sinclair's Review

I decided to check out the Palomino Gentlemen’s Club in Vitacura on a Friday night around 02:00, technically early Saturday morning on my way back from a discotheque in Las Condes. The club is basically an overpriced bar used to connect guys with upscale escorts since brothels and advertising prostitution is illegal, yet, prostitution itself is legal in Chile. The Palomino is in a strip mall near a grocery store. The cover charge is 30,000 CLP, but that includes your first drink. The main club is down a flight of stairs. It is pretty cramped with a two pole stage on the right wall, surrounded by mirrors. There was not always a dancer performing on stage. I would not classify Palomino as a true strip club; it’s more like a lounge with the occasional dancer on stage. There were only about eight patrons in attendance and none seemed to be spending too much.

The club had a good variety of talent from across Latin America, all of whom wear revealing dresses. I got swarmed by a desperate Dominican as I came into the club. She was not my type so I dislodged the parasite as quickly as possible. As I sat down on a couch with my first beer, a white Peruvian dancer started talking with me until the point came when I had to buy her a 50,000 CLP drink if I wanted her to stay. I balked and she left, but she quoted me 260,000 CLP for a night of fun at my hotel. The exit fee paid to the club was 120,000 CLP, if I remember correctly. There are suited guys that speak English that will help foreigners with whatever they need, but I tried to speak Spanish exclusively, so as to avoid “gringo pricing” and getting scammed. Furthermore, most of the female talent spoke little to absolutely no English. The crème of the crop here were the Columbian and Venezuelan ladies. The ladies of northeast South America had bodies with the perfect combination of curves and fitness—just excellent genes. I talked to a few of them briefly at the bar and got hard as granite just gazing at them.

I was given a drink coupon by a taxi driver the day before for a free glass of champagne, so I ordered champagne next. By the time I was done with the bubbly, I was buzzed. (I had about six beers over the previous couple hours at nightclubs.) I tried to order a Coke next to try to sober out a bit. The bartender, one of the sexiest Chilean girls I had seen in a week, was confused about the price she was going to charge me. The bar manager, a young guy about 25, told her it was 50,000 CLP for a Coke, but if I got an alcoholic drink, it would only be 20,000 CLP. This pricing made no sense and my spidey-senses started to tingle. It seemed like the bartender was going to give me the Coke at the standard rate, but the fledgling bar manager was trying to scam me because he thought I was either: drunk, a dumb gringo, or thought I’d spend more money if I drank more alcohol. I told him, “Go fuck yourself,” in English, which I do not think he understood and walked out of the clip joint.