Don’t Judge me. Only one of these bottles of Fernet Branca was mine.

If this is how they celebrate Good Friday in Buenos Aires, I’d hate to be here for New Year’s Eve.  Fernet Branca tastes like Robitussin and gasoline. One ounce makes a nice digestif, but around here, they guzzle it like Mountain Dew.

On the food front, I finally had some of that famed Argentinian cow flesh. It was just a casual lunch joint special, and yes it was good. Very good. But I’m still planning on a go-to-hell steak dinner at a proper Parilla.

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Beef here is grass fed and fabulous, but they don’t tell you how good the eggs are.

Food trucks serve up sandwiches with sausage, pork shoulder and of course, beef.  This  one pictured is called “Parilla Mi Sueno” or Grill of my Dream. See what they did there?

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Guy’s all like… ‘Yeah I know. It’s a play on words.’

Today I crossed the muddy Rio Plato on a ferry to Colonia, Uruguay.  I wish I had budgeted more time there because it had an intriguingly artsy vibe.  Uruguay is increasingly popular with American expats and retirees and I can see why.  Some Argentinians concede that things just work more efficiently across the river.  I may try to get to Montevideo before returning  home.

Fishing off the lighthouse in Colonia, Uruguay

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