El Classico

From the book we realised we had a toss up between Palermo (hip, trendy, big hostels, newer) and San Telmo (older, antique, guest houses) to stay in around Buenos Aires. We plumped for the later and found a sweet and cheap place next to San Telmo's square called Hotel Carly. It had high ceilings, an owner who prompty delivered us black market tickets for the weekends "El Classico" football match between Boca and River, and was on the doorstep of San Telmo's thriving eccentric bar and live music scene - with the antique's market in the square over the road, tango in the streets, music everywhere, endless corner cafes and endless charm - we were chuffed.

We had a bonza five days in BA. We saw musical-style tango at Tortoni's, the old cafe venue, we ate huge meat (well one of us did), drank wine, went to the football, found the Palermo Saturday market (where dozens of bars were filled with student designer clothing stalls), wandered the streets, saw the sights... and, yes, Anna saw her second ever footy match (excluding the mighty Pallo).

We decided to get the bus to the Saturday afternoon game. We got on to find a few quite loutish Boca fans on the bus, who were already missing teeth but enjoying beer. Some young couples in River jereys got on and the Boca fans started to sing and it was fun. Then the bus driver didn't pull over to pick up 25 River fans - we thought that was a good move but then at the next stop he pulled over to pick up about 30 very roudy Boca fans. They were mental. They rushed to the back of the bus, stripped the shirts oif the three River fans who were wearing the white with red sash (think Crystal Palace) and gave them a good beating as they tried to get off the bus. We then piled out with the rest of the passengers. I was keeping very quiet in case my native tongue casued offence and we avoided a beating, even though Anna got sat on during the melee. After a cab ride we got into the 60000 capacity stadium without fuss, watched the reserve match, and then enjoyed the awesome ticker tape parade to start the game, with huge multi-coloured streamers unfurled across the stands all around us. We were in the home end on teh lower tier under the away fans. But the game is such a potential flashpoint that only about 300 Boca fans were allowed in the stadium. The game was awful. River are terrible at the moment and Boca won through a cheap free kick with Juan Roman Riquelme being the only class player on the pitch. He proved it throughout the second half by constantly diving. the reserves looked like world beaters by comparison.

What else in BA? Well we eventually got in touch with Clare and Jorge and found out they live in San Telmo. We had already drubk in their local and we met them over wine and cheese. And, in the squares of BA, we found that memories of the Falklands War are very much alive and there are ongoing protests about the treatment of those that fought and suffered. The city was really enthralling. The steak sandwiches were filling. And our walking legs were willing.

BA looks a lot like this

San Telmo market square tat

Tango for cash at Tortoni

El Classico, definitely the worst quality top flight football game I have ever seen, even worse than Kups vs HIFK

Another slight change of plan

From Villazon we had a taxi combo across the border to Quiaca, during which we suffered our biggest disaster yet; I misplaced my green Tiger jacket top somewhere, possibly in the train station or in the taxi. I was distraught but have since bought a Puma replacement. There are no Tigers in South America you see.

We got a bus to Salta, marked by some hoorrid treatment at the hands of the bus people. After 150 buses we think we know the score and we were expecting Argentina to be maybe a bit more civilised than some others when it came to the buses. Well, the buses are certainly pricier (2-4 USD per hour opposed to 50 cents an hour in most other Latin countries) and yes, you can pay extra and go first class and get steak and wine (though we never saw it - it is a bit a myth - only if you pay through the nose) but we were not expecting the conductors to do nothing - all the tickets are prepaid and their are liggers at the bus stations who get out the bags and ask for tips while the conductors stand about... but at Salta we booked on a bus that was about to leave and Anna ran to get some food and drinks as thhey told me there wasn't a food stop. So we load the bags, I wait at the door and the conductor starts to get shirty. Then they try to close the door with me in it - and this is a proper big two storey luxury coach we are talking here. I have already explained she is just buying a drink - and then they start driving with me standing in the door well. Then the manager comes out and gets shirty (having just sold us the tickets) and they start driving away with our luggage before Anna comes in the nick of time. The company is Andesmar, they have the prettiest offices but they are bunch of tie-wearing used car sales-types, the food was terrible, the driver couldn't park the bus in the first bus station bay, and the bus was two hours late, and of course it made a long lunch stop - ar**holes. We had to get Andesmar a second time and they bodged the veggie food for Miss Deli - this lot deserve to be punished. I am so glad I got that off my chest.

