Argentina

Argentina

Our 5 hour bus ride from southern Chile into southern Argentina is uneventful. So is the view out the window. Patagonia gets flatter as we travel east into Argentina, we see mostly empty plains, and a few rheas, sheep and cows as the mountains and bluffs of Chile fade into the dry plains of Argentina.

We spend one night in Rio Gallegos, southern Argentina, so we can catch a morning flight to Buenos Aires. Rio Gallegos is just as described by Lonely Planet – not a tourist destination. It's a port city on an estuary, so we walk along the riverfront. On the other side of the river there's no development whatsoever. There is nothing to see except the tide rising.

Rust bucket on the river in Rio Gallegos, Patagonian Argentina

We watch the evening news about Alberto Nusman, the Argentinian prosecutor who was about to file a court case against the government alleging a cover up of Iran's involvement in the 1994 bombing of the Jewish Cultural Center in Buenos Aires that killed 84 people. Nusman's draft arrest warrant for President Cristina Kirchner was found in the trash bin outside his apartment, after he died in what appears to be a murder thinly disguised as suicide. He died of a pistol shot to the head, but had no gunpowder on his hands and left no note. Nusman's draft warrant alleged a cover up of Iran's role in the bombing in order to preserve a favorable deal to import Iranian oil. La Presidenta, Cristina Kirchner, says she knows nothing about this and pins the blame on the the Argentine security service, which she now says she will have to dissolve for this impropriety. Both the head of the security service and the journalist who first reported the suspicious nature of Nusman's “suicide” have fled Argentina.

Doug engages the young man at our hotel desk on the topic of money changing. Argentina's rate of inflation is galloping. The official exchange rate is 8 Argentine pesos for 1 US dollar, but Doug has read up on the “blue market”, the underground exchange rate. It is one of Argentina's least well kept secrets. The desk clerk tells us to wait til his “jefe” (boss) arrives, and she offers us 13 pesos per dollar.

Later, in Buenos Aires, walking along the pedestrian mall, we see at least 3 people per block calling out “Cambio, cambio”, meaning “ I change”, i.e. I'll change your money on the blue market. Doug says this is how they hedge against inflation, holding their savings in US dollars rather than rapidly devaluing Agentinian pesos. After debating the safety of this move, we talk to one of the cambio guys, who quickly agrees to give us the 13 peso rate. I think we will do this on the street, but no, he takes us into a building and up the elevator to the back room of a place that sells tickets for a tango show. I'm feeling nervous, but Doug says this looks better than standing on the street, and all goes well. We get more pesos.

We have airline tickets from Rio Gallegos to Buenos Aires at 9:20 a.m. tomorrow, but have no lodging in BA yet. This is cutting it close – where are we going when we get off the plane? I've been undecided whether we should stay in BA, cross the river and visit Montevideo (Uruguay's capital), or head directly north to see Iguazu Falls national park. So securing lodging for tomorrow is our priority for tonight. Here's the problem with us “playing it by ear”..... We had difficulty checking into our hotel in Rio Gallegos because their internet system was down. Now the desk clerk explains in Spanglish that there is a major problem with a big cable, and the whole city and surrounding area has no internet. How will we book a room for tomorrow? Finally, by 11:00 p.m., the internet is back up and we opt for 5 nights in a very reasonably priced small apartment with a balcony in BA. Airbnb offers us an “instant book” option, which searches only for places that accept your request automatically, a real blessing at this point. The apartment turns out to be very nice.

The view from our plane the next morning reinforces our decision to fly rather than take the bus from the far south to BA. Everything I can see from above is big and flat and brown. Even along the coast, the brown Patagonian plains drop into the Atlantic without a river or a town in view. Partially paved Argentine Highway 40 runs through here, popular with long-range truckers, intrepid motorcyclists with extra gas tanks, and Che Guevera 60 years ago, as described in his Motorcycle Diaries.

