After orchestrating last week’s anti-government protests in the Plaza de Mayo, General Labour Confederation (CGT) union boss and major opposition figure Hugo Moyano is launching his own political party in an effort to further combat the administration of Cristina Fernández de Kirchner and possibly pave the way for a 2015 presidential candidature.

The party, known as the Partido de la Producción y el Trabajo (PPT) already has affiliated personnel in Buenos Aires province, and counts 50% of all members of the Camioneros truck driver’s union (approximately 100,000 people) as members. They expect to soon have affiliates in Corrientes, Misiones, Salta, and Chubut as well.

The party’s official launch is expected to take place “no later than February” of next year in Mar del Plata, where tourists from throughout the country will be vacationing.

Former deputy and head of the PPT in the province of Buenos Aires Octavio Argüello told Clarín “by March the party will be ready for primary elections”.

Moyano hopes to be able to field candidates for the October 2013 legislative elections, and has approached former Minister of the Economy Roberto Lavagna of the Justicialist Party as a potential candidate for senator for the City of Buenos Aires.

Beneficial results in October could secure Moyano a presidential candidacy in the 2015 elections.

As she stepped out of the white limo onto the red carpet, strobe lights flashing across the Puerto Madero sky, her guests craned their necks to get a peek of the dress. Escorted by her father, arm in arm, she entered with the guests following. Everyone sat down as the six violinists on stage waited for the cue, and once the girl and her father were in position, they struck up the waltz.

After came the lighting ceremony. Fifteen candles, each representing a year of her life, are lit by a different family member or friend, who simultaneously reads out a small declaration, something that is personal for the special day. As is tradition, the birthday girl then danced with every man in the room until the sun rose.

“That was the first time I had seen a limo,” Cecilia Cartoceti recalls as she describes the most impressive party she has ever attended. Although sounding like a passage from a Jane Austen novel, it is an event which happens everyday across the city. Sold as a girl’s passage from childhood to womanhood – the 15th birthday party.

‘Fiesta de Quince’, a Historical Tradition

Although the exact origins are disputed, the 15th birthday celebration is generally believed to be a cultural infusion from when the Spanish Conquistadors settled in Latin America and assimilated Spanish and indigenous cultures.

The tradition of presenting women at an age they are considered an adult reached across the continent, with evidence of ceremonies in Mayan, Aztec, Incan and Chimú cultures. The ceremony evolved in Post-Colombian America, where the conquistadors’ tactic to impose Catholicism on indigenous customs transformed what was a simple ceremony into a religious occasion, traditionally starting with mass in a church.

In Mexico and other Latin American countries, the ceremony is performed with greater religious overtones. Here, in Argentina, it is not nearly as connected; they seldom start at the church, and it is more about the party than the deity.

“Here, the 15th birthday party is still a turning point. Once you are 15 you get to go to dances and other more ‘adult’ things – the symbolism is connected with that,” Cecilia agrees that the celebration continues to be about a girl becoming a woman.

Yet despite enjoying her friends’ parties, she made the controversial decision not to have one. “I know that historically, when a girl turned 15 she was supposed to get married, so the party was basically a high society way of presenting girls to eligible males. Nowadays, I don’t know why they do it.”

Women or Girls?

The perception of our own standing in life can be very subjective. Whilst there is a youthful eagerness to be taken seriously and to do the things that Cecilia, and others, consider ‘adult’, there is little doubt that the concepts of youth and adulthood are very fluid and historically subject to changes.

As sociologist Juan Martín Bustos explains in a recent article on the subject, published by Le Monde Diplomatique, “the idea of youth makes sense when compared to that of adulthood, a state which, from the mid-20th century onwards, is related to forming a nuclear family and accessing the paid labour market.” This model, according to Bustos, is part of a three-stage scheme under which life is divided: childhood and youth (as preparation for the ‘active life’ of adulthood), adulthood, and finally old age.

Today, the Argentine statistics office, INDEC, considers young people to those between the ages of 15 and 29, that is 10 million people, or about 25%, of the country’s population. This very broad group is in turn divided into further, more specific categories. For the group of ‘adolescent youth’ (15-19), none of the objective indicators of adulthood are significant: three in four study, whilst only one in five work. In legal terms, people do not gain the full rights of an adult until they turn 18. Only 1% of urban 15-year olds are married, so it is unlikely that many 15-year-old girls nowadays would be throwing a party to attract potential husbands as they did back in colonial times.

