Pub Crawl BA for Club ACORN

Late start today. We got home around 5 am last night, although it seemed like it could’ve been later. Perhaps the early starts and all the moving around made the night seem longer. Four bars between 22:30 and 02:00, then ended up at Museum for the end of the Pub-Crawl BA closing. It was neat to see some of the San Telmo bars I’d otherwise never go to, and to observe Buenos Aires’ bar scene as opposed to its club scene. At Cyrano, the resto-bar starting point, Jenny and I met up with Sara and Ali and the rest of the ACORN crew. I’d say the majority of the attendees were there to support ACORN, so it was not quite as touristy Sixth-Street-meets-Buenos-Aires as I had feared. Saw Ben and Mark there, they only stayed for the first leg of the pub-crawl. (Shocker.) Mark looked pretty snazzy in his white button down and new pinstriped pants, but his face didn’t manage to hide his discomfort. I think maybe he sped through life and dove headfirst into the whole working world thing before learning to have a social life. I’m glad he’s taking time to have fun now, although he doesn’t put too much effort into the whole social aspect. Maybe it’s the language barrier, or perhaps he’s self conscious that he’s almost 30 and hanging out with a bunch of early twenty-something’s. Little does he know we’ve been partying with 30 year olds on a weekly basis. Here, age just doesn’t seem to matter.

Meg, Jenny, Mark, and Ben @ Pub-Crawl

So at Cyrano we meet this guy Kyle from Northern California (just south of Redding) who is a gel-head and teaches English down here but has been told to move to Austin. I tell him that I will be back up there in the fall and that it’s a great city, he would enjoy it – even though he seems a bit red-necked and blinded to what Texas really is. He says he’ll have to get my e-mail address to ask me some questions later, but he never does. When Ali Morris (ACORN co-founder) hears I got into UT grad school she congratulates me and says she is considering their masters program in Latin American Studies. UT has the number one program, but I’m not really sure what you do with it, then again I’m studying Spanish literature, so I’m not really one to talk. AS if an English degree weren’t marketable enough, try getting it in a foreign language. (“Is it useful?” “If you want to be a professor it is.”) We also met a Norwegian dude named Jan, who tells us it’s like “Germ,” but I think he meant “John.” He just got here two days ago, but his English isn’t very good and he’s still learning Spanish, so we’re not getting anywhere. Jenny and I later find out that he has just finished a tour of duty in Afghanistan for the British Army. Talk about culture shock. (Annemarie and Damian don’t show up to the pub crawl because their dinner date lasted too long, but really I think it’s because she is in a bad stage (read: funk so bad she kicked a car the other day) of culture shock.)

At the pub-crawl there are so many of us they split us into two groups. We are herded out like cattle out of the bar and into the street, told to follow people in the Pub-Crawl BA shirts that read, “I drink on the job, do you?” Everyone on staff speaks English; I begin to wonder if they even know Spanish. Jenna, our group leader, has angel wing tattoos peaking out her of work-issue tank top and looks like she could work at Spiro’s on Sixth. She has semi-dredded hair and a grating voice. She yells, “Pub-crawl! Time to move!” and I go where she tells me to go because I’m tired of her voice. She loves me and the Brits we’re hanging out with, Ollie and Ed, because I take the lead. When we arrive at each new place, they hand us a Dixie cup of Tang and vodka, and we are to wait to take the shot all together once everyone has arrived. “Hey Pub-crawlers,” Jenna screams, “this is [enter bartender’s name here] and he just bought us a shot. Salud!” Um, pretty sure we paid for the shot, Jenna, what else was the $45 pesos for? But seriously, I think ACORN came out on top, receiving 50% of the nights’ profits, which is why I went anyway. (I’m still taking penicillin twice a day and I hate touristy things.) I felt like I was back on a Carnival cruise ship.