Anyway, we arrived at Salta, which was quite a charming small city with a cool zona viva (music and bars area) and we spent most of our day there in the LAN airline office. We realised that we might be doing the wrong thing in planning to go to Melbourne to work for 6 weeks in order to fund that time plus a week in New Caledonia and two weeks in Perth. The combination of my ineligibility for the working holiday visa, our mutual dislike of work, the cost of living in Melbourne, horror stories about backpackers staying hostels for months,not having organised any free (houseswap, housesit or similar) accommodation - and the risk - the risk that we could work two jobs and still not make enough to cover the 9 weeks - and the potential - the potential to turn our month in SE Asia (veritibly rushing from Singapore to Bangkok) into a three month plus chill fest... well, it was big carrot to dangle, particularly as we had not really put down any roots. Since Whistler we had not had longer than 6 nights (Little Corn in the rain) in one place and we had not had that zen escape that we look for - especially on a trip this long.

So we tried to change our flights. They couldn't do it in Salta. They couldn't do it in Lan Cordoba. But at American Airlines in Cordoba we struck a rich vein. After a brief scare when it appeared that Lan had not rebooked our Easter Island flights as they had said, and finding out we were double booked by Finnair to New Caledonia, we got the new flights we wanted and then we got more, a lot more. Just as I was about to ask for the bill, which should have been 125USD each for a Oneworld ticket route change, a lovely AA representative handed us 520USD flight vouchers each. Over 500 bucks of free flights each - T-riffic. We had already changed our flights to fly on 6.12 from Auckland via Sydney to Singapore, and also to fly on 6.11 from Santiago via Auckland to Christchurch on NZ's southern island to get cheaper van hire and avoid backtracking. As a bonus also didn't include the Caracas-Lima flight we had not taken so we had a spare flight and decided to save time and money by flying from Cordoba to BA. When they gave us the flight vouchers we realised we could also save a 23 hour bus ride by flying from BA to Comadoro Rivadavia, the nearest airport to the penguins and whales in northern Patagonia. This was a tough decision because we could also bought return flights from to see the waterfalls at Iguazu - and we could have also got flights all the way to southern Patagonia to see the Glaciers national park. We reasoned we will see glaciers in NZ and Iguazu will have to wait until we come to Brazil - and moreover we wanted to see 350000 penguins.

So, happy, we got the bus to bustling Cordoba where found Tinajas, Argentina's largest all you can esat restaurant. The country is famous for its beef and steak but I will remember Argentina for the amazing steak sandwiches that we were regularly served in bars and cafes - I could never resist a "completo" normally arriving with lashings of salad, mayo, fried eggs and a pair of minute steaks a top a couple of large slices of bread. Unfortunately it was also impossible to escape the curse of white bread in Argentina. But back to Tinajas: food disneyland. For 10 USD so about 5... 6... 7... 8 pounds (little currency joke there for the sterling crash fans) you had access to high quality cruise ship style fare including an enormous meat grill counter as big as a house. This place had capacity for over a thousand. We were there three hours from the start and it was awesome. We would go back.

Bright side of the moon

We arrived in La Paz in the morning and, true to form, we outlandishly got on a bus straight to Oruro where we had the afternoon watching McDreamy from Grey's Anatomy's dodgy movie (in an ornate cinema on our own), before getting the night train to Uyuni. The train journey was filled with spectacular views of the Altiplano, wild rock formations and herds of alpaca. In Uyuni we repeated the tour agency runaround. Uyuni is a desert town of a few thousand that only seemingly exists to service the needs of young travellers going on multi day jeep rides to see the famous salt flats and the Atacama desert. That's why we were there and we learnt the lessons from our young drunken guide and paid 25% extra to go with Red Planet with their fluent English guide Oskar, who had rave reviews. Again all the tours are pretty much the same: three days, two night, all the tours stay in the same salt hotels, some tours have a driver/cook/guide, some an extra guide, some an extra cook: and all are in Toyota Land Cruisers with 6 tourists.

