Move 'Em Out, Rawhide!

Day 6

We went back to the cafe where the day before my camera had gone missing. Despite the fact that I had diligently practiced, "Did you find a camera yesterday?" in Spanish until it was phoenetically perfect, they did not produce the item in question.

We had been warned about theft in Argentina. I actually felt fortunate that only my camera, not my cash, credit card, or apartment keys were taken. Of course, all the latter items were in my Travelon bag which I always kept strapped across my body under my breasts, usually under my coat. To reach that bag, you pretty much had to sexually assault me. Taylor was not a fan of this bag. He claimed it was only one step up from a fanny pack, the epitome of nerdy travelers and I might as well wear sandals with socks while I was at it. However, the only item stolen was the item NOT in the bag, so it was a tradeoff I accepted.

Today was Sunday when the famous San Telmo market is held. I was a little unsure exactly where the market was in San Telmo, but I could hardly have missed it. It went on for blocks. They closed the street to vehicles to make room for the tables, blankets and hordes of tourists.

The San Telmo market was tough for me because I kept falling in love with all the wrong stuff. Some women fall for unsuitable men, I fall for unsuitable accessories. First up, was a beautiful scultped leather handbag. It was expensive for Buenos Aires, more than US$120. But the elaborate patterns made it a piece of art. However, it was a piece of art shaped like a binnocular case. Every time I carried it, I'm sure somone would wonder why I had brought my binoculars. If I'd actually owned a large set of binnoculars, I'd have bought it in an instant. But it didn't really work as a handbag. So I reluctantly moved on.

Tay bought a teeshirt for a friend and was triumphant at finally getting a vendor down in price. (Tay saved a whole 25 cents.) Other shopping for Taylor included looking for a painting. While there was a slightly bigger selection of art here than at the handicrafts market yesterday, it was equally bad in quality.

Most tourists come to Argentina to eat the cows. I, apparently, want to bring them home as accessories. My first big finds at this market were cowhide pillow covers. These were US$19 and I bought one in brown and white for me and one in black and white as a gift. As soon as I paid for them, I knew I was going to be keeping them both!

I also bought a wide leather and silver bracelet. It was too big for my wrist, so the vendor cut off the leather and reattached the clasp while I waited.

Later, I saw a gorgeous black and white cowhide valice. I really, really wanted it. But I remembered the Lesson of the Disco Bag. In China, I bought this cute bag that would be perfect for taking out to clubs. Unfortunately, I conveniently forgot that I never went to clubs. Five years later, I donated the still unused disco bag to Goodwill. Hoping to avoid buying stuff for a lifestyle I didn't actually have, I tried to envision where I would be taking this cowhide valice. I visualized carrying it on a plane. But instead of my face, it was Paris Hilton holding the cowhide bag. Worse, there was a chihuahua with a rhinestone collar peaking his head out from the top of it. I oh-so reluctantly walked away.

I later satisfied this irrational attraction for more cowhide by buying a 4' x 6' cowhide rug. Initially, I had no intention of buying it. I was just admiring it. The vendor could tell this, so she knocked the price down. (I often get the BEST prices on stuff I have no intention of buying.) The rug passed my visualization test. I could see it on the back of my sofa or on the wall in my study. So I bought it with my remaining stash of U.S. dollars. Taylor volunteered to carry "Bessie," his name for my rug, for me as we went back to the apartment.

That night we had dinner reservations at La Cabreza. La Cabreza is so popular that we were only able to get an 8:30 reservation, which now for us was like eating at 5 p.m. The restaurant was within walking distance. But when we arrived, there was line at the door. I gave them my reservation number, and they directed me to their sister restaurant down the street. There we were immediately seated in a very busy, cozy dining room in one section of an older building. The place looked like an upscale, muted "TGI Fridays" with ecletic items scattered on the walls.

We started with a wonderful grilled provolone apetizer, covered with arugula and sundried tomatoes and a bottle of Malbec. We decided to split the most expensive steak on the menu, a Kobe beef fillet. I was willing to bet that our steak hadn't spent any time in Japan, but after one bite, I didn't care about its provenance. It was the best piece of meat I'd ever eaten. Moist, flavorful, tender--angels sang whenever I took a bite.

