Our last day in Argentina. Estoy triste. Perhaps we never come back--we've been from one end of this country to the other and most places in-between, but then again we know how this country works now. 
 
When our bus rolled into Retiro bus terminal yesterday I was remembering the first time we were in that thing, three years ago. It's vast--bigger than most cities we've visited. There are 50 bus platforms below and 75 above where buses pull up, load up, and head out again. It's an amazing feat of organization with hundreds of different bus companies all coming and going in a dizzying blur. I was so confused and overwhelmed that first time I just sat down and cried. How would we ever find our way?
 
But we did. What three years ago caused sickening powerlessness, now just makes sense. 
 
Last night we stayed in the same hotel we'd stayed in twice before, so the desk clerks all knew us. It is near the Recoleta cemetery--a #1 tourist attraction in town, so we went there this morning while the light was fresh. Then grabbed a taxi for La Boca--a brash, tramp turned diva, in your face barrio that's lifted itself out of the slums to be the artist's go-to neighborhood. It was a little too look-at-me-I'm-cute, but colorful and entertaining for an hour or so.
 
Lunch was at Puerto Madero which used to service all the ship traffic in Buenos Aires until the ships got too big. It fell into disrepute and disrepair for many years, but has been revitalized and is a tourist mecca now with fine restaurants and shops in refurbished warehouses. You can be sure of finding a delicious meal here, so that's where our sorry tastebuds headed. 
 
Heaven. It was heaven.
 
On our taxi ride back to the hotel for our bags we were delayed by yet another gang of protesters. This time there were THOUSANDS of them--mostly young--and carrying huge banners. They blocked 8 lanes of traffic in front of Mitre, the train station. We had a plane to catch--we didn't have time for this again. Police do nothing to help either--they're allowed to carry on as long as they want. 
 
Since we were just the second car in line we could watch them coming in droves out of the train station. There didn't look like there'd ever be an end to this. Our driver got all nervous and made us roll up the windows--bad people, he kept saying, bad people.
 
They didn't look bad--they were just people like you or I quietly walking across the street, only there was a sea of them with organizers standing abreast in front of the cars to make sure everyone understood the subsurvient nature of our existence.
 
Behind us everyone was honking and honking and making all kinds of racket as tempers grew and patience shrank. We were ready to get out, try to make our way through the protesters and catch another taxi on the other side, but about then they broke up and we were allowed the street again. 
 
Aside from that, this was a good day in Argentina. The 24th of March is a holiday meant for remembering the atrocities of the military dictatorship years. A time to renew vows of, "Never Again." In fact, trains were free today which is probably why the rally was so gargatuan.
 
Somebody tell me what all the protests are about. The Argentinos we've talked to say it's just people wanting the government to give them more free stuff without them having to work. I expect there are two sides though and I invite comment.