It’s the last round before ditching the pub, some relic adrift on the stub end of Mare Street. You know the kind. It has odd posters of Irish castles and a clapped out clientèle. The yellow-fingered husks look at us. How curious to have their peace disturbed by our chatter, by the buzzed choices we put on the Jukebox.

’Take my Breath Away! do do do-doo-do-do’

As Berlin fade behind closing doors the freezing air hit us. I look at my friends, love swelling. The one who ordered the slammers catches my eye as he cracks open a pack of fags.

’7 quid! 7 quid!’ he shouts.

The last time I saw him was in New York, on our way to a party. He’d had on a tweed jacket, a flask of vodka in one pocket and a harmonica (in E) in the other. The entire cab ride he spoke French to our Latino driver, only stopping to swig his juice or emit mad tootles.

Now it was London’s turn to throw us a party. Yes readers as we hustled across the road, booze curdling in our guts, I wondered if there was anything more exciting than this? Than walking up to that random do? All over town that night from Brixton to Bethnal Green strangers would be milling in basements and fumbling on sofas.

But we weren’t going to any old soiree, no Clapham wash out for students and Sloanes for us. No. We were going amongst the artists and the clowns, on a collision course with the divine and the decadent.

Yes readers this was Hackney. This was the Run-Riot house party.

A man in a unfastened bow tie opens the door - behind him scarlet corridors and curlicues of smoke. Handshakes, bottles and we’re in. Down the stairs we charge, stopping at a landing where a woman is handing out sticky, plastic hearts. Cut like gems she peels them from shiny paper, instructing us to wear them. I opt for the left ear
lobe, a piratical look, then dive through curtains behind her.

Beyond is a sitting room turned dance floor. Already the crowd is enormous. A woman in a towering dunce hat is behind the decks and beyond I can just see a kitchen crammed with bottles.

For a while we remain the huddled group but the chaos soon envelops us. My friends scatter to the patio, to the bedrooms, to the corridors. I pass them from time to time and we hold our drinks aloft. Like me they are talking to the crazys and the artists. For a while a man with RAYMOND written on his tie entertains me with his idea of truth. Next I meet a Spaniard who conjures pictures of her home town on her mobile.

It has a curious name that means towers and trees in Spanish and I tell her that we must find her a man that night. Quite why I don’t offer myself is beyond me, she has ringlets of Moorish hair and glorious posture. Still the die are cast and we separate as dancers come between us.

More people, more booze. The man with the unfastened bow tie storms the deck, washing together classical and country. My friends have disappeared. I pass the bedrooms doors and see a woman yanking a man off a double bed.

’He’s a water polo player. Can you help?’ she says.

We heave and he groans, cradled in our arms like a wankered Christ.

’Your jumper is very soft.’ she tells me.

I thank her and move on. A Latvian painter tells me she is in love, the woman in the dunce hat swirls past, a man in braces and shorts hands me a shot. At one point I come round on a floor piled with scarves. The painter is standing above me dancing like a moon child. She asks me about love and I ask her about the night bus.

The night bus, where someone is vomiting. Home. Morning. Big…bright…morning.

Tune in next week as Patrick goes to an arty do at the ICA with Soup! And if you don’t know what on earth is going on click One
Million Parties Parties for the instructions.

So here it is punters. The first adventure! Hussey’s riot
begins.

I awoke the next day in my room, caked in that London, hangover sweat,
mind troubled by images.

Twirling bodies, a beautiful girl. Barndating?

What did it all mean? Well sit back reader and let me dream it all up
for you…you are feeling very sleepy…drink this, yes they are
alka seltzer…

Between the dark oak panels of Finsbury Town Hall the coat queue is
a-song with chatter. I am lined up by myself, jacket over one arm, Red
Bull and whiskey in the other. Above my head, over a set of sombre
doors gold leaf spells ‘Council Chambers’. Through another, a much
larger portal, something energetic is happening.

In the vaulted distance rises a stage. On it a woman in a red
motorcycle helmet is screaming directives as 12 check shirted
musicians twang idly behind her waiting for the go.

