked at the man at the bar and said with a slightly cocked head, “Cheers mate!” they crunched their glasses and a little spilled out of both.

When the man at the bar tilted his head back the last thing he saw was the big grin of the guy with dreadlocks, his wet shirt, his girlfriend trying to climb back up from his lap, and on the other side of the bar was the furious stare of the bartender.  That image of her face confused him, which confused his stomach and in the seconds afterword, he tried to ride the crashing wave of nausea without succumbing to its strength.

“You’re a dick, Andy!” his girlfriend leaned over and shouted from the barstool she had returned to.

“Oh, you love me sweetie, you know it…” His grin had the qualities of both puppy and child which made him seem like one of those guys who would be impossible to get angry at.

“You’re an asshole; he’s an asshole, right?” his girlfriend turned towards the bartender and slumped both elbows down heavily in front of her on the bar.  The bartender wasn’t going to say anything to confirm her accusations, he was an asshole, but she was an asshole too, they were both assholes and it was her own fault she had fallen out of her chair.

“I’m going to bed Andy, why don’t you stay here with the people you LOVE sooooo much.  I’ll be in bed, you’re such a jerk.”

“Oh relax will ya? Don’t get your titties tied.  Sit down, you’re all right.” She was standing now and had been about to walk away but instead moved closer to him.

“Have another drink; you’ll be fine.”  He reached over and touched her when he said this.  Pulling her closer with one hand, he slid a dreadlock behind her ear with his free hand and then leaned forward to kiss her gently on the cheek.

The bartender looked away.  Love was weird she thought, it made you do the weirdest things and she turned her head back and forth slowly.  His girlfriend reached her tiny hand up into his massive pile of matted hair and pulled the fake-hippie guy toward her so she could whisper something in his ear.

“Well kids, that’s it for us!” he shot up straight and quickly finished the last sips of both their drinks.  When he stood up from his stool he was surprisingly bigger than his girlfriend.  He bent down and grabbed her around the waist and straightened his legs to stand up and when he was standing he swung her around and placed her bent over on his right shoulder.

“Old lady told me she wants to watch some porn and get kinky tonight so don’t bother coming to find us for a few hours!” He shouted this back towards them and they didn’t know it at the time but that was the last words either of them ever heard that fake-hippie guy say.

His girlfriend was still shouting as he carried her across the bar and down the stairs, “You’re such an asshole Andy, put me down, I AM NOT having SEX with YOU tonight you pig, and you sure as hell ain’t getting kinky, you can’t say that type of shit, ANDY, put me down….”  But he had already carried her down the stairs and out of the bar and they were gone.

The bartender looked at him, the man at the bar who was really a boy.  Alone with him she had no one else to be angry at.  She stared her icy stare at him, even though she liked him.  She leaned onto the bar and he leaned onto the bar and he smiled even though she didn’t.  Her hardness softened as she stared at him, and into him, and he realized he was close enough to kiss her if he wanted to, so he did.

“Stop it!” She slapped him and recoiled, “Why the hell did you do that?”  When she said this the truth and beauty was there, though now it was a rage of truth and a blaze of beauty and it was all of her.  She splashed the ice out of the cups from the finished mojitos and then walked out from behind the bar towards him.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything, I just thought…” His voice trailed off, she looked angry.

“You’re a real asshole” she slapped him hard across the face and it stung.

Tranquilo, princessa.” He stood up over her and grabbed both of her wrists before she could slap him again.  “It’s all good.”  His voice was calm and he pulled down on her wrists and it brought them closer together and then she stood up on her toes and kissed him gently on the lips.

“I really liked last night,” She said this as she was taking a half step backward to look up at him in the innocent way all women do to a man they admire.

“Me too.” He smiled at her and she couldn’t help herself.  Her arms were around his neck just like when he had opened the door last night and before either of them had time to think she kissed him with a real and true kiss and he felt it in his whole body.

He grabbed the small of her back and pulled her towards him kissing her deeply.  They bumped into the bar and then turned and they were still kissing and then they bumped into a stool and it fell over.  She pulled his hair a little to pull him away and said, “No, I can’t, I won’t… You’re just a boy.”

“Why?” Was she crying, he wondered?

“I can’t, OK; I just can’t.”

