It’s the first time I’ve flown with Virgin for 20 years and my expectations are high. It’s therefore disappointing that the food is awful, the seats are old and the entertainment screens keep breaking. Worst of all, a member of staff is late which means I was sitting on the plane for two hours before it even takes off.

Most people get off the plane in Antigua, and following some security checks it takes off again for the final 50 minutes towards San Juan. After 13 hours, I’ve finally arrived in Puerto Rico.

Following a successful year, my company rewards staff (and their ‘plus one’) with a holiday. It tends to be a beach resort in the Caribbean, so Susanne and I are extremely lucky that this year is Puerto Rico, where there are dozens of things to do aside from sitting on a beach. There are a couple of dinners and a day of company-organised activities, but I’ve added four days to the beginning of the trip to explore the rest of the island.

As a US colony, I don’t get to tick off another new country, but I’m still surprised at how American it is. Once we collect the hire car, I’m shocked at the number of chain stores and restaurants. We drive west and there’s a burger place almost every single kilometre. It’s built up and a bit dirty, but aside from the road signs in Spanish, it really feels like the US.

The road gets less busy the further from San Juan we travel. About 80km along the motorway, we take a turn towards Utuado, which means we’re heading south into the rural centre of the island. It’s pitch black outside, but the headlights illuminate the twisting road into the jungle. As we reach the Casa Grande Mountain Retreat, it feels like we’ve suddenly been transported into Latin America. Locals sit by the road with friends, food and drinks; the bamboo trees hang over our heads and the dogs sleep in the middle of the road without a care in the world.

I couldn’t ask for a better setting: The only thing separating me from the thick, forest trees and plants is the mosquito netting. The jungle noises make me feel a million miles away from home and I’m asleep the moment my head hits the pillow.

Day 2 (10 April 2011)
Rio Abajo Forest, Camuy Caves

We wake refreshed and finally get to see the jungle that surrounds the lodge. It’s a beautiful setting with plants and geckos everywhere and the sunshine lights up the luscious, green valley. We drive to the Camuy Caves and it’s a much more enjoyable drive now that the landscape is visible.

However, as I sit on the mini-train that takes us down to the entrance of the caves, it suddenly feels like I’m in Disneyland. It’s so touristy and there are screaming kids everywhere; it’s a complete contrast to the remote setting this morning. I was expecting a more adventurous caving adventure, but there simply isn’t enough time for anything aside from this main tour. However, the caves are massive and impressive nonetheless.

The plan was to drive south to Gilligan’s Island, but the twisting roads mean that it takes a lot longer than expected to get anywhere, so we decide to go to Lago Dos Bocas instead, where there are half a dozen small boats waiting to take guests to the various restaurants that are only accessible by water. The restaurant is not bad, but the views make it much better and it’s a relaxing end to the day.

Day 3 (11 April 2011)
Utuado, Ponce, Cerro de Punta

The rain overnight was immense. It sounded like the sky was falling and if I wasn’t so comfortable I would have jumped out of bed and danced in the rain! It means the clouds have shifted by the time I wake and the sun is stronger than ever. The plan is to climb the highest mountain in Puerto Rico, so we have another hearty breakfast before driving south. It involves driving along the Routa Panoramica, which is the mountain road that runs horizontally across the island. The road twists and turns like a roller coaster and there are regular, stunning views across the valleys to the Caribbean Ocean.

We drop our luggage off at our Hilton hotel in Ponce, which is great, even if it is the complete opposite to the jungle lodge. The room is massive and has a gorgeous view across the sea. Fortunately, like the jungle, it’s practically devoid of tourists. However, it’s clearly a resort that normally caters for families who don’t want to leave the hotel grounds: The staff are really confused when I explain that we’re driving back into the mountains. They think we’re checking out and can’t understand what other reason could explain our desire to leave!

The route to Cerro de Punta is beautiful and we’re really thrown into local Puerto Rican life. The American fast food chains are nowhere to be seen and the village life thrives in every direction. Unfortunately, this does mean that the climb to the highest point on the island is rather underwhelming. Whilst the views at the top are great (one can see the ocean on both sides of the mountain), it’s certainly not a trek and no effort has been made for tourists who want to climb it without a car.

It’s a bit late in the day to be visiting a coffee farm, so instead we head back to Ponce and briefly explore the black-sanded beach before going to the town centre for dinner. It’s a lovely little picturesque town with strong Spanish influences, but it’s completely empty. I’m not complaining (quite the opposite); I just can’t understand the volume of traffic on the surrounding roads when the town is so dead. We locate an Argentine restaurant and it’s hugely relaxing to sit outside in the warm evening air with empanadas, a massive steak and an even bigger piece of chocolate cake!