We had Michi and Franzesca from Switzerland, and Sanna and Teresa from Sweden. And, in Oskar, we had a real gem. Within two hours of setting out into the desert, driving at high speed across the broken rocks, Oskar told us about the recent death of 15 people when two jeeps had collided and how drivers were more careful now (!) and then we broke down. In the middle of a salty desert. With the most amazing infinite view all around, some peaks in the distance. But thankfully with no misunderstandings as Oskar made us at home. We relaxed, talked, took photos, enjoyed it like another sightseeing stop and realised that driving thousands of kms in the desert brings with it certain risks and the likelihood of mechanical malfunction.

We only stopped for an hour and by the end of the tour we had seen the salt flats, salt factory, salt piles, palm oases, rock dunes, "Dali Desert" of rock formations, the Atacama desert, and the incredible site of the tyre tracks of the jeeps looking like cosmic ploughing across the rocky landscape (I think they should stick to tracks as the wind will take centuries to blow away the tyre tracks, which are everywhere). And we saw the money shots. The red lake and the flamingos, the green lake and Oskar took us to stone cemetaries and more wonderful formations, and he was riveting throughout. We learnt more Spanish and more Bolivian history and even more about Bolivian current affairs - we had warned him we were going to get our money's worth!

Just before our visit Bolivia had had some civil unrest whereby the President, Evo Morales, a social reformer and former farmer, was trying to get a new constitution passed, which would have required a great deal of wealth redistribution, something not enamoured by the wealthy of the Santa Cruz region, in control of the country's mineral and gas resources. A stand off had developed where a militia army of farmers and peasants had blockaded Santa Cruz and shots had been fired. The whole state and some other areas had been off limits to tourists for a few weeks and the situation had not cleared though it had cooled. This meant that we couldn't go to see the big cat sanctuary in Santa Cruz as we had hoped. So, after returing in the evening to Uyuni, we shared a room with the swedes (very kind of them) and we got a few hours kip before the night train to the town of Villazon on the Argentinian border.

We had to stop for a quick bite in the desert

The red Lake Colorado with flamingos

Hot springs at dawn

Another stunning sight in the Atacama desert

Alligator, alligator, alligator

From Copacobana we got up before dawn, the bus was cancelled, so we took a shared taxi to a ferry crossing and then the fastest local 'collectivo' minibus in the universe to La Paz. The journey was my favourite so far. The lake, the mountains, the passes on the way into La Paz (at 4200m, the highest capital in the world) and then the sprawl of the outskirts before the vast valley of the city itself. We were early and by 1130 we were in the Amaszonas Airline office booking ourselves on the afternoon flight to Rurrenabaque, the jungle town at only 100m altitude, on the Amazon delta.

Rurre was stiflingly hot andn seemingly only existed to service the needs of young travellers going on jungle or, more likely, pampas excursions. We booked on for three days with the popular and cheap Fluvial tours after a long afternoon of visiting some of the 30 tour agencies and talking with all the other gringos doing the same. Of course we expected to be going bush away from civilisation. We didnt realise that all the agencies work for about 4 companies and all the 'lodges' are within a few hundred metres of each other on the same stretch of river 100km from Rurre - and that in the evening everyone (maybe 70 people) converge on the same river lodge because that it is the only one with cold beer! So all the toing and froing selection a tour was pretty pointless - well, not entirely - we ended up with Diego as our guide. His poor English, youth (named Guito, jnr guide, by the others) and inability to hold his liquor leading to us missing both the night and sunrise walks in the pampas did mean that we picke3d a turkey!

But on the upside the 4 hour jeep journey was fun; our group was the best group of course (with Mike and Anita, Matt and Jess from the other New Zealand, Steven and Lisa from Preston, and us); on the first trip up river we were blinded by thousands of alligators of all sizes from pencils up to 5m; we saw hundreds of the world's biggest rats looking very cuddly; lost track of the number of crazy birds we saw including the stunning Bird of Paradise; and we saw the cute pink river dolphins, which a bit disconcerting as they look like mini-monsters as they break the murky water's surface with their stunted fins (not a dig at my countrymen:)).

