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-When I was a teenager growing up in the suburbs, if we couldn’t find a house to drink in we’d simply kick back beers in the park until the cops inevitably came and chased us through the woods.  We were young and stupid and it was fucking awesome.  More than a decade later, that exhilarating sensation borne of adrenaline infused with alcohol comes much more infrequently.  Which is why since college I have endeavored to take a foreign adventure with the boys at least once every eighteen months or so.  Much to my dismay, however, this year’s trip was difficult to organize, because married guys are not allowed and the ranks of the unmarried have dwindled precipitously.  Thus when me and three friends – two from high school (Matt and Triplet #2), and one from college (Danny) – embarked for Argentina and Uruguay three weeks ago, there was an unspoken air of finality about the proceedings.  This would be the last bachelor party.

-Upon arriving in Buenos Aires, I quickly discovered that, when absolutely hammered, I am fluent in Spanish.  Though I haven’t studied or spoken it since high school, when I get a few drinks in me I become like one of those head trauma victims who mysteriously speak French flawlessly.  At one point, Matt and I were spitting Spanish so well that a few locals asked us to produce our driver’s licenses to prove we were American.  Unfortunately, I look so fat and he looks so young that they just didn’t believe they were our IDs.

-Twentysomething Argentines eat dinner at 11pm, hit the clubs at 2am, and stay out until 8am.  It’s like living in a bizarro world.  After five straight nights of that I had no idea what day of the week it was or if my next meal should be breakfast or dinner.  I once tried to go to a bank but the sign said they don’t open – open!! – until 4pm.  I just don’t understand how they live like that year-round.  I’m sorry, but it’s not healthy for Happy Hour to be at midnight.

-Argentina is super cheap.  We went out every night and made it rain but never even came close to dropping $100 US in a restaurant or bar.  They’re also not big tippers.  If Argentines tip at all it’s max 10%.  It’s funny how the American brain is so hardwired.  We physically could not bring ourselves to tip less than we usually do.  As a result every cab driver and waitress from Palermo Viejo to Plaza Serrano loved us.  Forget Obama – me and my boys single-handedly brought international goodwill back to America.