Argentina's Hardest Man

Attached, or readable if you click the image, is a far superior article about the Argentine male than this one, but here's an anecdote to add to the overall picture. 

One of the first things you notice living here is that for all the famous machismo, on fresh arrival from the UK, there is a notable lack of alpha male posturing. There isn't the bullying banter in the pubs (well, there aren't pubs, there are bars), drunkeness is not public, no one eyeballs you, or drops their shoulder into you on the street. There's none of that 'you looking at my bird' tediousness.  

That's partly because the definitions are different. In Britain being a man is defined in the following order. 

1. Ability to drink. 

2. Car, and ability to drive it.

3. Ability, or assumed ability, to fight. 

4. Ability as a sportsman, or importance placed on sport. 

5. Your success with women.

 

But really it's a Top three. This ability to get a girl is a distant 5th behind your sporting ability and the others. This can be elucidated by the fact that a Barcardi Breezer drinking, Mini-driving 'man' could play pro football and live in the playboy mansion, the damage would already have been done. 

It's different here. The Argentine list, from what I've seen, runs as follows. 

1. Not being a woman. 

You'll see group of Argie guys in the pub watching football, talking for hours about women, bantering about conquests, commenting on the barmaids and passing eye candy, all sitting round a communal litre bottle of Quilmes. 7-8 glasses. No rounds, no pressure. Maybe I'll break the gas with an espresso. Anyone else? Yeah.  

The celebrations for gooooooooools will be missed by at least half of the group, who were doing their hair in the bathrooms for some part of most of the second half. They'll talk emotions, listen to one another intently, reinforce the importance of time spend together and say they should do this more often, plan a weekend trip together, exchange tips for cosmetics products, comment on each other's shirts in ways that bolster self-esteem.  

It's all so nice and normal and devoid of the homoerotic bonding of drunken Brits and as such it is totally, totally weird.   

No better anecdote than this one, though I could choose from a few, including a mates' husband (she's American, he's from here) who died of embarrassment each time her 6' 2'' extreme snowboarding über-Argie male, asked politely but specifically at the bar for an extra cherry in his strawberry diaquiris. 

Ryan, an Aussie who runs a risk company, told m this. He was having a few cherry, er, diaquiris with one of the harder men in Argentina, Raúl. Raúl works for the Army's special services, essentially the equivalent of the British Marines SBS. 

Raúl disappeard to the baño, and, after a lengthy while, Ryan thought he had better check his mate was ok. They were, after all, already on their their third drink. 

On arriving in the bathroom, Raúl was standing in front of the mirror, having an apparent, you talking to me, moment. 

"You ok mate", Ryan piped up.   

"Not exactly", replied Argentina's hardest man. "I think I'm getting crows feet, Ryan."

Tough time to break it to him that the waitress had forgotten the extra cheery. That could break an Argentine man.