Buenos Aires is all hustle-and-bustle. People everywhere. Streets crammed with cars. Taxis honking. Motorcycles squeezing through the smallest of spaces. You dodge through the crowds, trying not to collect a thousand leaflets.
And it’s big. Once I’d caught the bus to Mendoza it took a long time before I looked out onto anything other than suburbs.
But once you’re out, you’re out. The city gives way to the plains. Vast grasslands with nothing but wooden fence posts and their wiry hands to delineate them. Farmhouses dotted here and there; the occasional horse munching outside his tumbledown stable.
I stared out the window until the sun started to set. The horizon was a beautiful bright orange; higher up the sky washed out to near-white and then turned baby-blue. A small flotilla of clouds sailed across, their edges tinged with fire. The brightest stars came out. I put my pen down and just kept staring.