If the trend is for adulthood to be delayed until well into our thirties and turning 15 does not mark any visible change in a teenager’s life, then how much meaning is there left in the tradition, especially in more secular societies like Argentina’s?

The Business of Being Accepted

As with many other celebrations that fill up our calendars, it can be argued that the 15th birthday party has evolved into little more than a marketing ploy to extract large amounts of money from children, and their parents, or risk social ostracism.

Not all of them fall for it, though. “I find nowadays that [15th birthday parties have] more to do with advertising. A big fuss is made because now it’s a big industry, a really big industry – some parties are bigger than weddings,” Cecilia points out.

And it is a huge industry, indeed. There are businesses that handle every single aspect. Dressmakers, event organisers, travel agencies, photographers, make-up artists, magazines, entertainment, even a telenovela. It is an industry that endures the economic climate too, no matter what is going on with the country, there are always girls turning 15 and they want their parties.

The pressure of the 15th can drive the girls and their families to problems, some girls become so stressed that they can suffer from eating disorders. Other families cannot afford the extravagant parties and struggle to keep up with it all.

Agustina Oswald, who turned 15 last year, remembers how she had to start saving for her party when she was 9. “Some parties are really expensive. My mother and I had to do a lot of work to save for my party. People could see how much effort we put in, especially as there were only two of us. My mum still wanted me to have a party with all the things I love. We had a total of 180 guests, so we didn’t have the best place, and we couldn’t hire a photographer.” Yet she still spent around US$4,500 on the day (the dress alone can cost between US$150-US$1000). Probably not even a fraction of the cost of the Puerto Madero extravaganza Cecilia attended, but a massive amount of money nonetheless.

That, it seems, is the price teenage girls have to pay to ‘belong’. At such an impressionable age, not all of them can resist the temptation to pay thousands of dollars in order to assert their identity, and their insecurities are mercilessly exploited by a hungry industry that pushes them to spend more and more to stand out, and at the same time, to fit in.

KitchenParty is a concept realised by a group of close friends living in Rome in 2011, and revolves around the idea of connecting people worldwide through shared dining experiences.

Aimed at anyone who enjoys sharing food with others, whether local, expat or traveller, the event makes for an evening that is inevitably diverse in terms of both people and activity.

Co-creator and Buenos Aires host, Michael Kaethler, explains that the idea was very much born out of a love of food, but also a love of its ability to bring people together and create communities.

The platform itself is a social networking site of sorts. Members create a profile and can then request friends, advertise their own events, or ask to attend someone else’s. But where other social networking sites fall down, KitchenParty excels by encouraging the creation of a real community, and not one that just exists online.

A non-profit organisation, KitchenParty asks no membership fee, with any participation costs dictated by an event’s host.

Getting started with KitchenParty party is very simple. Make an account for free on the website, filling in as much information as you feel comfortable with and from there you can search upcoming events by city. Ask to participate in the ones that catch your eye, and then just sit back to await confirmation from the host, which comes in the form of an automatic email.

Hosting is equally simple. First you enter the event’s information, made up of a name, theme, time and place, number of participants and participation fee (e.g. a bottle of wine). From there it is a case of accepting or declining participation requests and, as long as your minimum number is reached, the event goes ahead. Reassuringly, as host you have total control over who attends, with a peer review system allowing for greater security.

Some of the best things about KitchenParty are its versatility and lack of boundaries. With the website and the creators only there to facilitate a gathering, you can expect your event to be limited only by your own imagination. This leaves huge scope for members to experiment, and the opportunity to never eat the same meal twice.

The event visited last week was a gathering of around ten people at the home of our host, Michael. The atmosphere was instantly relaxed and friendly; like a group of friends getting together after spending time apart. But you only had to glance around the room for that to seem an unlikely reality. There was a huge mix of nationalities from all over Europe and the Americas, making the resulting range of conversation and experiences interesting to say the least.

