Placeholder comment because I need to go back to sleep. Someone remind me and I’ll tell y’all about rescuing my brother from a maybe kidnapping in Mexico.
Okay, so, me and my brother visited Mexico. It was a fairly small town, not a major place like Cancun. Had an amazing time. Ended up meeting these two bartenders that we became friends with. Their boss, who legit made everyone he met call him El Jefe, would come by and steal their tips and get drunk. We were there for a week. On the last night, I’m on the other side of the town (10 minute walk away) trying to seal the deal with this dude I’d met, and my brother was at the little bar hanging with our bartender friends. I get a call from him, panicked, as he whisper yells that El Jefe asked him to come with him to another bar he owns. He’s in the car, El Jefe is flying down the street, he’s doing cocaine off the dash. Please come get him at this other bar. He sends me one of those location pins that update in real time.
I tell dude that I’ll help him finish later, and take off to rescue my brother. He’s only like 5 minutes away, and has stopped moving. I go into the club, and start looking for him, but he’s not there. I’m asking folks if they’ve seen him, and trying to get closer to his pin. Finally, I find his phone, there’s some random ass dude who has it, and when I tell him I’m gonna need that phone, he tries to act like it’s his. I explain to him it’s my brother’s. He acts like he’s gonna swing at me, so I drop El Jefe’s name. That, combined with the fact that he’s 5’nothing and I’m 6’3 and near 300 pounds convinced him of the error of his ways. He gave me the phone, and I moved on in my search. I talked to the bartender, who explained that El Jefe had been there a few minutes ago, and had left some coke for me because my brother told him I was meeting them there (neither I nor my brother do coke). I asked could he tell me where they were headed. He gave me an address about a mile away. I took off.
I arrive at the house, by this point it is nearly 2 in the morning. It looks like just a house, but the lights are on so I knock on the door. I am greeted by a woman with the largest breasts I have ever seen in real life. They’re enormous. And she’s topless. Now, I don’t speak Spanish. I know enough to ask where the bathrooms are, and (I smokes at the time) where I could smoke at. Other than that, it was Google translate and gesturing for me.
However, I did not need Spanish to understand that this woman was a prostitute, and was very keen on the young American in front of her (or, at least his wallet). I tried to explain I’m trying to find my brother, but she wasn’t having it. Grabbing at my crotch, trying to pull me into one of the bedrooms off the (very nicely decorated for a brothel) living room. As my actions at this moment were less Liam Neeson and more Jerry Stiller, I decided to just come clean with her with one of the only Spanish words I knew “yo soy Mariposa!”
Now, I know that’s a slur, and I’m sorry if it upsets anyone. But at the time, it was the only thing I could think of. An hour before hand, the phrase had been… Relevant.
It was like a magic spell. Her entire attitude changed, and she was finally able to listen to my words. Once we cobbled together enough Spanglish to understand each other, I gave her the coke from the club as a thanks, and headed off to find my brother where she told me El Jefe had taken him next.
I arrive back at the night club I’d gotten the coke from, and I see El Jefe’s car this time. It’s parked in an alley behind the club, against an outdoor stair case. I go up the stairs and open the door to a private little fucking rave on the top floor of the club. They’ve got their own bar up here, and if I remember correctly, you can’t get from one floor to the other from within the club.
I see them at last! My brother looks mortified, trying to get to the entrance, and keeps getting pulled back by El jefe, and El jefe dancing with fucking scar face levels of coke on his face. It’s insane. I go up to them, and El jefe is all excited to see me, asks if I want some more coke, do I wanna party, he has a pretty boy all picked out for me if I want.
I tell him no thanks, we’ve gotta go. He gets pissy and says I’m being rude, stay and party. I tell him we’re leaving, and before I can react, he swings at me in all hiscoke fueled glory, completely missing me by a country mile. I stand up and tower over this man and explain we have a plane to catch in the morning. He finally let us go, and we head out.
Our plane the next day was delayed, so we ended up spending two more days there. In that time, El Jefe apologized for swinging at me, and gave us a tour of some of the apartments he rents.
We still keep in touch on Whatsapp, and he invites us to his enormous birthday party every year. He also says he’ll rent me an apartment there if I want to do private security for him. He talks to my brother more than me, though. He really liked him, and he calls me El Gigante. He really, really wants us both to come work for him. From what I gather, he basically runs the entire town we were in.
I was in Germany working on a cruise ship that was being finished up in the Bremerhaven dry dock when I was 19, it was after work and a bunch of us went out and got drunk as we did and while coming back after all our fun, we passed by a roll-up door that had “einfahrt” painted in huge block letters on it. One of the people in our group looks at it, points at yells “I fart too, but I don’t brag about it!”