One of our many stops for refreshment at street cafes in Buenos Aires

Plaza San Martin, BA

BA, a mix of old and new

In BA

Buenos Aires is a lovely city. Large and busy, but with many trees and parks. Our first day is a Saturday and residents of the Big Apple are out jogging and bicycling. That must be how they stay slender, given that the average Argentine eats over 120 pounds of beef per year. We find, however, that like the Chileans, the Argentines eat supper crazy-late. Most of the restaurants close between 3:00 p.m. and 8:00 p.m. 8:00 in the evening is considered a very early dinner. How the heck can they go to sleep with a belly full of beef? The Chilean fish and fruits are more my style.We decide to be tourists and buy tickets for the Bus Turistico, a hop-on hop-off double-decker that covers the major parts of the city. The headphones are lousy, full of static, telling us to look right when the building is on the left, and generally off by a block anyway. But the view from the open upper deck is great. The bus goes past the presidential palace, from whose balcony Juan and Eva Peron addressed the masses in the plaza below (the narrative on the headphones doesn't mention this). After straining with the headphones a while longer we just take them off and ride around, getting off in a few places. We see the ancient cloisters at Our Lady of Pilar Basilica and peer into the Recoleta Cemetary where Evita and all of BA's biggest notables lie. Then we walk through a crafts fair (the “hippie mart”), and walk along the Florida Street pedestrian mall.

Next day we utilize our Bus Turistico tickets again, but never bother with the headphones, we just use the bus as a means to get from here to there. We visit the Casa Rosada (Pink House), equivalent to the American White House. The historic color may come from an old tradition of adding ox blood to paint, or it may be due a previous president quelling discord by mixing the colors of the red party and the white party. It depends on which source you read. From the balconies of the Casa Rosada, Juan and Eva Peron spoke to the masses in the Plaza de Mayo below. Unlike our White House, you can walk right in through minimal security. It's a beautiful building, with open courtyards and gardens in the center. There are lots of portraits of patriots who fought against Spain, even one native leader who fought against both the colonials and the independence patriots, but no portraits of Juan Peron.

Casa Rosada, the "Pink House", the presidential palace in BA

Next we visit the nearby Metropolitan Cathedral, in which Argentina's “George Washington”, Jose de San Martin, is entombed. It's also the cathedral from which Archbishop Jorge Mario Bergoglio said mass before he became Pope Francis. So within a few hours we've walked in the footsteps of Juan Peron and Pope Francis.

Doug helps guard the Pink House, Presidential Palace

In the BA Cathedral, former abode of Pope Francis

Interior Courtyard of the Presidential Palace

Outside the Casa Rosada is the Plaza de Mayo, where mothers still hold weekly protests seeking resolution for the thousands who perished during Argentina's “Dirty War”, the military dictatorship from 1974 to 1983. The right wing security forces and the military took advantage of an unstable government, took control, and persecuted anyone suspected of being left-wing, including thousands of union members, journalists and students. And yes, the US stood on the wrong side, with Henry Kissinger telling the dictatorship's foreign minister “We would like you to succeed.”

Veterans Protesting Lack of Benefits after the Falklands War

Socialist Party Poster, BA

Recent findings indicate that the military ensured that the bodies of their victims would not be found by loading their political prisoners into military planes and dumping them out over the Atlantic. In addition, abies born in the temporary concentration camps were taken from their mothers and adopted into families in league with the military. In the plaza we also see encampments of veterans protesting their lack of benefits after the Falkland War. It looks like they've been there a long time.

The military was finally forced from power after Argentina's loss to Britain in the 74-day Falkland Islands war, which Argentina started by invading the historically British Islands off Argentina's coast in hopes of building support for the Argentine government.

We walk on to the Plaza de San Martin. Like most of the other plazas, it's tree shaded and lovely and residents are taking advantage of it in the afternoon heat. In the plaza is a small dog park, where I watch a soccer-playing dog. He's a small white poodle-type dog. At first I wonder why his owner is kicking a ball that's too big for him to pick up. The owner kicks the ball, gives a command, the dog chases it and then dribbles it back, keeping it in front of him by dribbling with his front feet as he runs. He even heads it a few times, but doesn't get it up into the air. 