We had jungle huts at night, plenty of good food, went anaconda hunting the next day and eventually found them after 3 hours in driving rain. We were soaked but enjoyed every minute. On the last day we fished for piranhas and took photos as Mike and Steve got their legs teased by pink dolphins. We were sad to find that our the Dutch couple that we kept seeing everywhere, Michael and Anne, broke down and had a horrid 9 hour journey back. Meanwhile we continued to marvel at the memory of all those alligators.

We got back to find that the rain had washed out all the flights out of Rurre. Because it is in the jungle the airstrip is just mud so any rain renders it useless for days. We were in the third flight out but that could have been a week away. So, I got a motorbike backie to the bus station where Mike and Anita were also faffing over the choice of buses. We plumped for the next departure but had to be content with the back row - for the 17 hour journey to La Paz - along jungle tracks and then up the Andes along some crazy roads, up the replacement for the world's most dangerous road, which still feels pretty dangerous. We played silly games with the Zealanders and the time flew past. We had one stoppage to negotiate a part of the track that had actually been removed. We had to pile up the back of the bus and we rocked to near horizontal before making it.

World´s biggest rats... and some alligators

Rustic accomodation

Luckily that one was blind

The world´s highest navigable lake

...or not. Our book says it is. And then says it isn´t. We will leave that for Lonely Planet´s new owners, the BBC, to sort out.

We went on another nutty journey by bus from Puno in Peru to Copacobana just over the Bolivian border, skirting Lake Titicaca. At 4000m there is a chill in the wind tempered by the piping hot sun streaming through cloudlesss sky. Copa is a small tourist town with a street of tat and plenty of boat options for getting to Isla Del Sol; the Island of the Sun and the legendary Inca birthplace of creation - which I always thought was in Manchester. Hang on, someone is saying I have made that joke before. Well, there it is again in case you missed it.

The island has a lovely Inca trail walk through the middle of it with glorious 360 views of the lake and snow tipped mountains in the distance. Along the track there are various ruins, shrines and carvings. And, at the end, there was quality coffee in the village before the boat back. Copa had a lovely laid back traveller scene and was refeshing after the hustle of Peru.

Lake Titicaca is a beautiful sight

Ticking the box marked...

We had long joked that in Cusco, Peru we would see everyone again that we had met so far on our trip. We were not strictly correct. We did see Amber again, though we don´t know how her date went. No, instead it seemed that we saw every other caucasian tourist in the world in Cusco. The Peruvian marketing Darth Vaders have done a remarkable job. Cusco has a pretty colonial heart. Though to our eyes it is not that different from Popayan (Columbia) or Cuenca (Ecuador) and certainly Cartagena (Columbia) is its equal. However, the world and his wife are there. The place is packed with North American tourists (stop pretending to be Canadian already!) and everyone is queuing for pizza, cash, burgers and tours.

Of course, most people are there because Machu Picchu is the hottest destination in South America. This is a bit of a sensitive subject as a lot of people spend a lot of effort and money on coming to MP and it is the centre piece of their trip. But we really didn´t get it. We really wish we had had the cojones not to go. They say they are trying to limit the numbers on the Inca Trail and at MP but all they are doing is coining it big time. We did make the mistake of getting the train, when we found out afterwards that it is actually possible to avoid the train and walk part of the way on the train tracks. So it cost us a large chunk of change. But what was really disappointing was the site itself. Compared to Tikal (Guatemala) or Palenque (Mexico), the two most impressive sites we have seen, it just doesn´t seem very cosmic. The hilltop location is awesome, but just in Peru in the Cordilleras and the canyons there is much more spectacular scenery. And of course MP is crawling with visitors, many of whom rejoice at seeing as they have just walked 4-5 days to get there. Ultimately the combination of Cusco and Machu Picchu, the atmosphere and numbers, are what we try to avoid most of the time.ñ

But we had to go, of course. We had to tick the box. But we also had a very special friend to take with us. You will remember the a certain bear originally arrived at Paddington train station after a very long journey from darkest Peru. Last year, while doing life laundry back in Brighton, I found said lonely and ruffled bear in the loft - some 28 years after I had first been given him as a present. We thought it was time for him to return to his homeñand and see the sights. After seeing the mountains and valleys, we left Paddington bear around the corner from the Mortureros in Machu Picchu, where has a great view of the site, the valley, the train and Putucusi.