Definitely the highlight of the trip.
I also remember hanging out at the bar that was on the docks having dinner and some of the other people on my ship were trying to ask where the bathroom was and the waitress and bartender didn’t understand a single way they were putting it until the guy was like “Ok, I’m sorry this may be a little crude but it’s the only way left I know how I might ask… Where can I take a scheisse?” Turns out they call it “water closet” (bathroom is just labeled “WC”) and that was the one term none of us had ever heard before.
I was in Salzburg back in 95 with a HS exchange program. We were traveling around and having a great time. That day we went up to the castle kinda near closing time. The entry booth was unmanned so our group walked on in.
We walked around, saw lots of the castle and the views over the city were enchanting. Most of our group left, but about six of us were still in the castle later. It turns out they close and lock the main gates once all of the tourists are out. Since we didn’t get tickets in, we apparently went uncounted and got locked inside.
On my my buddies came running up to me as I was sitting on a battlement being morose (summer fling issues) and declared with alarm “we’re locked in!” so I jogged to the gate with him.
This is pre cell phone and we weren’t great at German. I told him to rally the rest of our stragglers and stood by the gate to think of how to get out. As the group was walking down the path to me, I heard keys jangling outside the gate.
After a moment the smaller postern door opened. Standing outside was a kid about 13 years old with a sack of groceries. I said entschuldigung and blocked the door open. Our group all piled out through the gate and ran off down the road while the kid just stood there looking shocked.
That was the first time I accidentally got locked in a castle in Europe. They’re remarkably effective at keeping people both in and out, both are issues I’ve had to deal with at various times.
My mom’s friend was nearly pickpocketed in front of the Trevi Fountain by a man with two thumbs on his right hand. My mom caught him with his hand in her purse and made a big scene. He ran away.
I was 11 years old and had my camera out and ready and it kills me that I didn’t get a photo of his hand.
Heh, my thought too, but it wasn’t like an extra pinky. He had two thumbs stacked on top of each other. I don’t know where they joined, but I could see the pad of one thumb on top of the nail of the other.
I was on a high school trip to Poland in the 90’s. It was an eight day trip through the country, including a couple of days of kayaking. Our school was definitely on a tight budget to make this trip work, so we spend our nights in a bunch of cheap hotels and camping grounds.
One luxury that we were always missing out on was decent toilet paper. The only toilet paper supplied was this single ply stuff with the same texture as sanding paper. So when we were out for an evening in Warsaw I visited a five star hotel to enjoy some quality bathroom time. This was several days in and I really wanted to enjoy using a toilet in a heated and clean environment. And it was so nice! No smells, no cold drafts and the toilet paper! So soft! I was in heaven :)
As luck would have it, the bathroom stall had a whole stack of these magically soft toilet rolls. On an impulse I stuffed all of them (around six if I remember correctly) under my coat and smuggled them out of the hotel. Back at the camp I shared them with the rest of my classmates, bringing back a little bit of luxury in our dreary little place. Never been that popular in my life :)
Did a school exchange with Serbia once (am German myself). The abundance of guns was jarring, I was welcomed to a night club by a couple armed bouncers, one of them open carrying a fucking ak-47.
Those mfs thought it hilarious to put a gun in my jacket during the security check, it was totally surreal being yelled at and held at gun point, even though they were just fucking with me.
I remember after 9/11 I took a flight out of Minneapolis and there were security/police/whatever with automatic rifles. Pretty surprising as I’d never seen anything like that in the US.
On my first trip to the UK, we booked into a hotel recommended to us by local friends. The room had “Shower en Suite”, which we assumed was a bathroom en suite with a shower (in contrast to one with a bathtub).
When we entered the (fairly large) hotel room, there was a blue plastic booth like one of those festival toilets in the middle of the room. It was the shower, and you had to insert coins to actually get hot water. No actual bathroom at all, just the plastic shower in the middle of the room. The toilet was a shared, ultra-small room halfway down the stairs. And lacking toilet paper. “The owner did not buy any” was the reason given by the staff.
The breakfast was interesting, too: You only got either this or that of common English breakfast stuff - either Toast, jam, and marmelade or fried egg, sausage, and beans. Either orange juice or half a grapefruit, etc. No buffet like about any other place offered.
That was quite an awkward situation for our friends who had recommended that hotel - based on their own experience 40-50 years ago. I assume it was one of the better places then.
