(George)

The story begins as two tiny people, carrying the two biggest bags, disappeared into the convoluted network of Heathrow Airport. The trip was already in jeopardy before we had even got on to the plane with both our TravelMoney cards stating they were on their last PIN attempt. Luckily a 24h service with 0 minutes waiting time diffused the situation and we boarded the aircraft with haste.

The flight was a long, drawn out, bloody affair. Broken sleep and boredom made up our diet, with a side of DVT to complete the meal. A screen displaying the exact point of where we were in the world watched over us like a mocking sentinel, the relentless blue light crept in to the darkest corners of the plane, only 11 hours to go.

Touching down in Buenos Aires (BA) felt surreal, a long forgotten dream the flight had taken from us at 34,000 feet - highway robbery of a young travellers mind. Joints cracked and limbs creaked as we wearily made our way to the baggage reclaim, fortune favoured us for 5 minutes as our bags came reasonably quickly but this was not to last. With dollars exchanged at the worst rate possible we sought a comfortable taxi journey, a chance to take in the sites from a back seat seemed a reasonable request.

Our bags were quickly stowed away in the boot of an official black and yellow taxi, we felt smug as we had seemingly skipped the queue. I asked the taxi driver how much it would be and he replied "don't worry, it's on the meter 'amigo'". Having got a quote from the information desk that the journey would be around 400 pesos we felt confident, we were on the way to our adventure. Those smug feelings lasted all of 35km when our taxi driver, who had evidently installed a meter into his head, requested we sing to the tune of 900 pesos. After receiving a confrontational response to our disgust we regrettably handed over the money, his Cheshire Cat grin still conjures vengeful thoughts that I shall not elaborate on at this time.

Determined to put this behind us we dragged ourselves into our apartment building. The lovely receptionist consoled us and parched our thirst with iced lemon water, tonic for our bruised egos. With an improved exchange rate, courtesy of the 'Blue Dollar', we cashed in and increased our kitty by 1.5x - much required after we gifted our taxi driver with a full day's pay.

In an attempt to raise our spirits I cooked up a home favourite of chicken pasta with red peppers, ingredients came courtesy of our not so 'budget' supermercado - even the Waitrose elite would clench their bum cheeks at the site of these prices! We began to wind down and rest our jet lagged heads when panic struck once again, our oversized chandelier had decided to follow its dream of becoming a pendulum, ticking in sync with our ever quickening heart beats. We could not face the thought of the pandemonium that would ensue should the chandeliers dream not go to plan. I ran down stairs to alert the concierge of our uncomfortable predicament but was told not to worry and instead invited to a 'great milonga'. Excuses made I returned upstairs and prayed that our well deserved sleep was not interrupted by a very real 'Only Fools and Horses' punchline.

(Tamara)

Awaking at 5am we were ready to face the world and the reality of jet lag hit us head on. Luckily for the DVD player and the storming Normans we drowsily wasted away the hours until it was breakfast time. We welcome to the arena Tamara the egg master! About to tuck in we noticed a mysterious envelope under the doorframe. After our previous Argentinian scam we took no risks and equipped with our weapons of knife and fork, ventured to reveal our fortune. The envelope read "from kind Americans - sorry you got ripped off" and inside was 400 pesos. Confusion, embarrassment and gratitude flooded us and instinct advised us to hand it back to our mystery donators. However upon realising the couple spent their days indulging in massages, steakhouses and more massages we realised 400 pesos would hardly be missed, and were satisfied our kitty wasn't as damaged anymore.

We were ready for the day's adventure, but not until George had completed his military operation of securing fort locks around his bags, and then wearing three layers to conceal them. (We would spend the next week with this exact procedure, until one day even George couldn't hack his own code.) The morning consisted of a free English tour around the beautiful and enchanting cemetery where we marvelled at the rich's honour to the deceased. A father had dedicated a profound mausoleum for his daughter who lost her life during her honeymoon. He had built a figure of her in her wedding dress with her dog by her side. The tour ended and after being starved for a total of 60minutes our hunger pains led us home for a meat feast of empanadas.

