Safe and Sound

So I made it down to the bottom of this continent safe and sound…just a little shaken up that’s all…yet another turbulence filled flight has perpetuated vivid flashbacks in my head of me straddling my plane seat clinging onto the arm rest for my pathetic little life.

I got to “my house” at like 4pm and after an overly dramatic welcoming from my former host mom, a quick nappy poo, and a snacktastic bite to eat I was ready to get into some trouble. So I linked up with my old partner in crime Chloe,

who recently returned to Buenos Aires too, and after dinner we found ourselves in a Boliche called Niceto completely submerged in the most insane fusion of counterculture I could possible fathom.

One half of the club was an Argentine drag show meets burning man/circus performance in the midst of a techno rave and in the other half of the club was a smoke filled cave of hipsters intently gyrating to a musical concoction of electronica over cumbia beats. My debilitating jetlag combined with the contrasting dichotomy of social scenes was too overwhelming, so I nestle myself on a beaten couch in the back corner of the smoky room and simply observed.

The emerging hipster scene in Argentina was a smorgasbord of just about every popular counter culture known to man. We had the hipsters with their thick rimmed glasses and fedoras bumping around…the 80’s street punks rocking the half shaven chemo cuts and studded attire, we had the wanna-be Rasta’s fully equipped with makeshift dreadlocks, mesh tank tops, sportin’ some serious B.O., and last but not least the quintessential argentines styled with the infamous “mull-hawk”…or so I’ve named it. The “mull-hawk” comes in many shapes and forms and is not to be confused with the mullet or the Mohawk…it sort of like if the two equally hideous hairstyles were to have an illegitimate child… consisting of a very serious business matter in the front and a raging Mohawk fiesta in the back. I tried to take a picture of one to share with you fine folks but I was turned down (side not…that rarely happens). But I think the guy felt bad for not letting me take his picture cause he offered me a sip of his warm half drunken Quilmes…Argentina’s local beer (comparable to horse urine). That one sip put me over the edge and at 5 am I called it a night…or morning…or whatever it is after traveling for over 24 hours and no longer possessing the capabilities to differentiate between day and night…not that it matters anymore anyway…aaaaaaaaaah life.

BUT WAIT!! I CAUGHT A MULLET ON THE WAY OUT!!!

AND ITS A BEAUT!!!