‘Yeah are you up for the best one!? THE FINSBURY REEL!’ Helmet head
shatters at the audience.

‘We made this up! It goes like this!’ In her leather mini and
skyscraper platforms she goes through a partnerless mime. Quick fire
dance steps, they fizz into unremembered nothing. She shows us again,
throwing some insane high kicks at the end.

By this time I have dragged myself to the front and am gazing moon
faced up at the funny lady with all the other Barndaters. Looking
around I find ribbons in hair, a sprinkling of ten gallon men and
throngs of pink faced women.

They look ecstatic. They look sweaty.

‘ONE-TWO-A-ONE-TWO-THREE-FOUR!’

The dancing begins except dancing isn’t quite it. Its more like
middle-class crowd trouble. A beautiful woman snatches up my hand and
I become part of her jostling circle. Like many of the cowgirls here
she’s wearing a fetching gingham collision, Karen Millen vs. Shane.

We smile. She has apple cheeks and metal toed bootees. They sparkle, we twirl.

But then! The dance has snatched her and I am left catching the hand
of a dripping man. Despite a fine mustache, a real ‘Wanted Poster’
curler, he is not my type. I have greater problems to deal with.
Someone behind is kicking the bejesus out of me. Every time we come to
a certain step toes thump into my backside, sharp ones too.

Turn dozy-doh whack! Turn dozy-doh whump!

I turn to complain, only to find the apple cheeked girl. So this is
‘Barndating’ I think. She smiles and I melt.

Soon more people pile on, the music changes to a demented waltz and
everything cranks up a notch. I text someone in the toilets, buy
another round and come back to the gyroscopic mass.

Before me the swamp of charging lines and incestuous circles break and
reform. No longer a dance floor it reminds me more of a football
terrace, loosely choreographed. Still everyone is having grand fun,
you can see it, grins are breaking out everywhere.

Of course I am Red Bull and Jacks down (or up) by this point. Maybe
its my head, not the dancers spinning. I retreat to the calmer
fringes, gathering myself and wondering about the funny tent in the
corner. A sign outside reads ‘Romancers Retreat’ and within, under dim
fairy lights, couples fondle in treacled motion.

It’s all too much, my vision is whirling so I slip away. Maybe I’ll get
lucky and meet ‘apple cheeks’ at the bus stop? But no, no London fairy
tale for me this time. I find only that red bench and three slumped
Barndaters, waiting on the N19.

What a night though! Dances had been danced and hours passed in
seconds. Barndating I will be back and next time I’ll bring my hat.

Want to go Barndating? Surf to Cutashine’s
Facebook group. They plan a Valentines hoe-down, the jacked up
rascals.

Tune in next week as Patrick goes to a filthy house party!
And if you don’t know what on earth is going on click One
Million Parties for the instructions.

Something appalling happened to me recently. I was swanning around an exotic continent, when boom! My money ran out. It was time to go home.

Farewell Guatemala, I will miss your smiling people and your rule free traffic. Goodbye mountain ringed Xela, you were an ugly town but you knew how to have a good time.

‘We had had a good time didn’t we?!’ I kept shouting as a representative from my bank in England bundled me onto the plane. Suddenly I had swapped the shores of volcanic lakes, some of the most beautiful places I had ever been for the puddly curbs of London town. In mere hours technology had sucked me half way around the world, back into the West, back into the old world. Airports, nerves, that weird pata-cake of duty free as they hand you your booze then take it away then hand it back…and then…and then…

London! The vastness, the drizzle, the sheer difference. How could this compare to the freedom of traveling? It was then I decided something…as I stood in Heathrow’s tube station I thought ‘Why stop traveling?’ I always felt I had never got the best out of London. What if I approached my own home town with the same wonder and freedom that you get from somewhere new? Go to all the places I hadn’t been, try the best of the traditional, sample the most exotic subcultures - dance not commute! I would holiday at home!

Well alright I didn’t think it quite as neatly as that. It was more ‘God I hate being home.’ and ‘Why doesn’t anyone bring their chickens on the Tube?’