Fun Photos in BA

We decide to keep walking as dinner time approaches (ours, not Argentine dinner time). Near the zoo we finally see a parrilla (grill house) that is open before 8:00. We have a bottle of red wine, a nice salad, and a bife de chorizo, a nice sirloin steak. I'm not a big steak eater, but when in Rome.... It's delicious. Rejuvenated by the meal, we walk on and eventually reach our apartment. This is typical for us, we start walking and just keep going, a good way to keep exercising while traveling.

The next day we go on a marathon shoe buying expedition. My cheap tennis shoes from home are not going to last. We're shocked by the prices of walking shoes here. Most of the clerks agree that they're high priced, because brand name shoes are imported. We trudge and trudge, and I'm more and more wishing I was wearing new shoes. Finally, we hang our heads and go back to the first store we shopped in, hoping that the helpful young woman who spent so much time with us before we walked out has gone off duty so we won't be embarrassed to return. It seems she has; we don't see her, and another young woman starts to help us. Suddenly our original clerk re-appears. There is no unpleasantness between the clerks, they disappear together and we presume they're searching for my size. We wait. And wait. And wait. Doug thinks they're in the stockroom duking it out over who is going to get the commission. Finally our original clerk returns, all smiles (because she has a better right hook?), and I get my tennis shoes with bright pink laces. I happily wear them as we walk to dinner. We try a place near our apartment with “asado”, or mixed grill. It's a big pile of meat delivered to our table on a small grill with a base of smoldering charcoal. We've got some sausages, some pork, some chicken, and lots and lots of grilled rib cuts, which are not at all tender. We chew our way through most of it, washing it down with beer.

Grilling up the meat (asada) in BA

Adam will not arrive in BA for at least another week, so we decide to fly up to Parque Nacional Iguazu Falls. Doug is ambivalent, but I am a big fan of waterfalls, so he accomodates me. It's a 2 hour flight, and we lift off over the muddy brown estuary of the Rio del Plato on which BA sits. We head north, toward the equator, and when we arrive in Puerto Iguazu it's clear we've changed climate. BA was hot; Iguazu is tropical, with a good dose of humidity added into the heat. It's very green, a rainforest area, with epiphytes and vines hanging on the trees. We have a nice hotel, with a balcony and a big pool. After the first day we don't open the balcony doors, we need to keep the air conditioning going in the room.

Iguazu Falls

Iguazu, another view

Top of Iguazu Falls, the Devil's Throat

We spend our first afternoon with drinks by the pool, planning an early start the next day to see Iguazu Falls. We need to exchange more dollars for Argentine pesos; we brought cash from home in order to get the best rates. The conductor on the bus from the airport to our hotel had offered to change money for us, but we can not decipher the phone number he wrote for us. Doug asks the desk clerk to try to dial it, but the clerk has no better luck. He tells Doug not to worry, however. Everybody knows somebody who changes money, and our desk clerk is no exception. The clerk calls his friend, who arrives in a brand new city vehicle. Doug gets in, and I wait outside. It's a little un-nerving, as the car windows are darkly tinted and Doug could be getting mugged in there for all I can tell. But Doug emerges unscathed and smiling.

Next day we'd planned to get on the 7:30 a.m. city bus to Iguazu Falls, so we'd arrive in time for the 8:00 a.m. park opening. Judging by the crowd at breakfast, it seems most everyone else in our hotel has the same plan, though most of them are going by tour bus. When we see how many people are heading out, we opt for a taxi to beat the crowd. Our taxi driver is friendly and helpful, telling us when we arrive to get in the ticket line while he parks, then walking us through the process to buy our entry tickets in one place and our boat tickets in another. We take the little people-mover train and finally see Iguazu Falls. You can't really describe a big waterfall, so I'll just say it's much wider than Niagra, though Niagra carries a greater volume of water. The stats say Iguazu is 1.7 miles wide and 270 feet high and is the 6^th widest waterfall in the world. Here are yet more pictures of the waterfall.

