At 8am, the alarm clock went off, and like any other morning, I slapped the snooze button.

Except this morning, I was waking up in Buenos Aires.

It still doesn't feel real. Part of me is still constantly expecting to wake up back in Philadelphia, slapping the snooze button to grab a few more minutes of sleep before heading off to work. But it is real. We've really done it. We're here.

We had breakfast at the hostel (toast with marmalade, orange juice, and coffee) and asked them about where we could take Spanish classes. Soon we were meeting with a woman named Melina Reno and arranging to take 20 hours each of individual classes over the next two weeks (total cost: about $214 for both of us). Then it was off in search of lunch.

We had empañadas at a little diner (total cost for four empañadas, a liter of coke, and a giant bottle of water: $1.75 or so), and then walked down to Plaza de Mayo. The weather could not have been more beautiful. It's been consistently 80 degrees and sunny the entire time we've been here.

Plaza de Mayo (pictured at the top of this entry) is the beautiful courtyard between the president's house (the pink building in the picture, which gets its color from being painted in cow's blood) and the Town Hall. It is most famous internationally for the Madres de la Plaza de Mayo, women who gather in a silent vigil every Thursday at 3pm. What they are in pursuit of, and unfortunately will probably never get, is justice for the thousands of Argentinians who "disappeared" during the military rule of the 1980s.

The Plaza de Mayo is filled with pigeons. An enderly gentleman (who did not want to be photographed) was selling little plastic tubes filled with corn to feed the pigeons with, 4 for a peso (about 8 cents each). We bought some, and were promptly swarmed by them. They flew up into our hands, four or five at a time, they climbed onto our shoulders, they milled around at our feet. It was ridiculous, marvelous, somehow exhilirating. I loved it.

Afterwards, it was back to our hostel to take a little siesta. After we were up and about again, we struck up a conversation with some of the other travelers there, quizzing them about where we should get dinner. Suddenly we found ourselves among friends, kindred spirits.

There was Paul and Caroline#1, an English couple who had been together for 18 years (over half their lives). They're planning a trip down the Western coast of the US, from Seattle to San Diego, on a tandem bicycle. We loved them, and Jessica spent half the night deep in conversation with Caroline. They were hanging out with Caroline#2 (also English), and the three of them invited us to the last night of a Tango festival. Now, how do you say no to a Tango festival in Buenos Aires? You don't.

We grabbed some more quick empañadas (these were a touch cheaper, and far better) and headed out with them at about 9pm. The Tango festival was in the middle of a closed-off street, with a live band playing on stage and thousands of onlookers watching dozens and dozens of dancers. It was dizzying, intoxicating. I remember thinking that it was everything I'd ever dreamed our trip could be.

Afterwards, the five of us settled in at an outdoor table and ordered three liters of beer (beer comes by the liter here). We sat and drank and talked, told the stories of how we all met our soulmates (Caroline#2's boyfriend, Rob, would be meeting us later, having spent the evening at a football game). I found myself simply lost in a wonderfully safe, marvelously happy place.

Afterwards, we went to a local bar to meet Rob and some more friends named Chris and Vikki (all also English), where a live band was playing some kind of Argentinian traditional music, and everyone was singing along and pounding on the tables. We drank liters and liters and liters of beer, shared embarrassing stories, and generally had a fantastic time.

At around 2:30am, we left the bar and returned to the hostel, picking up seven more liters of beer on the way. Here we met up with Stuart (from Scotland) and his girlfriend Gemma (from England), where we all continued the enjoyable drinking. At 4am, Gemma and Phil left and returned with another 10 liters of beer, and then somehow we all wound up doing shots of tequila. At some point, things got maybe a little too silly, and (at Paul's suggestion) Gemma shaved Rob's head. These things just seem to happen in Buenos Aires.

After 37 liters of beer and a half a bottle of tequila, everything culminated in Stuart's booming recitation of The Flower of Scotland. A friend of Rob's, sleeping upstairs, stumbled in to ask us to keep it down. I will always treasure the awe evident in Rob's voice when he turned to the Scotsman: "Stuart, you just woke up an Australian!"

Thus it was that we all retired to our rooms at about 6:30am. It's almost twelve hours later, and most of us are still asleep.

Tonight, we plan to stay in, and make ourselves a quiet dinner.