Enntsss Enntsss Enntssss (Techno Beats)

Trip Start Mar 11, 2009
Trip End May 06, 2009

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Flag of Argentina  ,
Tuesday, April 28, 2009

The throbbing beat of the music vibrates through your skin, right down into the bone as if it were coming from within you instead of out of the speakers. Your movement is slight, dictated by the amount of bodies pressed against you on the packed dance floor, even if you didnīt want to be sliding against the person to your right, the push of the person to your left forced you there. It was useless to fight the pushpull of the crowd - just go with it. I closed my eyes, gave in, and allowed myself to be rocked by the other dancers. At 5am, it could put you to sleep, but then a misplaced (or rather, very firmly placed) hand on your person alerts you that you arenīt quite within the safety of your own bed and you slither your way out of the crowd for a breather.

I checked into the Lime House Hostel for a "party weekend" and by Monday morning with maybe 8 hours of sleep in three days, I moved passed the drunk travelers still sipping tequila at the bar (having not been to bed yet at 11am) and checked out. I donīt think Iīve ever possessed the sort of stamina some of these people seem to have - though I think Alcoholics Anonymous is probably populated by more than half of them.

A word of caution: when Hostelworld or any other online hostel booking place has comments about a party hostel (their words, not mine) being The Best Hostel Ever! That is likely because they use it to sleep (pass out), drink (alcohol) and throw up (copiously). They donīt care that the kitchen is filthy and missing most of what you would need to actually cook food, they donīt notice that the bathrooms are severely lacking, and they can sleep through anything after that seventeenth shot of mystery booze. To be fair, I was aware of this when I booked in. I was fully aware I wouldnīt be getting much (if any) sleep - I wanted to go out and go out I did. I just could never "get stuck" (other peopleīs words) there for a week, two weeks, a month. Maybe that means Iīm getting old.

Crobar was Friday nightīs choice, with all of us piling into taxis at the magic hour of 2am. The club was massive inside, with a few roped off areas where the only chairs were situated. As expected, drinks were insanely expensive, a water cost me nearly as much as dinner. I canīt drink a lot if Iīm going to be dancing for six hours and expected to stay awake until the sun comes up - this I have found out about myself - so, as you can imagine, by hour four (around 6am) I was tired and the techno music was really starting to irritate me.

I canīt really explain how akin to Chinese Water Torture five hours of techno music is to me. Itīs like it gets in my brain, bouncing around in there, and pushes all the wrong buttons. Think padded walls, straight jackets, biting down on leather before the shock therapy. It just makes me absolutely crazy and after a certain amount of time, it becomes painful and I just canīt handle it anymore.

It was at about this stage of the night (6am) where I was introduced to Mr. Edmonton who, because we live three hours from each other, decided I was his new best friend. He spent the next hour (of me leaning against the bar, drinking water and watching the dancing) trying to convince me that I was no fun, needed to drink more and obviously should do drugs to lighten up. (I successfully managed to not claw out his eyes but I was close!)

Generally, I find techno music hard to dance to and the repetition is enough to drive me mad - I blame my intolerance of noise and lights on working with autism. Iīve picked up some weird habits from those kids! There were a couple different DJs, some of which played really good beats that were easily danceable but around the time where I was getting tired and impatient and needed some good music to keep myself going, thatīs when they decided to play the sort of techno that sounds like an incredible amount of noise at pitches that only dogs can appreciate. I thought my brain was going to explode.

Apparently, techno/house is the favoured music genre for the clubs in Buenos Aires. Itīs ironic that in Latin America, I canīt find a club that plays latin music! Saturday night saw the majority of the hostel talking about going to Pacha, which is an enormous club underneath the airport (or so I understood it). Since the idea of being out until 8 or 9am (Pacha is really late) with the same sort of techno madness made me feel violently ill, I opted out and a Peruvian girl and I decided to see what the gay club had in store instead.

We werenīt disappointed.

There were three different areas of music (yay! choice!), an open bar, a colourful array of people, some very entertaining dancers on stage (professionals and not) and a more relaxed atmosphere in regards to dress and attitude. (None of the clothes I packed in my bag would have made me feel like I fit in seamlessly to Pacha - itīs a very fancy, fashion forward bar; Crobar was on the edge of that as well and feeling uncomfortable when youīre out sucks.)

When Mister Edmonton cornered me Saturday night and asked me if I was going to Pacha, I explained I was headed to the gay bar instead for free drinks and better music. He said, loudly, "I would pay to NOT dance with fags!" Considering I had heard about the gay bar from a gay Scottish guy sitting about five feet away from us, I slapped Edmonton and told him to shut up. "Could you be less of an Alberta stereotype please?!" He took a swig of his beer and shrugged, "What do you expect? I work on the rigs. Iīm from Alberta! Iīm a hick!"

Is that supposed to be an excuse? Or was it supposed to be funny? To sound preachy, nothing excuses ignorance and intolerance. I am getting really tired of meeting people who think itīs okay to say things like that, outloud, and then excuse their behaviour by stating where they are from. It makes me feel ashamed to be born in the same province as him. It makes me want to wear a sign that says, "Weīre not all like that! I promise!" Instead, I told him it seriously offended me that he would use "Iīm from Alberta" as a free pass for being a jerk. After that, he didnīt want to be BFFs anymore. Darn.

By Sunday my lack of sleep was starting to get to me and I decided even though it was "salsa night" at another bar and I would have loved to have gone to that, I would never have been able to dance all night. So I booked a tango lesson and show. The lesson was easy, as expected, and the show was absolutely incredible. More about this later, when I can upload the pics.

This week I decided to take a side trip to Uruguay! Itīs only a short ferry ride from Buenos Aires to Colonia del Sacramento which boasts a 5km beach - where I am headed as soon as this is sent! Iīll be here until Saturday then back to Buenos Aires in hopes of some more tango lessons and to see more of the city.

Hope the snow has stopped!
Miss everyone,
xox K
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mr_sharkey on

Shake shake shake - shake your booty
From what I remember of learning to Tango, it was easy to learn, impossible to master.


karsenault on

Re: Shake shake shake - shake your booty
Well, the first class was easy... I don´t know what it will be like once I learn more than twelve steps!

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