First day

I think it's safe to say that Argentinians are about the most collectively social nationality I've ever encountered. Going out at night is like the #2 national sport after soccer. Maybe #3, after polo. Speaking of which, I WENT TO A POLO match yesterday! It was mostly boring, but I'll tell you what wasn't: the men! Whoah nelly. I've always sort of thought of polo as an uppercrust, somewhat effeminate, british-y sort of sport, for those who don't like to get their hands dirty. Nothing could be farther from the truth, at least in Argentina. Man on Beast v. Other Men on Beasts is quite aggressively masculine - watching sturdy, swarthy Argentinians ride robust, glistening animals, bumping up against eachother, swinging their mallets, and...Sorry, I just had to take a minute to wipe the sweat from my brow. Anyway, you get the idea. Most of the time, however, they're just sort of riding back and forth on the field and not much is happening. And a horse DIED during the match - or rather, as a result of the match. It's also a highly elitist sport, as only people who own ranches, or estanzias, really have the opportunity to advance. For this reason, it's often quite a family sport - one of the teams yesterday was comprised of a family of four brothers. A man sitting next to me informed me that it's not like in the States where anybody can play polo if they want to (I'm not so sure about that, but apparently, in Burbank, CA you can have a polo lesson for $25. Who knew.)

Later that night, I was taken out by a friend of a friend (I have noticed that I have more "friends of friends" in BA than I have actual friends in LA, but that's a different story) named Fernando, aka Polaco. I spent the evening with five crazy, macho Argentinian men, who first took me to another friend's place to "make a barbecue" and then took me to another friend's place to "make a party." The barbecue took place at Nico's house, who grilled up massive amounts of chorizo, beef, and pork, and then proceeded to eat only eggplant, because, apparently, he "made a barbecue for lunch" and was" having to diet." They say "boludo" at the end of every sentence (I think I'm spelling this correctly), which literally means something like dumbass or idiot, but is used like we use "dude." Needless to say, there was lots of boludo-ing. It's also funny how in every gang of guys, the same archetypes prevail: the shy, quiet one, the saucy womanizer one, the always half drunk/stoned and giggling one, the meathead one, and the smart, articulate one. They were all present last night. I'll leave it to you to guess which one was which. At 1:30 am, Fernando said we should go to the party, and the others all yelled, "Boludo, it's way too early!!!" So we hung out for a little while longer and eventually made our way to the fiesta.

This party was totally bizarre. First of all, it was a pool party. (Fernando had failed to mention this to me, so I hadn't brought a bathing suit). Second of all, there was a strobe light. Next, there was a giant trampoline. And lastly, there was a humongous blow-up slide that you could slide off of and into the pool. The DJ was playing this horribly tacky "cumbia" music, which basically sounds like recycled Macarena. People were drinking and swimming (always a good combination), and drinking more and sliding off the slide and jumping on the trampoline.

Like I said, totally bizarre.

I love it here already.