Still all I needed was an excuse to get out there and this blog is it…I want to write about London as if I had never been there before. It really is a jungle this place -the people, the bars, the parties. I want to see it new. Starting today! Yes, yes, yes.

So here’s the deal with my blog. Coming soon I will be forming up a list of adventures-nightclubs, parties, soirees, launches, galleries, events. All that shallow media malarkey (where I ring up plummy PR girls and demand free tickets) but I also want to write a genuine blog about what it is really like to live in London, my personal experience of it. That way you’ll get a taste for the real town and I get to put my feet up from time to time.

Truth be told I am worried. Am I really party boy? Readers we shall see. I have one lined up so far, a Byronic party held under the Lord Mayor’s Stables. I have a feeling it is going to be lots of aristocrats in their knickers and let’s face it that can’t be bad!

Perhaps this blog be my moral downfall? A mad dynamo that parties me into my grave when all I wanted was a mortgage and a nice DVD from time to time?

Only time will tell! What I do know is I want to love London again, ‘cos readers believe me this town can be a handful.

(From left to right - Mirjam, A.J., Courtney Conklin, Emre)

Keeping with the trend of bringing more perspectives to the site, I asked my friend Courtney about her experiences in Buenos Aires, Argentina…

Your name, where are you from?

Courtney, New York

1 ) When did you arrive and how long do you plan on staying (in total), or how long were you in Buenos Aires?

February to September 2007, about 7 months in total.

2 ) Why did you come to Bs As? Are you doing what you came here to do?

I came to Argentina on a fellowship through the Rotary Foundation to gain fluency in Spanish (er, Castellano), volunteer, and take classes. While in Buenos Aires, I also began a research project in las viallas miserias (the slums) on property rights and urbanization which was part of my job in the States.

3) Do you like Buenos Aires (why/why not)?

Buenos Aires is a great city to visit and there are many parts that made living here enjoyable (and the dollar to peso exchange made it easier). The people are truly warm and welcoming, the steak is fantastic, the pasta ricisimo(!) and the wine is worth writing home about. The more toursity parts of Buenos Aires are very atheistically pleasing, with a attention paid to detail and design of buildings and restaurants.

4) What do you find to be the most significant differences between life in the States and here in Bs As?

My stomach never adjusted to eating dinner at 10pm nor did my sleep cycle adjust to coming home at 6am. The oddest thing for me was lack of physical diversity in Buenos Aires. Most porteños are of European origin and there are very few indigenous people- strange to see in a big city.

5) For you, what’s the best thing about Buenos Aires?

The Porteño attitude, relaxed, warm, fun-loving and welcoming.

6) And the worst things about Bs As?

The stark contrast between the rich and poor, a lack of water pressure, crazy drivers, and the pollution.

7) Your Bs As favorites

Eat:
Malasaña Costa Rica 4619
La Brigada Recoleta at Peña 2475
Persico and Volta, Both have various location for GREAT ice cream.

Drink:
The aforementioned Wherever Bar and the bistro and library bar at Faena Hotel (El Porteño Building, Puerto Madero Este)

Dance:
Tango with Maxi and Marci at Carlos Copello’s.

Visit:
The museums (MALBA) the street fairs (Feria de San Telmo) La Sociedad Rural (any exhibition is worth visitng), Los Palos Borrachos (In the plazas and Japanese gardens, these are a perfect spot to enjoy the shade of their enormous branches and enjoy an afternoon with a book), Los Bosques Del Plaermo, Argentina’s Central Park, and Hipódromo Argentino de Palermo (dress up to watch the ponies!)

Escape:
Tigre’s Fruit Market (skip the tren de la costa but see San Isidro another time), San Antonio de Areco (for everything Guaucho), Las Estancias (I visited Estancia La Candelaria en Lobos)

For those with a little more time, take a weekend trip to Mendoza, Iguazu, or Cordoba. If you’ve got a month or more in Argentina, visit the Southern Patagonia, Bariloche, Salta or JuyJuy.

