I was the first in the hostel to get up, and shuffled my way round to the tv room where I ploughed through the channels once more.

During the football the night before, I�d got used to the way that the sound only worked intermittently on the tv set, something which was only ever changed by fiddling with the controls randomly, (�I don�t know why, but it works�, explained Diego) or by everyone in the room stamping their feet simultaneously.

Actually, I�ve never seen that last method work, but it was always quite fun�Un, dos tres..stamp, stamp, stamp. Yes, very silly.

Anyway, after flicking through for a while I came across Twelve Monkeys in English with subtitles in Spanish (so I was working, right!).

12 Monkeys has been one of my favourite films for a while now, so that made for a nice surprise to the morning, and the opportunity to try and explain the film in Spanish � difficult, but fun.

I didn�t really have any plans for the day as I thought that I�d exhausted most of the sights in the centre of the city during the previous 48 hours, so it was nice when the others in the hostel suggested that I made a trip to the �feria�, an arts market right in the heart of San Telmo where the hostel is.

I walked down a strangely quiet Avenida Belgrano before turning up a narrow cobbled street called �Defensa� and wandering up a bustling alleyway filled with antique shops and stalls full of people selling their goods.

Taking photos as I went, the street got busier and busier as more and more milled about, examining the trash at the flea market in the hope of finding something worth taking home and treasuring.

My personal favourite was the stall full of empty bottles. I know I didn�t actually sit down and ask the guy what he was doing with them, but why?!

Just before the square, I came across a lovely design shop, which had lots of wonderful colours splashed around it on the pillows, chairs and, um, frogs.

Definitely worth a return visit, as was the whole square, which seemed more like a social occasion than an antiques fair, even if the long narrow street and squawking vendors reminded me of Portobello Market in London.

Of course, San Telmo is most famous as the birthplace of tango (although Boca also claims the title, apparently) and there were dancers around the square giving examples of their craft, including one performance which was being filmed by some sort of tv company who were doing interviews afterwards as well with the dancers.

Equally intriguing were the �statues� of Carlos Gardel, a famous tango artiste who died in 1935. I�m sure you�ve all seen the silent, mime statues on the street in the past few years, well, these followed the same pattern, dressed as Gardel, resplendent in thirties garb, and selling themselves for a few pesos to any passing tourist with a camera. Occasionally they would burst into song before striking another pose. Great stuff.

Unfortunately, it was then that my camera batteries failed me and I decided to head back to the hostel along the street parallel.

As is always the way, where there are street attraction, there are people. Where there are people, there are cafes. The streets surrounding the antiques market are therefore filled with cafes which are slightly more upmarket than you might otherwise expect from the area.

There is also an indoor market in an old goods shed of some sort. The guide books tell you to look up at the iron and steel building work on the ceiling. It�s very nice. With the batteries almost dead the flash didn�t get much unfortunately.

Not finding anything worth buying inside the market, I carried on down the street, passing cafes and thinking to myself. I was caught up in my own world when a girl shouted at me and then hugged me. The American girl from the party on Friday. Honestly, there are people I�ve known for years that I don�t get as intimate with as being hugged in the middle of the street, and I can�t remember her name�or even her hair colour apparently, as I�d swear it was ginger at the party. Whatever, as she�d probably say.

Short conversation later I was released and made my way back �home�.

Back home, and then back out again. This time to the cinema. I�d had the thought a day or two earlier that it would be really cool to watch a film in Castillian to improve my language skills. Better one I knew already so that I could concentrate on the language. Yeh, right. Shrek 2. Obviously.

Old fashioned cinema, ahoy! Bouncy seats, blokes selling popcorn and no annoying mobile phone adverts. It�s not the same without Eddie Murphy as the donkey, but fart jokes can produce a laugh from a six year old anywhere in the world so the film went down a storm and I learnt at least one word of Spanish from it. �Burro� = �donkey�.

After the film, I went back home just in time to watch the highlights of the football between Uruguay and Paraguay and then watch Brazil thrash Mexico 4-0. Time for bed, said Zebedee.