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You have come here for women.” Juan’s in his early 40s. Someone, anyone, who might offer an honest smile when they wake in the morning? But IMBs predate phenomenally successful websites such as Where I thought there’d be crafty operators desirous of visas and (relative) riches there has only been softness and honesty; noble women looking for dependable love and a gentler future for their children.

He turned the ignition, hit the driving wheel in a businesslike fashion and announced, “So! As we begin our descent into the city, I ask Juan what kind of men come on these holidays. This afternoon I’m picking up a politician who’s coming from Hungary. There are thought to be around 600 IMBs operating currently, representing a trade which began in South East Asia before spreading to the countries of Latin America and the former Soviet Union, especially Ukraine. You wanna fall in love, you gotta give it time.” If the kinds of men who attend these tours haven’t surprised me, the women certainly have.

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Neither Juan nor the agency know that I’m here as a journalist, trying to find out what draws thousands of men from all over the world to meet potential wives. (In discussing our often faulty perception of the values of foreign women, it points to the marvelous irony that the government in Thailand has been forced to introduce legislation to limit brides being imported due to the firm belief by local men that Thai women “expect too much from their husbands.”). Juan translates my confirmation of her cuteness for Yvonne and she smiles strangely and looks out of her window. I imagined plastic stilettos, make-up like a Warhol pastiche and unsubtle enquiries about the size of my house. We drive to a restaurant in Pueblito Paisa, a tiny reconstruction of a traditional Colombian town that’s been built on top of a high rocky pinnacle. “The agency had three engagements just this month.” She looks at her watch. His appearance is notable chiefly for the numerous ways in which it manages to be round: he’s by no means obese, and yet has a circular head and cheeks like he’s carrying two peach-halves in his mouth. The three women around me chatter, obliviously, in Spanish. “The thing you gotta watch with Incas is they’re always half an hour late. He chews his meat sullenly, his eyes dragging in desultory fashion over our guests. “I want someone who’s as friendly as this one, as pretty as that one and with the brains of that one. Like, if she’s a lawyer, that would be okay because I could probably talk about that for the rest of my life.

From the US, from Britain and Europe and Australia they come, to socialise with women they’ve preselected from an online catalogue in the hope it’ll all end in… They also indicate that brokered marriages are more robust than those in which the participants are more traditionally sourced, having an 80 percent success rate compared to an average UK rate of just over 50 percent. I imagined someone whose flirtatiousness would be hostile and come with, stabby, diamante fingernails. Juan, who’s still in his ‘NASA ROCKET SCIENTIST’ T-shirt, sits opposite, watching us eat our ‘parilla’ - grilled chicken, baked potato and plantain boiled in sugar water served on a wooden board. He came round my house.’” “Does anyone ever find love? Green chinos cover his plump buttocks; a denim shirt and a white vest hug his figure-of-eight torso. He owns a website that churns away by itself on a distant server, regularly dropping cash into his bank account. We’re joined, tonight, by a smiley trainee chef, a haltingly under-dressed shirt-maker and a lawyer who works for the Colombian government prosecuting paramilitaries.

When I ask Juan to point out Medellin’s finest sights, he gives me a long and detailed breakdown of every shopping mall in the metropolis before showing me the train station. Without really thinking all that much about it, you begin to make sympathy votes. Twenty minutes later we’re pulling into a shopping mall.