For the third time in my life, I boarded a plane with a final destination of Bariloche, Argentina. As a veteran to the area, if that’s what you wanna call it, the laidback airport security and gypsy luggage thieves, who wait for you to walk away for a moment so they can steal your luggage, seemed normal to me. Everything went smooth as sand. I had to run around all of the luggage carousels for nearly an hour to find my duffel bag, and the 45-minute immigration lines were mere child’s play, compared to the 10-hour flight from San Francisco. Read More...