Over nine days, they enjoyed the best that this city has to offer: Tango salons, stylish restaurants, fine steaks, cheap leather, and the interiors of many of the 40,000 fine taxis that constantly circle the streets. She couldn't be torn away from the cheap crafts at the weekend bazaars, while he practically swallowed an entire fleet of submarinos: cups of hot milk with bars of dark chocolate dropped to the bottom.

Parts of porteno life, however, were irksome. Some were the usual problems of American travellers: aggressive drivers, diesel fumes, open staring, dogshit on sidewalks, etc. But this loving pair crafted more refined complaints. Jen, for example, was infuriated by the total unstylishness of the women's dyed maroon hair. And she literally chafed at the coarse, single-ply toilet paper found in the restrooms everywhere.

Jason's complaints were more ergonomic. One: the sudden, unmarked changes in sidewalk elevation. His toes were bloody stumps by the end of a week of bashing them into unseen, two-inch-high steps. Then there were doors that swing INTO buildings, instead of OUT of them. This was a piece of dunderheaded design that Americans dumped after, oh, the Triangle Shirtwaist Fire in the late 1800s.

But it was nonethless an astounding country, one that WILL be revisited. It was also very, very romantic.

Please enjoy their vacation as much as they did. This is the record of their journey.

-Jason