The steak was served with about 12 different sides. These were one-third cup portions of creamed spinach, applesauce, wasabi mashed potatoes, creamed pumpkin and a bunch of cold dishes we didn't touch. We had also ordered some very good french fries, which arrived in a serving size suitable for at least three tables. But what Tay and I really wanted was more of that lovely steak. However, splitting the steak turned out to be a good move. We left feeling perfectly full, but not overly stuffed. We would not have been able to resist gourging ourselves into a beef-induced coma if we'd had more of it in front of us.

The total bill, which included wine, tip, appetizer, french fries, sides, was $75. I vowed to stop buying the hides and focus more on the meat for the rest of my trip.

Handicraft Heaven

Day 5

While we had loved the food, the neighborhoods and the sites of Buenos Aires, we had so far sound it lacking in one important travel destination category: shopping. So today, we headed back to Recoleta--this time to the rumoured Recoleta crafts market. I had only found one reference to this weekend market so I'd hope it was still there. Such is my love for handicraft markets, that I was willing to take the chance.

I was disappointed to see that the open area the guidebook indicated for the market was empty. But I saw about 200 tables set up in the park across the street. The first table that caught our eye was filled with small wooden and leather boxes, topped with metal and painted enameld tops in beautiful tribal patterns. We decided the survey the market before buying anything, so we continued on. Taylor spotted silver lightening bolt style earring for me but I didn't reach for my wallet until we hit the table with glass blown earrings. I splurged on three pairs which totaled US$7.50.

I was a bit surprised that vendors here refused to negotiate. I'm not sure if it was because the prices were so low already or if it was because the market seemed to be teeming with Americans, most of whom seem to lack the all-important negotiating gene.

There was a great selection of handicrafts, from pencil holders made of old subway tickets to handknitted scarves. They had some very nice hand-painted coasters made from recycled paper. But paper didn't seem like a durable material for a coaster, so I relunctantly passed on them. Taylor bought a bunch of the thin woven bracelets he likes. They have a short shelf-life so it's good that they are inexpensive and readily available most every exotic place we go, like Peru and Arizona. (Yes, Arizona is very exotic--if you've never been there.)

I had promised Taylor that I would buy him a painting for his 21st birthday, and we eagerly headed over to the section where the meager selection of painting were hung. There we found a collection of really cheesy tango paintings. Would we ever escape the nightmare of the Tango here?

We had better luck with mate cups. These are the traditional cups for drinking mate tea. They are carved out of a gourd and used with a silver straw. These are popular with tourists, and Taylor saw several tables of them. After looking at them all, we went back to the table which Taylor declared had the best quality. From there, Taylor and I narrowed it down to three mate cups in Tay's preferred color and size. We spent the next 15 minutes examining them, turning them in sequences looking for the best gourd symetry on all sides. (This is why I love shopping with Taylor. I'll spend 30 minutes helping him pick out gourds and he'll spend 30 minutes helping me choose earrings.) The vendor was not too thrilled with our slow, careful perusals of three mate gourds, but he perked right up when we eventually picked a winner and Taylor handed him the cash.

We circled back around and I bought the lightening bolt earrings and some tiny ceramic bowls about big enough for one serving of catsup. (After all, you never know when you might need a one-serving size bowl of catstup.) We ended up where we'd started at the market--the wooden box place. We spent about 15 minutes here before I gave up trying to decide what exact size I wanted and just went with the two smaller boxes I thought had were prettiest. Taylor bought a smaller one, as well, for the hammered copper earrings he'd bought earlier for Brittany.

Having exhausted all the possibilities at that market, we stopped at a cafe. Taylor ordered a chicken empanada. (Fun facts: Chicken in Spanish is pollo, which is pronounced poi-yo in Mexico. In Argentina, it's pronounced po-show.) Whatever you called it, it was delicious.

That night we took the Subte across town and walked through the narrow cobblestone streets of San Telmo. San Telmo used to be THE upscale neighborhood before Yellow Fever hit and all the rich folks hightailed it to Recoleta and Bario Norte. We ate at Amiche, an lovely Italian restaurant restaurant off a historic square. Despite the fact it was 10 p.m and the restaurant was nearly empty restaurant, the restaurant staff wanted to know if we had a reservation. We didn't but they managed to squeeze us in to one of the 30 empty tables available anyway.

Based on the food, the place should have been packed. The bread and accompaniments, our arugula salad, and my pumpkin ravioli were all terrific. Tay's pasta was just a bit underdone, but we forgave them in light of an otherwise flawless dining experience.

After dinner, we spotted a taxi that was letting out another passenger. The departing passenger had on an elaborate headdress and outfit and shoes that were so outrageous they might have been designed by Alexander McQueen--that is, if Alexander McQueen had bad taste. The taxi driver informed us that the departing passenger was the star of a local drag show. Having had our brush with a celebrity, we called it a night.

We See Dead People Places.

Day 4

Once again we started the day at a cafe where I had medialunas (crescents) and Taylor ordered jamon y queso tostido (ham and cheese sandwich). Jamon y queso tostido would be Taylor's go-to dish in Argentina. While he spoke no Spanish, by the end of our trip, he could rattle off, "Y jamon y queso tostito" like a native. After breakfast, we caught a taxi to the famous Recoletta Cemetary.

Recoletta Cemetary is where many prominient Argentines are laid to rest. Most tourists make a beeline to Evita's mausoleum and leave, but as we kind of like creepy, historic places we stayed for a few hours. We bought a map at the door and followed the route outlined.

It took us past rows of masoleums, resembling streets of granite or marble townhouses. Many mausoleums had elaborate statutes, stained glass, domes and grill work. Taylor thought they resembled little churches. He wondered about the locks and chains on all of them. Was the purpose to keep someone out or keep someone in? (I told you we liked creepy.) We did see a lovely marble monument to a girl who was buried alive. The story goes, she awoke from some kind of coma and died inside the tomb, where you can see the marks she made trying to claw her way out. Evita's mausoleum was not so memorable. It was so indistintive we had to be led to it by a friendly American tourist who told us she couldn't fnd it at first either.

After the cemetary, we headed out to find "El Cuarito." This sounds like a mythical hidden city, but it is actually a pizza place. But not just any pizza place: When Anthony Bourdain eats pizza in Buenos Aires, this is where he comes. To get there, we had a 45 minute walk, mostly though the charming, upscale Recoletta neighborhood. I had read that when you ask taxi drivers to take you to a hotel in Recoletta, they assume you are a rich, and naive, visitor. We, of course, were in the cool, if less upscale, neighborhood of Palermo Viejo so taxi drivers had no such illusions about us!

After exploring the cemetary for hours, coupled with the long trek though Recoletta, arriving at El Cuarito actually seemed like arriving at a Lost City. While Bourdain wasn't there, the rest of Buenos Aires seemed to be. The place was packed with locals, both for take-out and dine-in. Taylor pushed through the crowd and found us an empty table in the back although it hadn't been cleared. Within 10 minutes, the waiter cleared the table and handed us menus.

El Cuarito had been around awhile, 75 years, and they retained the same payment policy of cash only. (To be fair, only touristy restaurants here took credit cards). It was the best pizza we'd eat in Argentina. Plus they had Pepsi Light, the only time I found a diet soda on a menu.

We had another long walk past the cemetary again to get to the National Museum of Fine Arts. Unfortunately, we were much more impressed with the pizza place than the musuem. The museum had one Jackson Pollack we admired but that was about it as it seemed to offer a lot of mediocre works by famous artists. You know, even Monet has a bad day, and everything he paints doesn't necessarily deserves a place of honor in a museum.

We took a taxi back to the apartment and rested before dinner. That night we had pre-paid reservations (through Paypal) for a "hidden door restaurant." This is where chefs open their homes to a small number of paying guests once or twice a week. Our dinner was five courses, paired with wines. There were 14 of us, enough for two tables. One table contained a group of scientists and academics here in Buenos Aires for some kind of water conference. The other had part-time MBA students here from Berkeley. I manuevered us to the Berkeley table (and not just for Taylor's sake).

I was excited about the adventuresome menu, which in keeping with the chef's theme for the evening, was Asian-inspired South American food. For example, we had a miso soup sauced cerviche for one course. But the inspiration was much better than the execution; the food just tasted okay. It still turned out to be one of our favorite evenings in Buenos Aires because Tay and I had a great time with the MBAs who were bright, funny and friendly.

At the end of the evening, the hosts called taxis for everyone else, but Tay and I had opted to walked a couple of blocks to the Subte. When we got there, we were surprised that at 12:30 a.m. on a weekend, it had already closed. This is not a place where they roll up the sidewalks at midnight. Serious clubbing doesn't start until 2 a.m. So why does the Supte think its in Oklahoma?

We were able to find a taxi on the street and made it home where there was a loud party in progress on the rooftop patio directly above us. I was so tired, I went right to sleep, anyway.

Between Heaven and Hell

Day 3:

I didn't have trouble adjusting to the service in Buenos Aires cafes and restaurants. The trick is focusing on the fact that a leisurely dining experience is the primary goal. If you want to grab a quick bite don't eat out in Argentina. Allow the waiter at least ten minutes before he saunters by with a menu. Take your time perusing it, because it may be another ten minutes plus, before he comes back to see what you've decided. However, once you've ordered, the food comes just as quickly as if you'd been transported to a TGI Fridays. The check, of course, never comes until you've requested it. You wouldn't want to feel rushed, now would you?

Tay and I ordered the cafe con leche with medialunas special. For $16 pesos (US $4), we received coffee with milk, three sugary crescents, a shot glass of sparkling mineral water and a small glass of fresh squeezed orange juice.

Like typical portenos, Tay and I got a late start on our day. After our leisurely cafe breakfast, I was surprised to find it was already 1 p.m. Argentina is four hours behind Arizona. I ended up following Arizona time in Argentina for meals, and fit in perfectly here.

We then headed out to the leather warehouse district. This necessitated traversing via subway. The subway, called the Subte, was very similar to the metro in Moscow. This made it very easy for me to use. Actually, a lot of Buenos Aires reminded me of Moscow. The beat-up apartment buildings near the airport and the gracious early 1900s architecture were very reminiscent of Moscow. Even the bland but hardy food brought Moscow to mind.

I bought two 10-ride tickets at the subway ticket office. I did not have the exact amount so the person in line behind me had to pay me instead of the ticket agent, so I could get my change. Argentina is one of those countries where they never have change. In the U.S., you'd go through the same experience if you tried to pay for a $7.50 tab with a $100 bill. Only here, even giving someone a 100 peso note ($25 U.S.) to cover a 30 peso bill ($7.50 U.S.) is problematic. I quickly learned to hoard my change.

I fed my ticket through the turnstyle, boarded the train and navigated through a change of lines, feeling like SUCH an experienced old-hand. Finally, we arrived at our station and walked up to street level. But the "old hand" had forgotten her compass and I had no idea which way we needed to go. Luckily, Taylor had his cell phone with GPS and pointed us in the right direction.

While it was interesting to walk through the Villa Crespo neighborhood, the "warehouse" stores were a bust. In the first place, most of the warehouse stores were actually tiny boutiques. While they did have leather jackets for about US$50, they LOOKED like $50 leather jackets. Taylor fell in love with a lovely leather sectional sofa, but it wasn't going to exactly fit in our suitcase.

We gave up on leather and head over to Ave. de Mayo, a beautiful street modeled after the Champs Elysees. Our goal was the Palacio Barolo. Even though it is the tallest building in Argentina, Tay and I still managed to walk past it three times. We signed up for a tour of the building, which was offered only two days a week. We had 40 minutes before the tour, so we walked across the street to a pizza place that also offered take-out service.

I had a lot of problems here as you had to order and pay at one place, get your pizza slices at another place and pick up your drink at another place. Like most Argentine restaurants, this place was busy, and clueless tourists clogging up the system were not appreciated. We finally got the pizza and bottled water and left. I vowed not to return, but I forgave them for everything after one bite. That pizza was really good. It had a light, thick crust and a TON of great cheese. To apparently save room for all that cheese, the pizza had only a nodding acquaintance with any sauce.

Fortified by the pizza, we were ready for the tour. Tay and I were the only English-speakers in the group. The guide deftly switched back and the forth between Spanish and English as he led us around. The Palacio Barola's owner was a big Dante fan. He decided that as WWI was likely to destroy civilized life in Europe, Dante's ashes needed a new resting point. He figured his new office building was the answer. So he had it built designed on Dante's triology. Dante's ashes never made it to South America, but the building remains. The bottom floors were hell, the middle floors were purgatory and the top floors were heaven. The decorations, the number of floors, etc. all had tie-ins.

But even discounting all the Dante tie-ins, this building was worth the trip, simply for the panoramic views of Buenos Aires. Getting to see them however, was a bit of a challenge. From the top floor of "heaven," we had to climb six flights of very narrow winding stairs. They were so narrow that Taylor barely fit. Anyone bigger, would have to turn sideways. The stairs opened to circle walkway, with about eight balconies jutting off. Each balcony only held one person. I stayed long enough to get some pictures of the breathtaking views. Then we continued up about three more flights.

