It starts with that sinking feeling in your stomach—the moment you realize something isn't right. Your vision blurs, your thoughts scramble, and the person you've shared meals with for years suddenly looks like a stranger. This isn't some hypothetical scenario from a safety seminar. This happened to me in Medellín, Colombia, in 2025, at the hands of someone I'd considered a friend for nearly three years.
I walked away physically unharmed and with my belongings intact, but the psychological impact lingers. What's truly chilling isn't the act itself, but the calculated patience behind it—the "long game" my attacker played. As digital nomads, we build temporary communities everywhere we go. We trust faster, connect deeper, and often let our guard down in ways we wouldn't back home. This experience forced me to completely rethink how I approach safety as a location-independent professional.
In this article, I'm breaking down exactly what happened, what I learned, and how you can protect yourself without sacrificing the connections that make this lifestyle worthwhile. We'll move beyond basic "don't accept drinks from strangers" advice and get into the nuanced reality of building trust while maintaining boundaries in foreign environments.
The Anatomy of a Long-Game Scam
Let's talk about what makes this situation particularly disturbing. This wasn't some random person in a bar slipping something in my drink. This was someone I'd known since 2022—we'd shared countless meals, introduced each other to friends, and built what felt like genuine mutual respect. We started at a hookah bar in El Poblado, Medellín's popular expat neighborhood, then moved to a local spot in Antioquia. The setting felt comfortable, familiar even.
Here's where things went wrong: at some point, my "friend" and another person he clearly knew offered me what appeared to be a blunt. I'd only had a couple of drinks by then, and my guard was down precisely because of who was offering. I thought I knew the source. I was wrong.
What followed was textbook grooming for exploitation. The trust was built over years, not hours. The location shifted from public to more private spaces gradually. And the method—something shared rather than given—created false intimacy. This approach specifically targets digital nomads and long-term travelers who value community and connection. The attacker understands our psychology better than we do.
Why Digital Nomads Are Particularly Vulnerable
We're not tourists. We stay longer, form deeper connections, and often operate in that gray area between visitor and temporary resident. This creates unique vulnerabilities that short-term travelers rarely face.
First, there's the loneliness factor. After months on the road, you crave genuine connection. You're more likely to overlook red flags because you're tired of surface-level interactions. Second, we often rely on local networks for everything from apartment rentals to business connections. This creates power imbalances we might not recognize. Third, there's this unspoken pressure within nomad communities to be "open" and "trusting"—as if skepticism somehow contradicts the spirit of travel.
But here's the uncomfortable truth: predators know all this. They specifically seek out digital nomad hubs because we represent ideal targets—often carrying expensive tech, usually disconnected from local support systems, and psychologically primed to trust quickly. Medellín, Bangkok, Lisbon, Bali—it doesn't matter where. The pattern remains the same.
The Red Flags I Missed (And You Might Too)
Looking back with clear eyes, the warning signs were there. I just explained them away because I wanted the friendship to be real.
The person was always vaguely employed but never seemed to lack money. They introduced me to lots of people, but those relationships felt transactional. There were occasional inconsistencies in stories about their past. They were unusually interested in my travel schedule and financial situation. And perhaps most telling—they always suggested moving to less crowded venues as the night progressed.
These aren't obvious danger signs. They're subtle. They're the kind of things you notice in the back of your mind but dismiss because, well, everyone's a little weird, right? We make excuses for people because the alternative—acknowledging we might be in danger—is psychologically uncomfortable. Especially when you're far from home.
Practical Safety Protocols That Actually Work
I've developed a completely new approach to safety since this incident. It's not about paranoia—it's about smart boundaries.
First, implement the "two-location rule." If someone suggests moving from a public place to somewhere more private, that's your cue to either end the interaction or insist on staying in a crowded, well-lit area. The shift from El Poblado to that local neighborhood in Antioquia was my first mistake.
Second, never accept anything that alters your consciousness from someone you haven't known for at least six months—and even then, only in controlled circumstances. This includes drinks you didn't see poured, food you didn't see prepared, and obviously, any substances. Your sobriety is your primary security system.
Third, maintain a digital check-in system. I now use a simple app that sends my location to two trusted contacts if I don't check in every three hours when meeting new people. It's not foolproof, but it creates accountability.
Building Community Without Compromising Security
This is the hardest balance to strike. The nomad lifestyle thrives on connection. How do you build meaningful relationships while maintaining appropriate boundaries?
Start by diversifying your social circles. Don't rely on one person or group for all your social needs. Join multiple communities—coworking spaces, hobby groups, language exchanges. This prevents any single person from having too much influence over your social life.