The 800m high rock that is Putucusi has special significance for us. The day before we visited the site of MP we climbed this imposing edifice. There were vertical sections of collapsing ladders, some 50m long. But at the top we were rewarded by a quiet, serene and delightful view of Machu Picchu. It was the highlight of our time in the area. Of course it seems harsh to knock one of the world´s great wonders but we were just very uncomfortable with it. Perhaps it is in the context of wider Peru - which seems poorer and more disturbed than even Bolivia and seems well beind Ecuador developmentally. And that so much wealth is in Cusco when the rest of the country is a mess. And how so many people we met were not going anywhere else in Peru. It seemed sad somehow.

San Blas plaza over Cusco

The train to Machu Picchu

On the lookout for marmelade... or was it jam

Huanca Picchu - quite a mouthful

Harry Kipper and Colca Canyon

Arequipa is Peru´s second city. Though it has since been renamed. By me. It has a lovely colonial style heart, that we found very useful for changing Easter Island flight times with LAN, our favourite South American Oneworld group airline. After just a few hours we carried on apace back up across the altiplano towards canyon country. Having been to the Grand Canyon and had such a mind blowing experience we were unsure about what to think of Peru´s canyons. Cotahausi Canyon is the world´s deepest at 3354m (twice as deep as the Grand Canyon), and just around the corner is Colca Canyon, the world´s second deepest, and easily accessible from the village of Cabanaconde. The local hostels have a good system going where they book you into the ´oasis´at the bottom and give brief instruction on how to take a long walk to and from the bottom over two days. Before the off we found lone Bristolian, Amber, and roped her into joining us.

The canyon was about 30 degrees in the sun and 15 out of it, with a pretty harsh wind blowing at times. Distance perception was difficult, gazing across the plunging valley towards the specs of villages we would be visiting. Of course, as ever, we were in the wild, but not alone. There was a steady stream of tourists doing similar walks, many gutted that they had forked out for a guide when we and others hadn´t, and a steady stream of mules ferrying supplies to the villages and the tourist oasis. We had a corking two hour lunch breather and arrived after a total of eight hours walking, at the oasis at nightfall. Our lodgings had a spring-fed pool which, though chilly at 6PM, was still just what was required. Our hut was made of bamboo that really looked like it had just fallen together accidentally. We had sleeping bags and extra blankets and were feeling very smug that we were walking independantly when it transpired that half the visitors were getting up to leave at 0130AM to walk back up as part of their ´tour´. Ouch. The four hour walk, almost vertically up, was a serious test, particularly for asthmatic Amber, who was lovely company throughout.

We jumped straight on the bus after the walk, just as we had done at Huaraz, and back at Harry Kipper we droped by Juanita, a mummified sacrificial victim who, after lying sedate for 500 years, had been exposed after her volcano had erupted, melting her icy covering and revealing her perfectly preserved torso, including skin and tissue. We stayed the night in the family-run El Tumi Del Oro near the plaza and prepared for another night bus.

Canyon action

Mules were all the rage

None of this performance wear for me. I carried a plastic bag through the canyon and I´m proud

Oh no not another oasis

Dune

We have a regular trick of avoiding capital cities. So far we have swerved Ottawa, Washington, Mexico City, Belmopan (though we have been singing the theme tune ever since we saw Belize´s Police Academy on the outskirts), Guatemala City, Tegucigalpa (ok we did crash one night), Managua (though we did spend some quality time at the airport), Bogota, Quito, and now we swerved Lima.

