Not Boulder.

I think I had an experience. I was walking home at 5:00am after going to some clubs with some Argentine friends when I saw a lady in the distance. Normally, this would be inconsequential and I didn’t think anything of it. When she reached me she nonchalantly asked for a cigarette, I responded I didn’t have one and began to resume walking when she then said she had a question I half stopped, and told her to ask me. Except I didn’t mean with her body. She asked, “Would you like to go to a more private place?” And swiftly grabbed me. I pushed her away and said no like twenty thousand times. Not Boulder.

My first class in the most famous private institution in Buenos Aires, Pontificia Universidad Católica Argentina, an Administration capstone course, was last week. The students are generally middle to upper class and a bit more pompous and/or conservative, completely different than in the public equivalent, the Universidad de Buenos Aires. At the beginning of the lecture the professor was talking about business stakeholders and asked for the class to share the three largest stakeholders in a business, I said the environment and he was like uhhhhhh. Not Boulder.

When I first arrived in Buenos Aires, just over a month ago (w0w) I went to see the famous cemetery in Recoleta.






Unlike any cemetery I have ever seen this was like a town, but of dead people and maintained by felines.




The grandiose nature of some of the mausoleums is breathtaking.


Before I entered with my friend Alex, a man was talking to us about the bad spirits present in a cemetery and recommended not entering or if we were to at least buy his CD with mantras to cleanse our dirtied and sexed souls.


 Not Boulder.

Two weeks ago a group of 87 gringos and I went approximately 90 minutes away from the city to San Antonio de Areco where we enjoyed the Argentine country life. The gauchos, Argentine cowboys, performed four times.


The first performance was a rather phallic game, the gaucho has to gallop to a small loop marked with a red ribbon and use his small stick to remove the red ribbon loop from another device.


The second was like rugby on horses. The gauchos would often drop the ball and then have a tugging contest which was hot.


Third, if you remember playing musical chairs I’m sure you can recall the excitement and inherent danger. Now add horses.


Finally, and the most disturbing was a man’s affection for his horse. Call it love or call it bestiality.


I don’t know how I managed to get so many pictures when I was trying so hard to keep the nervous laughter in.
Not Boulder.