Day 4 (12 April 2011)
Ponce, Guanica, Gilligan’s Island

Today was supposed to be a day trip to Canon San Cristobal. However, we missed out on Gilligan’s Island on day two, so we decide to skip the trek in favour of the famous island, just off the coast from Guanica. It’s a great decision as it’s by far the most spectacular part of the trip so far. Mary Lee, a US pensioner who escaped Cuba in the 60s, lends us a two-man kayak, and we paddle across the crystal blue waters towards the island. It’s only one kilometre away, yet hardly anyone is doing the same. We find a deserted part of the island and it’s truly beautiful. The contrasts of colour, the strange vegetation which appears to grow upside down and the large variety of fish is everything I imagined the Caribbean to be.

Back on the mainland, we’re pulling the kayak back onto shore when we get the fright of our lives: Two enormous iguanas shuffle past us, so I grab my camera and chase them down the path as the dozens of crabs disappear behind the rocks. Suddenly, a rat darts across the path and Susanne sees a huge snake slither under the decking looking for its lunch!

We have our own lunch at a restaurant overlooking the sea, before driving east along the coast towards Coamo, where some natural thermal springs await. Just as I think I can’t be more relaxed, I step into the scorching water with the cool air blowing against my face… aaahhh! It’s a perfect way to unwind after the best day on the trip so far.

Day 5 (13 April 2011)
Ponce, El Cocal, Rio Grande

Today is all about getting to Rio Grande in the northeast by 3pm, so we take the long and scenic route anticlockwise around the coastline. There are parts where we’re driving on the Routa Panoramica, but the best part is finding a ridiculously steep road that takes us down to a gorgeous beach called El Cocal. Unbelievably, we’re the only people on the entire beach, and the beautifully soft sand stretches as far as the eye can see in both directions, with a row of palm trees rustling in the gentle breeze.

The waves are reasonably strong, so it’s fun to play in the warm water and then dry under the scorching sun as tiny crabs peak their heads out of small holes all around me.

A few hours later we approach Rio Grande on the northern coast and I spot the sign for the St. Regis Bahia Resort. From tonight onwards, the accommodation is in this ultra luxurious resort, which impresses from the moment I drive through the main gates. It’s set in a huge complex that includes all the usual beach resort luxuries (golf course, beach, lakes) but also happens to be surrounded by a huge tropical nature reserve.

Upon arrival, we’re treated to a five-star welcome and I also spot a few colleagues who have arrived to Puerto Rico today. The room is amazing: The shower room is nearly as large as my bedroom in London and even the bathroom mirror has a built-in tv hidden into it! It’s a relaxing dinner at one of the hotel’s private bars, before a well needed rest in preparation for tomorrow’s early start.

Day 6 (14 April 2011)
Rio Grande, Culebra

I’m waiting on the east coast of Puerto Rico but an hour after the scheduled departure time, our ferry hasn’t moved. However, it’s worth the wait as the 90 minute journey finally takes us to Culebra, one of two major islands in these bright blue waters. I actually think that Vieques (the larger of the two islands) has more to see, but I’m like a ten-year-old at the thought of seeing the abandoned tank which rests on Playa Flamenco, one of the world’s great beaches in Culebra.

Susanne thinks I’m bonkers, but I’m truly excited when I see it at the far north end of the beautiful beach. It’s only a tank, but it looks so ridiculously out of place and makes for some great photos.

The palm trees hang over the back of the beach and the sand is quite simply perfect: It’s like walking in soft flour as we stroll down the shore. Whilst I’m known for my intolerance to beach holidays, I do actually really enjoy myself. However, I still can’t see how anyone could do this for more than two days, let alone a couple of weeks! We stay for a few hours before heading back to catch the 17.00 ferry: It’s the last ferry of the day so we absolutely can’t risk missing it. We end up being far too early, and since this is Puerto Rico after all, the ferry doesn’t end up leaving until around 18.00; I’ve come to call it “Puerto Rico Time”…

The plan was to get back to the mainland by 18.30 so we’d have enough time to get to the nearby lake for some night kayaking. The dinoflagellates in the water illuminate blue when disturbed, so the kayaks leave a beautiful trail of colour. Unfortunately, Puerto Rico Time means we miss the tour and lose the opportunity to see this bizarre natural display. It’s a shame, but I feel we’ve done well to pack as many things into the week as we have done. It also means we have a slightly earlier night before our hike tomorrow in the jungle.

Day 7 (15 April 2011)
Rio Grande, El Yunque

One of the hotel’s pleasures is private dining on our balcony, overlooking the nature reserve. Despite the ridiculous cost (I’m not kidding – three eggs costs $21 and a single sausage is $8! Even a coffee sets you back $9… And don’t forget the obligatory 20% service charge!), we enjoy breakfast each day in this gorgeous setting.

It sets us up for another highlight of the trip: The El Yunque rainforest. We drive deep into the jungle to find the beginning of the Trade Winds Trail. It’s supposed to be the most challenging hike and also takes one to the highest point in the jungle.

