So, Laura and I weren't going to write a journal entry for our first day in Argentina. It was an uneventful day--our plane arrived this morning after a 16 hour flight; we went to the hotel, checked in, and napped until about 3 pm; then we walked around the neighborhood for a few hours after we woke up--and we didn't have any particularly noteworthy photos to share.
But then it happened. We went to dinner, and who did we see but Cristian Castro. Cristian Fucking Castro. El Gallito Feliz ("the happy rooster," for you non-Spanish speakers). International teen idol. In a restaurant full of his female fans, paparazzi lurking outside (and getting into fights with El Gallito's handlers), Cristian's music playing as he walked around mouthing the words, we came this close, this close!, to an international superduperstar. It was exhilarating.
Seriously, though, what a strange experience. Laura and I got hungry around 10:30 at night and decided to head to dinner. We walked a couple blocks and went in to the first place we saw that had people in it. The majority of those people were women--something I noticed and commented about to Laura, and we spent a few minutes speculating about the possible reasons for this when Laura noticed a dude making the rounds and getting his picture taken with people. Then the music got louder, the women started singing along, and this guy gets more animated, mouthing the words as the music plays.
We asked our waitress, who told us that it was Cristian Castro. We obviously had no idea who that was, but thought it was pretty funny that we ended up at a party for some random latino singer's fan club. It was even funnier when some paparazzi (presumably) showed up, started filming through our open window, then got in a fight with Cristian's handlers as we left. (Don't worry, they ended up (literally) hugging it out). And it got funnier still when we got back to our hotel, googled Cristian Castro, and discovered that he is/was "an international teen idol and sex symbol" who has sung the theme songs to multiple Mexican novelas. It's like ending up in a restaurant with a 40 year-old Joey McIntyre.
I would add some thoughts about how this experience caused me to reflect on the nature of fame--how it's not only fleeting, but also so regional, which makes the quest for it that much more depressing--but I didn't really do that much reflecting, and my thoughts are in no way fresh. Plus, Laura needs to use the computer. Hopefully tomorrow we'll have better photos and a more normal story to tell.