Shop:
Papelera Palermo (4945 Honduras) was my favorite actual store in Buenos Aires, but you can’t miss the plazas for jewlery, food, crafts, and clothes.

8 ) Will you return to Buenos Aires?

Absolutely, I would return to Buenos Aires in a heartbeat and I will return to finish up my research project sometime in the next few months.

9) Did you have expectations for what Bs As would be like? Is the city what you expected it to be (why/why not)?

The Porteño accent was harder to adjust to than I’d expected and carrying cash (and not depending on ATMs) took getting used to as well.

I had expected my own experience to be different, more than the city itself. Even though I had done quite a bit of research about the city, the economy, the history etc… I was not prepared to have so many of my own ideas and plans shaken up and questioned. In a good way. I’ve left Buenos Aires with a lot of new friends, new ideas, and plenty of questions that need answers.

10) Assuming you don’t intend to move here for good (at least not now), what will you miss most about the city and your time spent here?

More than anything I will miss the friends that I made (Porteños and extranjeros alike) but the eight pesos malbecs are hard to beat…

Buenos Aires is a damaged city.

Pay attention long enough, and you’ll feel that here. Each day the city bearing still scabbing wounds of recent economic woes and reticent scars from past political disgrace. With a bit of careful observation and interaction, you can’t help sensing her subdued suffering.

A history littered with the cruel combination of decades filled with instability and at the same time no revolutionary breakthrough or widespread, lasting and convincing changes made, leave Buenos Aires - one of my favorite places on the planet - here… a city unsure of herself, not yet comfortable in her own skin.

What’s more bothersome about the subtle distress saturating Bs As, despite her understandable grievances, I don’t see any reason Buenos Aires (a city seemingly rife with latent opportunity) won’t soon end up miring amidst more political scandal or another economic crash… marred, aching, and in pain… all over again.

Governing in Argentina over the last 65 years has been an exercise in turbulence…

Peronism, government coups, and military dictatorships - a virtual cesspool of controversy, instability, and corruption giving rise to gross human rights violations during the Dirty War, and then hyperinflation, serious unemployment, and dire economic crisis.

Today, a severe lack of faith in the nation’s political and banking systems haunts Buenos Aires. 2001’s financial crisis saw the Argentine government put in motion measures (commonly known as the corralito) freezing all national bank accounts for twelve months and only allowing tiny withdrawal amounts. Following actions including the pesificación (peso-ification) - which converted all bank accounts denominated in U.S. dollars into Argentine pesos at an “official” rate - only made the situation direr. The peso plummeted on the open market losing 75% of its value, essentially destroying the savings of those with money in Argentine bank accounts.

Bank problems remain rampant in Buenos Aires.

Stories of foreigners’ money mysteriously going missing when transferring funds into Argentine banks (for sometimes months before turning up again) are all too common here. People, justifiably, have little confidence in keeping large sums of money in domestic banks. They openly don’t trust them.

Argentinos generally put much more stock in hard currency and even with cold hard cash, healthy doses of skepticism persist. Everything from automobile purchases to real estate transactions are done in cash here, that’s right - cash! Bags full of U.S. dollars - from $5,000 cars to million dollar properties, cash is king in Argentina.

Unfortunately, sometimes taking out your own cash can be an issue.

A couple months ago I experienced an upsetting few days unable to access my money from Buenos Aires ATMs. It drove me nuts, walking from bank to bank, I couldn’t take one penny/centavo out. Bumping into foreigners (and only foreigners it seemed) all over town struggling with the exact same problem, it struck me that I didn’t see a single Argentino stressing out over not being able to get their money out of the bank.

It didn’t take very long to realize intense distrust of local banking systems meant locals keeping giant cash reserves at home. A habit that only inflames the recent wave of home burglaries plaguing the city (one of Buenos Aires’ hot-topic crime-issues these days), emboldening thieves chasing fat cash stashes residents are too afraid to leave to bank custody.

Argentina is a remarkably beautiful country. Geographically stunning, from the glistening glaciers of Calafate to the breathtaking Iguazu Falls, the country’s rich in geographic diversity and natural resources. The citizenry (particularly Porteños) is highly educated, sporting one of the highest literacy rates in the world.

