So going out mid week was not a great idea after all, even though I had the time and the venue just right.
La Puerta. Santa Marta’s hip and happening night spot.
With live music on a Wednesday night, I was not surprised to find the venue packed.
Dressed as best a sailor can (which isn’t saying much really), I started the evening with high expectations. How many quasi fair haired, blue eyed types with a 6ft plus stature can there be in a place like this? I should at least attract enough attention from the dark haired beauties to sneak a smiling snapshot or two.
No such luck. Somehow I managed to arrive in the midst of what must have been the annual Aryan eugenics convention’s night out.
I’d never seen so many tall, fair-haired, blue eyed, gentlemen of Germanic persuasion gathered in one place. And all of them better dressed, taller, younger and considerably more muscular than myself.
After one beer, I was out of there…
I’m old enough to know when I’m not in the race. Or in the same stadium in which the race is taking place. Or the same city for that matter… You get the picture…
My only consolation was that there were no Aguila girls in evidence.
Somewhat discouraged, I stole away from the festivities to focus what little energy I had left that evening on projects with a higher probability of success. Turning my three defunct ST-2000 tiller-pilots into at least one that might work.
Not that I’ve given up on my quest.
It’s just that I will have to devise an alternate “smart and cunning plan” to draw out the elusive Colombian Aguila girl.
Every man needs an obsession… and I hear that chasing leopards is so passe…