Not, as some might suspect, a spelling mistake... The fogon is the firepit, or in this case, the fire around which Argentines hang, drape or dangle large sides of beef, entire lamb carcasses or, as here, many many sausages.

The folklore festival provided an open air show the other night, and we just had time to see a few acts, smell the chorizo, and chat before the heavens opened and we ran back to the hostel. The next night we went to where the dancing was on, in a big sports hall, a couple of thousand spectators. "we´ll be on around eleven," the group from our hostel said. We turned up and watched seven different groups (four boys to a group, all between 15 and 18) dancing norteño style. A cross between Irish foot flapping and butch clog dancing, performed barefoot, with the guys dressed in smart jacket waistcoat and tie up top (and a hat), and thin white pyjama trousers with a blanket like an oversized nappy on top of that... honestly.

We left after a couple of hours, oo much smoke and heat. When we got up the next morning we asked one of the adults at the hostel how it had gone, "Oh they´re still there, I had to come home with the little ones at one." This was at 9:30am, the competition had finished a while back but the dancing carried on until 11am.

That kind of stamina is genetic, and fulled by litres of coke. Just hearing about it made me tired.
  ¶ 8:12 PM