Dinner itself was an intimate affair, with dimmed lights, candles and guests seated on the floor arranged around a centre spread. Good food, good wine and good conversation all made for a thoroughly enjoyable experience.

With a base of members spread across 80 cities all over the world, it certainly seems like the KitchenParty ethos is one people have already found easy to relate to. And why not? The service KitchenParty provides is simple in both idea and execution, and best of all it is free.

For 2012, they are launching their new “Wednesday Dinners” initiative, which, according to Michael, seeks to transform that boring midweek evening into a regular opportunity to enjoy a shared dinner experience.

By the end of the year, they hope to see regular “Wednesday Dinners” in 40 cities worldwide. The chance to enjoy a home-cooked meal anywhere in the world is an exciting prospect, and one that KitchenParty is already well on the way to making a reality.

On Friday 29th April, there was only one party to be at and I don’t mean the Royal Wedding. Since Prince Charles had evidently forgotten to send a private jet to collect me from Buenos Aires, I contented myself with the next best thing: the much-anticipated inauguration party of Ploox!, a brand new club night, this week at Wanna in Palermo Hollywood.

Driving rain did not deter huge crowds of twenty somethings, both Argentine and foreign, who were lured by the promise of free cocktails and ubiquitous adverts foretelling an evening of Electro, House and Nu Disco, whatever that is.

Wanna’s 600-person capacity filled up steadily from midnight and partygoers collected on the dance floor, moving to the sounds of locally-renowned DJ Stuart, Rockin Vandal and Nico Hamuy. The club was described to me by organisers Miguel Salas and Will Aquino as “pretty nice”; this was, in fact, an understatement. Modelled on the Liv club in Miami, Wanna is a good size – spacious yet cosy. There is plenty of room to move but you won’t lose your friends unlike in some of the massive boliches. The VIP section and DJ booth have balconies overlooking the main dance floor, all covered by a dome ceiling studded with blue LED lights.

I may not have known what Nu Disco was but no matter…the music was great: electro beats with familiar vocals that were guaranteed to get everyone dancing. There were mash-ups (of the non-Glee variety). There was even a little bit of Queen for good measure. The evening had a more mature feel to it; this is certainly not the place for teenyboppers. A smart casual dress code also added a touch of class.

Ploox! is the lovechild of 23-year-old Mexican-born Miguel Salas and Will Aquino, 26, who met playing College football in Atlanta, Georgia. A mutual friend moved to Buenos Aires and founded the now infamous Pub Crawl; Salas and Aquino followed to help out in 2007. By July 2010 they’d been on “one too many pub crawls” by their own admission. Yet far from donning slippers and retiring into cosy armchairs, they started to throw one-off themed parties for occasions such as Halloween. Taking place in various clubs in Palermo and Puerto Madero, these nights featured a mix of indie rock, electro and hip-hop. The latter scene is growing in Argentina but “not there yet”, so they would often combine it with other styles.

“When Lil Wayne came out of jail, we put on a ‘welcome home’ party and played lots of his music. People loved it,” remembers Will. This inspired the duo to launch hip-hop Wednesdays at Sugar bar in Palermo, which draws a largely American crowd in desperate need of a hip-hop fix. Though but a few months old, word has spread and these nights are extremely popular. The boys believe Ploox! will be no different.

I’m curious to know where the name Ploox! came from and Will is keen to enlighten me. “It’s the sound of a piece of ice dropping into a coke,” he explains. Of course… “We used to say it for fun amongst friends so when it came to thinking of a name for our club night, it was a no-brainer.”

Each Friday from now on will feature a guest DJ, either local or international, with the emphasis being on variety. “This will be something different and fresh,”.says Miguel. “Electro music gets people dancing.”

I went with an open mind and I’m sure I’ll return. The night was classy, different and, above all, great fun. Buckingham Palace ain’t got nothin’ on this…

If you came to Buenos Aires looking for Latin America and instead found 17th century Europe, you may be pleased to know that the Latin heart of Argentina is alive and beating in a small club in Abasto.

Tucked away in a quiet side street is Uni Club which hosts Fiesta Pa’ Gozar with a 13-piece jam band and resident DJ bringing you everything from mambo to jazz every Wednesday night.

