How to Marry a Third-World Woman

And Live Happily Every After--Somewhere Else<!-- InstanceEndEditable --> <!-- InstanceBeginEditable name="ColumnDate" -->January 14, 2013
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<!-- InstanceBeginEditable name="ColumnLead" -->Some years ago, encouraged by readers, I decided to write a book with the above title, and then decided I'd rather do other things, like drink red wine and sit with Vi on the roof-top patio and supervise the sunset. I mean, what if it didn't do it right? So I didn't finish the book. But I had knocked out a few chapters, and now I figure I'll post them occasionally when I can't think of anything else.

<!-- InstanceEndEditable -->Chapter One

Why would a man deliberately set out to marry a woman in the Third World—or, if you prefer, the “developing world”? For any of several reasons, which men talk about in private but not when they might be overheard:

(1) North American women (say these men) have been so corrupted by angry feminism that they have the appeal of a menopausing crocodile with the hives. Yes, there are gradations, and many exceptions, but you don’t find out whether she is an exception until, if she isn’t, it is too late. And yes, the men having these views often have had bad experiences, and remain angry. Nonetheless they tend to have similar opinions:

The average American woman these days is charming as a hung-over ferret but less useful (ferrets kill mice). We all know the signs. There are the frequent complaints about sexism, discrimination, machismo, the throwaway snotty remarks about the male ego, immaturity, and fear of commitment (they have the last one right, God knows). You get the feeling that too many gringas are coiled like rattlesnakes, looking for slights about which to be enraged. Together these constitute what I think of as “the chip.”

You have to be crazy to tie yourself to such a creature—stark bug-****.

(2) The lack of femininity. The word is hard to define, but the quality is impossible to mistake. American women seem to want to be either androgynous horrors or smaller men with the appeal of a truss ad. On the street they dress in those awful Brooks Sisters business suits with the ugly blazers and little shoulder pads. You see them in restaurants, drinking too much and yelling, “He’s a ****ing piece of ****,” apparently in the belief that talking like a jock in a rural locker room makes them one of the guys. Some of us don’t want to date one of the guys. We want to date a woman.

They don’t want to be feminine, don’t know what the word means and, if you bring the subject up, they say—spare me—“You just want a submissive woman.” No, actually, I don’t. Submissive women are boring. I just don’t want a squalling, hair-trigger bitch.

How much of this are we supposed to take? That is, if we have a choice? And we do.

(3) The courts make it dangerous to marry an American woman. If you marry one, the odds are fifty-fifty that it will end in divorce. Given the nature of US broads, the only worse outcome is that it might not. The odds are about two to one that she will file. The odds are overwhelming that you will be raped in court, forced to pay child support, very possibly not allowed to see your children, stripped of your home, have your pension attached and your passport confiscated. Women are vicious in divorce. Whether they are morally inferior to men can be debated—they don’t fight wars or bomb cities, for example—but in terminating marriages, they are heartless and often sadistic.

They do not—believe me—see you as having a right to know your kids. I talked once to a (female) divorce attorney. She confirmed what many in fathers-rights had told me: Men in divorce are invariably happy to give the woman access to the children. Women very often are not. They use them as weapons, and the courts support them in it. Stealing a man’s children is an excellent form of revenge. They use it to the hilt.

In court, every advantage lies with them. They are quite capable of accusing you of sexual molestation of the children as a legal tactic, and their lawyers will encourage them in it. “Child Protective Services” everywhere is in the hands of feminist zealots and they will work against you. Your support payments will be calculated by the courts based not on what you make, but on what the court thinks you could make. This is called “imputed income,” and you have probably never heard of it. Wait.

Don’t do it. You don’t have to. There are better women out there, much better.

(4) America is no longer a fit place to raise children. If you marry a gringa, she will in all likelihood expect to live in the United States. Your children will then go to the public schools, which are drug-ridden academic disasters with no hope of improvement in the time your kids will be in them.

Worse perhaps, they are propaganda mills instilling political correctness and weak character. You know the kind of thing: Sojourner Truth was the most important figure in the American Civil War, dodge ball is violence, Diversity is the only virtue of any importance, performance, grades, and competition are bad because some kids don’t do as well as others, schools exist to raise self-esteem, degraded English is admirable because it is what minorities speak and the purpose of schools is to make minorities feel good about themselves. The schools are run by women, usually stupid ones, and they try hard to feminize males. If you have boys, they stand a good chance of being forcibly drugged if they are bored and fidgety. The quality of the schools being what it is, they will be bored and fidgety.

