For a few days, having established ourselves in Buenos Aires and gotten the lay of the land, and with my eye fairly excruciating, we wander and soak up a few favorite spots. There are the botanical gardens, where long afternoon reading sessions interrupted only by naps take place on a regular basis. There is also the little cafe (called Las Cabras) where we go in the evening for mate (amazing Argentinian drink, similar to green tea but drunk out of a gourd) which leaves us buzzing with a natural version of caffeine. We try not to spend too much money on food in an extremely expensive city, with mixed results. Snack foods (especially empanadas) are delicious, and strangely, the fast food is far superior to fast food in the US due to extremely high quality beef being absurdly easy to find. The highlight of these days of soaking up the city is a visit to the Sunday fair in Recoleta, the nicest part of town. We spend hours wandering down long lanes of beautifully crafted handmade goods, lured by the glimmering Argentine silver and beautiful wood carving. As well as the ubiquitous mate gourds. Finally, after a lunch of empanadas, we collapse in a sun drained stupor on the packed lawn, where dozens of local porteno family lounge in sunday afternoon bliss. As a local guitarist veins to croon Latin American pop songs, we realize we are getting a tiny glimpse of real Argentina, real Recoleta. It is a wonderful, fulfilling, sun drenched afternoon. After days Like this, I sleep long hours in the evening relaxing my otherwise exhausted eyes, and Casey plays music with an amazing Australian guitarist and a band of other interesting folks from all over the world. There is no where quite like a hostel for meeting like minded people. Except, perhaps, a train station.