Meet in structured environments initially. Language exchanges, coworking events, group hikes—these provide natural boundaries and multiple witnesses. Avoid one-on-one meetings with new people in private settings for at least the first three interactions.
Pay attention to how people react to your boundaries. Someone who respects your "I don't share drinks" or "I need to head home by 10 PM" rules is showing basic respect. Someone who pushes or mocks these boundaries is telling you who they are. Believe them.
The Tech That Can Save Your Ass
In 2025, we have tools our predecessors couldn't imagine. Use them.
Personal safety apps have evolved beyond simple location sharing. Look for ones that offer discreet emergency alerts—something you can trigger without visibly using your phone. Some even have fake call features that give you an excuse to leave uncomfortable situations.
Consider a portable drink tester. They're smaller than a car key fob now and can detect common date-rape drugs in seconds. Yes, it might feel awkward to use one, but awkward is better than unconscious.
For digital nomads carrying expensive gear, tracking devices are non-negotiable. Slip one in your laptop bag, your camera case, even your wallet. If something happens, you at least have a chance of recovering your essential tools. I personally use the Apple AirTag 4-Pack because they're reliable and have a massive finding network.
Psychological Recovery: What Comes After
The physical danger passed, but the psychological impact didn't. Trusting your own judgment again is a process.
First, acknowledge that what happened wasn't your fault. Predators are skilled at what they do. They exploit human nature—our desire for connection, our tendency to see the best in people. Getting tricked doesn't make you stupid; it makes you human.
Second, don't isolate. The instinct after betrayal is to withdraw, but that only compounds the damage. Instead, strengthen other, healthier connections. Share what happened with trusted friends—not for pity, but for perspective and support.
Third, consider professional help if you're struggling. Many therapists now offer remote sessions specifically for digital nomads. Processing this kind of violation is complex, and there's no shame in needing guidance. Platforms like BetterHelp or Talkspace can connect you with professionals who understand the unique pressures of location-independent life.
When to Walk Away: The Non-Negotiables
Through painful experience, I've developed clear red lines that now trigger immediate disengagement.
If someone pressures you to alter your sobriety, walk away. If they consistently suggest isolating you from crowds, walk away. If they show unusual interest in your finances or travel plans, walk away. If they get defensive when you set basic boundaries, walk away.
The cost of being wrong about someone's intentions is minor social awkwardness. The cost of being wrong in the other direction can be catastrophic. We need to recalibrate our risk assessment as nomads. The potential upside of any single friendship is never worth compromising fundamental safety.
FAQs from the Digital Nomad Community
"But doesn't this level of caution ruin the experience?"
No more than wearing a seatbelt ruins driving. Proper boundaries don't prevent connection—they create the psychological safety necessary for genuine connection to flourish. You can be open-hearted and smart simultaneously.
"What if I'm already in a questionable situation?"
Create an exit immediately. Use a bathroom break to call a ride. Claim sudden illness. Have a code word with a friend who will call you with a "emergency." Any graceful exit is better than staying in a potentially dangerous situation.
"How do I vet people in new locations?"
Ask mutual connections. Observe how they treat service staff. Notice if they respect your "no" on small things. And always, always trust that gut feeling—that subtle discomfort we too often talk ourselves out of hearing.
"Should I avoid certain destinations altogether?"
Not necessarily. Dangerous people exist everywhere. What matters isn't the destination but your protocols. Some locations might require heightened awareness, but the fundamental principles remain the same whether you're in Colombia or Canada.
Rebuilding Trust in Yourself and Others
Here's what I wish someone had told me: your ability to trust isn't broken. It's being refined.
The naive trust I had before this incident wasn't a virtue—it was luck that hadn't run out yet. The discerning trust I'm developing now is actually stronger. It's based on observation rather than hope. It recognizes that most people are good, but some aren't—and being able to tell the difference is a skill, not a character flaw.
Start small. Trust the barista to make your coffee correctly. Trust your coworking space manager to handle your mail. Build back up to trusting people with your time, your stories, your friendship. But do it with eyes open. Notice how people handle small responsibilities before you trust them with bigger ones.
And remember—the vast majority of people you meet on the road are exactly who they appear to be: fellow travelers seeking connection. The predators are the rare exception. Our goal isn't to live in fear of that exception, but to develop the wisdom to identify it before it causes harm.
This lifestyle is still worth it. The connections are still real. The world is still mostly good. We just need to travel through it with both our hearts open and our eyes clear. After what happened in Colombia, I'm learning to do exactly that—and you can too.