You won’t be permitted to raise them. The government will do it. After spending the first half of the day being indoctrinated in school, they will spend the next half watching the lobotomy box (unless you are one of the very few with the strength not to allow the damned things in your house.) This will program them with the moral values, tastes, and misinformation that Hollywood and New York think proper. It will keep them from reading and in many cases leave them unable to read—the flick-flick-flick of TV does not promote an ability to concentrate. The result will be that you will be afraid to say anything that runs against pc because they will look at you as a monster.

You think this doesn’t happen? I’ve got news.

Do you want them growing up as mall rats, bored, taking drugs, getting into sex at fourteen, and never doing anything but hanging out? Or would you prefer to raise them abroad where you have influence? And where, incidentally, they will become natively fluent in another language.

(5) If you are, say, fifty or fifty-five, would you rather date some hormonal train-wreck of an American woman of the same age, or a lovely Thai woman of thirty or thirty-five without the freaking attitude? (It didn’t take you long to answer that one, did it?) Sure, in a perfect world, in which we conspicuously do not live, maybe age shouldn’t matter. But we all know it does. Pretty, young, sexy, and agreeable –oh, dear god, yes, agreeable, please--is a potent combination. If you are looking at another fifteen years on the planet, why not enjoy them?

(6) Money goes a lot further in the developing world, the government leaves you pretty much alone if you don’t do something really stupid, you aren’t gummed up in the developing police state in the United States and, for many men, especially the independent and self-directed, the Third World is just plain attractive.

(7) Finally, you might be sick of what the United States is becoming. More people are than will admit it. The surveillance, controlled press, propaganda, ever-increasing burden of rules and regulations—some weary of it. If you are a man who wants out for these reasons, then you are not leaving in search of a wife, but you will probably want one eventually.

This book is not specifically a guide to expatriation. Details of visas and immigration law can be found elsewhere, though I'll include hints here and there, but these can change over time. However, you need to know what conditions to expect if you choose to live abroad, what life is like. And you need to know what the women are like, how to find them, how not to get the wrong one, the pros and cons and pitfalls. Read on.

Fred On Everything

Bar Girls and Why Not <!-- InstanceEndEditable -->

<!-- InstanceBeginEditable name="ColumnSubTitle" -->Chapter Two of How to Marry a Third-World Woman and Live Happily Ever After, Somewhere Else<!-- InstanceEndEditable -->

<!-- InstanceBeginEditable name="ColumnDate" -->January 29, 2013<!-- InstanceEndEditable -->
<!-- InstanceBeginEditable name="ColumnLead" -->When I posted the first chapter of the book of this title that I never finished writiing, response was heavy with requests for further chapters. OK, here are one.
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<!-- InstanceBeginEditable name="ColumnText" -->Bar girls are a mistake that countless guys make when they first leave the United States. Bar girls are a mistake in two ways. First, lots of gringos think that the girls are typical of the women of the country. Second, they get tangled up with a hooker and perhaps marry her. This is bad juju. Not a good idea at all.

Let’s use Thailand as an example. Everyone has heard of the sex trade there. Most Americans seem to think that Thailand is a nation of prostitutes, and that seven out of every three have AIDS. This isn’t true. The sex trade exists, but the overwhelming majority of women have nothing to do with it. The problem is that very few outlanders get beyond the whorehouses, so they think there is nothing else to Thailand.

The fact is that the Thais are culturally conservative, have fairly high standards of sexual morality, and regard foreigners (farangs) as depraved barbarians who want only sex. This typically is accurate. But the women you first will meet will be hookers. Let’s go through the drill.

You land in Bangkok and check into your hotel. Of course that evening you head for one of the farang bar districts because, well, it’s easy, and although in principle you are looking for a wife, in practice a little practice never hurts. I mean we are, after all, guys. And Bangkok at night is a sexual candy store.

There are three girly districts of note, Patpong Road, Soi Cowboy, and Nana Plaza. Patpong is perhaps the best known and the nicest. (Actually there are Patpong I and Patpong II, streets right next to and parallel with each other.) The taxi drops you off. What do you see?

A narrowish street, garishly lit, jammed with at least three-quarters of the entire population of Asia, milling and shoving and squirming through densely packed rows of stands selling clothes, trinkets, souvenirs, pirated music, antisocial tee-shirts, everything. Keep your hand on your wallet. (I wear a photo vest with inside zippered pockets.)

The street is lined with bars, many of them thumping with godawful disco music too loud to allow conversation. Go into a couple just to see what they are. There will probably be a long stand in the thumping murk raised a couple of feet above the floor. From this a dozen brass poles will rise to the ceiling. Dangling somewhere will probably be one of those beachballs covered with fragments of mirror to reflect the lights, which will be red and green and purple. Some of these places look to have been designed by Dante, but this has never been established.

