Going from a European autumn to an Argentinian spring makes absolutely no difference whatsoever, other than the world turning upside down.
The trip did in fact begin in Žižkov, Prague's hardcore working class quarter that still elects communist councillors and serves up the best nightlife in town. 24 hours there was enough. At this stage, I needed to avoid losing any marbles.
Leaving my buddies in Bukowski's bar round about midnight I hit the hay after a sobering coffee in a nonstop where I sat on a bar stool next to a thirsty African who said he was a tourist but wasn't and who drank three beers in the time I took to finish the cup of coffee. I wished him bon voyage and the next day boarded a bus to Vaclav Havel airport and then an easy flight to Amsterdam for The Magnificent Journey That Not Many People Know About followed by the usual story there in the usual hotel and the usual Room One, enlivened by a chance encounter with a waitress who was 1/4 Dutch, 1/4 Curacaoan, 1/4 Ecuadorean and, from left-field, 1/4 Afghan. Her dreadlocks jigged a kind of dance all their own as she told me this. She also talked a LOT, maybe due to that broad mix of genes, and smoked a lot ... now that's what I call a woman.
Early morning flights aren't my forte (what is?) but thank god the Algerian bloke who cleans the rooms banged a wake-up call on my door and before I knew it I was at the airport not at all looking forward to an entire day in the air.
However, solely down to Nepalese hashish I don't recall much if anything about the flight - west over Europe, turn left at Spain and head straight down the South Atlantic - other than getting off at a very humid Sao Paulo in the evening and finding an airport in which you cannot smoke ... after 12 hours without one. Nightmare! Onto another flight (3 hours) to Buenos Aires, one of the least impressive cities I've ever visited, before hitting the sack and sleeping like a baby.
Hasta la vista!