With the capitals we have only spent quality time in San Juan on Puerto Rico and Caracas in Venezuela. Our two nights in ´prison´ in San Jose (Costa Rica) were eminently forgetable. It is just that, so often, the capital cities seem to offer much less in charm than they do in prospective aggravation - and you can´t see everything. Buenos Aires, from whence I write, would be an exception to our logic- it really is a destination in itself.

So we swerved Lima because we had read about Huacachina; an oasis in the desert. And it was. It was actually in the desert. Neither of us had ever seen endless dunes of sand trailing off towards the horizon. It was stunning. And around a little lagoon were a dozen hotels, and lots of gringos, like us. In the morning we took a walk up one of the dunes. And we took some of the local sandboards. After an exhausting yomp through the sand we got the top, overlooking the oasis, and we tried some sandboarding, in the company of some friendly Bristolians, who were doing exactly the same thing. Unfortunately the local boards were fat planks with velcro ankle strapping. We had been given wax; candle wax; to grease our descent but it really wasn´t happening. Back down at the oasis we sought an alternative and chanced upon a friendly Canadian restauranteur who had a stash of real snowboard and boots - apparently every year a load of Brazilian and Chilean nutters turn up for a sandboard fest and leave their old gear.

So, in the afternoon we went back for real - and in style. The action started with a dune buggie ride. Their were 8 of us and our driver, Rico, and he took us on a roller coaster ride across the sands. We didn´t expect it at all and it was great fun, really exhilerating - a blast. And after a few wild rides we were taken to the tops of a series of progressively higher and steeper dunes to do some boarding. We felt a bit guilty at first that we had the nice boards - but it turned out the most of the others were going for it head first at amazing speed and had no interest in the aesthetics of carving. We managed a few good runs but the wax would only last for a few metres before the board got very sticky - that was our best excuse for poor technique! And we watched the sunset across the dunes. Marvellous.

An oasis in the desert

Stylin´ it

Our driver prepares to frighten us some more

Sunset dune zen by Burton

Peru and big mountains

We considered going from Vilcabamba into northern Peru´s Amazonas but the transport links, and our schedule, didn´t allow it. So we got the early connection across the border to Piura, in Northern Peru. On the way, at Loja bus station, we saw a familiar face. Judith, the Swiss guide, from Guatemala, who had unfortuntely not been our guide on the Pacaya volcano when we had shared the shuttle ride there.

In Piura we stumbled across her other half, Victor, as we tried to get bus tickets up into Huaraz and the Cordillera Andes. Judith and Victor you see are serious mountaineers, experienced guides and were on the way to hire a mule and set off on a two week hikey-climb into the wilderness. And we were going to see the mountains. It was a different world of adventure. But we enjoyed a nice afternoon, a cozy night bus and a stress free morning on our way to Huaraz. In true amazing race style Anna and I picked up stupidly fast connections via Trujillo, Chimbote and another night bus to arrive in Huaraz the night before our extreme buddies. We asked around, nearly paid for a guide, but then the lovely people at gave us a map to Lake 69.

The next day we went on an six hour walk that took us up to 4800m and the stunning Lake 69, nestled in amongst 4 of the Andes´ highest peaks, all over 6000m and snowcapped. The last couple of hundred metres were torchure, even though we had spent quite a few days over 3000m, and we experienced the tiring effects of altitude. Huaraz was a hustling mix of adventure tourists and mountain market centre, with a constant flow of people, great value Chinese food and a kind of frontier spirit in awe of the mountain gods. It was very cool and we would´ve loved to have gone further into the wilderness ourselves.

The Cordilleras await

Lago 69 at 4800m

We always look like this

Some big mountains

Vilcabamba´s serene valley

Via Loja and a suitably extensive bus journey we arrived at Vilcabamba and the Izchayluma hostel; probably the best market place in the whole of Ecuador. There were flyers for it everywhere we went and everyone on the bus was going there - and luckily we had reserved. If we had described the place to ourselves we would have probably hated it but in reality it was a real triumph, definately in amongst the best places we have stayed and probably a hostel-of-the-year contender. German owned, Izchayluma has a great location looking down the valley above the village of Vilcabamba; the massage/healing and horse riding town of southern Ecuador, and a neat tourist trap on the way to Peru. The village itself is charming and not too dusty, and the hills around are dotted with the homes of the wealthy (a famous, as yet un-named, Spanish tennis star) and tourist lodgings. Izchayluma pitches itself as a spa at hostel prices. It is big, has a pool, has a big restarant, has a bar and has a lot of locals popping in for afternoon snacks on their tourist trails - but somehow it retains some charm - even though it is a mega-hostel. All with gorgeous views down the valley.