On the stand, one per pole, will be Thai girls in bikinis or hot pants or whatever. They will be bumping and grinding in boredom. Depending on your age, recent deprivation, ethanol intake, experience in Asia, and testosterone levels, you may find this titillating, tiresome, or sad.

A girl will very quickly come to your table and offer you, well, herself. She will speak little if any English and be a peasant girl from up-country. She will have the appeal of the young, willing, and female. Do as you choose. She has nothing to do with our goal of finding a permanent squeeze, so we will drop her at this point.

Now go to one of the non-disco bars. The last time I did such things a good example was the Takara, on Patpong I, upstairs by way of an elevator. It may still exist. Here, given your quest, you could get into trouble. The Takara, technically a massage parlor, is small, quiet, pleasant, with a bar and a couple of tables. The barmaid, overage at thirty-two or so, speaks English well. She is pretty and seems nice. She is in fact nice.

At the back of the room is a plate-glass window. Behind it is a series of platforms, one above the other, like very wide steps. On these sit a dozen lovely Thai girls in what look like gauzy evening gowns. Each has a tag pinned on her with a number. You can drink a beer or two at the bar, chaff with the barmaid, and then, if so inspired, ask for Seven. The barmaid will inform Seven that she is wanted, and Seven will then come sit by you at the bar.

Here is where, if you have not encountered third-world bar girls before, especially Asians, you need to be very careful. Seven will be sweet, and sleek, and charming. She will not have any of the iron-clawed vulture in her that one encounters with many American hookers. She will smile and seem to mean it and she will be…that word again…feminine, and she will give you a neck massage and, if you buy her a second beer, a third-leg massage. She won’t be crass about it, though. Thais aren’t.

And you will think, “My god, she’s really…nice. Not what I expected. Why, I like her.”
The combination of loveliness, femininity, and sex is potent stuff. Sure, after a bit she will want you to buy her another drink, but at the Takara they aren’t pushy about it, and anyhow that is how the game is played. She has to make a living. And of course before too long she will ask if you want to go upstairs. Of course you will want to.

So you will go into a little cubicle, one of many, with a massage table and a big bathtub, and she will tell you to strip and do so herself. This will not lower your opinion of her attractiveness. She will tell you to get into the bath tub. Thais are a clean people and believe in bathing before further proceedings. She will wash you, which will not decrease your enthusiasm. Then you will find yourself lying on a long rubber mat while she massages you by pouring warm soapy water on you and sliding up and down you. That is, she serves as an animated sponge. During all of this she will laugh and chat and be a sweetheart. The Thai experience is not like a quick-and-nasty against an alley wall in Washington, DC.

Being new to all of this, your thought will be to come back the next night and buy this wonderful creature out of the bar. To do this you pay the “bar fine” to the barmaid, usually 500 baht or about twenty-five bucks. Seven is now yours for the night. You can take her out to eat, then back to your hotel. Sex will be good, if a tad mechanical around the edges. Thais are not sexually inhibited.

Here is where the trouble can start. You can easily begin to bond with her, to become enamored or, as we used to say, fall in love with her. She will not discourage this. After all, bonding is her business. Her less-agreeable side, which we all have, will not appear. You will eventually hear about her five-year-old boy that she had by a boyfriend who abandoned her, and how she was half-starving selling soup on the street but went into hooking because it paid better.

And you may begin to see yourself as a Galahad rescuing this sloe-eyed princess from the vicissitudes of life. Of course part of your spirit of charity will flow from her having really nice tits. It is easy to confuse love with horniness.

But a fair number of inexperienced guys end up marrying a sweetie out of a bar, who turns out to be screwed up in the head, which is true of most bar girls, and makes his life hellish. You find that she isn’t as bright as you thought, has a fourth-grade education, or just wants to lie around in bed all day and watch television. For good reasons they are often ambivalent about men, and their whole lives revolve around getting men to give them things. I have known a couple of marriages to bar girls that worked, but it is very rare.

They are not evil people, or no worse than the admittedly sorry baseline for the human race. They are human beings. They have real problems and a tough life and it is reasonable to be sympathetic. But you can’t solve their problems. After the body massage, give her a big tip, buy her a last drink, and disappear over the horizon.

Matrimony Abroad<!-- InstanceEndEditable --> <!-- InstanceBeginEditable name="ColumnDate" -->April 1, 2013
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<!-- InstanceBeginEditable name="ColumnLead" -->This is Chapter Three of How to Marry a Third-World Woman and Live Happily Ever After, Somewhere Else. While it contains many generalizations, generalizations are generally true, which is why they are generalizaitons. Here are Chapter One and Chapter Two.
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<!-- InstanceBeginEditable name="ColumnText" -->What are Third-World women like?