There’s a local guide who sits at the beginning of the trail and he tells us that it’s about 3-4 hours each way, but it is due to rain. Undaunted, we start hiking. It is pretty wet and some of the rocks are slippery, but it’s really not a hard trek at all. Funnily enough, apart from the odd bird, we see very little wildlife. It’s a good walk, but just not at all as ‘jungle-like’ as we expected. In fact, remove some of the more unusual trees and it could quite easily be a thick wood in England. It’s still enjoyable, but unfortunately Susanne isn’t feeling well so after a couple of hours we decide to head back. It’s a wise choice, as the rain starts getting quite heavy and parts of the trail become flooded. We cut up our legs on the bizarre plants that dangle across the path, so the mix of blood and mud makes it look like we’ve gone into the jungle and kicked a boar to death!

We follow the trail signs, which are about as accurate as Puerto Rico Time, and find our way back to the beginning of the trail. This is where things get a bit odd: The guide is no longer sitting at the entrance and a bashed up car suddenly races off down the road. We look around only to find a huge sign above the trail map which says ‘Trail closed for repairs’…

Fortunately, the rental car is still securely parked, but a dozen thoughts go through our minds. Was the guide a fake? Was the trail ever open? Was the dodgy car on the lookout? We start thinking about what an easy con it could have been: Get an official looking uniform, remove the ‘closed’ sign and rob the dumb tourists, leaving them for dead four hours deep into the jungle… With a certain GN’R song, it’d make a great movie! Lesson learned, we drive back to the hotel.

After a play in the sea, we go for dinner at the exquisite Fern restaurant, with a delicious six-course tasting menu, before meeting some colleagues in a private bar to finish the day. Despite being a company ‘event’ it’s really casual and there’s barely a mention of work, so it’s a great end to the day.

Days 8-9 (16-17 April 2011)
Rio Grande, New York City, London

Today is the one day which I’m not free to do my own thing. My company sets up a bunch of activities near the beach and it’s actually a really enjoyable way to end the holiday. I run around the resort (treasure hunt), dive all over the place (volleyball), and swing a Thor-like hammer around (croquet), whilst soaking up the sun with the best weather of the trip.

After dinner we have an early wake-up call which begins the 20 hour journey back home via New York City, since there isn’t a direct flight back today. Despite American Airlines reaching new lows of horrendous service (seriously, I really need to avoid using them ever again), I’ve had a great trip and I absolutely can’t wait for the next one.

I’m pleasantly surprised by Air France. Lots of leg room, half-decent food and friendly staff take me from Heathrow to Paris. There’s a bit of a rush to make the connecting flight, but I make myself comfortable for the 12-hour journey to Argentina’s capital. Susanne is with me, who I met a year ago, so it’s a great way to start our trip across South America, by revisiting the city where we first met!

Day 2 (13 November 2010)
Buenos Aires

We wake in Argentina and quickly find the hotel, just a stone throw away from Av. 9 de Julio, the widest road in the world. The weather is fantastic, so we head for the Puerto Madero, the modern port area of the capital, with loads of bars and restaurants which are perfect for people-watching.

There’s a Nike city run, so the area is packed with bright yellow shirts. It’s the perfect way to start this two week adventure, by completely relaxing with a few drinks as the runners, skaters and boats go by.

Unfortunately the Costanera Sur Wildlife Reserve is just closing, so the lazy day finishes early and I find myself back at the hotel and ready to catch up on some sleep.

Day 3 (14 November 2010)
Buenos Aires

After yesterday’s lazy day and a ridiculous amount of sleep, I’m ready to start the real exploring. Palermo Viejo, the trendy and lively part of Buenos Aires, is a great area which deserves plenty of attention. So, after a quick jump at the Obelisk, we catch the underground to Plaza Italia, in the heart of Palermo. Susanne is obsessed with havannets de chocolate, so there’s a coffee/chocolate pit-stop before several hours of walking around Palermo’s beautiful parks.

The Botanical Gardens are quiet and romantic, whilst the Jardín Japonés makes me feel like I’m on another continent altogether. We walk for miles, but stop occasionally for photos and I even manage to consume what seems like a litre of the most delicious ice-cream at Un Altra Volta.

Although the gardens are well maintained, the surrounding areas are also fantastic. Buildings of different styles make every block fascinating, and really speaks volumes about this city’s history. Further north is the Parque Tres de Febrero. It also looks pretty and romantic, but apparently at night it’s the host of a completely different type of romance!

Susanne wants to see the elephants and I want to see the monkeys, so we walk through the city zoo on our way back towards Plaza Italia, even if I do hate seeing some of the tiny areas in which some of the animals are kept.

We end the day in Plaza Cortázar, where my last trip to Argentina ended (at about 5am). It’s suitably packed and we find a bar full of character to have some drinks and empanadas. The whole area oozes with character and it reminds me why I liked Buenos Aires so much a year ago. The day has absolutely flown by, so we head back to the Obelisk for a night shot of Av. 9 de Julio. It has been a frustrating day with white, cloudy skies, but I’m pleased to catch this long exposure shot which I missed last year.

Back at the hotel and I cant believe I’ve gone two days in Argentina without a steak – it’s sacrilegious!!

