G waited for us at the bus station with our names on a cardboard sign. But it wasn't necessary. As soon as I spotted her I knew it was her, despite never having met. Within a few hours of reaching home we'd been introduced to the whole family and within a few days, we felt like we were part of it.
We were supposed to go to Buenos Aires the following day with G who took on the role of tour guide like an expert. But a man had been shot dead at a railway workers protest the day we arrived. Protests were expected as a result the following day.
By Friday it seemed that tensions had settled, so we headed down the Pan Americana for Capital Federal. Twenty two kilometres out of town we got stuck in a traffic jam that was crawling. After travelling just 1km in an hour, it turned out that the 5 lane highway was blocked by protesters. Police had negotiated for the opening of one lane of traffic. Twenty or so people stood in front of 1km of infuriated drivers chanting and beating drums. 'Welcome to Argentina' G repeated, a phrase we'd already heard many times.
Buenos Aires is supposed to be the Paris of the south and I wondered just how well the city would live up to this title. Pleasingly it did. But first we headed to the neighbourhood of Boca, an area where all the buildings are brightly painted. When it was first settled, the residents bought left over paint from the boats, hence the patchwork of colours.
Back in town, blissfully map free we followed G to the Casa Rosada. In the square in front of it, riot police stood at the ready as there was another protest going on. A big fence blocked the square and the big backlog of pedestrians was siphoned through a tiny opening at one end. 'Welcome to Argentina!'
We then wandered through pretty San Telmo to Plaza Dorego which hosts an antiques market. Unfortunately it was already lunch time and there was few stalls and even fewer antiques, but the stores around the perimeter sold some of the most exquisite pieces I've ever seen. If I had a castle or a palace this would most certainly be the place to go shopping for furniture.
In the square the local restaurants were set up under big shady trees offering lunch specials and a tango show. We enjoyed a long lunch of the biggest steak I've ever seen, while watching the intricate footwork of the tango. Afterwards we were convinced that we needed a siesta.
By the time we reached Recoleta cemetery the gates were already closed so we had to be satisfied with a fleeting glimpse of the ostentatious mausoleums that jutted above the high wall. It seemed strange for a cemetery to even be on the tourist trail, but apparently no other place says more about Argentine culture which is obsessed with mortality. Interestingly, we would witness this just a few days later.
Our day trip to Buenos Aires ended with a drive home through the lovely suburbs of the north along with a stop in Via Flaminia, an ice cream shop where we had the biggest ice creams I've ever seen.
The following Wednesday we were at home with the family who had a day off because of the census. Everything had shut down across Argentina, except for emergency services as officials walked from door to door counting residents and taking down other vital statistics. We were mesmerised by the process that seemed hugely inefficient and expensive to the nation, but all we heard in response was the well worn phrase 'welcome to Argentina'.
As we waited to have breakfast we heard the news that Nestor Kirchner, the former president and current presidents husband had passed away that morning. For the next 48 hours the news channels relayed images exclusively from the unfolding drama, as his body was transferred from El Calafate to Buenos Aires and the people held tearful vigils in front of the Casa Rosada. Despite recognising the place, the apparent hysteria seemed so strangely foreign to us and when we asked about it, the response of course was 'Welcome to Argentina'.
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