La Descarga was formed two years ago by three friends who had travelled around Latin and Central America studying music. They set up residency at the club and have been hosting steamy Latin nights there every Wednesday for over a year, inviting a carousel of new musicians to contribute to the music and develop new sounds so that every week is different.

A sure sign of quality; there are about three Argentines for every foreigner in the club and there’s a laid-back non-pretentious vibe, which is refreshing after the dolled-up dance floors of places like Pascha and Rumi.

According to Maxi Garcia, 33, who was one of the founding members and plays drums in the band, Cuban rhythms they picked up in Havana and Matanzi had the greatest influence on their music.

“Cuban music is really rich because it’s constantly evolving and reinventing itself,” he says. “Latin Jam is a night of different types of Afro music – we play mambo, latin, jazz – a total mixture.

“When we take a break, the idea is that the DJ plays something a bit different like funk, salsa or rap – to keep the atmosphere lively and break up the genres a bit, otherwise people get bored,” he says.

Once the doors open the small club quickly fills up with loyal Latin Jam-goers and newcomers. As the beer taps start pouring and the temperature rises, noisy chatter and the sound of the salsa DJ really get the party started.

Each week the night is divided into an opening section of rehearsed music, followed by two jam sessions – where the band and guests improvise latin music. La Descarga currently comprises three trumpets, one baritone sax, one trombone, guitars, bongos, congas, a singer, cow bells – although composition varies depending on who’s playing with them that week.

Some musicians stay for a few sessions before moving on and the sound is constantly refreshed with new influences and styles.

The party shows no sign of stopping by five, when the band members have joined the dance floor and the DJ plays anything from Michael Jackson to (what sounds like) electronic mambo.

Drinks are pretty cheap for Buenos Aires, with a (treacherous) pint of Fernet and coke setting you back $25, Gancia $15 and Murakamis Mambo $25 while gaseosas are around $6.

Whether you want to salsa until dawn or stand by the bar listening to the band with a cool Quilmes, this is the place for Latin music and a lively night out.

Arrive from 11.30pm for a great midweek party, perfect for tight purse strings and totally worth a dastardly Thursday fernet-over.

Lead photo by Beatrice Murch

What better way to break the ice than show a perfect stranger your underwear? At least, that’s the theory behind the Piso Compartido monthly fiesta at Club Niceto: If Castellano chat-up lines aren’t going your way, then head down to Niceto, in Palermo Hollywood, for some cross-cultural, language free depravity this Friday.

Designed to integrate porteños and foreigners, the monthly fiesta welcomes people from all over the world to partake in party games, and boogie out to a smorgasbord of international crowd pleasers. It’s an attempt to bridge differences and foster friendships, or perhaps more than friendships, if the moves on the dance floor are anything to go by.

Piso Compartido, a flat sharing forum for tourists, heavily promotes their club night in the numerous hostels across Buenos Aires, drawing in a large international crowd; but in accordance with the party’s mantra, a fair number of local party-goers, mostly on the younger side of 20, also frequent the cavernous industrial space.

Organized by Adrian Tolchinsky, 27, and Andrés Pescuno, 27, the monthly fiesta was created four years ago so “foreigners and Argentines could meet each other.” Highlight party games include competing to be the first group of five with matching underwear. All guests are given a sticker at the door with their name and home country, so uttering even one word in Spanish, or otherwise, really is not much of a necessity.

The music is as diverse as the guests, ranging from cumbia, to the globally revered Lady Gaga. Tolchinsky and Pescuno stress that “there is no electronic music here – we want people to be able to talk too.” Though it doesn’t look like talking is on anyone’s mind, as the young, energized crowd, groove away to global favourites until the early hours of the morning. As the sun comes up, and the music is turned down, free croissants and trays of coffee are offered around the club, rounding out a dance heavy, Castellano light, night of universal fun.

Not to be mistaken with the usual warehouse cool, jam packed, club Niceto nights, that leave the audience reeling in a haze of rhythmic beats and cigarette smoke, Piso Compartido Fiesta is a little softer on the soul. But the slightly younger crowd hit the floor with all the same vigour whilst the party games and raffles offer a lighter take on Buenos Aires nightlife; choose your underwear with caution, and leave your Spanish at the door.