Ollie, Ed, Meg & Jenny

We met Ed and Ollie at the second bar. They’re from outside of London. Nice folks. They’re here basically because the economy is in their favor: Ollie’s looking into property investments, Ed’s looking for cheap employees. He tries to talk Jenny out of becoming a nun at age 25. She looks like she’s going to kill me for bringing it up. He doesn’t believe in God, he believes in science. He’s fascinating, really knows how to challenge your views. He has interesting thoughts on string theory and the separation of church and state. He asks if I believe in aliens. I tell him that I suppose it’s selfish to believe ours is the only living planet out there, but I’m not out looking for aliens. He tells me that, all things considered, aliens are more probable than God. It seems too deep for bar conversation, but he says he doesn’t like small talk. Jenny’s mainly talking to Ollie at this point, something about advertising. Ed and I get into abortion rights and cinema. Ed buys us a round of drinks at the fourth bar, gets my e-mail address.

The last stop of the pub-crawl is at Museum, and we are herded there to wait in a line to receive our entry tickets. (Although you’d think the wristbands, one on each arm, would be sufficient. I look like a Ninja Turtle with the brightly colored cuffs on my wrists.) We get inside; it is not crowded at all. And the crowd looks decidedly less upscale than on Wednesday nights for After Office. I had been texting Leandro, or rather, he was texting me (“en q anda?”) Upon hearing all the cumbia and regueton music, I decide it’s time to meet up with him. Jenny and I use the restroom, where I pay $1 peso for toilet paper, and we grumble about the crowd looking Mexican. (Jenny’s half-Mexican. Apparently living in Argentina for over a month will teach you disdain for all things Mexican, except its food.) I feel like I am in a Cancun discoteca, which is not how I want to feel as a 22 year old in Buenos Aires. A girl in the restroom strips off her tank top to reveal her white cotton bra; another girl changes her pants in front of the sink mirror. I look at Jenny and say let’s go to Rumi with Leandro. We invite the boys once we’re back at the bar, but they want to stay for another Fernet and didn’t like Rumi last Saturday (Cumbia Night.) They admire the architecture of Museum, which I’ll admit is a pretty space, but somehow has lost its sparkle without the glitzy Wednesday night crowd. The boys decide to stay.

So we grab a cab, non-Radio because there are no others in sight, and tell Leandro we are on our way. Our cab driver takes us for a ride, mainly because he asks us if we know a certain area and Jenny says “no,” which is apparently an open invitation for a $30 tour of Costanera. Sometimes I wish Jenny would grow a spine instead of letting this old guy drive us through a deserted part of town at 3 in the morning. “¿Estas seguras que esta abierto Rumi?” Yes, we are meeting friends there. Why wouldn’t a boliche be open on a Friday night? I start to get nervous when we pass by empty parks, worrying he might rob us and abandon us there. I take mental inventory of my purse’s contents: camera, keys, phone, lip-gloss, about $120 pesos (of which a $100 note is Jenny’s because when I went to the ATMs after my nap all of the ones of my block were shut down. Both at Banco Supervielle and HSBC.) But eventually I see all the choripan stands and Rumi.

Leandro meets us at la entrada in a V-neck tee, jeans, and red sneakers. He asks someone to let us in (I’m pretty sure it was DJ Balca, because they’re friends too) and then introduces us to his friend Juan. I think that was his name, it was loud, but Juan is always a safe bet. We all four dance until about 4:15 am, when Leandro receives a call from a drunk friend who needs his help. So he apologizes before he leaves, and invites us to Crobar for Saturday night. Jenny and I make a lap after Leandro and Juan leave, but the crowd is mainly younger Argentines and by this time of the night, everyone’s paired off and/or cliquey. So we decide to head home. Jenny dinner yet so she’s hungry. She wants to go to the French fry place next door, but it closes at 2. (I swear, this girl subsists on pasta and French fries and dessert alone. With Sprite or the occasional orange Fanta to chase it all down.) So we head to Café Tolon for a quick sandwich. I order the medialuna con queso because it’s pretty much the cheapest food item on the menu. She gets un simple de queso con pan de migas. Our waiter has a gimp leg and walks like Igor. We eat, discuss the night, and head up to bed. Rumi is always fun, but there’s a different crowd tonight. It’s like one bar is the place to go, but you never know which one it is. I suppose it’s best to provide your own crowd. Like last time at Rumi. We ran into Warner and Truman and Andrew at Museum. We were leaving as they were arriving. It’s a shame they had already bought their tickets, even if it was only $10 pesos. The music was awful. I invited them to come with us to Rumi; gave Warner my number. But I suppose they decided to stay in San Telmo.