Unfortunately Anna really didn´t get to enjoy it so much as she was ill with some kind of stomach infection and maybe flu. While she was laid up I was able to take full advantage of the facilities, and enjoy the company of some of the lovely people we met there. The food was also ace. I will never forget the that I ended up rep-eating it was so good. Vilcabamba is known as the valley of longevity as, apparently, residents live to unfeasible ages. To be honest we didn´t notice that at all - our impression was of a sweet village where every horse was for sale, rent or consumption.

Back at the palacial hostel someone had made a couple of mistakes. Firstly putting a table tennis table in the bar; and then allowing someone wearing an Arsenal shirt to play on it. This was like a red rag to me, and even given alcohol intake and low light, I set about dispatching a series of dirty Gooners. Secondly the owners arranged a pool tournament. After faltering through the early rounds I met the rather affable Charles in the final. He was on his way from Alaska to Antarctica, driving a Nissan Patrol, and was taking along all kinds strangers on the way. he very kindly offered to drive us into Peru and to see some otherwise less-travlled areas - we would have loved to take him up but our new (and daft schedule) meant that we had to decline that adventure. Back to the action; I reached the black but... just as I was lining up the stroke... on the random juke box comes... Bruce Springsteen´s The River. Regular fans of this column will know that last year at about this time, with the help of an old recording of my father´s voice, I performed (well stumbled through) this at my father´s wake. The song is not without emotional significance for me. So I crumbled. At the last hurdle... on the black... I faltered and missed. Smooth Charles however couldn´t finish so, in tears, I stepped back up and finshed off - trying to ramble to him about how I wasn´t just emotional at being hostel pool champion. The prize (of cooking rum) was duly shared amongst the gathered hoard of Gooners and Irish (if there is a hostel bar you can guarantee our cousins fro the sceptred isle will have sniffed it out).

In Vilcabamba I face one last test. The hostel had been designed, built and was run by Germans. The food was ace. And they had bred a champion. A ping pong champion. He appeared in the Deutschland world cup footy top - the one with three stars - for each of their spawny victories. If anything was going to incite me to a higher level of ping-consciousness this was it. 40 years of hurt. Jules Rimet´s still gleaming. It was close. And I had the shallow end. But I ended victorious over 3 sets. In the diming light. With the moths circling and the sweat pooling. There can be only one. Ask what you can do for your country... etc. etc.

The Vilcabamba view from the restaurant

Good German food here

Where did you get that hat?

Puerto Lopez and more Ecuador

After the return flight from the Galapagos we spent a day in Guayaquil, Ecuador´s second city. In the Plaza D´Armas we found hundreds of very large iguanas mingling with the lunching office workers and tourists and we strolled the sanitised Malecon 2000 seafront boardwalk up to Las Penas, the charming hill of 500 steps, filled with bars and cafes. Some have had negative experiences in Guayaquil but, apart from the cost of taxis to get in and out of the centre, we found it pretty appealing, if lacking the excitement of a real ´destination´ city.

Our next port of call, Puerto Lopez, looked like a bomb had hit it, thanks to the total renovation of the town´s central streets. The endless sandy beach lined with relaxed bars and restaurants was a winner but the big draw was offshore; the breeding ground for the Eastern Pacific´s humpback whale population. We were just too late to see courtship but we saw dozens of big whales and some babies and some flipping and flopping on a half day boat ride. Back on the beach I had to ball juggle and buy-in to get into the big local footy match on the sand. It nearly ended in tears when I slid in, last ditch, on their big flair player. He landed awkwardly on my twisted legs though I luckily only got a nasty graze and not a break. We even had a temporary sub while I washed off in the sea - the chaps were taking it quite seriously. Avoiding the dead dog, bottles and jellyfish in the sand we ran out 2-0 winners - though I never did see my double-your-money share of the winnings.

