I pushed past him to reception, where I planned on ordering a ' suite con hidro,' as my two expat friends had coached me. Then Rob noticed a sign: albergue transitorio, or 'temporary lodging.' 'Zoe,' he said worriedly, 'I think this place is for prostitutes.' 'It's where she keeps her equipment,' I said. As we approached the nondescript beige building, Rob started asking questions: 'Are you sure this is the address?' We were on a working vacation in Buenos Aires, and my bungling of Spanish had become a joke between us. I'd told my husband that I'd booked us a private session with a Pilates instructor.