We spent the afternoon wandering the streets visiting the congreso and 9 de julio avenue, the largest avenue in the world! Fighting through the crowds and performing our own salsa dance around the cars we safely crossed the 12 lane track. Like horses in the stand eager to start the race, cars revved and hissed with anger and it was evident pedestrian crossings are as foreign to Argentinians as us gringos. Safely home I decided we should visit the rooftop swimming pool. Clambering out of the lift through rubble and dust shock hit us, had we really escaped an earthquake? It was soon apparent the hotel was undergoing renovation and like an arrow to my heart I stated "I'm sunbathing here anyway", and proceeded to lie amongst the rubble. (Anyone that knows me well understands my relationship with the sun; I will do what it ever it takes to worship it.) Unfortunately and luckily George doesn't share this relationship, so avoiding putting our safety in jeopardy we returned downstairs. Sun we will meet again. In an attempt to soften my blow George opted for my second favourite thing - tactic 2: food. After preparing the finest steak and chips we were asleep by 9pm. Viva Argentina!

(George)

The luminous green digits stood silently in the darkness, 06:30am Argentinian time. An hour and a half later than our previous attempt to acclimatise to the time warp. Not that we weren't enjoying our time here but we needed a way out, ferry tickets were first on our agenda! With what we hoped were two one-way tickets to Montevideo in our inbox we headed to the infamous Boca district of BA. Having never heard of this area I asked Tam what we might find there, the response left me questioning our intuition, 'if you go one block from the beaten track you will be robbed.' This left me hesitant but curious, two padlocks would be needed for this trip.

El Caminito held colours and smells that assaulted the senses, couples exquisitely performed the tango on street corners whilst dogs urinated on lamp posts - you can't have it all. We meandered through the strip and came to an abrupt stop when we realised we had reached the end. The straight roads sprawled out as we laid our feet on the edge of a small gulf, an invisible line between safety and peril. We poked our noses out, surveyed the streets and quickly retreated - not the day for bravery or valour.

That evening we met with friends for an impromptu reunion at a typical Argentine steak house. We may have expected to have paid around £24 for the meat that was brought out but instead paid £14, cheaper but not a price to tell the grandchildren about. However, I can confirm that the rumours are true - throw away your pitiful streaks of meat, these boys make Tesco's Finest look like pork scratchings. I have since wondered if we have embarked on this trip the wrong way round as I will forever be comparing the food of South America to the shear quality of the Argentinian steak.

Drinking continued that evening and the next day was something of a write off as we discovered the debilitating power of the jet lagged hangover. With ample rest obtained we were not to be deterred and we set off to what would be one of the more spectacular evenings. Steak by Luis had long since been on the cards and a focal point of our brief stay in BA. We hailed a taxi and showed him the address, all good so far. We arrived in the Palermo district and were turfed out on a street corner, the driver made a brief wave to the street number we had requested and quickly departed. Being grade 1 gringos we struggled to see where we might be enjoying our meal that night, all the doors were for residential accommodation and certainly not for a restaurant. Seeing we were in trouble I spotted a lovely gentleman, who may or may not have been loitering with intent on the street corner. Before I could even ask my heavily prepared question he stopped me, 'Steak by Luis?' and pointed to the shadows where a heavily bolted door waited. Were we in the prohibition period desperately seeking the next speakeasy or young travellers searching for a meal? For a moment it was hard to tell.

After buzzing the door and providing our names we were allowed into 'Steak by Luis'. An unfamiliar scene greeted us as one large table stood in the room set for 9 guests. Were we actually going to have to converse with OTHER people? I feared the worst and I was right, luckily a gregarious Ozzy girl was on hand to break the ice. I no longer had to worry about 'putting my foot in it' with inappropriate dinner talk as she was ten steps ahead, much to our amusement.

