Today we fly 800 miles north-east to Córdoba. It’s rather a dull day; drive, airport, flight, airport, drive. My only source of entertainment; a book I found at the hotel, which I wouldn’t have chosen given a choice of two. But it’s OK if you’re into American submarine sinking conspiracies. Finally we reach our hotel in Córdoba; Yrigoyen 111. It’s very pleasant and heaving with professional tennis players, as there’s an ATP tournament in progress. We walk a mile across town to meet a friend (a student we hosted in the summer). She’s given us an address but it’s for a block of flats, so when we arrive, we realise we don’t know which flat is hers. We consider standing in the street shouting ‘Wilma’ but then manage to WhatsApp from a petrol station round the
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