Martín y Hazel Frost Nuestra Vida en Argentina

The moral of the story is... don't plan a sophisticated outing if you're travelling with a two year old. We went off to Rafaela today, in lieu of the bank holiday tomorrow (bank holidays are really rubbish here; the roads are completely blocked with people visiting their relatives, and if you don't have any relatives to visit, you'll find everywhere else shut anyway). Rafaela's just a big town really, bit bigger than San Fran, similar sort of design, probably founded at around the same time... but last time we went on a bank holiday, so this time we thought we'd like to see it with some life on the streets. In the centre is a large green plaza with a kind of arboretum affair, lots of native trees, each with its corresponding information plaque. Joni tailed us around, until he finally whispered "mummy, where's the slide?"

Luckily, about five blocks away, opposite the police building (nicely kept solid colonial affair) we found a small park, complete with one monstrous death-slide which we avoided, and several smaller ones which we put through their paces before heading to a handy cafe for spaghetti bolognaise ("Spasta" he calls it, which I do think sounds quite derogatory, but maybe I'm just over sensitized after too many years working in learning disabilities).