When was the last time that you were standing alone minding your own business and a perfect stranger skipped up to you, linked arms and swung you around in a jubilant do-si-do? If it’s been a while, since grade school perhaps, you need to head over to Fiesta Bubamara: ditch your cool at the door, cut loose, and get your Balkan-tinged rollick on.

The Fiesta Bubamara party was created to be an unpretentious environment where people could lose themselves in the celebration of ethnic music in general and Balkan music in particular. The party is named after the main musical theme song in Bosnian film director and musician Emir Kusturica’s acclaimed film ‘Black Cat, White Cat’. The organisers are four friends who had grown tired of the usual Buenos Aires party menu: techno in the clubs, rock in the bars. They shared a love of Balkan music-and what they refer to as “unza unza culture”-and decided to spice up the Buenos Aires party scene by bringing attention to this lesser known genre.

Their idea proved a soaring success. The Fiesta Bubamara parties have been taking place almost every month since December 2002. They’ve travelled to most all of the large cities in Argentina and have also played in Chile.

Stemming from the joyous spirit of this music, and its history of jumbled influences, the party was intended to be a place where people actively participate and share: musical styles, dances, smiles, hugs and kisses. The organisers told me, “we believe that Bubamara creates a space for communion which is quite unlike what you find at the usual club or bar.”

This theme of mixing and sharing extends to the lineup of musical groups that play at the parties. Each event features different acts, with the exception of DJ Toro who keeps the Balkan sounds spinning before, in between and well after the musicians finish.

On the night that I attended, Toro eased the crowd into the festivities with an opening set featuring a lot of ska reggae and some occasional Indian tracks. Humorous eastern European movie clips were projected on to one of the walls. While this set was fun and and the atmosphere jovial enough, by 2.30 in the morning I was beginning to wonder what all the fuss about this supposed raucous world music dance party was all about. Then, the first band, Onda Vaga, took the stage.

While claiming to be composed of members coming from rock pasts but having chosen to cut the cords and pursue acoustic expressions, make no mistake about it, Onda Vaga rocks! They describe their music as a mix of rumba, cumbia, reggae, folk rock and “happy tango”. Their soulful and energetic mix got the crowd worked up into a frenzy. Don’t let the name fool you, there’s nothing lazy about the band’s live performance. They powered through boisterous Manu Chau-esque fiesta anthems, with many in the crowd singing along.

The party had taken off. Purple and green lights swirled around the giant industrial space , illuminating a bouncing, joyous mass of concertgoers. The huge room was packed with flailing bodies dancing in all manners, unashamed and unapologetic. Not since a high school dance have I found myself surrounded by so many couples making out. There was no bashfulness about how much people were enjoying themselves, and this was refreshing.

Following Onda Vaga’s spirited set, groups of friends plopped down on the cold cement in small circles, sharing beers and laughs. Dozens of little campfire situations. I wandered into a small side room which I hadn’t even noticed until the set break and was surprised to find a cumbia band, La Repartija, keeping the tireless among the crowd bobbing and gyrating.

At around 4am the next featured band, Babel Orquesta, took the main stage and brought the crowd back to its feet in a hurry. Babel Orquesta played uproarious klezmer music, which featured a couple multi instrumentalists rotating between accordion, fiddle, harmonica, electric guitar and a giant French horn. The musicians and lead singer were joined by two burlesque dancers in hoop skirts who coquettishly teased the audience throughout the performance.

By this time the crowd had thinned out a bit and there was more room to dance. Large circles formed with people linking arms and doing cancan kicks. A couple people began crowd surfing, others hopped up and down waving their arms in the local football-hooligan style. Long rumba-lines started snaking through the room. While I’ve witnessed a fairly diverse spectrum of Buenos Aires night life, I hadn’t yet experienced this sort of unrestrained exuberance.

Babel Orquesta’s set peaked with a rip-roaring performance of Dick Dale´s ‘Miserlou’, the surf-guitar classic know worldwide via ‘Pulp Fiction’. The singer and dancers dipped and flapped about in ‘Matrix’ style slow motion before leading the crowd in clapping along to the infectious rhythm. For their encore, the band came down into the crowd and lead a procession around the room, playing continuously until they eventually made their way back on stage to kick the rhythm into explosive new gears. I doubt there was a dry body in the building by the end of the set.

