Under the cover of night, I fled. Not a trace of me was left in the house; I even took my last granola bar from the cupboard where it had been sitting for weeks. Fearful of running into anyone I knew, I took the side streets, moving stealthily in the shadows of trees. Not even my 3000 kilos of luggage could slow me down. No weight was too heavy tonight: I was Retiro-bound, and if I missed the train, I had my good shoes on and I’d walk across the border. Either way, I was leaving Buenos Aires.

I started this journey with the best of intentions, and everything had seemed to fall into place perfectly. I had four months to spare before a friend’s wedding back in Ottawa. My final contract with my job of three years had just ended, and I was keen for something new. I’ve never done volunteer work, I’ve never been to South America, and I’ve always wanted to learn Spanish. After spending a glorious few days in Paris last year, I decided the “Paris of South America” must be just as great. So, on a whim, I bought a ticket to Buenos Aires. And a day later, I was accepted as a long-term volunteer with Habitat for Humanity, which, although I was fairly unfamiliar with NGOs, I knew was a great organization.

It was a brand new adventure, a new continent, possibly even a new career path. I bounced with excitement at the mere thought of getting to this city of tango and steak and sexy Argentines.

So how did it all go so wrong?

Well, for starters:
1. I don’t really like dancing
2. I hate steak
3. I’m too in love with another man to be bothered finding someone new.

Buenos Aires is chaotic, loud, dirty, I couldn’t find a café I particularly wanted to sit in, it’s hot buth with no beach. The men are gorgeous, but I can’t speak their language and frankly, Canadian women simply cannot compete with Argentine beauties.

But everyone I’ve ever met gets misty-eyed at the mention of this city.

“You must check out the Recoleta markets on a Sunday afternoon!”
“You must must must take in a tango show!”
“Wait until you see La Boca!”
“The nightlife there is the best!”

To be fair: Buenos Aires is the wildest and most dynamic city I’ve ever been in. There’s music playing at all times of day and night, and the rumous are true that the tango spontaneously combusts on street corners when you least expect it. The markets are great, particularly the San Telmo street fair which could keep you entertained every Sunday afternoon for the rest of your life. On the days when I walked around town, visiting the Casa Rosada, the Recoleta cemetery, La Boca, and San Telmo, the city tipped its head and raised an eyebrow at me, the seductive porteno, wondering if I was woman enough to accept its offer.

And I tried my best to love it. But my new mantra, which I learned from “The Happiness Project” and decided to adopt in time for my thirtieth birthday, kept whispering in my ear:
“Just because someone else likes something, doesn’t mean I necessarily have to”.
So, like a woman with two left feet, I respectfully declined.

Now, as I sit on one of the legendary Argentinean semi-camas, driving through the country that hnot only created the tango but also the public bus, my breathing gets easier the further away I get from that heaving city.

It wasn’t just Buenos Aires that chased me away, it was also the job. But even there, I can’t quite explain what happened. Habitat is one of the worthiest organizations out there, and I had a ball helping to build houses in the small village in Santa Fe, plastering and painting and shovelling and working alongside the wonderful and deserving family who would move in when it was finished. I even met a cute boy there, a self-taught photographer who also taught himself English by watching tv and movies. The people I worked with were lovely, generous, kind-hearted, and interesting. And they didn’t mind that I don’t speak Spanish, they were happy to speak English, or Spanglish. I lived with two other volunteers, a bubbly Kiwi and a vivacious girl from The Netherlands. And I worked with a Swiss-Italian who could potentially become one of my great friends.

In short, I was working with fabulous people, for a fabulous cause, in one of the most fabulous cities on Earth.

But my desire to escape was visceral. I was chain-smoking, drinking alone in my room, spending way too much time on Facebook, and acting like a total weirdo with my roommates who must have thought me the most boring, anti-social person they’d ever met. But I simply couldn’t stop myself.

Daddy was overjoyed that it wasn’t working and told me to come straight home. Mom called me a coward and told me to give it a chance.

I knew that neither was going to happen.

So I caught the midnight bus out of town, and at 6am tomorrow morning, I will enter Uruguay.

I never planned to backpack around South America.

But with four months ahead of me, it seems that a whole new chapter – and here’s hoping it’s longer than the last one! - is about begin.