A day of ches

Sunday, February 26th, 2012

Waking up to yet another awful day of wind and sporadic showers, we went out to breakfast at a delicious cafe, satisfying our desire for more medialunas and tea. I don´t know the dunking rules in Argentina, but I was definitely dunking my medialunas in my tea and the sweetness dissolved on my tongue. Three medialunas never seems like enough...When we finished breakfast, we could see a break in the clouds so we got ready to go to the beach in the hopes that we´d get some good weather and that maybe the wind would cease.

No, no hope. Angela covered her head completely with her shirt while I read maybe 1 page every 10 minutes in the raging beachstorm winds. Despite our patience and willingness to stick it out, there was only so much sand up our noses, in our eyes and blown into our ear canals we could handle. Looking as though we´d been bobbing for apples in a bucket of sand, we tried our best to wipe everything off and made our way back to the hostel. With whipping winds and no itinerary, we sat outside in the back yard area thinking about life, shivering in the shadows, smiling in the sun.

We were tired of being cooped up, however and ventured back to Güemes for another snack. We settled on a cute café where we could sit outside, despite the fact that the wind would occasionally blow peanuts off of Angela´s plate...It could have blown my medialunas away had I not devoured them instantaneously. But something even stranger than the weather was when I saw what was presumably a native Argentine wearing a shirt from my university!!! What?!?!?! I yelled "EY, CHE!!!", but he didn´t respond--leaving me to wonder forever who he was and why he was wearing a Vandals t-shirt. How does that even happen? It´s not like it´s a tiny school, but really the chances of seeing that in Mar Del Plata, Argentina are a million to one. Maybe even smaller. WHO ARE YOU, CHE?

Speaking of Ches...For not having gone out the night before, Nacho told us that we had to tonight and we agreed because this time we could take the bus with him and the weather was a little better. We got there around 10:30, which by Argentine standards is still dinner time, and going out isn´t even an option until 12ish. We went to a Tex-Mex bar and ordered a beer and had the kinds of talks that I´ve been fond of my whole life--letting down the walls to share who you are and why and finding even more common ground than you ever thought you could have. Obviously Angela and I had been good friends since day one (for whatever reason that we began to talk on the street corner that day...) but today was more affirmation that we weren´t merely friends by happenstance, as those friendships can fall apart as soon as you´re in different scenarios. After what felt like 20 minutes, it was actually past midnight and we made our way back to Nacho´s bar, where he was conveniently standing outside.

He led us inside and got us free drinks and a table where we could enjoy the concert that was about to take place. We didn´t know what to expect as there were music videos of classic rock songs flashing in the background, but the band kicked off with its bodacious lead singer belting out some classics by Heart. She took us through the 70s and 80s with her wailing voice that I was shocked nobody from a record label had snagged the group up. Sure doing covers probably won´t get you too far, but with a voice like that, you can sing whatever you want. Finishing with an epic Queen/Led Zeppelin/Guns N´ Roses mix, the tables were taken off the floor and the classic rock bar turned into the boliche (night club).

After a quick bathroom break (which, like most bathroom breaks for women, was actually not that quick due to the line of 1000 women) we made our way back to the dance floor feeling a little more fluid due to all the good tunes and the Quilmes in our veins. While we maintained a low profile for maybe 10 minutes in that nobody tried to dance with us, it wasn´t long before we were joined by two Argentine guys screaming, "where are you from!?". The US. "OH MY GOD!!" Yeah, I know. It´s really exciting that we´re from the US. Not. We had the typical bar conversation in the normal 150 decibel volume one has to use. My ear drums hurt by question two so we commenced the dancing.

At first, things started off with the 4 of us dancing in somewhat of a circle where there was no grinding and everybody could dance how they wanted, but still as a part of the group. This is how I like to dance because in my humble opinion, grinding is not dancing and I LIKE to dance. Dance as in dance. With movements that I am free to make. Not dance as in having a guy control my body and movements in favor of his...you understand. After about two songs in our nice "circle dance", it suddenly went into grinding. Initially I just had to laugh because in addition to hating grinding, he wasn´t even good at it and I felt like I was in 7th grade again. He leaned into my ear and started screaming sweet nothings. Yeah, I bet I´m really sexy considering I´m drunk, sweaty and repulsed by you. I must be so enchanting. I looked at Angela and her eyes were wide and we tried to figure out how to get away, so we did what any woman does--bathroom break.

Little did we realize that the path to the bathroom was kind of a one-way situation, leading us right back to them. This time we switched partners and Angela looked towards another group of guys feigning interest in them to get her Argentine leech off of her. Meanwhile my awkwardly tall and awkwardly awkward "buddy" was leaning into my face for a kiss and I told him "¡NO BESAME, CHE!" and his response was to bite my ear. Not in a tender, delicate way, but in a piranha way. I said Angela and I had to go, to which he replied, "no quiero esto...". Yeah? Well I don´t want you.

We walked around trying to find Nacho so we could get the heck out of the bar and just go home, but we couldn´t find him. We went up a flight of stairs to get a better view, but instead were met with hungry eyes of what seemed to be a million men standing alone. I felt like a piece of meat amongst the lions. The worst part is that is what they see me as--an object for consumption and disposal. I´m not a woman, nor a human--I´m the excess of parts surrounding what they´re trying to get to. Maybe that´s overdramatized and some guys really do just want to "talk", but not in a boliche, not at 2am. I felt enraged. This isn´t just in Argentina. It happens at every frat party I´ve ever been to and every bar; because at the heart of many men, there´s actually just a penis--no matter what country you´re in. But contrary to what guys in clubs may hope, I am much more than the obvious secret inside my jeans that Victoria decorates.