“OK, OK, relax…OK?” She was crying and he felt awkward.  Woman are the queerest things he thought as she broke away and he saw now that she had big wet tears in her eyes.

“You don’t understand; you’re just a boy; boys never understand.”

“But…” and then there was no one for him to talk to.  She ran across the room after her last statement and he heard her feet hit each of the 12 stairs and the sound of her flip-flops as she ran down the hall and her door opening and shutting quickly.

“Women!” he said to no one and reached down to pick up the barstool they had knocked over.  Afterwards he walked around behind the bar to grab a beer from the fridge.  Digging in his pocket he found the correct change and left it on top of the register for whenever she came back.

He stood in the place where she had stood all night and drank his beer quickly.  In this heat you only had approximately 12 minutes to finish your beer before it got warm and too flat to enjoy.  He opened a new beer and set it on top of his old circles on the bar and stood there waiting for the bartender to return.

Another girl and her friend came up the stairs and into the bar, they were nice girls but they weren’t the type that would understand his condition.  He sold them a beer and put the money on the register and then told them he had to go.  At this point he didn’t have time to explain anything.

Walking past them he went downstairs to find the bartender.  When he got to the bartender’s room she wasn’t there.  She didn’t come back to the hostel that night and he left in the morning for home and they never saw each other again.

Colombia’s Caribbean to Canadian Forests

Each morning I would wake up with the sun and work on my writing until mid-day.  When I was staying in Bogota I would explore the the city on my skateboard when I was done writing.  I found a really great book store in the city but my time in the country living on a farm was the most productive and inspired of my whole trip.

My morning work station on a small farm outside Bogota

When I was in Medellin I rented an apartment right next to a skatepark and when I was done working each day I would go meet up with friends and skate.  Except for the times I was meeting up with cute Colombiana’s which was always fun.

Interview with the ColombianCuties
Interview with the ColombianCuties.

It was great fortune which led me to La Tortuga, a hostel in Taganga, a small fishing village on Colombia’s Caribbean coast.  The owner found something about my trip on social media and sent me a message asking if I wanted to stay for free and run the bar in her hostel.  I thought it sounded like a fun opportunity and I had heard interesting things about the town..

Bartending at La Tortuga hostel, in Taganga Colombia.

There were two things I wrote in my notebook on my way $40 flight from Medellin to Taganga.  One of them was I wanted to fish like Hemingway in the Caribbean, and the other was to bartend like Tom Cruise in Cocktail.  I loved Taganga so much that I stayed for the rest of my trip.  I made lifelong friends and without question can cross those goals off in my book.  I am grateful to everyone I met in that wild town and I hope to be back soon.

Fishing in the Caribbean a la Hemingway.
Fishing in the Caribbean a la Hemingway.

The worst part of my trip was having my computer stolen the day I arrived in Taganga.  It wasn’t anyone at the hostel, I think somehow the Taxi driver got it on my way from the airport.  How I will never know.  Needless to say, it brought the progress on my books to a halt.  The silver lining was the time it left me to practice my writing and create more original content.  I have many notebooks filled with short stories, poems, songs and all kinds of random observations but the main thing is that I truly think my writing improved.

La Tortuga bar during a World Cup game.
La Tortuga bar during a World Cup game.

Now I am back in my hometown of Vancouver, Canada.  I have a new computer and I am back to my books and working on them each morning.  It is a slow process but I am completing everything I set out to do.  Everything is pushed back a little bit, but I am closer to the end now than ever.

Flipping into waterfalls in Minca.
Flipping into waterfalls in Minca, a small town in the mountains an hour from the coast.

If you were one of the people that pledged for my Kickstarter campaign first I will say thank you again.  I want to reassure you that all rewards will be coming as soon as they are ready.  Please consider this just a normal artistic delay and know that I am forever grateful for all the support.

I will be publishing some of the short stories I wrote in Colombia on   Click the follow button at the top of the screen to get an email alert when the first one comes out this Friday.


Meeting Cute Colombian Girls in the Streets of Medellin


When I arrived in Medellin I connected online with three cute Colombian girls. ColombianCuties had started following my site and asked me if I wanted to up for an interview. It was out of the ordinary, but I followed like a real journalist following a lead. We met in Parque Lleras, which I’ve been told is the place to meet beautiful girls in the posh Poblado neighborhood of Medellin. Every person in Bogota said the same thing when I asked them where I should go after I lived on a farm.  Medellin: The weather is beautiful and the woman are hot.  Or was it; The weather is hot and the woman are beautiful?