Without missing a beat, Dj Toro stepped back up and kept the party right on ticking. He played a mashed up version of Hava Naglia while confetti fell from the ceiling. Bartenders circulated through the crowed passing out free Jello shots. The movie clips reappeared on the screen. The people kept dancing.

Buenos Aires has rightfully earned its reputation as a party capital, but reputations can wind up miring people in self consciousness. Sometimes it seems like many clubs and party nights here are trying just a bit too hard to be cool, while losing the essential element of fun. If it’s been a while since you had a night of unabashed cavorting – the type that leaves your cheek muscles sore the next morning from all the smiling – you should be sure to catch the next Fiesta Bubamara.

Fiesta Bubamara usually occurs once a month. For information on upcoming shows please visit www.fiestas-bubamara.com.ar

It’s called Fiesta Clandestina, but it’s about as clandestine as an elephant on the subte. Publicity posters have been papering the walls of Buenos Aires for a while – recognisable by the man with an afro holding a finger up to his lips. There is also a Facebook group to ensure that if you join or show any sign of “liking” anything, you’ll know about every Fiesta Clandestina to come for the next few months.

The process of entry is similarly discreet. The Fiesta Clandestina that we attended was held at Groove nightclub on Sante Fe. Two enormous lines snaked down Santa Fe at 2am, one for those with tickets, another for the hopeful ones without. The queue was much faster for those with tickets. However, be warned: if you book tickets with Ticketek, you cannot pick them up at the nightclub, you must pick them up at a Ticketek office beforehand.

That night punk band Ataque 77 were the headline act, which explained why half the people in the nightclub were wearing Ramones t-shirts. It was an odd band to choose, considering Fiesta Clandestina is generally known for playing cumbia-rock and reggae. However, this hadn’t seemed to deter anyone, Ramones t-shirt or no, as the queue continued through the early hours of the morning: It’s clearly a popular night.

Likewise, Attaque 77 are a popular group. There were die hard fans in the front half of the crowd singing along to their songs, but it all just sounded a little like a cross between Greenday and Busted to us. We were a little overcome by the moshpit, which was vigorous to say the least, so we made our way to the upper floor, which offered more space and less violence.

Around 4.30am, the set finished and the more familiar Fiesta Clandestina vibe kicked in. Popular Argentine rock eased us into cumbia and reggae beats that ebbed through the crowd, making it sway and heave, but it was to be a night of musical schizophrenia. Later on in the night, they played ACDC’s ‘Highway to Hell’, which started a 40-minute old school rock free for all. However, the crowd was game for anything and let loose, pogoing along to Red Hot Chilli Peppers and Nirvana classics.

After that they brought out clowns that uni-cycled and juggled their way across the stage a few times. They were probably very impressive, but by that time we were in no state to appreciate it as the club had been offering cerveza libre for a couple of hours. Though one friend did say she found it all the more impressive because by then, she was seeing double.

I was having trouble focussing too, so I gave up and attempted a quickstep to Benny Goodman’s ‘Sing, Sing, Sing’. This was equally unsuccessful, so I joined the group for a tipsy Charleston. Thus ended the night for our group of 20-somethings. We’d entered the club to join the fray of a moshpit and we came out kicking our heels into the air and practising our jazz fingers.

If you’re really looking for a secret party, you’re not going to find it here. There’s nothing underground about the party, apart from the clown that furtively crept up on us when we were queueing… When it first started, Fiesta Clandestina was more secretive, but now they’re trying to entertain the masses and it seems they can’t figure out what the masses like and who to please. Eclecticism is the rule of the night, though you can probably narrow down the genres a little by checking out the band that’s playing beforehand. Nonetheless, the Fiesta Clandestina crowd is lively and willing to submit to any music that is played, so if you want to stay out all night and you’re not fussy about what you listen to, it’s worthwhile joining the elephant in the subte.

