The train clattered through the surreal night, as we began to realize that we were as far off the tourist track as we had yet been. Everyone around us was a local, speeding across the country in the cheapest manner to work, family, or holiday. After splitting our dinner of pastry with the old gentleman sitting next to us, he became quite engaging, asking about where we had been and giving his opinion on Argentine girls. He was not the last, nor the first. We have had now many, many conversations with locals, all of whom without exception are exceedingly friendly. The guaranteed lines are: where are you from? Do you like mate? Do you like the girls here? (usually asked by gravelling v oiced old men) and Oh my dear how wonderful? (Usually asked by bubbly voiced old women). There were also the inevitable questions about the instrument. Are we a band? Do we play Jennifer Lopez songs? No? Guns and Roses? No? Metallica? No. Oh. But these conversations, conducted in rapid and barely comprehensible Spanish, are invariably entertaining and amusing, none more so than that which came at the end of the train ride. We had been clattering along, with not a wink of sleep due to noise and desperation not to miss our 4am stop, and no music due to a dead Ipod, and the only book an inscrutably dense Faulkner, and were waiting for our imminent stop. At one point our old gentleman disappeared and he was replaced by the most unsatisfactory person on the bus. The guy had been maching around since the beginning, giving orders like "everyone close your windows" which seemed to be purely for his enjoyment as he was not in anyway affiliated with the train company. He was massive in bulk and personality, and we had seen him three times approach a group of first musicians, then little children, then middle aged men, and break into spontaneous and emotional song, sung to the tune of his Ipod which, he seemed not to realize, no one else could hear. Amusing, you may be thinking. Indeed, for the first few minutes, or hours. Afterwards, not so much. But of course this vast sweaty singing mass chose to settle himself to sleep on our bench, and so we scrunched against the window, tried to sleep and awaited the dawn. I diverted conversation excellently with my best version of: Me No Hablow Eshpinowl seenor, so we were safe at least  from that. Or so we thought. Eventually he turned to us and, apparently unaware that we looked brutally tired and uncomfortable, started in by saying: you know, i talk a bit english? Ok, i said. You like music? Yeah. I very muhc do like verry much music, i think the human voice is very much beautiful. (he seemed to be gathering himself to burst into song so i parried with a halfhearted) What kind of music do you like. Oh oh Oooooh, do you know Oh oh OOOOOOh Alberto Francisco? No. Oh oh Oooooh Diego Monvedo? No. Oh oh Oooooh Juan De Lorche? No. (and so on until we reached) Ohohoh Jennifer Lopez. Um, yes. Oh I love her she is my lover she is my girlfriend Oh oh Oooooh I love her. Do you know pamela anderson. Um, yes. Oh I love her she is my girlfriend oh oh oh yes I very much. I love american Idol. Oh oh yes very much. Ok, I say, doing my best polite conversation terminator, which of course fails. Casey has a slightly different tactic and is simply glaring at this guy with a look that says (extremely clearly) It is 3 oclock in the morning and if you say another word about American Idol I will lay hands on you. I will choke you out. That is, it is extremely clear to me but apparently not to this Mr. OH! Finally, mercifully, the train begins to stop and we roll into the station, leaping eagerly from our seats before Mr. Oh can give us an anticipated farewell hug. Moments later we are marching through the intense darkness of Rosario, the sort of second city of Argentina. We hop in a cab (for the first time in Argentina, shameful, but permissible only because it is 4am in a strange city). We arrive at our hostel and fnd that it is beyond compare the coolest one we have yet seen, and wander around it in awe before retreating to our absurdly comfortable beds with thick warm comforters. In utter bliss, beyond exhaustion, we talk for what seems like hours before drifting sweetly into oblivion.