Argentine Rugby Players

By popular demand (as in, the only person who commented so far on my previous Argentine related post,) here is the story of the Argentine Rugby Players, including the night they rescued me at the night club...

For those who do not already know, rugby players are built like American football players. They're big buff guys. My host sister was friends with two boys who were rugby players. Like many young men, they had nicknames which everyone thought were pretty funny: Harry and Nerón. When I met them, my sister asked me "Do you know who Nerón is? He is the one who played the violin while Rome was on fire." Ohhh, Ok. Got it.

And in all my crazy 16 1/2-year-old-ness, I thought Nerón was cute. Yeah. And what made it worse was that Nerón thought I was cute, too! But stupid logical Nerón said "Well she's just going to go back to the USA so what's the point?" Stupid BOYS.

One night we went out socializing and that was the night I found out that not only was there no "point" but Nerón decided to like someone else and start to flirt with her instead.  This was big time drama in my world at the time and I decided that I was going to drown my sorrows. We ended up in a small cafe and being 16 1/2-years-old and not knowing what I was doing, I ordered a Piña Colada thinking I would get a good buzz on with a girly drink.

Yeah, so what really happened was that they brought me a cup of rum with some coconut milk in it? It was probably 50/50 rum and coconut milk. In my youthly ignorance, it tasted like 90/10 rum to coconut milk. I decided at that time that I did not like rum. At all. YOWZA. The drink that I ordered to try to act out in angst? Nerón ended up drinking for me.

Harry and Nerón were funny guys. They came around every so often to visit. One time I was downtown by myself - which did not happen very often at all so it must have been near the end of my visit when I was feeling particularly bold and independent, or else it was when I was supposed to be in a study group with school mates for a group project. I played the Grandmother from the United States who did not speak much Spanish for a skit in social studies/family life.

So there I was standing at the Bus Stop waiting for the bus to take me home when Nerón pulled up and offered to give me a ride instead. Sure! Why not! So I hopped in and off we went. Here's the thing: Nerón considered red stop lights "suggestions" more than actual "directions" to follow. I knew that late at night, as we pulled up to lights, he would flash his lights before going through them, to thoughtfully alert cross-traffic that he was going through the red light. During the daytime, flashing lights would be silly, so he honked his horn instead.

Now, backing up a bit, another reason that piña colada story was so sadly pathetic is the attitude towards alcohol in that community. There was no drinking age but there was a definite respect for alcohol. In my host family's home, the parents drank jug wine with seltzer water with dinner, but the children drank milk or water. When we went out dancing at the night club, it was ok for teens to have a drink, but it was considered very poor taste to become drunk. I clearly remember the first time we went to the night club, one of the other exchange students (ok, ok, the girl from Newport Beach,) got drunk on Tia Maria. Several of them. My host sister told me that she was embarrassing herself and that no one was very impressed with her behavior.

One night when we went dancing, there were at least two or three of the American exchange students at the club. We were minor celebrities - not that everyone wanted to BE us, of course, but more that everyone knew who we were and we attracted attention. This night two young men, who were most definitely NOT built like rugby players, became inebriated and decided that they were going to get some action with the "easy" girls from the United States. I do not remember much leading up to this but I do remember two scrawny looking drunk guys coming up to me and saying something inappropriate to me in Spanish that I could not understand. Nerón and Harry were right there before I knew it with their arms around my shoulders telling them "She's with us." 

The scrawny drunkards looked up at the two buff rugby players, turned and went away. Fast.

I have forgiven Nerón for breaking my heart and I have since that time learned that rum, most especially with some lime juice, triple sec, possibly some pineapple and/or other juices, add premium rum floater on top and a cherry, tastes pretty darn good. But I don't try to drown my sorrows in them.