Rainbow at Iguazu

Part the falls are in Argentina and parts are in Brazil. Two rivers, the San Antonio and the Iguazu, meet here, and we are actually at the triple border of Argentina, Brazil and Paraguay. We can stand at the river overlook in town and see all three countries. The falls were formed because an ancient lava flow ended, and the the hard basalt layer above the falls forms a ridge over which the water drops. It's high water season, and the flow is intense. You can see the mist of the falls from a great distance. Argentina has engineered a fantastic series of catwalks over the falls (not for the weak-hearted). I wish they'd also engineered a few more women's toilets..... you know how rushing water can make you feel.

At the border of three countries 

Argentina in foreground, Brasil to right, Paraguay in the distance

I'm glad that Doug suggested an early start. The Iguazu Falls are an international destination, and it seems much of the world is already here. It's hot and steamy, so when we board our 11:45 boat ride and are warned we'll get “totally wet” as it approaches the base of the falls, it sounds like a great idea. They give everyone big rubber bags to stow your gear, so we put cameras and our shoes in the bag. And yes, we get totally wet. It's fun, but there's so much spray you can barely see the falls. As we relax after the boat ride the snack area is over-run by packs of coatis. They look like racoons, but are longer and leaner, with a pointy snout and a long lemur-like tail that they hold up in the air. They are total pests because here in the park the wildlife is protected, and they know it. We enjoy sitting here at the snack area watching each new group of people shriek as a coati climbs up the back of someone's chair. Several coatis have a good hunt and run off with half of someone's sandwich.

Pesky Coati, Parque Nacional Iguazu 

Why do I love waterfalls? There are millions of molecules in each tiny speck of mist. ActPually, billions, trillions, quadrillions of molecules, but then you lose the alliteration. I am most fascinated by the lip of a waterfall, watching the water coming and dropping, coming and dropping, over and over. It's seems eternal. Maybe it's a metaphor for the human population; we keep coming and coming, and dropping away and dropping away.

Caiman, Parque Nacional Iguazu

For dinner, we walk into the “downtown” of Puerto Iguazu and decide to try Argentine beef again. We order sirloins, and our jaws drop when it's delivered to the table. This is mega-sirloin, it's at least 14 ounces per plate. After we stuff ourselves, we again hear the throbbing music we heard last night. A crowd is heading on past our hotel, so we follow them. It turns out to be one of Puerto Iguazu's carnaval nights. Carnaval here in Argentina seems to be scheduled differently in different places. This is a competition between 4 different groups. It's very late and a lot of people are lined up to get tickets, so we don't go in but enjoy the costumes and the practice performances here on the street for a little bit.

Mega-Sirloin, Argentina

The next morning we return to the park and again walk out on the kilometer-long catwalk to the Gagantua del Diablo, the Devil's Throat. This is the most dramatic part of the falls, where the basalt has dropped away into a deeply curved “throat” through which the water pours into a narrow channel below. Today the sun is brighter, and we can see the reddish tint of the tropical soil that the river carries. After absorbing this deluge, both psychicly and physically, we take a quiet float trip in a rubber raft. This boat trip starts above the falls, and I look at the map twice to reassure myself that there's no danger of our raftsman missing his landing. All goes well. Then we hike around, and make sure we miss none of the multiple views of the falls, from the catwalks on top, the trails up and down the side, and the misty paths along the base. The crowds and the heat build as the day goes on, so by 1:30 we're happy to call it a day. We take well-deserved naps on the bus back into town.

Catwalk at Iguazu Falls, not for the faint-hearted

We opt for the dinner buffet at our hotel. We were heading out the door to find a restaurant, but the maitre'd was trolling for customers and reeled us in with a discount. It has a great salad bar, the rest of it is just okay. We to try the river fish, which has a much stronger taste than I anticipated. At the park we learned that the species of fish above the falls are completely different from those below. The larger fish, the ones on the menu, are predators that live below the falls. The fish that live above the falls are smaller and nimbler – they have to be, it's a strong current and mistakes are fatal.

