We had to get to the dentist. That afternoon at 5:15. We had an address complete with cross streets, but in a city of 9 million people and thousands of corners, that was little help.

After many, many visits to la Capital, the basic were clear - main arteries, borders of the barrios, subway lines etc. Mi marido believed the dentist’s office was somewhere this side of the Obelisco, Buenos Aires’ main landmark. And somewhere south of Palermo. Maybe near the German Embassy and the polo field?

“No problema,” said my grandmother-in-law. At 86, she’d been navigating the city her whole life. And she almost always travels by bus. She continues to do so to this day as she makes her rounds to all the stores where her children’s baptism and first communion dresses are sold. On a good day, Abuela Angelita (also known as “Lala”) would find the location in a few minutes. But this was an extra lucky day – Lala’s sister Estella, also in her late 80s and raring with energy, was in town. We had double duty Buenos Aires bus-riding grandmas at our beck and call.

Gathered around the plastic-covered coffee table at her 7th floor flat in the northern barrio Nunez, they took out their maps, looked at Max’s paper where the address was written, and got busy.

If you venture out on the streets of Argentina’s capital, chances are good the grandmothers will make an impression on you. There are many gutsy ladies here. The Grandmothers of the Plaza de Mayo, who have been bringing attention to human rights abuses in Argentina since their children and grandchildren went ‘disappeared’ during the Dirty War of the 1980s, have garnered international attention for marching every Thursday afternoon in front of the Pink House where the Argentine President’s office is.

Abuelas are still running the show. They’re doing the shopping, shuffling down the craggy sidewalks, putting food on the table, taking care of grandchildren, getting their hair done (muy importante!) and generally looking chic.

They hop off and on the colectivos, or city buses, like 40-year-olds. With more than 10,000 buses raging down the streets, and 142 different lines, it’s a very complicated system. No buses have fixed schedules, although there are clear stops. Few, if any, follow direct routes; most criss-cross the city in hunt of passengers. Navigating bus lines ain’t no easy task.

It’s customary for polite Argentine to offer their seat to elderly people or pregnant women. But Lala, who at 86 certainly qualified as elderly, said that she doesn’t ever get offered a seat. Not that she’s complaining. She’s certainly strong enough to hold on tight on her feet. But with her perpetually coloured hair and boundless energy, people regularly mistake her for a woman of 65. She takes great pride in this.

“I’m sure it’s near the Military Hospital,” Estella said. Lala nodded in agreement. They concluded that dentist office is on a street that runs parallel to the MH, another big landmark in the area, about three miles shy of the Obelisk. Lala’d ridden buses up and down this street over and over again, making her way into the city centre. She knew what she was talking about.

Lala flipped through the phonebook, picked up the receiver and dialed a number.

“Yes, good day,” she said. Always polite. “Good sir, could you please tell me at what number of Luis Maria Campos the hospital is located?”

And with that, they located the dentist’s office in the chic Las Canitas area.

“Entonces, okay, so you should take number 50, 51,” said Lala.

“Or you could take 65!” added Estella.

Options abounded, but all were clearly pencilled on to our pocket guide. Confident, with proper change handy, we rode the elevator down and headed out on to the streets. Off we went, with� the sincere hope we could keep up.