Next up we wandered into semi-colonial Cuenca, famous as the home of the Panama hat. Panama hats are not from Panama you see. They are from Ecuador. And they are properly known as Montechristis. We went to a famous hat emporium and I was truly suckered. I put on a modern interpretation and after 45 minutes in the shop I couldn´t take it off. It has been with us ever since - even through several ´cat in the hat´ and one particularly disturbing ´Jay Kay´ jibe session.

In Cuenca we stayed at the cool ´Naranja´ hotel; an artist´s house lovingly made into a hostel with leafy common areas and cool furniture. We paced the streets and ate kiwi fruit.

Lots of big iguanas in Guayaquil

Puerto Lopez´ attractive high street

Nice digs in Cuenca

In the news

A lot of the time, while we have been on the road, we feel like we are in another world. But there are also times when we know we are in the same world and we are humbled by the trifles of distance, flying times and opposing seasons. A few weeks ago we learned from a Spanish news report about the shooting in a Finnish school that marked the start of the dark months with eleven deaths in a small town in our small country.

A few days ago I found out that my friends in Brighton have suffered a tragic loss. Chris was mother to Ben, a very old school friend; like an aunt to Tommy; and a great friend to Teresa in the hardest times. We were neighbours for years and years and she always seemed so young, especially to have three grown up kids. Anna and I were in her house at Chistmas, witnessing the amazing amount of friends they had. It is very hard for me to think of her husband Paul now. He has been such a wonderful friend to my dad and he has been so supportive to Teresa and me through our grief and now he has been robbed of the love of his life. It is really tragic and just not fair.

Not another apology

Well, yes, this is one of those apologising posts for not blogging. The last post rather petered out didn´t it? And we really haven´t had much time recently. And now we are in Bolivia where there is not much in the way of ´banda ancha´ (that´s broadband to you and me) so it may be a while before we blog properly again.

But let me explain briefly why...

You see we were in the lovely Ecuadorian hillside village of Vilcabamba, Anna wasn´t well, I was busy drinking and becoming hostel pool and ping pong lord (I won a bottle of rum - but that´s another story) and... yes... and we realised we were running out of weeks. Well, that we had less than six weeks to see Peru, Bolivia and Argentina, and get to Santiago in Chile. Not long considering it is pretty easy to spend 6 weeks in any one of these countries - and more.

So, we put down the ping pong bats and came up with a cunning and extreme plan. We noted the places we really wanted to see, looked in the books and came up with a schedule that includes a night bus every other night or so and takes in all the ´big stuff´ we want to see (especially penguins).

The plan went;

PERU- Huaraz (for the Cordillera Andes), Arequipa (for the world´s second deepest canyon), Cuzco (for Macchu Pichu), Copacabana (Lake Titicaca and Isla Del Sol)
BOLIVIA- Rurrenabaque (for the pampas, river action and pink dolphins we hope), Uyuni (for crazy salt flats jeep ride)
ARGENTINA- Salta, Cordoba, Buenos Aires, Puerto Madryn (whales, penguins amd more penguins), El Bolson (for hippies), Barilloche (lakes), Mendoza (wine)

We started very, very well. We have been up to Lake 69 at 4800m near Huaraz, hiked 2 days into Colca Canyon, ´done Macchu Pichu´, and we even managed to slip in an amazing day at Huacachina (more next time). Today we went to Isla Del Sol in Lake Titicaca. It is supposed to be the birthplace of creation - I thought that was the Hacienda in Manchester - boom tsch! And we have made up time - for instance we were the last gringos across the border last night and tomorrow we get on the 6am bus to La Paz, rush to the TAM ticket office and get tickets for the 1430 flight to Rurrenabaque on TAM Militar - it even goes from the military airport, which sounds like fun! We could be cruising in some dug out in the pampas on saturday with any luck... and once we hit the quality Argy broadband I promise to divvy up the full monty with pics and all...