Culturally, the country beams with a brilliant social spirit… kissing, touching, hugging… loving to socialize, it’s more than the simple joy of getting together, you find a uniquely intimate closeness here. The sincere feeling of genuine care for one another unmistakably comes through between friends, family, and fellow residents. Call me soft, but it’s a damn neat thing and special to feel a part of.

It would seem Argentina, and its grand capital, Buenos Aires, could be so much more… should be a nation - and city - stable, brimming with optimistic possibilities (and on many levels, you sense it dreams to be).

But, would of, could of, should of… Buenos Aires in far too many ways still embodies the all-too-common tragic tale of unrealized potential.

What I can’t get over is the popular sentiment among Porteños, believing that not only are they inevitably headed for more gross governmental abuse, but - fears of future trouble looming and all - the vast majority will do nothing. Nothing to attempt to change the course, to steer their city, and their nation, towards a better direction. If only I had a nickel for every time the melancholic eyes of a Porteño friend fixed in on me before declaring, “It’s too painful to talk about” whenever the subject of politics arises… at first, the observable sentiment was very moving, but after six or seven different people gave me that exact same response, it began to strike me as a little bizarre.

Inaction by fear of political retribution?

Maybe merely deep-seeded feelings of helplessness…

I don’t know.

Whatever it is, there’s something heartbreaking about it. Something not right, inconsistent somewhere inside the human spirit - and in awkward and dispiriting ways, it disturbs me.

It’s not apathy, because emotion is far too apparent. Detecting the slightly under the surface sorrow in people here isn’t tough. You see it in their eyes, their gazes, you feel it in their embraces - an evident and shared Porteño pain. And at the same time exists this eerie acceptance, residents both believing the future holds continued abuse, accompanied right along with a “turn your head in the other direction and do nothing” type of inaction. It’s troubling.

Still, on some levels things appear to be getting better in Buenos Aires.

Unemployment is down, the peso is more stable. Though even in better times, citizens realize deep down no great structural or fundamental changes have been made. Somewhere internally they understand all isn’t well, and their good times might be a temporary illusion… a dream just waiting to be dashed.

So goes the weighty insecurity of sensing your castles might be built on sand, and neither you nor your neighbor are resolve to try to change those foundations.

For all its beauty, all its potential, all I love about this incredible city… Buenos Aires remains a glorious vision not yet realized, a daydream even her own citizens don’t quite believe in, a city still damaged… and yeah, it disturbs me.

Thought it would be fun to get a little more perspective and ask a several others about their experiences here in Buenos Aires, Argentina. So I asked a few amigos here in Bs As to answer a few quick questions. Without waiting any longer, here we go:

Your name (hometown, or where are you from?)

Patrick Hussey, London, U.K.

1 ) When did you arrive and how long do you plan on staying (in total), or how long were you in Buenos Aires?

Arrived March 13, left June 15th.

2 ) Why did you come to Bs As? Are you doing what you came here to do?

I came because everyone one I met travelling in South Am on a previous trip said Argentina was their favourite place. Also there was this buzz about BA bubbling under, what a cool place it was. I wanted to check it out and of course it’s all half price for the Brits!

3 ) Do you like Buenos Aires (why/why not)?

I found it an impossible place to label, and my relationship with the city was more like a tempestuous relationship than anything else. Some days I loved it, often it drove me crazy! But there is a romantic, melancholy air to it I think everyone should hear for themselves, its a unique atmosphere.

4 ) What do you find to be the most significant differences between life in (insert where you’re coming from) and here in Bs As?

The time keeping is the most obvious thing, people only go out at two and stay out all night. On a less obvious note I would say there is an uncertainty in the air. What is going to happen next in this crazy country? That is the uncertainty behind Porteño eyes. That instability though probably lends to atmosphere.

5 ) For you, what’s the best thing about Buenos Aires?

The people, they were warm and curious about you as an extranjero (foreigner) as a Brit I was surprised by how friendly I found the general attitude.