The question is in a sense idiotic. We are talking about hundreds of millions of women from wildly diverse cultures, apart from their being individuals with all the quirks and variation of people anywhere. A Thai, a Mexicana, a Bangladeshi woman, and a Chinese maiden don’t have too much obviously in common. However, many nationalities do have definable traits, and it is these that make their female portions desirable.

Note, however, it is important neither to homogenize nor to idealize them. Homogenization: It is easy to imagine them (“Them.” See?) as being somehow indistinguishable, as, well, the natives, somehow not having distinct personalities. As the dusky maidens of Kipling. You can do this without realizing that you are doing it.

Homogenization: They are luscious, half-educated, beautiful, young, sexual, and submissive. Hoo-boy, have I got news.
In Mexico, where I live, they run from illiterate campesinas to sophisticated and travelled, from shop girls to neurologists, dull-witted to flashingly intelligent, seldom submissive. Remember that the Third World—whatever the hell exactly that means—actually is developing in many regions, which means that you can find smart professionals, particularly in the cities.

These amount to an international class with a Thai, Mexican, or Philippine flavor. They generally seem more adult and less trashy than American women of the same age (dare one say “ladylike”?) and they lack the default hostility to men.

Idealizaton: You can (from a distance) fantasize that they will be universally lovely, demure, intelligent, reasonable, and eager to care for their man—i.e., you. There are very good reasons for being interested in them, but they are still women: moody, at times bitchy, occasionally hysterical, and irrational. (Fortunately we men are never jerks, dickheads, drunks, womanizers, stupid, or inconsiderate.) Think carefully, fly before you buy, and remember that being in Argentina is not a panacea, unless your thoughts fail to extend beyond the red-light districts. You still have to find a good one, not easy for either sex.

A few tendencies that you will encounter, with exceptions and in different degrees:

First, as noted, the women don’t hate men. This is not always easy to understand, since men in most of their countries treat them far worse than we treat American women. It is a paradox that North American women are the most spoiled and privileged, yet are the most complaining, self-pitying tarantulas on this weary planet.

Mexican men are famous for beating their wives like drums, cheating on them without even having the decency to keep it secret, and staying drunk no more than all of the time. Thai men are worse, and Moslem men a residue of the Cretaceous. This makes American men attractive, since we don’t much do those things.

Second, they believe in sexual dimorphism—that is, that men are intended to be men, that women are intended to be women, and that it’s all a good idea. This has both philosophical and practical consequences.

Philosophically it means that they do not feel a need to prove themselves to be your equal. It isn’t that they regard themselves as inferior. They don’t. They are perfectly capable of regarding themselves as your superior as an individual—as being smarter if they are, more responsible, more capable, what have you. But they seem to think, without really thinking about it, that asking whether men are superior to women is like asking whether an outboard motor is superior to a Labrador retriever.

You will quickly notice four splendid things about third-world women. They don’t whine, they don’t read self-help books, they aren’t in “therapy,” and they don’t take Prozac. See you in Beijing.

Third, they cook and clean. Let’s be honest here: As men, we think this is wonderful. There are things men do—carry heavy objects, plow fields, shoot burglars, change the oil, make money—and things men don’t do—cook and clean, change diapers, and deal with small children. Women of the Third World understand this and in fact see nothing wrong with it. And since (we will come to this later) you will in all likelihood be footing the bills, she will see you as keeping your part of the marital bargain. If she is, say, an ophthalmologist, you will hire a maid.

My wife naturally wakes up before I do. She brings me a cup of coffee when I begin to bubble up toward consciousness, and then goes to the tiendita next door for fresh-squeezed orange juice. She doesn’t think it’s oppression. She thinks it’s orange juice.

Fourth, depending on the country and the woman, they can be (but aren’t necessarily) insanely and even dangerously jealous. In Thailand, friends tell me, a cheating husband can awake as his primary sexual part go out the door in his wife’s hand, to be tied to a helium balloon and released skyward. Whether this is true, I don’t know. Let somebody else find out and tell you.

Fifth, they are sometimes seriously religious, whether Catholic in Latin America or Buddhist in Southeast Asia. This is not a bad thing, provided you are not one of those tiresome atheists, who seem to be the only kind of atheists.

Neither Catholic nor Buddhist women have even the slightest sexual hang-up that I have ever encountered or had reported to me by friends. Mexican women in particular are enthusiastic in bed. The Church is not a problem.

