Posts Tagged marathon

I went out for a long night on Friday to see Ben off, as he left to start traveling with the missus (which means girlfriend in British) on Saturday. We went to Doppelganger, which is a really great place, lots of fabulous atmosphere and well-crafted beverages, and continued on to Del Plata for meats, followed by Bar Seddon for a beer or two (and a bit of old-girlfriend-talk inanity on my part), then a club called Carnal that didn’t really live up to its name, and finally another club with no name and really terrible music populated (and staffed) by 18 year-olds. The conflict of the evening arose when I could not figure out the coat check at the last, unnamed club. There was a 20 peso cover charge which you might have thought included coat check, but sadly did not. I was, however, given a ticket that looked a lot like something one might use at a coat check but was instead to be used for beverages. After three or four trips back to pantomime with the 18 year-old staffing the coat check room, I managed to figure it out, and was able to dance awkwardly with the rest of the teenagers for an hour or so before we all just gave the hell up and went home. But it was fun, and sad to see Old Ben go.

Here’s a fun fact about Argentina: they don’t have butter knives. Argentines, at least Portenos, seem to like to eat a lot of Manteca (which means butter, contrary to what spanishdict.com might say), which is good, but every knife that I’ve come across in a home or restaurant has been a steak knife. So whenever you’re spreading butter you have to be careful. Seriously, these people like to eat some meat.

Also, my newest challenge is getting my hair cut. I learned today that it’s called a corte de pelo, and I think that if I say corto en los lados y un poco largo sobre el alto, it might work. At the very least I can show them a picture of myself on my phone, right? Seriously, this is terrifying; I hate getting my hair cut at home, and I speak English pretty well. Wish me luck, eh? Bueno Suerte?

Chau-zers.

P.S. Now that I have my own place, complete with complimentary french press, I’ve been making my own coffee out of the finely ground, black-as-night stuff that I can buy at Disco down the street. And as they don’t sell half and half in the supermercados here, I’ve had to make do with 100% cream. Add the giant-grained, unrefined sugar from my cupboard, and it’s some of the best coffee I’ve ever had. Seriously, I feel like I’m drinking the sap of the caffe tree or something.

Oh, and here’s an advertisement for the maraton that I will be winning in a couple weeks. It’s nice to see that it is, in fact, an actual event: