Talk about a long flight. From the northwest tip of the United States to the south of South America. The joys of air travel. Standard seating, where you’re squeezed next to your neighbors, elbows rubbing and knees knocking. Food that tastes like it came from a can made for pets, and the natural unpleasantness of flying.

So, we were glad to arrive in Buenos Aires, even as exhausted as we were. Rather than find the cheapest method to the hotel such as a subway or a bus, we went for the luxurious indulgence of a slightly overpriced taxi from the airport to the hotel.

Entering the building, we walked down a corridor on a cold white porcelain floor to check-in with the man behind the counter whose English was as bad as our Spanish. He didn’t seem to care too much about checking us in, what room we took, or really, if we existed at all. And from that point, we were directed to an antique elevator that barely fit two people with not much luggage. As we planned to travel light.

The room that did have an air conditioner to help with the heat. However, the air-conditioning was roughly the same decibel level as the Boeing jet engines that flew us to the country. It was a toss-up dilemma. Do we enjoy the silence while sweltering in the heat, or flip the switch for the roar of the cooling system? We did a little of both.

On day two, however, we began out to walk about town and see some of the sights and people, and even though it was a beautiful sunny day, we quickly found out what an Argentina winter was like. It was cold!