Fiesta Clandestina takes place every Saturday, and is currently at the venue Groove, Av. Santa Fe 4389, Palermo. Prices change according to headline act. Check www.fiestaclandestina.com.ar

Gualeguaychú, a small city in Entre Ríos province, used to be famous for one reason: it is the site of Argentina’s largest Carnaval celebration. In January Carnaval seems almost to land in Gualeguaychú – flooding this greyish city in a sea of visitors and incandescent feathery flesh which then lifts off again sometime in early March. The corsodromo,at which the festivities are held, has admitted more than 80,000 people this year alone – a record.

These days, though, Gualeguaychú is as likely to be known for its role in the standoff between Argentina and Uruguay over the construction of two paper plants on the right bank of the Río Uruguay.

In 2003 the Uruguayan government gave Spanish company ENCE permission to build an enormous pulp mill on its side of the Río Uruguay. But the dispute began in earnest after a second company, Botnia of Finland, was also cleared to build a paper plant in the same area.

Since 2005 residents from Gualeguaychú have engaged in a highly effective, if intermittent, blockade of the bridges leading into Uruguay in order to stop the plants’ construction. The protestors believe the plants will inevitably pollute the river and air they share with Uruguay. ENCE appears to have given up its project at Frey Bentos but Botnia’s plant continues to rise from the littoral.

The situation is a serious diplomatic event. Argentina and Uruguay have both brought their case to the World Court at the Hague; Spain has offered to mediate; and Uruguay, which estimates that it has lost more than US$400m because of the blockades, has appealed to the regional trade group Mercosur.

Despite the stakes involved, there is something unmistakably carnivalesque about the dispute between Argentina and Uruguay. In May, Argentine president Néstor Kirchner joined a massive rally held in Gualeguaychú’s corsodromo where he exhorted the crowd to ‘stand together’ to solve the environmental issue. The piqueteros who drink mate on lawn chairs and march down Routes 135 and 14 carrying banners and flags are protestors, but they are also on parade.

As if to underline this point, Evagelina Carrozzo, the Queen of Gualeguaychú’s Carnaval, ambushed a meeting of world leaders in Vienna last May. She strode directly into a photo shoot of 58 heads of state wearing nothing but a bikini and carrying a sign reading ‘Basta de Papeleras Contaminantes – No Pulp Mill Pollution’. Carrozzo did it ‘to bring this cause to the attention of the world’. She was initially mistaken for a member of the press.

The Argentina Independent, in a sort of reverse move, sent two reporters to Gualeguaychú to impersonate revellers. They were charged with discovering how Carnaval itself has been affected by the dispute with Uruguay. This is what they found.

Carnaval time for the Contre-Papeleras

Gualeguaychú does not look like a city about to explode into celebration. In the twilight hours couples stroll peacefully along the costanera while below them, in the sliver of park that fronts the Río Gualeguaychú, kids play football, using tents as goalposts.

On Av. Irazusta, the main street leading towards the corsodromo, young men are unloading the parade floats from warehouses. Above them are the high hulking walls of a prison. Men press their faces against the bars of their cells to get a better look at the scene below; an orange float with a patio and staircase is making its way along the prison ramparts. All seems primed for a highly colourful prison break.

Once inside the corsodromo, the barely-contained energy is palpable: Carnaval is indeed about to begin. The smell of roasting meat wafts towards the parade route, the floor of which is covered in advertisements for beer and soft drinks and drugs. Girls are delivering coupons and newspapers and refreshing cups of Nestle lemonade.

The parade begins when several giant Flecha Buses, gleaming, lit up brightly from the inside, appear to float down the corsodromo. The intense commercialism can be jarring. This is not, after all, Bakhtin’s idea of a carnival without footlights, an escape from all official forms of life. But neither is it harmless or proscribed. On the contrary: Gualeguaychú’s carnival is a phantasmagoria in which each advertisement becomes a kind of absurd and indecipherable symbol that melts into the collective spectacle.

The political dimension of Carnaval is likewise built directly onto its dazzling surface. As soon as you enter the grounds of the corsodromo there is a prominent stand, run by the Environmental Assembly of Gualeguaychú, selling‘No a las Papeleras’ t-shirts, mugs, hand-bags, hats and sandals.

Nolita Gomez, a member of the assembly who is working at the stand, tells me the money they make during Carnaval is crucial for continuing their protests. For Nolita, like most asambleístas, also has a full-time job.

