The flight from hell

To be honest, it all started with a bad feeling to it. Right in the beginning of the journey, things started to going bad. And it didn't get any better when I got to London to know that they were doing services in the Picadilly line, the one that goes to Heathrow. Having gone into a centra line train which broke down half the way through the course was also not good. And definitely, realising that the train I was on was going to every single terminal in Heathrow but mine felt a bit like persecution. Or so I thought.
In the airport, it all went suspiciously well. Too well. I got a row of 3 seats just for myself and could stretch my legs throuhgout the whole flight. Sweet.
Got to São Paulo. This is São Paulo international, the second biggest city in the world. Surely the 200m of corridor with one coffee shop and a half-open pub aren't all I have to pleasure myself with for the next 10 hours. Where is the bookshop, the WHS Smith equivalent, the ice cream shop? Not here. I have to endure 10 hours of Listening to some Brazilian women asking if I want international phone cards...
Then my flight got delayed. 3 hours. When I got to the airplane I could not believe it. I was tired, dirty and irritable. Longing for a bed.
On my arrival to Ezeiza things got better. My suitcases were waiting for me on the conveyor belt and my transport to town was waiting for me. Omar Boggio, father of the tango DJ Damian Boggio. Highly recommended, a jewel of a person.
While we were drinving from the airporto to San Telmo something happened. And this was when All these familiar names from tango music, Boedo, Corrientes, 9 de Julio, Villa Urquiza, Mataderos, Villa Crespo, Rawson... It was like it all was making sense, the lyrics now were clearer...
Got home went to bed. Tomorrow surely would be another day.