Day 4 (15 November 2010)
Buenos Aires, Coronia del Sacramento

Over breakfast, I spot a page in my guidebook that says there are regular ferry crossings to Coronia del Sacramento. I look at Susanne and she has the same grin on her face as I do: Let’s go to Uruguay!

We buy our tickets and find that we’ve got two hours to kill in Buenos Aires. Avenida de Mayo is another of the city’s famous streets. It starts at the Casa Rosada, and shoots inland to the west. I’m slightly underwhelmed with the road (it’s not nearly as interesting as my guidebook makes it out to be), but the Plaza del Congreso is an massive plaza with the very large and impressive palace towering above.

Back at the Madero port, we board the Biquebus ferry, get some more stamps in our passports and zip across the Rio de la Plata towards Uruguay. The views back to Buenos Aires are very good, since you can really take in the scale of this gigantic city.

One hour later and I take my first steps in Uruguay. Colonia is a touristy, yet quiet town which actually feels more Spanish than Latin American. Cobbled streets and old drawbridges give it a very picturesque feel, especially now that sun has broken through the clouds, lighting up the varying colours of beautiful flowers and trees. The view from the lighthouse is great too, although I can’t see Argentina in the distance, which I hear is possible on clear days.

I have a cocktail in the sun, and Susanne has an ice-cream which is absolutely smothered in whisky. It makes for a very relaxing (and completely different to the hectic city life across the river) afternoon which begs a return to Uruguay in the future.

Another ferry crossing and we reach the Hotel Carrson, which is absolutely awful, but the meeting point for the rest of the group on our Bolivian adventure. The group is large (too large in fact) but there seem to be some friendly characters and it bodes well for the trip. We all go for dinner and I finally get my steak which is delicious with a tasty bottle of Malbec.

Day 5 (16 November 2010)
Buenos Aires, Salta

The domestic airport is completely shut so the midday flight to Salta is via the absolutely packed international airport. The flight is quick and easy and we land in Northwest Argentina, an area famous for its wine and beautiful scenery.

Salta itself is much bigger than I expected. The main plaza is large and picturesque, and the whole city is buzzing with locals meeting in the centre or just sitting on a bench watching the world go by. It’s a bizarre environment as it feels like everyone is out and about. Unlike the UK, there’s a real sense of community and I love the fact that people are ‘living’ and not just plonked in front of the television at home.

The group sticks together in the afternoon and this is where the group size becomes a real hindrance. Ordering and paying for food takes forever and I feel like we’ve lost half the afternoon. When the group starts sightseeing through the city, I feel we’re just a bright umbrella away from being on a shit package holiday. Susanne and I decide to do our own thing (a couple of others do the same) and we prepare for tomorrow’s long day, which is the start of the real adventure.

Day 6 (17 November 2010)
Salta, Cafayate

Today was meant to be all about touring the countryside, visiting vineyards and sampling the local wines. Instead, we drive around 400km to Cafayate, a small town which is full of tourists. We visit one winery and after a 10 minute explanation on how they make the wine, we’re given a tiny taste of the cheapest white and red wines they produce. I’m surprised and disappointed, but on a positive note, the route to get here was absolutely beautiful. The mountains rise up to a modest 1,700m, but the views and varying rock colours make for some great photos.

On reflection, it would have been nicer to skip the wine tour and explore more of the mountains. The whole valley used to be covered by the sea and what has remained, millions of years later, is a series of gorges and remarkable rock formations.

Back in Salta, we break from the group again and find El Solar del Convento, a highly recommended restaurant just off the 9 de Julio Plaza. Its reputation precedes it. The atmosphere is sophisticated yet not pretentious, the service is the best I’ve had so far on this trip, and the food was excellent. The Malbec was also top-notch and blew away the crap we had from the winery early in the day. It’s a great way to end the Argentine section of this trip. Chile and Bolivia await, and I’m excited to see the altometer display some worthy figures!

Day 7 (18 November 2010)
Salta, San Pedro de Atacama

An early start and we all get to Salta’s bus station to catch the coach to San Pedro de Atacama, one of the driest places on earth. The coach is modern, and makes the journey fly by, especially with the great views as we climb to over 4,000m.

Even the border crossing into Chile is easy, despite the manual searching of everyone’s bags. As in the Patagonia crossings I did last year, they check for fruit, meat, nuts and of course coca leaves. I reluctantly dispose of the bags of coca leaves that I’ve been sucking for the past few days. Apparently you need 90kg of coca leaves to make a single gram of cocaine, so it seems a bit daft that I’m not allowed to take any leaves across the border; I’m pretty sure I can’t stuff 90kg of them in my mouth!

We pass some beautiful mountains, some of which are over 6,000m high, before reaching San Pedro de Atacama. It has a far more rural feel to it than Salta, despite the fact that it has practically been built for tourists, as nearly every building is a restaurant, shop or tour agency. The lack of tarmac roads means that it’s incredibly dusty, with sand flying everywhere each time a 4×4 passes or the wind blows. That said, it does add so much character to the small town.