I was in Ibiza with some friends (we met famous drug smuggler Howard Marks in Manumission, but that’s not the point of this story). One night two of us were out in San Antonio town, and on the way back to our hotel we spotted a mannequin outside a clothes shop. It was clearly bin collection day the following day, so obviously they didn’t want it any more and clearly we could, indeed we must take it back to our hotel room and put it on the balcony. So we picked it up and walked back towards the hotel. I’m in front holding it across the shoulders, my mate behind me holding the legs. We’re walking past bars and everyone is laughing and cheering us (drunk British people, we’ll cheer anything out of the ordinary).
Then the police turn up in a van. You hear horror stories about being taken to the police station which is miles away and having to pay hundreds in fines, so I instantly become sober. One of them opens the back of the van and says, “In, in.” So we put the mannequin in. In fear and trembling I ask, “What about us?”
I was thirteen, visiting Ireland with my parents. We were staying in a hostel somewhere in the area of the cliffs of Moher.
My parents went out for a drink in the pub and met another Dutch couple. They were staying at the same hostel. At breakfast they joined our table and my parents introduced me.
Now I do have a very uncommon first name (the only way I’m part of the 1%). This guy says 'i once met a bit by that name before, it was in Croatia, some ten years ago.
Turns out that was me. The guy had helped dive up one of my swimming shoes that had sank to the bottom of the bay, an act of heroism for the very young me.
So we met this bloke twice, in two very different parts of Europe. The bizarre thing though: if I had a slightly more common name we might never even have known.
My brother traveled to New Zealand and met another Germans there. After talking a bit they discovered they were from same city, the same district in the city … and the same street. He randomly met our neighbour from 2 houses down on the other side of the world.
Uncannyly I have a similar story. When I was in the African country of Benin, I met a Dutch couple, one of which was an architect who studied African architecture.
My home town has a museum on that exact subject, so I asked him if he knew that, he was like ‘of course, we live in that town’
Turned out he lived around the corner of where I lived.
Was in Ireland a while back and I hit a guy with my rental car. Just a love tap. Nothing serious and no one was hurt. I was pulling out of a lot and it was really hard to see and I was looking for traffic and inching (centimetering?) out. And I look and there’s suddenly a bloke there, getting pushed a little. He smacks the hood of the car and yells something, then waves his hand at me and keeps walking.
Yeah litigation is no joke. It’s wonderous to see the lengths people go to to get one up over somebody else. I think it has to do with the lack of social security or something.
I was in the US Air Force and stationed in England. In the military you use your social security number (SSN) for pretty much everything. There was a girl I worked with whose SSN shared the same first 8 digits as mine. Turns out we were born in the same hospital a few hours apart, but never met until we were in our 20s in a foreign country.
For non-Americans, the first 3 numbers are assigned by the geographical region. Then the next 2 numbers are a smaller grouping inside of that area. So, two people born in the same small geographic area have a good chance of having the same first 5 digits the same. In my case it was the first 8 that were the same. They are only 9 digits long.
We were visting my girlfriend’s family in Slovakia. Her cousin, who is an airline pilot, was also visiting at the same time and he spend his vaccation flying a small single prop plane to drop of parachutist at a small local airport. Really small. The runway literally was a just a field of gras. However it does have a MiG-21 flighter jet just causually chilling next to it. No fence or anything, it’s just sitting there next to the road.
Anyway, so wie visited the small airport and watched my GF’s cousin for a few hours. After he was done dropping all the parachutist, he still had a little fuel left, so offered to give us a little joyride, which we accepted.
Now I’m not sure if thats the standard for small planes used for the described purpose, but that plane was completly empty. There were the two pilots seats and behind that just … empty plane. No seats, no handles. It was a bit odd, but I didn’t think much about it … until we took off … with the DOOR OPEN. So we cowered as far away from the door, trying to hold on to anything.
Eventually her cousin turned arouned, smirked and laughed and eventually closed the door. The flight was a lot more enjoyable after that.
I went to Austria for skying, flew to Innsbruck and two days later caught the train to go to the ski resort.
That train was basically an intercity train (which even stopped at the little town from where a pretty regular commuter could be caught to the little ski resort) … which just so happen to be coming from some city in Switzerland and would end in some city in Germany.
So I sit down in one of those places with 2x2 seats and a table in the middle. A couple of guys also seat down there and eventually we starting chatting.
It turns one of those guys was an Italian surf promoter, who had actually been to my country (Portugal) as part of surf events in Ericeira (big surf place nowadays thanks to the almost unique massive tube waves it gets at certain times in the year).
