I never told you about my first day in Argentina.
Do you want to know why?
Because I was far too busy crying in the internet cafe.
See, before I left for Argentina, people were pretty adamant about telling me to be careful, not get kidnapped, and some other sage advise that I tried to wipe from the back corners of my brain.
I tried to erase their sage advise because I am paranoid. And spending the entire time in Argentina thinking everyone who looked at me on the street was a sex trafficker just wasn't how I wanted to spend my last 3 weeks of summer.
And besides the part about not sharing a taxi with an attractive French boy, I was pretty successful in not listening to all those people who kept trying to tell me to be careful.
Unfortunately for me, I am incapable of not listening to my mom.
Said mother, two days before I left, decided to put this little idea in my head that the volunteer organization I was working with could possibly, maybe be a kidnapping organization.
I got on the plane anyway.
But that little idea in my head was still lingering when I landed and stood in the airport waiting for the driver from the volunteer ((possibly kidnapping)) organization to pick me up from the airport.
And that is exactly why, when Jose from San Diego, California led me to a white kidnapping van in the parking lot of the airport, I was a little worried.
I kid you not.
It was a white 16 passenger van.
No windows.
All I could think was, "Oh my gosh, I'm getting kidnapped."
But it wasn't a worried "Oh my gosh, I'm getting kidnapped," more like an amused, "Oh my gosh, I'm getting kidnapped--come on self, WORRY."
I stood there, in the parking lot, with Jose from San Diego, California, considering my options.
And then Jose from San Diego, California opened the front door for me, and I got in.
You want to know why?
Because there was a window in the front seat. How was Jose going to kidnap me when there was a window in the front seat?
And then Jose starting telling me some beautiful things about his life's service to God, and I felt considerably better about the whole kidnapping van thing.
Then we pulled up to the apartment, and Jose from California walked me to the door, helping me with my suitcase, and didn't even kidnap me. Which I considered a great accomplishment.
Next I stuffed all my stuff into the tiny, scary lift and rode up to Floor 5 to meet my new roommate for the next 3 weeks.
This is the door that I knocked on for ten minutes.
Knock, knock, knock.
No answer.
Knock, knock, knock.
No answer.
Stand in front of the door looking stupidly at it, begging that piece of wood to let me in.
Take a deep breath.
Knock, knock, knock...
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK!
No answer.
So I grabbed my four bags, struggled to load them back in the scary, tiny lift, elevator, and road back down to the bottom floor.
There, the hotel porter was waiting for me.
There, I tried to speak Spanish in an accent I didn't understand, while my mind was in a slight state of panic.
"She's not answering?" The nice portera lady said.
"No." I shook my head.
"Do you have her phone number?"
"No." I shook my head.
"You can wait in my house. Maybe your roommate went out."
Oh my gosh. They're going to kidnap me.
"I just need to find a phone," I said, trying not to regret this whole fly to Argentina thing.
"Well, you can leave your bags here," the nice portera, who maybe wanted to kidnap me and steal my passport and $20, said.
"I don't feel comfortable leaving them here," I tried to say. But it came out more like, "I don't want . . ."
Eventually I left. My two red bags with everything but my passport and one clean pair of jeans, sat in an empty room in the apartment complex while I took my first stroll on the streets of Argentina.
It was a frantic stroll.
A frantic stroll in which I paid very little attention to where I was going or where I came from.
Seven or so blocks later I found an internet cafe.
Using the only pesos I had, I sat down at a computer and talked to the volunteer organization that possibly still wanted to kidnap me.
I sent them a quick email.
Dear so and so,
Umm... No one is answering the door.
Are you a kidnapping organization?
If so, I want my deposit back.
Sincerely,
Alec.
And then I got on facebook.
I took a moment to admire the fact that it was in Spanish.
And then I sat in the chair sobbing.
Because it just so happened that this was not the way I had pictured my Argentina trip at all.
To be Continued...
Me standing in the tiny, scary lift, quickly shooting a picture because someone was coming, and that would be so totally embarrassing if that someone saw the stupid american girl taking a picture of herself in the elevator. 
