I KNEW 2011 would be our last in Argentina. I’d been there since 2007, jumping across the border to Chile with such regularity that custom agents knew not just my name but also my favorite football team. I barely exaggerate. But soon it would be my last trip over the Andes to Santiago and an Air Canada flight home.
My wife and I were just waiting for her Canadian residency to be approved. Searching the mail for a brown manila envelope from the Canadian Embassy became a daily obsession. The mailman was beginning to greet me by name.
To stay sane, we decided to skip town.