Cotton candy seller, BA. 

McDonald's, BA. In case you weren't getting enough cholesterol, they add an egg

Our last night in Puerto Iguazu we go out to a quiet, lovely restaurant overlooking the river. The next day we fly back to BA and rush to the Seacat office to buy tickets on the boat-bus across the estuary to Uruguay. We've been unable to buy tickets on-line and have already booked a small apartment for three nights in Montevideo. We wait a long time in the boat-bus office as others buy tickets, but are finally successful. We spend one night at a small hotel near the dock and have beer and sandwiches to the Bar Baro, which has been given historic status for its role in the 60s alternative art scene in BA. 

Uruguayan Jaunt

Next day we're on the boat-bus for a one hour crossing to Colonia, the closest Uruguan city to BA. The seating in the boat-bus is arranged like a very wide airliner. In Colonia we board the bus for the 2 hour ride to Montevideo. After we leave the palms on the outskirts of Colonia, the Uruguan landscape looks remarkably like Wisconsin, with rolling fields of soybeans separated by woodlands. We don't see farmsteads, however, where do the owners and workers live?

We check into our apartment in Montevideo and go out for dinner. Our waiter is interesting, he's a bit younger than us, has lived in Australia, and is looking forward to leaving South America to live with his Australian girlfriend. He acknowledges that the economy is better here than in Argentina, and that there is less corruption, but he still gives his native country a “Phaugh” when we wonder why he wants to leave. I see Montevideo only as a traveler sees it, and I like it. It's considerably smaller than BA, and though it is statistically more prosperous, it's a bit run-down - sidewalks are crumbling, buildings are aging. Uruguay is a liberal country, with strong gay-rights and a new law legalizing marijuana for residents. Doug notices that unlike BA and much of the world, women here are not wearing a lot of leggings. They're in pants, shorts, skirts, long dresses, short dresses. He also notices that few people are plugged into headphones. They're an independent lot, these Uruguans, but seem just as friendly and helpful as the Argentines and Chileans.

Montevideo, Uruguay, skyscraper from the 1920s

Indigenous Arts Museum, Montevideo

In the Carnaval Museum, Montevideo

Next day we walk around the city, out onto the crumbling breakwater, and into several museos: Torres Garcia (artist), the Museo Carnaval (small), Pre-Colombian and Indigenous (mostly contemporary indigenous), and the Museo of the Andes.

The Museo of the Andes is based on the survival of 16 Uruguan rugby players whose plane crashed in the Andes in 1972. I read their story “Alive” when I was in college and am still intrigued by it. Their plane was off-course in bad weather and both wings were torn off the plane as it passed between two peaks. Quite a few died in the crash, more were killed four days later when an avalanche hit the survivors holed up in the fuselage, and others died of their injuries later. A total of 29 eventually perished. The survivors were at 12,000 feet elevation, with no warm clothes and no food. The 16 survived for 72 days, having to resort to eating the flesh of those who did not survive. I remember from the book their difficult discussions about making this decision to survive. After they learned by transistor radio that the search had been called off, they constructed a double sleeping-bag of airplane insulation and two of them undertook a 10-day hike to find help. They made hats and gloves of seat cushions, and fashioned home-made sunglasses. They hiked up the nearest peak and saw nothing but snow and mountains. All they knew was that Chile lay to the west, so they went that way and eventually saw a cattle drover across a river. He threw them a pen in a piece of paper wrapped around a stone, and they wrote a note saying who they were and threw it back. They couldn't hear what the drover said, but they thought they heard “Wait.” The drover rode his horse for a full day to reach a police station, and the rest of the survivors were rescued. The man at the museum's ticket desk is quite passionate about their story, making sure to tell us in his limited English how successful the survivors have been in the rest of their lives. If you survive something like that, you would want to make the rest of your life meaningful.

