The last thing we needed after a three day trek through the mounatians was to walk slap bang into a 30th birthday celebration in the hostel, but we refuse to be party poopers.
With a much needed shower washing three days of blood, sweat and tears from our weary bodies we put on our party togs and cracked open the beer in honour of Lili, from Buenos Aires. There was a good mix of Argentines and Europeans in the hostel, with enough people speaking Spanish, English, German and French between us to make a good party. Everyone got drunk and pratcised their own terrible attempts at foreign languages, holding weirldy boring conversations due to the limited vocabulary but it amaxing how much fun a conversation about the various standards of motorways around thew world can sudenly seem so fascinating.
Long story short, Steve and I ended up in a club called the Roxbury, dancing the night away with Lily and Claudio, both from Buenos Aires. In a fit of spontaneous good will and probably because it is the only country where it will ever be possible to afford it, Steve bought a bottle of champagne to toast Lily´s birthday in style. This was followed by many beers and eventually a Pisco Sour cocktail at around 5am, to round the night off in refreshing style. The only problem was the men. Every time Steve left our side boys started literally grabbing your arms and pulling you forcefully towards them. They refuse to belive you have a boyfriend until he appears, looking angry!
