Alex's personal musings: contrasts

Saturday was a rest day. The night before we tried to stay up late (3am) to keep our night time rhythm going. Needless to say that none of us made it! I awoke around 9am, went for a walk, came back and then finished a book (reading to the end of books is a rare event for me!). My body decided that I had not had sufficient sleep so I drifted off for another hour. Magnificent! When was the last time I felt tired, could go to sleep and wake up when I was ready to! That is a gift.

We all gently drifted through the day and then prepared ourselves to go out to Ushuaia (a beach club on the other side of the Island). We all piled onto a bus filled with other party goers and were tipped out 30 minutes later. I'll be honest - I have not been to a club since 1995 when, as a student, I experienced the highs and lows of Roxy's in Sheffield. Man alive this was an impressive place (see pic). Hundreds and hundreds of beautiful people (both male and female) moving to the pulse of what I would call tribal music. It felt like a primitive people were gathering to worship the sun! We found a good spot on a second level and bobbed (not sure this is the technical term for minimal dancing) and watched the throng as the sun went down. The music was not really my taste (a bit monotonous) but I could see well how the DJ worked the crowd. It was an impressive sight.

Warning! For those who would rather not know about my urinal experience please skip to the next paragraph. I have always struggled with stage fright and despite being desperate for a wee I was not looking forward to walking into a packed toilet and attempting to relieve the pain in my bladder! I can't tell you the times I have stood at a public urinal, attempted to wee, couldn't, and then pretended that I had (including "shake") and walked out knowing that my fellow wee-ers knew that I hadn't! Shame! My first tactic is usually to wait for a cubicle to come free so I can wee in private. This was not going to happen. The two cubicles were in use and a fellow punter pointed out that there were a few urinals free. He was Spanish and I thought it would be easier to accept his invitation rather than explaining my condition in his native language. It was time to begin "Operation Nixon". Not sure when this technique began but it has served me well over the years. This is weird but it works. I close my eyes and visualise the resignation speech of Richard Nixon. I don't know why this particular moment in history releases my sphincter but it does. Perhaps I have developed a particular neural network that connects these two experiences. After 30 seconds of repeating the word "Nixon" in my mind, I wee-d and walked out like I had a achieved something special! For some of you reading this, it will be first time you have heard of stage fright. Some of you will be all too familiar with this affliction and will relate to parts of this story. Perhaps we should start a support group!

Moving on.

On the way back from the toilet, Bernard and I wanted to explore the whole site. We walked through a door and found ourselves on the beach. Lovely moment - warm sand, lapping sea and the club music washing over us. We tried to get back into the club via the door we came in and were greeted (I use that term loosely) by a bouncer who informed us that we could not go back in. Despite Bernard's death stare (truly frightening - both in terms of how he looked but also what might happen to us if he didn't stop doing it) we were not welcome back in. We tried a few other entrances to no avail. Our club experience was over.

I didn't mind as I had a good chat with Bernard. The rest of the gang caught up with us and we headed back to San Antonio.

Again we tried to stay up to 3am but crashed at 1am!

Lightweights.