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Holiday Horn – the men of Argentina

2011 March 14
by Zoe Strimpel
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Nicolas, an Argentine-French man, at the LMVH-owned Chaval des Andes private estate and play-house in Mendoza.

Just back from a trip to Argentina: Buenos Aires and Mendoza, where I toured wineries and vineyards. It was great. BA is the best city ever – Tel Aviv meets New York meets Paris. Roaring nightlife – every bar and shop and restaurant and occasion for haute-design and a see-and-be-seen vibe.

In BA, it started to be clear that we (the female Brits) were of a vastly and seemingly unjustly different genetic makeup. Are we even a different species? Quite possibly, if the Giselle lookalikes roaming the streets with their micro skirts and hotpants that actually looked great due to the 40 metre length of their smooth, tan legs and the tautness of their curvaceous yet washboard torsos, were anything to go by.

But it was when we arrived in wine country, near Mendoza, an eastern province, that the true purpose of the trip (apart from falling in love with Malbec and eating steak and swimming in pools under pristine blue skies on the edge of acres of vineyards), was the photographic realisation of something we all experience from time to time when we go to countries with an attractive populace: Holiday Horn.

And so I set about trying manically and often embarrassingly to capture the hotties that seemed to capture the ridiculously high-calibre Argentine look – that blend of Western European emigrant and, occasionally, theĀ  indigenous folk who are gorgeous but were largely exterminated by the Spanish. Sorry lads, this one’s for the ladies – after all, it’s Holiday Horn. I will say, as I’ve said before, that if you’re a guy and you’re in Argentina, expect a pretty violent jab of the HH yourself.

The irony of all this perving, of course, is that I’m no Giselle. I fare well in Europe, but in Argentina, me and the girls noticed with amusement and a bit of disappointment that we didn’t merit any looks whatsoever. Being perved on can be tiresome, but no perving at all is a bit of a hit to the holidaying female’s ego. So, look on for some of the fitties I encountered with forced restraint. Feel free to state your favourites.

A polo player after the match, also at Cheval des Andes (by now my eyes are straining). We're not in England, that is clear. Man-wise.

A man in charge of pouring us champagne while watching the private polo. Just the way I like my men - and how well it suits him.

A barman at Frank's Bar in Buenos Aires. Yes, he really DID look like that.

Two cuties at the Gaucho (as in steak chain) estancia. The one on the left produced the most delicious empanadas.

Oooh! Need sunglasses for this one. A gaucho with polo ponies.

Epitome of and inspiration for Holiday Horn. A polo player, rugby NATIONAL player and property moneyman. Needless to say us girls had trouble keeping a straight face around him. Especially while he undressed.

The silkiest-haired winemaker I encountered in Mendoza.

Barman at BA's hottest restaurant, Sucre. Responsible for a few of the best cocktails I had.

One Response leave one →
  1. April 8, 2011

    The gauchos are brilliant players.

    Probably the best in the world.

    Which is why I hate it when they roll around on the floor, feigning injury

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