by Doug Casey
So, word got out here in Argentina that I was turning 70. And that meant a fiesta was in order. I hate celebrating my birthday, but it would be churlish to wave off people who like that sort of thing.
I was invited to a party put on by some of my neighbors. Vintners, horse breeders, ranchers, farmers, and the like. An interesting group. Rich, sophisticated, the local upper crust; I’d only met perhaps a third of them before that evening. It turns out that most of them get together weekly, at one estancia or another, and have an exotic asado cum drinking party. I served as this week’s center of attention and entertainment.
It was different from similar parties I’ve been to in Buenos Aires in that everyone here was speaking Spanish, with a smattering of English.