Next day we walk along the Rambla, the seaside road and walkway that extends toward the beaches beyond Montevideo. It's a hot and windy day, as we pass the city beach sand blows up and sticks to my sunscreened neck and cheeks. We need something to drink, so approach a building along the coast that appears to be a restaurant. Doug has doubts – there is a fence and a gate, but the gate is not locked or even latched. He suggests that this is a private facility, but I'm thirsty and press on. Inside is a bar and a grill, and the people seem friendly to each other, and to us. I go to the bar and order a large coke for us to share, and we sit and drink and relax. Doug still thinks we are intruding, and as I look around I see a sign outside that says “Exclusivo socios”. I'm pretty sure this means members only. The remarkable thing is that no one has raised an eyebrow or given us a crooked look. Maybe tourists wander in here periodically, or maybe they're just very polite people. And the coke really tastes really good.

We go on to the art museum that was our original destination. It's large and cool and we spend some time enjoying the mostly contemporary work. Doug immediately recognizes a large panel by Torres Garcia, of yesterday's art museum. Upstairs theirs a large body of work by Saez, who died abruptly at the age of 22.

Art by Torres Garcia

We return to the apartment and are surprised by a sudden wind and rainstorm, that thankfully waits until we are inside. We've been incredibly unmarked by rain in our travels, so this is overdue. In the morning we reverse our course back to Buenos Aires via the Buquebus.

We check into our next airbnb apartment, in the Tango District. Carlos Gardel, the tango king lived and worked near here. His photo is everywhere. There are lots of theaters and tango shows. Tango is in the midst of a big revival in the last decade. Since we're staying a week, we're disappointed to find that our apartment is on the first floor, and lacks any view. But our hosts, Gabriela and Mathias, greet us warmly and spend time explaining the area to us, and showing us how to use the city bus guide.

Lip-syncing in the Tango District

Carlos Gardel, the Tango King

Next day we finally catch up with our son Adam. He rings the buzzer and - here he finally is. We go out for dinner and beers and catch up on life. He's at liberty this year, traveling and working on his small business, Snack, a skateboarding biz. Adam says Argentina is a hard place to get his skateboard products on the market – import regulations are tough. He's operating on San Francisco time, staying up late and sleeping in the morning. This puts him on the right schedule to mix with his Argentine friends. Adam's girlfriend Joana will join him in a few days, and they plan to spend a few weeks in Buenos Aires before returning to San Francisco. Adam says he's enjoying this year enough that he doesn't think he'll return to teaching next year either. But he is still teaching as a substitute in the San Francisco school district when he is at home.

Next day we walk down the pedestrian mall again and change money. We stop outside a cafe for something to drink, and Doug leaves a tip on the table. As we get up, we see one of the many people who walk around handing out small printed prayer cards. This one is for Saint Expedito, who seems to be someone to help you out with urgent and just causes. Doug glances back just in time to see the St. Expidito guy stealing our tip off the table. Later, we look up the word for thief (ladron), so if it happens again we can yell at the thief.

Adam arrives in BA

We go on to the San Telmo neighborhood, a historic area with old buildings and cobblestone streets. It's know for it's antiques. We stop in San Telmo Plaza for a soda, and are entertained by the young couples tangoing for tips. They haul in their music systems and their roll-up dance floors. Along the way, we notice the street work in Buenos Aires – almost all of the digging is being done by hand. There are holes and small piles of soil along many of the streets. This may be a sign of the tough state of the Argentine economy – the poverty rate is close to 40% here in Argentina.

Tango for Tips,  San Telmo Plaza, BA

Another couple tangoing for tips

We go to the train station to check on tickets for tomorrow – we've decided to visit the Tigre Delta on the north side of Buenos Aires. We've been walking a lot today, so we decide to buy subway cards. We successfully negotiate this in Spanish, only to find that the subway is closed for two days – they're installing air conditioning, which apparently is long overdue. Fortunately, the subway cards also work on city buses, so we take a chance on a bus that seems to be running up the right street and make our way to the apartment. The bus system is complicated (the schedule is published in a small book), but is very cheap. Each bus line is privately operated by a different bus company; the city must put this out for bids periodically. Or, if tales we hear are true, the city puts it out for corrupt deals. Adam says his Argentine friends expect almost nothing from the government except corruption.

