“See when you play with the train set at Chapters and the wagons fall on the floor because you pushed them too hard? Well, the same concept in real life. That’s why we are not taking the train.”

We wanted to take the train, though. We were already at La Plata’s station, about to buy tickets back to Buenos Aires when the employee informed me that there was an accident on the line and that the traffic was stopped. “For how long?” “Dos horas…Más o menos.” he shrugged.

Feng and I looked at each other. We had already checked out, and we had nowhere to go. From my own experience with the French train, I know delays can be longer depending on the nature of the problem—and the first train to get the green light would be packed.

“Bus?”

“Bus.”

So we walked to the bus station with our backpacks and Mark in his stroller who was miming the accident. “Train… fast! Oh oh… oh no!”

We jumped on the first bus to Retiro and 90 minutes later, we arrived in Buenos Aires. We walked to the hotel and arrived sweaty. Check-in was only at 3 p.m. so we hung out on Florida and at the Galeria Pacifico in the meantime.

We spent the rest of the afternoon in Palermo, where unlike last Thursday all the stores were open. It reminded me of some trendy bobo district in Paris, with boutique café, funky restaurant concepts, hip clothing stores and colourful furniture shops.

It was one of these days where not much was accomplished (including Mark’s nap, he refused to sleep in the stroller) but it turned out okay anyway. We tried to figure out what the next step will be and more or less made a decision.

Buenos Aires is a bit of a shock after quiet La Plata: everything is more expensive here, and more touristic as well. “Cambio, cambio!” you can hear as you walk on Florida, and half of the city seems to be Brazilians on holiday.