BA, man. BA.

I can't remember which of my friends used to say that to me.  But if something were badass enough to label it as such, this person would inevitably pronounce it as such: BA, man. BA.

Well said. Muy bien dicho. We'll call this the badassiest of all places then, the BA itself. Finally. Six years together and saying we'd go to Buenos Aires one day and we finally got out of a cab, looked around, and high-fived one another (romantic, no? ah, honemooners!)

It's better than we'd hoped. Folks are friendlier. Streets are prettier. Wine is winier.

And it was hotter than we'd imagined.

By the time we'd been wandering through the Sunday afternoon antique fair for about an hour, we were pretty sweaty and confused.  An overnight flight and severe lack of proper hygiene routines put us in a pretty raw place.  The Givency magazine sample Brendon had rubbed on himself mid-flight had worn off, and the Big Mac-sized alfajor I had indulged in earlier in the park was weighing me down.

We managed to make it back to the hotel for proper check-in, a good refreshing, and then we went to dinner in the cool, breezy comfort of evening.  Thank you, steak and wine, for making us whole again.

The next morning we welcomed the stormy, tumultuous weather as a sign that it was okay to leave. We won't be gone long--just a few days at Iguazu falls and then we'll return to get to know the city a little more.  BA man, BA.