Carnaval begins after a voice blares over the loudspeaker: “Stop the Papeleras. No to Contamination, Yes to Life!” And the very first ‘float’ is a group of students shouting slogans and carrying a giant banner which reads ‘No Dejemos Que Nuestras Sueños Se Vayan Por Una Chimenea. No a las Papeleras’ (Don’t let our dreams go up in smoke. No to the paper mills).

Nor is this political message something imposed from above by the official organisers of Gualeguaychú’s carnival. The crowd reserves their hardiest shouts for the students or anyone else carrying a sign that opposes the construction of the paper mills. During lulls in the parade, people begin to chant ‘No a las Papeleras!’ along to the guitar riff from the White Stripe’s song, ‘Seven Nation Army’. The entire corsodromo is hit by wave after wave of this chorus, a hypnotic refrain with which every single person is familiar. In reality, it is a battle cry which is no less serious for being shouted seemingly at random.

President Kirchner, who has condemned the recent violence between asambleístas from Gualeguaychú and residents of Montevideo, would do well to look at Carnaval for clues as to why the protestors are so fiercely committed to their cause. ‘Yes to Life!’ is the motto for both Carnaval and the anti-paper mill movement.

And then there are the floats and the dancers. Attempting to describe them is to risk losing yourself in a sea of adjectives, a hellish inventory of fabulous nonsense. The floats include a Moorish castle that sprouts out of purple ice; a monstrous Leprechaun masthead that juts out of a forest hideout; and an Egyptian river barge led by Greek settlers. During the height of the performance the audience and the costumed dancers gyrate in blissful harmony. Girls in silver bikinis and white-plumed wings follow the anti-paper mill protestors. These are followed, in no particular order, by darkly clad witches dancing devilishly around a foaming cauldron, by some kind of Liberace-inspired superheroes in silver space suits. Submariners dressed in fencing outfits entrance the crowd with a display of batucada drumming and choreographed samba. There are dancers whose wings are tipped by miniature hot air balloons, propellers, solar panels! People are about to dance themselves into space!

Carnaval is not a parade but a wild, unreasonable excuse to flirt. Girls shake their behinds with such careless insouciance that men put up their hands, begging them to stop.

But the girls won’t stop so the men have no choice but to wink and make jokes, to throw numbers at the supple young forms who come vibrating past them. The girls are not cynical either. From beneath a layer of glitter they smile indulgently at their crazed admirers. Women extend their bodies over the barrier to reel in the male dancers. A group of men begin to tickle a giant bottle of Fernet. Everyone in the crowd is touching each other needlessly and giggling. The paper mills aren’t about to stop them.

The mills are, in fact, at the very centre of Carnaval’s peculiar historical mixture of oblivion and social protest. They fulfil a double function: as objects of general approbation and reasons for the people to dance and sing – a celebration of life which is also, and by its very nature, a ward against the baleful effects of the mills. If Gualeguaychú’s carnival is an official spectacle it is also one whose energy, once unleashed, is difficult to control. This is certainly one reason why, despite attempts to calm tensions on the border between Uruguay and Argentina, the anti-papeleras movement shows no signs of giving up.

Trip Advice: Accommodation

We have made reservations at the Hotel Paris, so when an old woman clad in a beige cardigan offers us a room in her house we smugly refuse. We are fools. The only resemblance between the Hotel Paris and the city whose name it bears is a sort of inter-war look of deprivation and abandon; all the shutters are drawn. The lobby is bathed in the same kind of sallow shifting light you see in aquariums. I expect the silence to be broken at any moment by the forlorn cry of a sea mammal. Instead a young woman behind the counter who I must have missed asks for my name. I say my name. “We’ve given away your room,” she says accusingly. “Why?” I ask. “You said you were coming at 4am and when you didn’t we rented it to someone else.” “4pm,” I say, my voice trailing off. “No,” she shakes her head gravely, “AM…and you didn’t come.” I try to imagine the man that came and took our room at 4:30am, his bandaged hands covered in blood. We leave the cool-marine lobby of the Hotel Paris, and step outside onto the streets of Gualeguaychú to find the old woman in the beige cardigan.