We emerged at the very top of the building in a glass room containing a large signal light. It was like being in a hurricane lantern on top of the city. We all squeezed around the signal light and the guide invited us to have a seat on the narrow steel girders supporting the room. There was no room on the floor and the rest of the place was glass.

Then we reversed the process, heading down to the middle of the building "purgatory" where we looked at an office furnished from the 1910s. We were also invited to be a "Facebook Friend" of Palacio Barolo.

Tay and I took the historic Supte A back to our apartment. It is the oldest metro in South America and featured wooden trains. We rested before heading out to dinner at an Armenian Restaurant. In addition to the Spanish and Italians, Buenos Aires has a big Arnmenian population. We arrived early for dinner. It was only 8:30, but the sign on the door said the restaurant was closed. There were, however, a lot of people eating dinner inside and a man at the door unlocked it for us. I later realized that this was the restaurant's way of controlling entry. When we left after dinner, customers were lined up outside the locked door.

Tay and I split a huge plate of lamb and a bottle of Malbec. American restaurant portions may be huge, but Argentine meat plates are MASSIVE. After dinner we hailed a taxi to the Tango show. The theater was beautiful and the audience, most of whom had eaten the overpriced meal there with lots of wine, were appreciative. This was a highly-ranked Tango show, but as I sat through the same dancers, costumed in 1940s suits, dancing traditional Tango, I longed for my idea of Tango--Jaime Lee Curtis with a rose between her teeth, draped over Arnold Schwarzenegger in "True Lies." Worst for me were the solo singers in between the dance numbers. They over emoted as they each belted out a tragic song, accompanied by a small band consisting mostly of accordian players. The accoustics were terrible and the sound reverberated. For this I was paying US$75 a person? While yesterday I didn't think it would happen, I had found something in Argentina overpriced by American standards.

But while they already had my money, I didn't have to invest any more time. We'd been to heaven earlier. We didn't have to sit through an evening in hell. Tay and I snuck out between numbers and caught a taxi home.

Welcome to Argentina! That'll be $140.

Day 2:


After deplaning, we were greeted by immigration who collected our $140 per person entry fee. We picked up our luggage and were met outside the gate by Fred, our driver. Actually, Fred was more than a driver. He also served as a porter, taking charge of our luggage; concierge, making reservations for us for a wine tasting and tango show; and bank, exchanging my U.S. dollars for pesos at a good rate. He also served as a tour guide, filling us in on interesting facts about Buenos Aires during the 40 minute drive from the airport.

Our "wheels" were a new Lincoln Continental. Fred informed us that while the Lincoln had an extremely limited cool factor to anyone in the U.S. under aged 70, cars in Buenos Aires were so expensive to import, this was practically the social equivalent of driving a Maserati. I imagined that the Lincoln probably had better trunk space than the Maserati as well.

I had rented a two-bedroom apartment in the very trendy area of Palermo Viejo. Even Fred, who was cool enough to own a Lincoln Continental in Buenos Aires, was impressed with our choice of neighborhoods. I am obviously not that cool on my own. My son, Alec, who had spent a semester abroad here, helped me choose a location.

We rang the bell and the apartment rental agent came downstairs to unlock the door. (There's no buzzing you in in very cool buildings, apparently.) The rental agency, like most in Buenos Aires, had demanded payment in advance--in cash. I gave them two thick envelopes with U.S. dollars, one containing the nine day rental and one for my hefty security deposit. Living in the U.S., I'm lucky if I have $20 in cash. Transporting large amount of cash from Phoenix to Buenos Aires made me feel like some international smuggler.

Alone in our apartment, Taylor's need for food lost out to my need for a quick nap. I offered him my can of mixed nuts (I've learned the hard way never to travel without my own emergency supply of food) and told him to wake me in 30 minutes. Instead, we both slept for two hours. After we woke up, we were both starving. I selected a restaurant from our Fromer's Guidebook based entirely on its proximinity to our apartment.

The restaurant, a quick five minute walk away, was called "T-Bones." We ordered the grilled cheese appetizer, a big ribeye steak and the house Malbec for lunch. The appetizer, a big wheel of provolone cheese was grilled on the outside and warm and gooey on the inside. It was topped with bacon, tomatoes and rucola. It was really good. Unfortunately, it must have been the only thing the Fromers writers ever ordered here because our ribeye was a boring, bland hunk of meat. Taylor commented that this place was expensive. I pointed out that the dollar signs on the menu referred to pesos. With approximately four pesos to the U.S. dollar, you had to try really hard to find anything overpriced by American standards in Buenos Aires.