The guy did not spoke Portuguese but could speak several other languages. We ended up having a one hour or so conversation and as my German was a bit so-so (and, let’s be honest, because it just felt cool to do so), we ended up doing with in the several languages we had in common - German, Spanish, Italian, English and French - just sort of jumping from language to language as we couldn’t remember a word in one so used a different one or because the 3rd guy only spoke English and German so we had to switch to one of those when including him.
Coming from a very peripheral country in Europe - Portugal borders only Spain, and if you travel about 1000km in Spain, you get to the only other country it has a land border with, France, and then it takes another 1000km or so of France to get to the rest of Europe - the whole “absolutelly regular train that just happens to cross 3 countries” and casually chatting with somebody and using various languages when they happen to be convenient, thing was the first time I really felt a hint of what it is to just normally be European in Europe.
Fun stories like this remind me why my country (UK) just never feels connected to Europe. We’ve got this amazing continent on our doorstep but the poor state of our language education prevents many from feeling comfortable to explore it. I would love to share a story like this.
Yeah, I was living in the UK at the time and in that sense it feels almost as peripheral when it comes to Europe as Portugal.
Living in the UK actually made this feeling in that train in Austria more intense for me because I was actually living in an European country other than my homeland but it still didn’t feel much closer to the rest of Europe than in Portugal, though I did jump on the Eurotunnel Express once in London for a couple of days in Paris, which was nice and is definitelly beyond what can be done in Portugal (were international train connections abroad are so bad that for example Lisbon - Barcellona is at least half a day, probably more).
Then again there is a little extra distancing in the UK because English being the lingua franca of this age, Britons can seldom speak any other language, and it’s not at all the same thing when you’re somewhere to use it as it is being able to speak the same language as the locals. (Mind you, I suspect I wouldn’t get the same feeling in Eastern Europe as in that experience in Austria, simply because I cannot speak any language at all from those language branches, except for Romanian which is a Latin language so I can more easilly guess the meaning of words).
Went to New York city to go see Ozzy in concert (from Canada). My first time in the US. It was me and 3 other male friends, all in our mid/late 20’s. On our way back home we got pulled over by a state trooper because my friend was speeding.
The state trooper walks up to the window and says he smells marijuana. Which was total bullshit because this was a new car and we aren’t dumb enough to bring that shit with us. He proceeds to make us all stand in the cold for 45 minutes while he goes through the entire contents of the car and finds nothing. They give us a warning then leave with all our shit just laying around.
This was like a month before they legalised weed in Canada so we figured that was why they did it. The entire time I was just scared they would plant something. I’ve been conditioned to not trust cops due to all the shit I’ve seen online. This experience just made it worse. And we were just a bunch of white guys, can’t even begin to imagine what people of color have to deal with when it comes to cops in the US.
Youre right not to trust American cops. They’re corrupt and above the law. If you had pissed him off in any way he would have certainly planted something and arrested you. He searched your car because your ages and destination. He wanted to find something.
It was our last day in the city and had our backpacks on walking around like tourists in the wrong part of town. A crackhead saw us walking towards him and he stood up, pulled something out of his pocket and then walked directly into me. 100% on purpose.
He then very dramatically threw what I now knew was a crack pipe against the alley wall and yelled at me, “You stupid fucking American. You broke my crack pipe. You owe me crack! There was $15 worth of crack in that pipe!” I wasn’t having any of that, this was obviously a setup. I was about to kick his scrawny crackhead ass when he pulled out a tiny, I mean tiny little pocket knife at which point my buddy started laughing his ass off. Right before I was about to knock the hell out of this guy, one of the locals came up pulled on my collar whispered in my ear, “Just throw some change on the ground. You’re a foreigner. You will be the one to go to jail.”
I thought that was reasonable so I pulled about 75 cents worth of euros out of my pocket and threw it on the ground. At that point the alleged mugger got into a huge fist fight with about five other crackheads while they fought over the change I threw on the ground. They completely forgot about me and my friend so we just walked away. What was really funny was later that day we were in a different part of the town near the train station waiting for our train to the airport. That same motherfucker walks by looking for a target and I had to think real long and hard about what I was going to do. In the end I said fuck it and just left it alone.
On that same trip we went through Luxembourg. We were looking at the sites and there’s this big valley in the middle of the city with a park at the bottom and we were standing on this bridge filming and this guy just jumps off and falls at least 100 maybe 200 ft to his death. Me and my friend are freaking out and cannot believe we just saw somebody kill themselves. We are yelling for help and some guy who obviously lived there casually walks up and tells us, “First time here? This happens all the time. Luxembourg is a very fucking depressing place to live.” Then he just casually walked on. We couldn’t believe that shit. It was so run of the mill everyday business, nothing for these people. Just another guy had thrown himself off the suicide bridge. No biggie.
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