Last weekend, I was lucky enough to go to Resistance, the Buenos Aires edition of Ultra music festival. Electronic nights and particularly festivals are rare here compared to in Europe, due both to less interest – Latin genres such as reggaetón, funk, and cumbia being generally far more popular – and a crackdown following 6 deaths at a festival in 2016. With a couple of the biggest names on the international techno scene in attendance, this was one night for all of Buenos Aires’ hardcore techno fans to come out, and it was fantastic. Read on for a breakdown of my thoughts (which steadily decline
8.38 pm – Arrive at friend’s house for pre-drinks. We’re all positively squeaking with excitement at the night of
9.45 pm – BETRAYAL. My Argentinian coworker, who originally invited me to the festival after we bonded in my second week over old Carl Cox sets on YouTube, has by now had her tongue loosened with beer and is spilling frankly FASCINATING scraps of gossip from Head Office. Who knew the beautiful accountant in the office next door and the permanently slightly sad-looking owner of the company
10.23 pm – Someone remembers to take a few photos while we’re still somewhere with good lighting. They’re bomb, obviously.
10.49 pm – We pile into a taxi, and I feel disproportionately smug at having finally sorted out mobile data for my phone (only took two months – it was a hassle and a half). No more worrying about how to get home, and even more importantly, envy-inspiring Instagram stories are back on the agenda, hurray!
11.16 pm – That is a long queue. That is a LONG long queue.
11.17 pm – Restrain myself from patting the sniffer dogs.
11.19 pm – Fortunately, queue etiquette here differs vastly to the UK. An elaborate plan to skip it that took the entire taxi ride to perfect is rendered unnecessary as no one seems to notice, much less
11.20 pm – Spend a couple of minutes convincing security that a UK provisional driving
11.23 pm – We’re in! It’s still an hour and a half until the first headliner, Nicole Moudaber, but already the music sounds like what I’d expect of about 4 am on a Sunday in a graffitied bunker in Hamburg. Very promising.
11.41 pm – Fight our way through the masses to the bar. Nowhere I’ve been out so far in Argentina has an efficient bar system, and here is no different – it involves queueing to pay, being given a ticket, then queueing AGAIN for a drink. Why???
12.22 am – Try to take planned videos on Instagram, and of course, there’s no signal. Earlier smugness evaporates rapidly.
12.36 am – Attempt to make our way to the loos. This is complicated by the fact that it’s somehow socially acceptable to pile up backpacks and boxes of water bottles to trip up bystanders (again, why???). People bang on the doors of the (surprisingly clean) portaloos to let people know when they’ve taken too long, and we’re reassured that some things are the same the world over.
1.13 am – Moudaber is on, and she’s incredible. Dancing is becoming less and less restrained, even as the venue reaches capacity and breathing room becomes a scarce resource. No one minds, though.
1.47 am – LOSS. Run into a friend and he dances with us for a while.
2.24 am – Chatting with a group of people we meet, and I’m pulling out the fanciest sentence structures I can remember, in a departure from what normally occupies my headspace at techno parties. Someone mentions they thought I was from Argentina! Clearly, a hefty level of background noise only improves my accent.
3.17 am – I finally get signal, coinciding with the set of one of my favourite DJs, Adam Beyer. Time for an Instagram video #uns-uns
5.00 am – The last few hours have been a blur. My face aches from smiling for so long. We traipse across to the exit, across what can only be described as a sea of plastic. So much that I can’t even see the ground. It’s totally
5.12 am – Fall into a taxi, and it’s the comfiest seat I’ve ever sat in. I’m surprised and delighted that I still have everything I came with (minus a marble or two) and my shoes are mercifully free of mud. Wins all