The hotel is simple but very cute and reminiscent of the one I stayed in before I climbed the Sinai Mountains in Egypt. As a group we discuss all the options for the next 1.5 days. In reality, you could spend a week here and still not cover everything: The Valley of the Moon, the Death Valley, Star Gazing (it’s one of the best places in the world for astronomy), thermal springs, sand-boarding, mountain-climbing and numerous treks.

Most people want to do the Moon Valley, thermal springs and sand-boarding, but Susanne and I are very keen on climbing one of the mountains that is over 5,000m. Varcar seems the best: At 5,500m, it’s the only active volcano in the region and it requires a 05.00 start tomorrow, and means we can only go sand-boarding if we do it tonight. It sounds perfect, skimming down a sand-dune under the moonlight!

After a simple but tasty fish dinner, we meet at 21.30 only to be disappointed that the moonlight isn’t strong enough and we have to miss the sand-boarding. It’s a shame, but it does mean extra sleep before the early start tomorrow.

Day 8 (19 November 2010)
San Pedro de Atacama

We wait for an hour at 05.00 only to find that the 4×4 that was going to take us to the volcano is under repair. It’s hugely frustrating, especially as it’s absolutely freezing at this altitude when the sun isn’t out. Fortunately, our guide Christian has made some calls and we can go sand-boarding later this morning, and then climb another mountain this afternoon.

After a couple more hours sleep we join a German guy and an Argentine girl on a bouncy 4×4 trip into the Death Valley. It’s a stunning landscape and I finally feel like I’m on the adventure I wanted. We carry our sandboards for around ten minutes, reaching a big dune with powder-like sand which is begging for some tracks.

After a brief instruction, I’m surprised how easy it is, even if I do go relatively slowly and fall a few times! It’s such a strange experience to soak up the blisteringly hot sun, take in the stunning scenery and then hop off the edge of the sand-dune and carve my way down to the bottom! I’d definitely do it again, although I can’t begin to describe the energy needed to climb the sand dune every time I want another run! Where’s my air-conditioned ski-lift!?

It’s a pasta invigorating lunch before our next guide arrives with his repaired 4×4. It’s absolutely no surprise that it breaks down regularly, as he drives like a maniac and the suspension takes a hammering up to 5,100m. Toco mountain is not a volcano, but it is a little higher than Varcar, with its peak at 5,631m.

It’s not a difficult climb, but within 100m I know I’m not going to make it. My breathing is heavy and my legs are like jelly; the guide immediately says it’s the first signs of altitude sickness. I try to keep going, but then my head starts to pound with every step. I have to go back and although I’ve reached 5,375m, I’m hugely disappointed with myself.

With the wind blasting the side of the 4×4, I regain my strength, even if my hands and feet are still tingling. The guide told me that this happens as the body struggles to cope with the altitude and pumps blood to vital organs rather than limbs!

Susanne and the guide return an hour later, having picked up the pace and reached the summit before a quick descent. I’m proud of her but of course it’s such a shame that something out of my control has prevented me from joining the celebration at the top.

Another fast drive takes us back to San Pedro de Atacama, where we meet the others and join them for dinner. I’m not at all in the mood for drinks so return to the hotel for a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow we cross the border into Bolivia, the main reason for my South American trip, so I’m eager to experience the awe I felt when I visited Peru a couple of years ago.

Day 9 (20 November 2010)
San Pedro de Atacama, Valley of Dalí, Sol de Mañana

In a cloud of dust, a small minibus takes us to the Bolivian border. On the way, we pass Mount Toco and I reluctantly take a photo of the mountain that defeated me!

The border control is really quick and I enter my 39th country where several 4x4s are waiting to take us through the deserts of southwest Bolivia. The roads are nothing more than tyre tracks through this harsh and isolated landscape, so it makes for a bumpy and dusty ride. However, the mountains loom in every direction, so it’s hard to take my eyes off the stunning scenery.

It gets better, as we drive past many lagoons, each with unique colours, contrasting with the colourful rocks and mountains. The first is the Green Lagoon, followed by a drive through the Valley of Dalí to reach another lagoon, which is covered by spiralling formations of sand and dust. It’s a truly remarkable sight. Better yet, is the thermal pool which feeds into the lagoon. At 40 degrees, it’s like stepping into a bath tub and it’s my first unforgettable memory of Bolivia. Of course, I’m at around 4,000m, so the air is very cold, despite the scorching sun: Getting out of the thermal spring takes a bit of willpower!

I eat llama for lunch (it doesn’t seem too dissimilar from pork) and gulp a huge amount of water as I’m ridiculously dehydrated from the hot spring. I was only in for 10 minutes (the maximum recommended) but it totally drained me.

