Day 24: Just trying to fit in...

First and foremost, I want to apologize. I think that the process of blogging, specifically in the case of a traveler, is supposed to be largely informative. I realize that up until this point I have provided you with little information about the country of which I’m currently residing. I have, instead, detailed simply my own struggles surrounding airports, language barriers, and sunburns. Oh and of course I’ve managed to do plenty of complaining. So I am aware that these blog postings have had little to no important substance. However, I regret to inform you that I will be making no revisions to this trend. Case in point: today I will be telling you about the Argentinian party scene.
    I’m actually surprised I’ve gone this long without detailing the strange tendencies of the Rosario youth. Going out and partying is such a large part of the lifestyle here that I’m finding it strange that it has yet to make it into my posts. But here we are, so I’ll fix that now. First of all, like much else here, the schedules and sleeping hours of people in Argentina are totally out of wack. They eat dinner at 10pm, everyone stays up until midnight at least—small children, old people, whatever, they’re all wandering the streets until halfway through the night—then the younger, more partying-prone population heads out for the bars and clubs at 2 or 3am, and they arrive home at 7. IN THE MORNING. I wish I could tell you this only happened on the weekends, but alas, that is also not true. (For example, I’m currently exhausted because I went out last night. It was a Monday, so that was the obvious choice.) So anyways, we’ve had to make quite the adjustment since being here, as I’m sure you can imagine. I mean, I like going out as much as the next college student, and I’ve even been considered a night owl by many, but I’ll be the first one to admit that I’m totally out of my league here. We all are, really. I’m 21 and the night life is kicking my ass. So we’ve been doing our best to get used to these strange and ridiculous hours and decided that this weekend we would finally do it up big, and give in to the most popular partying trend here: el Boliche, aka the nightclub. Boliches are huge here. Everyone goes out, crowds into one of the numerous clubs Rosario has to offer, and fist pumps the night away. (I guess I should clarify that I had actually been to one of these famous Boliches during our first weekend here, but that was before my sleeping patterns were corrected, so our exit at 3am was far too early to experience what these clubs have to offer.) 
    So Saturday night rolls around, and I force myself to carry out the promise I made to my fellow study-abroaders and to our newly found Argentine friends, by going out for a third, ridiculously late night in a row. Luckily for us, we have happened to befriend the most popular male in Rosario: Renzo (I’m telling you he knows everyone, is the friendliest person on the planet, and above all, loves Boliches.) So he informs us of a brand new Boliche that we just have to try. Apparently he knows the owner, obviously, so he can get us in with no charge, plus they’re serving free drinks in honor of opening night. Being the broke college kids that we are, we jump at the chance for a cheap night out, and immediately go on our way. It’s 1:30am at this point, which would normally lead us to a dead zone at the clubs, but since it’s the grand opening, they started early.
    We arrive at the club and are faced with a long line outside, but through the opening of the door, we can see flashing lights and hear blaring music. So we all (my friends Jessica and Tyler, a handful of Argentines, and I--if you’ve been keeping up with my multitude of facebook pictures, you’re probably familiar with these names) go to the end of the line to begin our wait. And at this point, my fellow North Americans and I kind of roll our eyes at one another, not exactly being the club-going types, and feeling we’re in for a cliche dance club, and a night of ridiculous behavior, and techno music (which we are). However, Renzo not only knows the owner, and half of the waiting patrons, but also happens to be best buds with the bouncer as well. So much for waiting... We are instead, directly lead to the back of the club to the ever-so-exclusive VIP section. I’d like to take a moment to point out how cool this is. I would not be surprised if this turns out to be the only VIP section of anything that I’m ever invited into, so at that point Jessica, Tyler and I begin to revel in our sure-to-be-fleeting popularity, and decide to take full advantage of this Boliche experience. At that exact moment, when I’m enjoying my newfound enviable status, Renzo hands me a glass filled with champagne. I must have been overwhelmed by yet another cool thing to be added to this chart topping moment, (celebrity status even?) because before we even have a chance to cheers one another, the glass immediately drops from my hand and shatters, ever so cooly, on the dance floor. Quite the way to make an entrance, no? Well let me tell you, the fellow VIP attendants, aka Vogue models and their equally as stunning boyfriends, were not quite as amused as my ex-best friends, Jessica and Tyler, who were at that point doubled over in laughter as the beautiful people stared on, clearly realizing my true, painfully awkward, colors.
    Despite my deep, but now common, embarrassment, I somehow managed to move on from this moment. After recovering and trying to fade back into the crowd, I finally had a chance to look around me and take in the image of a Boliche. Attention: young Kamesars, Strutins, Mike, Bridget and Shana, please picture the club from our hotel in Las Vegas. Now multiply that by 12 on account of size, excitement level, and attractiveness of the club-goers. Attention: Sophie, Mike and Caitlin, please picture that weird Indian club we went to in Boston and multiply it by 100, for the same categories. And if you’ve only ever been to Taylor’s, I don’t know what to tell you. There’s no fair comparison here... I’ve truly never seen anything like it. The club itself was massive, with multiple bars and dance floors, and hundreds of impeccably dressed people. Like I said, there was a VIP section that also included couches and mini tables, reserved for the most gorgeous of all bystanders. There was a cluster of giant disco balls hanging high above our heads, and most importantly, the most ludicrous DJ I’ve ever had the honor of listening to, stationed in one corner of the club.
    Ah, the music. I stood there, in my half-drunken state, taking in all that was around me, and pictured this very blog and you oh so loved readers. I just couldn’t wait to tell you the music that we heard at this club. I think the first song I heard was a techno remix to a Shania Twain song, followed quickly by Mambo #5, Gloria Estefan, and the YMCA (oh and take a wild guess as to which 3 people out of the entire club knew the complicated choreography to that well-known hit.) Next up was Ace of Base, a few songs in Spanish, I’m not kidding--Alanis Moressette, a song by the late 90s band Five (shockingly, I knew every word), Sean Paul (his early stuff), and Britney Spears’ You Drive me Crazy. I think that starring round up finished off with Usher’s Yeah (what would a dance floor be without it?) If you know me, even in the slightest, I don’t have to tell you that I was in heaven. Jessica, Tyler and I left hours (and hours and hours) later feeling that we had conquered the fad that is the Boliche. OK, not conquered, but I would definitely go as far to say that we’re officially fans—converts to the Boliche way of life if you will. After that experience, I’d say if you’re a self-proclaimed partier (I truly hope you aren’t), or just want to see what the true club scene is all about, I’d advise you to take the South American Boliche challenge, and hop on the next flight out to Argentina. I’ll even show you the ropes!

Missing you all!

Love,
Henya