We sit down for dinner at a cafe with a street side window, and watch the street being blocked off and masses of people arriving. Little did we know, it's Carnaval Avenida Corrientes, the local carnaval for this street. After dinner we watch the carnaval for a while, and the kids having a great time spraying each other with some type of canned soapy foam. As we walk home, we see a bar with a band outside, and a big crowd dancing in the street. It's a two-day banking holiday, and everyone is out to enjoy it.

Carnaval Avenida Corrientes, BA

Dressed for Carnaval

Dressed for Carnaval

Next day we take the local train to the Tigre Delta. The train is cheap, cool and very smooth. The public transportation here is a real deal. The Tigre Delta lies on the northern fringe of Buenos Aires. It's an hour by train. The delta is the mouth of the Rio de la Plata, which forms the boundary between Agentina and Uruguay. It also forms the wide, brown estuary between the two countries. The Tigre Delta is a watery maze of channels and a popular weekend destination for residents of BA. It's the last day of the banking holiday, and we normally wouldn't have chosen such a busy day, but didn't realize just how popular it would be. It turns out to be fun watching the families enjoying themselves. The channels aren't very deep, and the water is warm, so lots of people are swimming. A local guide sees us wondering what to do after we get off the train and explains that everything in the delta moves by water. The “buses” and “trucks” are taxi-boats and barges that run up and down the chanels. Many city people have vacation homes here, and get around by boat. The guide says lots of kids kayak to school. We take the taxi-boat to a small “town” and walk around a bit. It's very hot and not much breeze. When we're ready to get back on the taxi-boat, we wait an hour for it to show up. Families are getting ready to go back to the city, and the boats are really full. Our expert pilot bucks the current to back into many resort docks to pick up passengers and their hand luggage. It's so busy that people on the docks are yelling at the taxi-boat drivers to stop for them, but many of the boats are already full. We're glad we didn't wait any longer to return. We have dinner and beer back in the city at an outdoor cafe (most cafes have outdoor seating) ovelooking the National Congress (apparently the seat of corruption), and call it a night.

The bus, Tigre Delta

Side street, Tigre Delta

Enjoying the Delta

We've had two power outages at our airbnb apartment. One started in the morning, but since we were out most of the day it didn't bother us much. However, we're now into hour 22 of what turns out to be a 24-hour power outage. The phone in the apartment goes dead, as does the router, so we have no internet anymore. Fortunately, Doug has brought a little portable power cube, so we are able to charge our Kindles and read. We have gas hot water, so we can shower, and a gas stove, so we can make coffee. We're in a ground floor apartment, and get some natural light during the day, but not a lot. We stop at an internet shop so we an email Adam, and also our hosts. Later, our hosts are very apologetic, and give us one day's free lodging. This is generous of them – the power in the city often fails in the summer time, this is nothing our hosts can do anything about.

The next night Adam's girlfriend Jo (Joana) has finally arrived. Her standby flight status made her a day late and provided a free visit to Brazil, at least to the Sao Paulo airport. We have dinner with them at a Peruvian restaurant, where we order seafood for the table. It's great – I'm thinking Peru is going to be a good place to visit.

Joana & Adam, in BA for the month

Our last morning in Buenos Aires I want to mail a postcard. This entails an internet search for the post office, asking several people where the post office really is, and speaking with three different postal clerks when we finally arrive. The stamp costs 29 pesos. In order to provide just the right amount of postage, the postal clerk spends a great deal of time finding the right stamps. This turns out to be exactly 10 full size stamps. Yes, for one post card. Fortunately, the clerk knows just how to put them on, with glue from a bottle, and overlapping them appropriately so the important part of the stamp is exposed. Doug says it will be a miracle if this postcard ever reaches Wisconsin. After an hour-long taxi ride to the international airport, and a 5-hour flight to Lima, we are in Peru.