The next stop is for the Sol de Mañana geysers. Everyone ignores the ‘do not cross’ signs and peers into the bubbling geysers. They stink of sulphide and I can feel the heat from the ground below. I tread carefully between the geysers; there have been many stories of the ground collapsing beneath visitors, and I don’t fancy being another statistic for the guidebooks… That said, it does make a great spot for my first Bolivian jump!

More bouncing in the 4×4 and we finally reach our destination for the first night in the desert. It’s basic, with no heating and only minimal lighting for a couple of hours after sunset, but our guide manages to cook up the perfect cold weather food: A body warming soup followed by a massive amount of spaghetti bolognese. There’s also Bolivian wine although I only sample a little since I’m taking altitude sickness pills. I’m glad I am – the wine is revolting; somewhere between vinegar and cat’s piss!

I take a few night shots before climbing under the layers of blankets: Tomorrow is a huge day of driving and if today is anything to go by, it bodes very well indeed.

Day 10 (21 November 2010)
Laguna Colorada, Desert of Siloli, Ollague Vulcano, Salar de Chiguana

An early alarm and we all jump back in the 4x4s. Yesterday a couple of people were feeling the effects of the altitude, but fortunately a night’s rest seems to have done the trick.

The first stop is the Laguna Colorada and it’s one of the best landscapes I’ve ever seen. Aside from hundreds of flamingos, the lagoon is ridiculously red. I’ve never seen such a red colour in nature before; it’s as if Mother Nature has photoshopped the lagoon! I’m truly gobsmacked.

The Desert of Siloli isn’t something I was particularly excited about seeing. After the White Desert in Egypt, I wasn’t convinced rock formations in the middle of the Bolivian desert could compare. However, I’m completely proven wrong: It’s a fantastic area with gigantic rocks which appear to be out of place and lost in the desert. There are a few other tourists here, all acting like children, climbing and playing around the rocks: It’s like an enormous playground! It’s very photogenic too, so if it wasn’t for the blisteringly hot sun, I would have been happy to stay much longer than the 30 minutes that we did.

There are stops at a few more lagoons (Cañapa, ChairKota and Hedionda) and although they are pretty and full of birdlife, I feel like I’ve stalked enough flamingos for a lifetime!

The heat in the 4×4 is crazy. It’s a dilemma between sitting in a moving greenhouse or opening the windows and breathing litres of sandy air, so it’s a refreshing stop by Ollague Vulcano, where the wind blows over the jagged rocks. I climb the various viewpoints, soaking up the sun, with the smoke puffing out of the volcano in the distance.

We cross a train track by another security checkpoint before reaching a small town to stock up on water, and other essentials like packets of Pringles(!) There are loads of children running around the town, curious about their foreign visitors, and it’s another reminder about how simple and different life can be for people around the world.

I’m particularly excited about the next hotel. Not far from the salt plains, it’s actually built out of salt! Walls are made of salt bricks, with a salty mixture holding them together. The floor looks like someones has poured salt granules all over the place (it feels amazing when walking around barefooted!) and tables, chairs and ornaments are all carved out of salt rock.

The moon is immensely bright tonight, so I have another crack at some moon photography, with much better results. It’s a surreal experience to be standing in the middle of a desert and being able to see the various craters on the surface of the moon!

Day 11
22 November 2010
Salar de Uyuni, Uyuni

Today’s attraction was what created my first interest in travelling to Bolivia. The Salar de Uyuni is the biggest salt plain in the world and is a third of the size of Switzerland. It holds around 5.4m tonnes of lithium and lies at 3,656m above sea level, meaning that it creates a perfect contrast between the seemingly endless landscape of white salt against the brilliant blue sky. In wet season (January) it even floods, creating a perfect mirror across the desert floor.

However, the day doesn’t start as planned and I’m woken at around two in the morning by Susanne who has unfortunately fallen ill. It’s obviously some dodgy food that caused the problem, but the real issue is being in such a state when there’s no electricity and you’re using torches to scramble around a salt hotel in the middle of a desert. It’s not a pleasant start, but at least come 07.00, she appears to be through the worst of it, even if she is completely drained of energy.

Feeling slightly better, she joins us for the 4×4 trip into the centre of the salt plains. It starts with a short hike to the top of a little island that sits in the middle of the plains. It’s an absolutely amazing little island, since it’s littered with cacti, thriving in the harsh environment in which they live.

Another drive and we reach a location where I can pretty much only see salt in every direction, apart from the faint shadows of mountains that are hundreds of kilometres away. It’s everything I hoped it would be, from the crystal-like salt shapes on the ground to the perfect blue sky.

We do the touristy thing and play with perspective to get some unusual photos, but I waste a lot of time with ambitious shots that don’t really work. The best ideas are the simple ones, an everyone laughs and messed around with different objects. It’s a really perfect place to play with photography.

Before finishing the day in Uyuni, we visit the Train Cemetery, but although it’s impressive, the weather has suddenly changed and the quite skies make it hard to photograph the rusty, dark and abandoned trains.

