Pattern Recognition in Argentina

For four days, Buenos Aires was a blur of 'soul delay', as Cayce (or her Londoner friend) calls jetlag in William Gibson's novel quoted in my post title. After a five-hour information & transportation ordeal between landing & reaching the BAUEN Hotel, I was finally about to sink into a blissful nap, cup of espresso notwithstanding, when we were evacuated from our rooms after a bomb threat was called in. The BAUEN is a self-managed worker's co-op, so I don't doubt they have their share of enemies, but I wonder if there was a particular workshop or event taking place on the premises' conference rooms to trigger this particular disruption.
I had grilled breast of chicken at 'Utopia', the hotel's restaurant, for three straight days.
Walked down Callao street from the front door of the hotel to the park at the southern edge of Palermo & La Plata river, & back, on Thursday.
Saturday the 25th November I decided to take my friend Sebastián 'Bati' Paz up on his recommendation to visit his folks up in Rosario to gather my bearings in a more leisurely & familial setting. My original plan was to visit for three days or so, then board the last passenger train in service after the Menem neo-liberal 'divest & plunder' sell-off up to Tucumán, the heart of Indigenous Argentina ( -& pickpocket paradise, as some have it) on my further way to Cafayate & Salta, where EurOenologists of the stature of Michel Rolland & Donald Hess seem to have found some welcoming turf.
Indecision & contradictory intelligence on the state of said trains-- making the run to Tucumán only Monday & Friday-- have me skirting the edge of hospitality abuse ten days later.
To add insult to injury, Sunday after I arrived I went for a run & was lost for three hours after darkness fell over Funes, a bedroom community where Luis, Bati's dad, is building a little weekend cabin. A friendly neighborhood stranger complicated things by driving me around for another hour before taking me to 911 central, where the cops, who'd been notified of my disappearance, lost their way driving me over.
A locally based oenologist who's doing some interesting stuff after replanting some of the old family vineyards in San Juan to Petit Verdot & Cab Franc has been avoiding me for the week, says he wouldn't mind my riding with him to check the vineyards out--but his travel date, ostensibly sometime this week, won't be pinned down-- so I'm looking at travelling to Mendoza, one way or another, by Wednesday. Or Thursday, at the absolute latest.
Quick food & wine notes: except for some ground beef in one empanada & two stuffed 'zapallitos' (a beautiful, deep green mini-pumpkin, with a milder, slightly sweeter taste than zucchini, which you can also find here) I've avoided red meat. At least as sourced from cows & other usual beasts of burden. But I tried some air-cured 'ham' made from Llama, that temperamental, photogenic, indigenous, archetypical beast of burden. Tasty, not as roughly gamey as I feared it might be.
Un millón de gracias, bella Quara. (Indigenous name for said noble animal.)
Think I'll close up & edit part two on wines, tomorrow...