We met our newest best friends the day we walked into our hostel in Barracas, a Buenos Aires barrio they claim as the birthplace of tango, but which translated means old, beaten down and forgotten.

Franco and Siskazi are two career women who have traveled the world together with their two children, Ahka (14 year old boy) and Tumi (9 year old girl). They both work in sales for a computer company in Capetown and were really interesting to visit with. Before we parted (they to Uruguay and us to a condo in Palermo) we had developed a bond deeper than any we've experienced in our travels. We talked about the politics of apartheid, the governments of So. Africa and the US, Mandela, relations between black and white and the uniqueness of our forming friendship. We talked alot about autism--she wanted to know how I knew Tumi was special--what I'd picked up on. But living with Daisy and being around the developmentally delayed for 30-some years, you spot the signs instinctively.

They even cooked us New Year's dinner and wouldn't let us help with dishes.

We'll miss them and hope they really do make it to Montana next summer.

Our place is a far cry from "a little more comfort", but it's 5* in warmth. Pomy, the father of our hostel, absolutely couldn't be any nicer. He lives upstairs and was around all day the day we got there to help us get settled and learn our way around. Then he disappearaed. Afterall, it's New Year's and it's traditional family time in Argentina.

Everything's closed. Buenos Aires, a city of 13 million, shuts down cold like a ghost town. There's no stopping at a sweet little sidewalk cafe on New Year's day--you can't even find a McDonald's open. We had bought a few groceries the day before because Pomy warned us--but we really had no idea how clamped down the city becomes.

Señor Tango is a famous dance club, very expensive and very loud and it's right next door. Reviews say it's in a seedy area--be cautious and all that--but while the area does indeed look pretty scetchy, we've certainly seen worse. It's a working class neighborhood where families gather on the sidewalk around a fire built in a car wheel. Boy does the street spell good when they pile on the meat.

In the dead of the night we woke to ear shattering fireworks and raucous music exploding next door as reverlers welcomed in the new year. Kind of like 4th of July on steroids.

No wonder our place was only $20 a night.