Trip Start Sep 28, 2011
Trip End Ongoing

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Flag of Chile  ,
Friday, June 15, 2012

I understand this is getting repetitive but it will do when the football is on and we're in a capital city.  Gone the discomfort of wearing several layers of clothes and enduring a shriveled penis, here to remain piping hot showers, good looking locals and entertainment galore.  It's the turn of England today, needing a decent win over Sweden, so we've taken over a gringo bar in the centre of town and spend the next couple of hours yelling at a big screen.  A cracking result bodes well for a decent night out, but as ever, by the time we return to the digs to prepare, I've had my fair share of sauce.

We've hooked up with two Norwegian girls and an odd little Ecuadorian guy as we make our way to a recommended bar called Constitution.  It's dead at 10pm, so we head to the seated area of Barrio vista, which, as I've learned by now, is everywhere.  Chile doesn't seem to do pubs, and most watering holes are stacked out with chairs and tables.  Nobody stands, everyone sits.  It's a bit disappointing to say the least and feels more than a bit pretentious.  In San Pedro we were actually told by bar staff to sit down.  I don't want to sit down when I'm drinking.  I like to stand up and case the joint.  Nonetheless here we are in Paris.  I mean Santiago.  Supping drinks covered with outdoor table umbrellas and heated patios.  It's alright I suppose.  Better than a kick in the teeth.

As ever I'm talking absolute mince within fifteen minutes, steadily becoming more and more emaciated, adding to the level of alcohol already swilling round my gut.  I've lost the plot by the time we've reached the club, and I'm not alone; Paddy has no idea what's going on, as he's rinsing his tongue round the mouth of a mess of a girl.  A bouncer approaches me and whips my Sghian Dubh out of my sock.  "Falso" I protest, and he hands it back after careful inspection, but only on the strange condition that I don't show my arse for the whole night.  I then spend the next half an hour lifting the kilt to one girl, who is having none of it.  Next thing I know I'm using my new found chat up line on a pretty girl by yelling "FACEBOOK?!" at her face.  She obliges.  Following an attempt to get one of the Norwegian girls back to the hostel, I demand the Ecuadorian take me home as I've no idea how to get there and I'm in a huff.  I'm pretty sure a load of other hilarity ensued, but I have no recollection whatsoever, and I'm embarrassed to call myself a human.  
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