Our five course Asado consisted of sparkling wine accompanied by canapés of Argentinian jamón y queso. Next we paid homage to the 20 vegetarians in Argentina with a lovely salad, dressed in honey mustard. Our first taste of the Asado came in course three with a platter made up of chorizo, black pudding, ribs, sausage, kidney, pancreas, intestines and cheese - we were not informed we would be consuming all of the cows carcass and it was just as well as upon revealing the 'surprise' meats we felt our stomachs instantly give us the middle finger. The fourth course was a rib eye steak cooked medium rare, needless to say it was another exquisite example of the world renowned Argentinian cow. To help digest the meal we were presented with what was described as an 'international dessert with a traditional twist...' Ladies and gentlemen, family and friends, I now present to you the single best dish ever conjured up - Dulce de Leche Cheesecake. Forget the steak, forget Patagonia, this is Argentina's real hidden gem. The slice sat smugly on its plate, flicking back its hair and dusting its shoulder off. It knew it was good, it knew it was great. My first experience of dulce de leche was close to life changing. The cold, soft layer of the cake, infused with milk caramel, chimed in perfect harmony with its biscuit base. A symphony roared in my mouth, was this 'it'? The flavour couldn't last long enough and I sadly waved farewell to my empty plate - thanks for the memories.

(Tamara)

It took the majority of our last day in BA to come down from our cloud 9 perch, Luis had left our endorphins racing and stomachs satisfied. How will I ever match that birthday present? Eager to see a traditional Sunday market we headed for San Telmo, a small district famous for the birth of tango. Our taxi dropped us on the corner of a cobbled square, the entrance to a shopper's Vegas complete with beautiful antiques, street performers, enticing food vendors and any practicality you could ask for. Like a dog teased with a slab of dripping meat, I tied my hands behind my back as I visualised my backpack. Having opted to bringing a semi-detached house equipped with a caravan and shed, I knew even a beaded necklace would test the bag's fastenings.

We were told that dancers here shared the beauty of Antonio Banderez and Penelope Cruz and so hearing a tango performance was about to begin we marched over. The reality was disappointingly bleak with women of 80 years dressed in suggestible attire, sat ready to take their position on the dance floor. A younger duo warmed up the show before handing the baton over to the eager spinsters. First in line, a much older lady with lipstick stained teeth and ripped fishnets eyed up her audience eager to pounce on her prey. Convinced George would be the chosen dance victim, and concerned for the women's frail limbs we opted for a rap performance further down the street.

Feeling more at home we settled in the crowd, enjoying the urban music and appreciating a snippet of authentic Argentinia. It was only a matter of time before our innocent relaxation was tarnished as a man with a bottle of dirty coloured liquid stumbled and slid into the chair next to George and smiled. Having both terminated our employment over a month ago we felt we deserved a break from service user welfare and politely excused ourselves and walked on.

Exiting the market George became magnetised to one particular vendor. Sound waves drew him closer and his subconscious reeked havoc, disrupting his navigational system as he headed towards the 'Kalimbas'. George marvelled at these native African hand pianos and beamed when he realised they were well within his days budget. The instrument produces beautiful soothing spa-like melodies, and so unlike his usual dark, anxiety-provoking creations it was a welcome addition to our trip.

Our curtain in BA was beginning to close and we reflected on the chaos and charisma the city has to offer. We had learnt some valuable lessons from the first leg of our trip and were eager to pack them amongst our luggage for the future. These are as follows:
1. Do not opt to stay in a room with a chandelier when an earthquake hits a neighbouring country; the damage cost would put us straight back on a flight to England.
2. Keep your wits in tow when ordering meat, each hidden surprise may make your stomach turn once it's original locality is revealed.
3. Always always check for the taxi meter, no matter how many Man City facts and generous smiles are shared with you.
4. Make sure you make friends with Americans, ones who enjoy massages if preferable.
5. Most importantly - whenever times get hard, always rely on chicken pasta to pick you back up again.


With these in mind, the Wozzles are set and armoured for leg 2 of their South American adventure.