Interview with the ColombianCuties
Interview with the ColombianCuties

Despite all I’d heard, I wanted to see for myself if Medellin, the plastic surgery capital of the world, was truthfully filled with beautiful woman.  Were they phony, materialistic, fakes? Or were the rumors true, was Medellin filled with real beauties? I mostly spoke with Bella, she understood English the best of the group and I was still learning Spanish.  Sitting between Kandy and Angela the three girls presented a unified front, but Bella was clearly the leader.  She looked at me with a mischievous smile when I asked her how someone becomes a ColombianCutie.  

“To be honest, most Colombian girls are cuties, so pretty much any of them can be a ColombianCutie!  We just want to make sure we have good people surrounding us who not only want to receive, but also want to give back.”

Kandy and Anglea taking photo's in Parque Lleras
Kandy and Anglea taking photo’s in Parque Lleras

They plan to transition to a paid membership site once their audience is larger.  I point out the potential for their site to be quite lucrative and Bella is quick to tell me their plans to work with charities.  They plan to support orphanages around the city.  “To sum it up; ColombianCuties is fun, its charity, it’s growing up, it’s being who we are…That is ColombianCuties.” Beside being cute girls from Medellin I asked them what other goals they had.  I was impressed to learn that Bella and Kandy are both in College, studying math and communications, respectably.

Bella & Kandy
Bella & Kandy

But Angela?  Well she’s still in High school! That’s jailbait for anyone who’s paying attention.


What kind of people follow the ColombianCuties?  Bella explained; “Our followers are from all over the world, especially the United States, there are a lot of strange guys, there are a lot of good guys. There are all kinds of people.  Even though there are some strange people,  it is not a problem, we are ok.” Bella looked to both girls to confirm this last statement.  I decided to see what she meant by “Strange guys.” First I came across Marvin Simpkins Sr, an ordained minister from Tennessee.  He thought  “Whee fun time!” was an appropriate comment to leave on this picture of a bikini-clad Bella.

Nice Bikini eh!
Nice Bikini eh!
Creepy old man - And he's a minister!
Creepy old man – And he’s a minister!

I wouldn’t necessarily argue with Marvin, She does wear it well but come on buddy, you’re a minister for God’s sake! Then there’s Comedian Bernard Smith IV of Grand Rapids, Michigan.  When I clicked on his Facebook page the first thing I saw was a picture of him and his young nephew.  Set a good example Bernard, I doubt your family would think it’s funny when you say things like;

Candy, I would like you to come over so I can get a better look!


  Bella had the following advice for aspiring ColombianCuties.  “She needs to be prepared.  She needs to study hard, she needs to learn English because that is very important.  She needs to be very healthy, and also go to the gym.  She needs to be ready.”  Ready for what I ask…?

“Ready for opportunity.”

Three cute Colombian girls trying out my skateboard.
Three cute Colombian girls trying out my skateboard.

I like Bella.  She’s got a great attitude, she’s intelligent, she talks passionately about what she is doing and that made her even prettier in person.  In the end, what I learned from our conversation is that it doesn’t matter how hot the women are in Medellin. There are hot woman all over the world.  A woman like Bella is Beautiful for many reasons, her looks were just one of them.


Oh wait, there was one question I forgot to ask… “Bella, te gustaría ir a cenar conmigo?”


Where the Finca you been?

My first 3 weeks in Colombia I was in the capital city of Bogota.  I needed some peace and a break from the city life.

The view from my office.
The view from my office.

A close friend I’ve made gave me the opportunity to go to her farm, or “finca” as they call them here.  I stayed for a week on my own, spending my days working on my writing and exploring the countryside by horseback and on foot with my canine friend Lucho.

A special thank you to my amazing neighbors; Luis, Mary Yibe, Alejandro, Lorena, and of course Lezlie and Brenda for the opportunity.  Your generous invitation was hugely helpful in my creative process and an experience I won’t soon forget.  Click the images below to see more.

In every real man a child is hidden that wants to play
Friedrich Nietzsche

Bogota – Week Two

Click on any image below to see my photo journal from week 2 in Bogota.