On the way back, we stopped by a grocery store chain, called Disco, buying cheese and bread we never ate, and some bottled water. Taylor had wanted to get some milk and cereal for breakfast the next day. The store offered cereal, but the only milk they sold were in boxes on a shelf. It's funny that a place with great steak and cheeses, doesn't have fresh milk.

Back at the apartment, we Google Mapped the hotel where we were scheduled for a wine tasting at 6 p.m. (Our apartment included wi-fi so we had all the comforts of home.) It was about a 40 minute walk so we strolled over, using the GPS on Tay's i-phone to track our movements.

The wine tasting was by a local distributor who dealt only with Argentine wines not widely imported to the U.S. Sara, an expat American whose parents lived in Arizona, led us through a flight of six wines, paired with local foods. We started with a sparkling white wine paired with two sorbets. The wine was good, but the sorbets were amazing. These were really gelattos, but as I don't eat sweets I recharacterized them as sorbets for this trip. (Give me a break: I'm on vacation!) Taylor immediately added the gelatto place where these originated to our list of "must dos."

The most interesting wine was a heavy red with a tobacco scent. They actually sold a lot of this stuff, but I just didn't get the appeal of a wine that smells as if it has been swirled around in a dirty ashtray. It was paired, however, with a couple of really good cheeses. (I had heard so much about Argentine beef, why did no one mention the delicious cheeses?)

We finished the tasting with a really good Malbec, and Taylor and I bought a couple of bottles of those to bring home. After the wine pairings and the steak lunch, neither of us were hungry for dinner, which is generally served at about 10 p.m. in Buenos Aires. It had been a long day, and we decided to make an early night of it.

Day 1: Phoenix to Atlanta

There was no sign of Taylor, who was meeting me at the airport for our trip to Argentina. The intellectual part of my brain knew he was a responsible adult who would not miss the flight. But the panicky mother part of my brain wasn't convinced. When I hadn't seen or heard from him 90 minutes before the flight, the panicky mother part won out and I called him. "H'llo?" mumbled a sleepy voice.

"Tay, our flight leaves in 90 minutes! Where are you?"

"I was just kidding you. I'm at the airport," said Taylor.

While waiting for Tay to get through security, I watched two older women collect their belongings. As one woman sat down to put on her shoes, her companion fetched a TSA comment card. They were both upset that TSA had confiscated the honey they'd bought in Arizona. I didn't know what was more surprising: the fact that they were unaware that you can't take liquids on board a plane or the fact they thought that filling out a comment card was going to have any affect. Did they really think TSA was going to relax security on liquids to accomodate tourists' need to bring home souvenier honey?

Tay and I finally met up and boarded the plane to Atlanta. We watched our fellow passengers cramming their generously-sized carry-on suitcases into the overhead compartments. One women spent 10 minutes energetically shoving before she finally got the compartment to close. Of course, 20 minutes into the flight, she decided to get this same suitcase out again and then spent another 10 minutes of shoving to get the compartment to close again.

But the worst passenger was Miss Congenialty, who had the window seat on our row. We had already watched her run-in with the flight attendant, whom Miss Congeniality considered to be blocking her way.

After Miss Congeniality was seated, she took one look at Taylor and me and asked the flight attendant to move her. "Were there were some seats anywhere on the plane, maybe in the back?" The flight attendant and I would have been happy to move her to the wing, but Miss Congeniality had to remain there. She did warm up later in the flight after I accidently spilled cold coffee on the flight attendant's shoe. (We were, obviously, the Problem Row of this flight and the flight attendant would have preferred all of us move to the wing.)

We landed in Atlanta where Tay and I walked through all six of the terminals, ranking them for design and shopping opportuntities. (With another 10 hour flight ahead of us, we needed to stretch.) For the flight to Buenos Aires, we'd gotten coveted exit row seats. However, our exit row seats were not so coveted because they only reclined about two inches. What they did offer were miles of leg room, which Taylor really wanted. After boarding, I took a Melatonin, ate dinner, and drank a glass a wine. I put on my down slippers, got out my travel pillow and wrapped up in my trusty cashmere shawl. While it was cold next to the exit door, Tay and I still slept for most of the rest of the flight.