Between the cemetery ad Uyuni is another unbelievable sight. There are literally millions of plastic bags, torn ti shreds and depositing rubbish all over the shrubs between the town and the desert. It’s disgusting and gives an idea of how bad certain services are in this country.

Uyuni is a perfect example of rural Bolivian life. Unlike some of the other towns I’ve seen on this trip, it has a real local feel to it, and is a stark reminder about how poor the country is. Old people (mainly women) roam the streets and every few metres there is another frail person selling anything from fruit and nuts to socks and knitwear.

The dust is unbelievable. I’ve been waking up and really gasping for air each day, but this place is a horrendously bad. The sand from the roads is bad enough, but the pollution adds to the mix: It really is a nightmare for asthmatics and contact lens wearers!

We go out for an Italian dinner (again!) and settle for an early night, since we’re so exhausted from the lack of sleep yesterday. Others stay out late, visiting the awfully named ‘Extreme Fun’ bar and downing shots until the early hours of the morning!

Day 12 (23 November 2010)
Uyuni, Potosí

Out first lie-in since Buenos Aires is a welcome rest, and sets us up for the long coach ride to Potosí. I feel I haven’t explored Uyuni properly. However, it’s the amazing countryside that is the reason why I’m in Bolivia and that’s why today’s day on the road is so enjoyable.

Despite being a relatively major road, the route from Uyuni to Potosí is basically a dirt track, with occasional sections that have tarmac. It twists and turns through the mountains, reaching close to 5,000m. Amongst the beautiful landscapes are a few buildings (which are nothing more than walls with a roof) and a few locals going about their rural lives. This is the real Bolivia and unlike some developing countries that I’ve visited, it doesn’t feel like things are going to change any time soon. It’s an eye-opening experience that I wish the whole world could see.

Potosí used to be the richest city in Latin America. Its silver mines depreciated in value and it nearly collapsed but for the demand for tin. It has certainly lost its ‘rich’ title, but is still proud of the fact that it’s the highest city in the world, at 4,088m. I can still feel the effects of the altitude too; it’s not easy putting in my contact lenses when my fingers and face are both completely numb!

Potosí is considerably bigger than any town I’ve seen in Bolivia so far, but still doesn’t seem any different to Uyuni. It’s like a city lost in time, that hasn’t changed in hundreds of years. Of course there are mobile phones, electrical stores and the odd modern looking building, but the street-sellers remain and the beggars still roam.

The frantic, busy roads are full of old mini-buses (which were clearly imported from China decades ago) crammed with people. Children are employed to announce each stop and many of them sit on the door entrance with their legs dangling out and scraping the road below.

From a photographic point of view, there is fodder everywhere, but I hold back, conscious that the better the photo, the more I’m highlighting their poverty.

There’s a quick walk around the city before an early dinner in a great little restaurant that has a wall covered in graffiti from travellers’ scribbles. Most people are shattered, but we all stay up to watch a documentary about a 12 year old boy who works in Potosí’s silver mines. It’s full of eye-opening facts about child labour, the dangers of mining and extreme lack of wealth in Bolivia.

Day 13 (24 November 2010)
Potosí

I’m visiting the silver mines today and I wake with the images of the documentary still embedded on my mind. On the minibus I try to imagine the journey that workers would make from the city up to Cerro Rico, knowing they have to spend their next hours (and in some cases a full 24 hour shift) in near darkness at temperatures of up to 40 degrees.

I change into the mining gear (I’m a little concerned at how very YMCA I look in these clothes…) and ascend the mountain that Potosí miners have climbed so many times. Near one of the mine-shafts, I spot the mother of the boy whose documentary I saw last night. It suddenly makes the shocking video so much more real, especially when nearby I see the boy’s brother, who is a few years older, but still a teenager preparing to enter the mines again. He sees that we’ve recognised them and smiles, waving at us like he’s a superstar. Out guide points out his sister (who can’t even be 10 years old) and she’s separating the rocks into piles, trying to identify some valuable minerals. The documentary was shocking, but this is hard to digest.

As part of the tour inside the mines, we pass Tio; workers believe that inside this mine they are away from God’s eyes and they need to respect the devil in order to save themselves from accidents. I don’t know if the guide is joking when he says they touch the devil’s privates and make a wish… I don’t take the risk: I grab the Tio and pray to get out of this mine alive!

We meet real miners who are still working in the same conditions as they did hundreds of years ago. We see the manual methods of drilling holes, the setting the dynamite (that they have to pay for using their own money!) and the crawling through muddy passages, filled with poor quality air. If they avoid the daily dangers such as falling into sub-shafts, cave-ins and the risk of dynamite accidents, then they get the privilege of dying from silicosis at an average age of just 40 years old.

It’s a journey that leaves us all shocked and grateful that we haven’t been born into this alternative world. We climb into various shafts and I even get a chance to carry out some work: It’s staggeringly tiring and I feel guilt as I hand it back over to the miner. He smiles and even hands me a small rock to take away. It’s not valuable to him, but to me it will be a reminder of this moment forever.

