On second thought,

after reading this stomach-churning account ("Hangover Sundays") of life on the Rock, maybe it IS pretty sad to be leaving Argentina.

Aaah, it's ending. I've already left Negra behind in Rosario, lord knows when I'll ever see her again, and am back in La Capital Federal with Joe and Jorge and the Johnnys and Juanita (I can't believe we gave them all J names and I've never noticed that before). And, I don't know, maybe it was the vision of the swinging rat carcass or the evocative description of the smell of puke or the sound of "Why are we waiting" ringing in my ears, pero de repente no estoy lista a irme. Back to the I Hate Endings diatribe again. Said it all before, so won't bother to say it again now.

Still can't wait to get home (though am suddenly not so eager to see Front Street anymore) but - well, but. No matter where or who with, there's always a "but".