It was more or less like this: We were ready to go, packed and sacked, two suitcases, three bags, my laptop, and Mr. Bear.
We asked Mr. Valet Parking to bring our jeep.
Three minutes later Mr. Valet Parking was back. Without jeep. There was no need to speak Spanish to get his message. “The car is dead.” Completely dead. Not even a small light on the dashboard was willing to give a vital sign of life.
The manager informed me that my car is going to be repaired in the long run.
I say: “In the long run we are all dead.”
Till that time I’m a prisoner in Buenos Aires.
In the meantime my mother, who is visiting my sister in Israel, took a shit in the car of my sister, an old Volvo, which made my sister fairly angry.
My family is going nuts and I wish I could say: “In my family I’m the exception.”