When we told our guide that we were Irish he told us about former Argentinian President Farrell – a horrible president in the 1940s, who moved point zero in Argentina (the point from which all road-signs in the country display the distance from the capital) from the Congress building to a random point one hundred metres away. It meant all metal road signs throughout the land had to be replaced. Guess what Mr Farrell’s family business was? Surprisingly it was a metal sign business. I will let you guess who won the lucrative government contract.

Apparently Messi is the national hero for the under 50s in Argentina. Maradona is the hero for the over 50s. Evita Peron is loved and hated in equal measure. Argentina did not import slaves from Africa like other countries in the Americas. Instead the Spanish colonisers here, enslaved the indigenous populations. The famous Casa Rosada (the pink presidential house) is the colour it is because when it was built, bricks would dissolve in the swamp like terrain, therefore the blocks were waterproofed in a mixture of chalk and pig’s blood.

The mural of the old women with white scarves is in memory of the women who defied the military dictatorship to demand justice for the estimated thirty thousand people ‘disappeared’ during the US funded dictatorship which controlled the country until 1983. There are now only forty of these women left. Aged between ninety-six and one-hundred-and-six, every Thursday they still gather before the Casa Rosada to demand justice for their missing.

Buenos Aires is a very grand city with ornate, elaborate buildings where no expense has been spared. That said Argentina has been in the middle of an economic crisis for over a decade and inflation has only recently fallen from its 200% high to more manageable levels. Our guide warned us against withdrawing cash from ATMs where a 25% charge would apply. Instead it would be better to use Western Union or Exchange kiosks which offered a better rate. Or indeed just to pay for everything via tap.

Buenos Aires looked like a grand city struggling financially. In contrast to Rio, which looked like a chaotic city that is financially booming, Probably a reflection of reality. Both are wonderful.

Back at the hotel we asked the receptionist if there was a gay neighbourhood. The other receptionist raised his hand and pointed at his colleague’s posterior. We all laughed like drains.

We ended the evening in Peuteo – a hetero-friendly disco-bar ran by a woman with a face displaying a hatchet like warmth.

After a trip to former Pope Francis’s parish church – the cathedral of Buenos Aires – we went to lunch in what is apparently the world’s best steakhouse Don Julio Parrilla. It has a Michelin star. Never have I experienced such excellent service. The food was exquisite. Not for want of trying was I unable to finish the rib-eye steak I ordered. Our reservation was for.1.30pm. We arrived at 1.15pm and were .handed a glass of Moet & Chandon champagne while we waited. The only seats available when I booked three months ago were on the outdoor terrace. I sent an email two weeks earlier asking if we could sit in the more exclusive indoor area. I received no response. When our names were called to be seated we were summoned inside. They swept the tablecloth for crumbs between courses. The mashed potatoes have never seen a lump. The price while high for Argentina was about the same as you’d pay for a decent restaurant in Ireland. A very fine experience.

On Tuesday we took the ferry to Colonia del Sacramento in Uruguay – a pretty but sleepy little town whose historic centre is a UNESCO world heritage site. Uruguay has eight million cows and 3.4 million people. It has a problem with data centres consuming huge amounts of electricity from the grid. It has a strong resemblance to Ireland in many ways. A very relaxing day was had, aside from the incident in the colonial church, where two seventy-something ladies tripped over each other and both fell. Neither were injured thankfully.

On our final full day in Buenos Aires we went to Diego Maradona’s old neighbourhood La Boca which the guidebooks say is safe until nightfall.I encountered a short, stout sixty year old in an Argentina strip with black curly hair and a plastic World Cup trophy who was offering selfies for five dollars. Bravely I resisted.

Afterwards lunch in a cafe with tango dancers. The female dancer didn’t know where ‘Irlanda’ was when touting for tips so I said ‘Ingleterra’ and made the near by hand gesture. The look she gave me… There was no tip.

We took a tour of the opera house tour in Spanish on the way back to the hotel.

That evening we dined in the Buenos Aires version of the West End of London where all the big shows were playing. There was a queue for selfies with a bouffant headed man on the street. I asked one of the women queuing who he was . She told me his name is Mariano Martinez- an Argentinian telenovela star who is currently appearing in a play on the street.

Our flight back to Rio was early on Thursday morning. We had changed the hotel booking for our last night from a bland airport hotel back to our Copacabana lair. It was only ten euros in an Uber from the Airport to the beach despite the twenty five kilometre distance. Our final evening was back at our regular spots at Ipanema beach.

As we said our goodbyes to our first trip to South America, I was glad to be going home while at the same time sad to be leaving.

A wonderful holiday in wonderful countries.