Afternoon moon in El Calafate, Argentina.
We had chosen to spend our first night in Palermo because it was 15 minutes from the national airport, and in the morning after our included breakfast of bread and dulce con leché — a caramel/Nutella-like spread that would become our morning staple — at the cheap, hospitable Casa Esmeralda hostel, we were on our way.
The cab driver gave us a look when he saw that we had luggage, as if it was a ridiculous thing to be transporting your belongings when heading to the airport. He was a fat Argentinian dude who took up one-third of the aluminum can of a vehicle and smoked the entire way. We weaved through the long, expansive boulevards riding on two wheels most of the way, slamming to frequent stops inches of the bumper in front of us, only for the driver to break out into a chorus of curses over the blaring radio. But he knew what he was doing and, more importantly, where he was going — so we let him have his way and tipped him well.
