Ten Years

In medium sized hostels I have been called the “party guy.” Because I am not party anything that gives you an idea of the kind of hippie who travels to South America. They think someone who who goes out on Friday and Saturday night and sleeps off the hangovers until 3PM is a novel character.

Once word gets out that I like to leave the hostel after the sun sets, I get asked if I’m “going out tonight” about every fifteen minutes. And then there is the “Did you meet any girls?” No I stayed out for six hours watching futbal. Even though most gringos are younger than me, they come across like they “did” the going out thing (everyone here tries to brag about how they started going to pubs at 13), and are now more enlightened because they rather stay in to drink cheap red wine in the kitchen with an obese monster and some creepy 45-year-old creepy Danish guy who you know is a pedophile.

This is how I look at it: What can I do now that I can’t do in 10 years? Get trashed at some shitty club hitting on 21-year-old girls. Shit I don’t think I can even do this in 2 years.

Postscript: Thankfully as I get closer to Buenos Aires my partying nature is revealed for what is really is: tame and weak.

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