The celebration merrily began at 12:01am, in a convent. (Perhaps my mom, who once overlooked the slight fact that she was Jewish in her aspirations to be a nun, would be pleased. Hi Mom.) Once a month, this convent opens its doors to the public for a nominal fee, and the musky courtyard functions as a club to drunken, swaying youth. At least for the sake of novelty, I recommend it. (And the silhouettes that hover in the windows above provide great conversational material.)
Later came the more common elements - balloons (secretly blown up at 7am by Jacey), cakes with candles (gratuitous calories for 24 hours), gifts (like soft toilet paper, a rarity to treasure in Argentina), and more friends (be them old like Jacey, or acquired yesterday). Somehow the festivities of the darkness drained into the morning light, and a remaining eight of us found ourselves at a gas station, eating wafers and cookies for an 8am breakfast. 23 in Argentina. So far so good.
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