6 ) And the worst thing about Bs As?

Hmm, that quiet melancholy always lapping at your mood.

7 ) Your Bs As favorites - restaurant, bar, and boliche? What’s your fave thing to do here?

Rest - Des Nivel (amazing steak and I’m a vegetarian!) Bar - Wherever Bar, Boliche- Don’t know!

Thing to do- Drink the amazing wine and chat to new friends.

8 ) Will you return to Buenos Aires and why?

Yes, when I have good enough spanish to unlock its secrets. It has so much going on which you lose out on without the language.

9 ) Did you have expectations for what Bs As would be like? Is the city what you expected it to be (why/why not)?

Any place you go is alsways so different from what you expect but BA really did take me by surprise, so like Europe but with this delicate flavour that is quite unlke anything I have experienced before. This may sound weird but BA is more like a person that a place, hard to know and changing.

10 ) Assuming you don’t intend to move here for good (at least not now), what will you miss most about the city and your time spent here?

I will miss the grand feel of BA, yes it can be complex and melancholic but it has a raw level of emotion most places don’t come near. It has definitely left a mark on me. But what I will really miss are the people I met there…and the wine! O god the vino!

For more about Pat, please check out his blog at http://bookchurch.com/

If you’re looking for the one night stand (not for everybody, but no doubt for a number of you), ending your evening at 8 am isn’t always a good thing. So, making your move confidently before it gets too late (or early, depending on how you’re looking at it) remains essential.

Another key cultural consideration is, as in many other Latin/Latin American countries, most young adults live with their families before marriage. So, you can pretty much throw out going back to their place (set aside the odd late night escape mission, or all-too-awkward morning brush con la familia).

Two viable alternatives present themselves.

First, obviously, is take them back to your place.

The other… a fascinating part of Buenos Aires life, known as “hoteles por hora.”

Hoteles por hora, while at first sounding a bit shady, are, in fact, a normal part of the Buenos Aires night scene. So common in Buenos Aires that local universities include a portion about them during orientation for foreign students, helping introduce newcomers to the local social life and dating environment.

Simply put, they’re pay-by-the-hour hotels where upon paying for your room, a barrier obstructs the view between you and the person with whom you exchange money. This way neither of you actually see each other, and your away-from-home tryst goes on without eye-witness evidence. Thus, serving the needs of a culture where many people live with their folks ’til matrimony, and where persisting remnants of Catholicism means low divorce rates but no shortage of cheating spouses.

First, it helps to speak a little Spanish. Don’t be afraid to give it a go. Even if you honestly can’t speak one word… suck it up and learn a few key phrases like “my Spanish is very bad” (”mi castellano es muy malo”) and “if you want, you can practice your English with me” (”si quieres, tu puedes practicar tu ingles conmigo”). After that, roll with it, don’t get too frustrated, and keep your spirits high - generally, those around you will feed off your energy (notwithstanding the language barrier).

Second, don’t get too hammered - always good advice, but even moreso in Buenos Aires where they’ll be fewer heavily intoxicated chicas surrounding you… a few, for sure, but, not like in the States, U.K., or various other places.

And lastly - throw your money around like you’re God almighty himself. Just kidding! Don’t be an ass. Be yourself, have fun, and know that some things will be lost in translation (inevitable, and not always a bad thing).

Bars are bars (no surprise here), and there are TONS in Buenos Aires. I suggest checking out all my favorite bars which I’ve previously written about (read My Favorite Buenos Aires Bars - to your right - for info tidbits on each one). It’s worth noting that while Shamrock (Irish pub-type bar in Barrio Norte) definitely makes a solid option for meeting other foreigners, it also draws Porteños and Porteñas who know they’ll be bumping into foreigners - take that for what it’s worth.

Boliches (club/dance club/disco-tech, etc.) are where Buenos Aires, literally, dances all night long. Remember people normally don’t start heading to boliches until around 2 am - and often much later than that. Go too early, and there plainly won’t be a soul in the house, save the still-setting-up-shop bartenders and the few odd extranjeros (foreigners) who just made the same mistake you did.