Depending on your conceptions of morality, you might possibly run into difficulties if your Latin lady finds herself unexpectedly with child, as she might refuse to kill it. On the other hand, they are wonderful mothers. On the third hand, abortionists exist quietly in Mexico at any rate, usually doctors, and among the educated they are not infrequently used.

Sixth, and real important though hard to describe, third-world women take a philosophic, relaxed, and more mature approach to life than do Americans of either sex. They know that life is temporary and tend to accept it. One lives, one behaves as well as one can, and one dies. The years come and go, and so do we. We all know this as a matter of biology, but other cultures are far more comfortable with it.

The women (except the rich, who are very Americanized everywhere) are content just to live. They want reasonable comfort, security, enough to eat, and a good husband. That is pretty much the end of the list. They seldom have much, or any, interest in jewelry or clothes from Italian homosexuals.

And they are not driven, ambitious, or materially competitive. They are just content. This may be why their countries are undeveloped, but this is not a book on economics. They are not trying to fill the great aching emptiness that darkly thickly over unreligious materialistic societies of the US variety. You live, you die, you go back to God. Whether this is delusional can be argued, but if you believe it, you are a lot calmer and much better company.

Seventh, and we will have more to say about this, they are, to put it mildly, family-oriented. Most will have mothers, fathers, sisters. You too will have them. This means that your lady may not be real portable. Be prepared to deal with it. I know many men who have taken wives out of their native countries, but these have tended to be the well-educated, professional sorts of wives. Many simply won’t go if they have aging parents who need care. They may, again depending on the particular woman, want you to help support their families in various ways. If you have chosen unwisely, this may be gold-digging. Or it may be that in countries with poor social safety nets, people take care of their families.
Nuff said.
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[video=youtube_share;NJFfSOAMq5o]http://youtu.be/NJFfSOAMq5o [/video]

greydread said:

I agree with your assessment. Approaching the game of Cats and Dogs with the theory "change of lattitude, change of attitude" doesn't address the fundamental differences between Cats and Dogs. It's more like dialing down the level of your electronic chess game so that you can finally "win" rather than just concentrating on getting better at chess.

Click to expand...

Yeah, but you can put that same theory to sex tourists as well. Many guys go to SDQ, Boca Chica or Sosua to get laid or have those 3somes that would be very difficult at home.

To me, its more about geographical arbitrage. In the same way that Romney knows he is going to get a greater return on his money in the Caymans, some guys choose to off-shore their sexual, romantic or dating aspirations. Greater ROI.

Instead of trying to get better at playing games, how about just doing what comes naturally? It isn't that hard or complicated and when you go to some other environments, you realize you can be your natural role without having to take a course in "Game" or self help. I agree that everyone has issues, but that really isn't the core issue here.

greydread said:

Guys who rent SUV's, stay in luxurious villas, take their guests out to wine and dine at the best restaurants, fly them to AI's on the opposite Coasts and give them plenty cash to shop, fix themselves up and pay their bills with are no less appreciated in Santo Domingo than they are in Washington DC. They just happen to be different guys, working in an easier element or in other words "dialing down the level of difficulty".

Click to expand...

I agree with your post. It doesn't touch on the more cultural issues like feminism, for instance. However, it hits on an important point - which is that our money is longer in the DR. I would also couple that with a greater pool of available and sexy women who tend to view life differently because of some cultural norms (I'm generalizing).

A regular joe sixpack can be Kobe Bryant in the DR. In the USA, he might be just another drone working for Uncle Sam on K Street, NW. In the DR, his premium is greater for whatever reason. If the guy can pull normal women in the USA, he probably can really "get it in" in the DR. We got that gringo factor working. Yeah, it's not going to impress every dime with something gong on in Santiago or Santo Domingo, but your chances are probably better of getting an upgrade or having more fun/enjoyment in life - and that's what it's all about - right?.

A lot of guys in the USA keep themselves in good shape, make good money, have a house, car, etc. and are decent dudes. If you're in DC, I'm sure you see a lot of them. I know guys that work hard and don't go out in places like DC. They are literally walking zombies until they get on that plane. A lot of those dudes also don't have women by choice. Many of this group have traveled and like the vibe better overseas.

DR is like a candy store for a guy that has his stuff together. Yeah, he can do well in the USA, depending on his location and some other factors, but unless he is a baller, he's not likely to have that twinkle in his eye like you get in the DR. Kobe Bryant doesn't need the DR because he has the DR and Brazil in the USA.

Also, if you like younger talent you probably have much more of a choice in the DR than USA. A guy in his 40s or 50s probably has a much greater selection in the DR. The demographics play themselves out. In the end, you can dissect it and analyze it until the cows come home, but it's as simple as the DR has the supply and we have the demand.