In December of 2004, returning from my only visit to
Antarctica, I was about to fly from the Patagonian city of Río
Gallegos to Buenos
Aires, three hours to the north. Boarding
pass in hand, I headed to security at this relatively small airport only to
find nobody to check my documents and nobody manning the X-ray machine. At the
gate, there was nobody to collect my pass and, until I climbed
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