One boliche needing mention in this discussion is Sunset - located just outside the city center. Pretty ludicrous scene… after you pay your cover fee (25 pesos), you file through a metal detector, then passed the coat check and through the doors to enter the club. Immediately to your left a stage sets up, and upon it dance, nope, not scantily clad beauties moving seductively for your amusement, but dudes… men… six to eight yoked out guys with no shirts on, dancing around. Guaranteed, your first thoughts will be something like “What the hell did I just get myself into.” Then, (if you don’t turn around at that point and walk right out the door) as you shuffle uneasily down the stairs further into the club you’ll notice directly in front of the stage, a giant crowd full of women, dancing along, and staring shamelessly up at the dudes, haha, it’s simply ridiculous. Nonetheless, it sets the mood. If there’s a boliche in Buenos Aires where the ladies are getting a little wild and looking to let loose - in full raunchy and blatant mode - Sunset is it my friends.

An extra note - a few of my friends have taken to the Spanish tutor route (hiring Porteñas to spend hours alone with them in quiet, cozy, confined spaces where they can review the proper situations to use “ser versus estar”). I won’t wholeheartedly endorse methods I haven’t personally tried out, but I must acknowledge the results have been nothing short of impressive.

Okay, I’ve gotten WAY too many questions about this topic to shy away from it any longer. I was going to avoid it for all the obvious “getting a little too sensitive” reasons, but no more. The reader’s always right. So, here we go…

An embarrassing abundance of beautiful women populate Buenos Aires. The city is built for the evening and Porteños love to go out, and stay out… all night long. Let’s face it, whether you’re on a quick vacation or looking to stay longer, well, we’ve all got our social needs, right?

If you’re already in Bs As than you’ve probably picked much this up by now - it’s not rocket-science and per usual, common sense generally prevails. But, if you’re planning your trip, know little or nothing about the scene in Buenos Aires, and want to maximize your fun while you’re in town… here are a few quick pointers (Part 1 - 4) to help set you in the right direction.

Part 1: Where to Go Out to Meet Porteñas (Peñas and Milongas)

There are tons of fun places to go to meet local girls in Buenos Aires. Peñas, milongas, bars, and boliches all make sound spots to spend the evening. A breakdown (first, I’ll go over some hangouts more distinctive to Argentina - peñas and milongas - and next (Part 2) I’ll write about your more familiar bars and boliches/clubs)…

Peñas are grass-roots get-togethers showcasing popular folklore - which usually means locals meeting up for traditional-style dancing and music over drinks. While peñas aren’t your fancier, trendy type gatherings, they can be an absolute blast. In general, there’s a reasonably low maintenance vibe, warm atmosphere, and plenty of beer flowing. My favorite peña is Palermo Viejo’s Peña Los Cardones (Borges 2180). In German beer hall fashion, wooden tables dominate the floor space accommodating the lively crowd taking in a hearty share of live folk music and Quilmes brew (the domestic beer in Bs As).

Milongas are where locals go to tango, and sip drinks while watching others tango. As far as experiencing tango (Argentina’s renowned dance) in non-touristy form, despite seeing a number of shows, milongas still represent the closest I’ve gotten. The people here (ages all across the board) almost always express a festive energy. Two milongas I recommend (both in Palermo) are Salon Canning (Scalabrini Ortiz 1331) and La Viruta (Armenia 1366). The former embodying your more typical Buenos Aires milonga - a bit more pricey (15 to 20 pesos versus around 8 pesos) and pickier on dress code (wear sneakers and t-shirts at your own risk - but, if they turn you away, playing the tourist card might earn you the save).

It merits mentioning, years back in Seville, Spain, after numerous failed attempts, I found my way into a sweet little, back-alley joint where I caught a “non-tourisy” account of flamenco (Southern Spain’s famed gift to the dancing world). Damn cool experience. If you get the opportunity to experience genuine tango, something exceedingly rare in popular locales where classic traditions increasingly turn into played up tourist attractions, take it - you’ll be surprised how much fun you have.