Buenos Aires, Argentina : 7 days, copious amounts of red meat, an unexplainable abundance of underwear retail outlets and of course a generous lashing of alcohol has left us somewhat exhausted.
How often does this happen? You walk out of swanky a restaurant, if you are in town, Casa Cruz, is the place to eat and to be seen, but I digress from a story of incredible improbability. Flirting briefly with the plethora of charming argentinian women outside, a random guy hears that we are en route to Crobar. He with his wife, offers a lift. Remarkable. We make small talk in the car and he gives me his card, and tells me to ask for nextman at the club door. For those of you who know what a pain in the ass Crobar in NYC is, the following will seem miraculous! We roll right up to the door past the heaving line drop the name, in no less than 2 minutes we are whisked away to the owners office where we make our hello´s. No line, No cover, No hassle.
Needless to say, DJ Scumfrog dropped a massive set. Pictures are on there way. The following night at Pacha were just as smooth, although greased with some financial wd40.
We have just arrived in Iguazu, on the border with Brazil and Paraugay to hang out in the jungle and see the water fall.
More later
