Into the belly of the beast!

We took a 4-hour flight down to the southernmost city in THE WORLD, and you can expect the visual component of "Viva Argentina" to make a serious upswing.

I should have known when I entered the plane via aeronautical rectal exam, that I was walking right into a living hell. Jim and I didn't get seated together, and I was placed in some sort of Kindergarten of the Macabre, including multiple breast feedings (which I'm not against, but it makes for a lot of elbow jabs in such close quarters, and if you have to go to the bathroom during that time, then just tough noogies); tiny little disembodied hands reaching through seats knocking drinks off trays; diapers of poop in planes too old to have a changing station; MULTIPLE bloody noses, resulting in understandable tantrums and flying wads of blood-soaked cocktail napkins; plus your standard seat kicking and napkins thrown in your face.

When combined with a windstorm while landing on a dirt strip precariously placed alongside a near-freezing bay and treacherous Andes peaks - during which a not un-frantic sounding pilot makes countless announcements in a language you don't know -  well.

Let's just say I'm happy to be in my toasty wood cabin, with fireplace, red wine, and heated floors.