We exit the mines and are grateful not to have joined the 8,000,000 people to have died in this mountain. As a privilege for the tour, we gift coca leaves, 96% alcohol (!), and even dynamite to the various miners we meet.

Back under sunlight, the miners then show us how strong the dynamite can be. Taking just a small amount, they they blow it up; it’s a much bigger explosion than we expect, and the miners laugh and take huge satisfaction at our reactions!

Back in Potosí we have lunch, wander around the city and then prepare for the long bus journey that will take us to La Paz overnight. Potosí’s bus station is the most modern part of Bolivia I’ve seen to date (free wifi – I mean seriously – priorities!?) the locals love our game of hacky sack and we board the night bus. Tomorrow I’ll wake up in the highest capital city in the world – a slightly odd title since it’s not actually the capital of Bolivia!

Day 14 (25 November 2010)
La Paz

La Paz is far from its name suggests. Multiply the frenzy of Potosí tenfold, put it into a ten kilometre crater surrounded by dangerous slums, and you get La Paz.

The hotel is relatively good and very central. We arrive early but the hotel lets us check in and have breakfast. Once again, I’m in a city that hosts many sites ad I’m here for only a short period of time. My decisions revolve around tomorrow’s full day of biking. Susanne has her heart set on reaching 6,000m. I’d love to join her but there simply aren’t enough hours in the day and, in any case, I’m still concerned about how I’m coping with the altitude.

Huyana Potosi’s peak is at 6,078m. There are several companies claiming they can offer guides for this technical climb, so I spend the morning trying to help Susanne find a suitable English-speaking guide who we trust can do it safely. We finally come across a small, but very friendly local who seems to know the mountain range like the back of his hand. The challenging climb will start tonight at 23.30 and go throughout the night, finishing at some point tomorrow afternoon..! It means a siesta for Susanne whilst I join a few others in the group in a walk around the city’s cathedral and along the witches’ market (imagine your local corner shop, but with a few llama foetuses…)

I get an absurdly cheap massage just in time for dinner at a recommended Thai restaurant in the ‘modern’ part of La Paz. It’s like walking though a time machine into the future. Everything is clean and the poverty is nowhere to be seen. The Thai is excellent and quite possibly the best I’ve ever had. Spirits are high an despite the warning that we should not be hungover for tomorrow’s bike adventure, everyone has a ‘suitable’ number of drinks until around 02.00!

Day 15-16 (26-27 November 2010)
La Paz, Coroico,

About two years ago, I received an email with an attachment. It was a PowerPoint document with a series of photos and was name ‘The Most Dangerous Road in the World’. Ever since seeing the photos, I’ve wanted to witness it for myself. So you can imagine my excitement when I discovered that it’s possible to ride down its 63km route on a mountain bike!

Its winding route through the mountains of the Yungas jungle has taken many lives, and it earned its title a few years ago when around 200-300 people died each year by falling from the 1,000m high cliff-edges. Six of us are driven to around 4,600m, where the route begins. It’s like a childhood dream as nearly the whole 63km is a steep downhill to Coroico, a small town at just 1,525m.

I’m in two minds as I’m desperate to stop every few hundred metres for photos, since the mountain scenery is absolutely stunning. However, I also feel like I’d be letting down the 10-year-old Carlo if I didn’t absolutely scream down this perfect downhill road! For once, I half forget about photography and I let adrenaline take over. The first 20km is all downhill on a tarmac road and I simply fly down as fast as I can. If only if I could send a postcard back 20 years and tell myself what I’d be doing today! I’d be counting down the days!

After a police checkpoint (this is actually a very popular route to smuggle drugs from the jungles of Bolivia) I’m off the Tarmac and onto the bumpy, slippery and narrow section of this route, which is suitably named ‘The Death Road’.

The track is dry and as long as you are careful around the blind corners, I really don’t think it’s any different to any other road. However, all it takes is one mistake, just one stumble over a stone or a slip of the tyre and I’d be off the edge and fall to a certain death. The many crosses and plaques constantly reminde me how dangerous this really is, so I lower my speed and take in the gorgeous views. However, there are still plenty of straight sections where I speed up and fuel my adrenaline rush!

The views are sublime and I’d have loved to have stopped more often, but I don’t want to take anything away from the experience itself. It’s really spectacular and one of the greatest experiences of my life which would definitely deserve a repeat.

We reach the end of the trail where a small restaurant awaits. I really feel the jungle atmosphere as I get bitten to shreds by the mosquitos, but the person in real pain is David. He fell after about 20km and thought he’d badly bruised his shoulder. On closer inspection it’s clearly a broken collar bone, so it’s unbelievable how he made it down the remaining 40km. We later discover that he actually broke four bones, one of which punctured a lung! He must have pain threshold stronger than Superman’s!

Earlier in the day I said that there would be no way on earth I’d let someone drive me on that road. Imagine my surprise when I discover that we are going to drive back up the route we’d just completed! I eat my words and put my life into the driver’s hands as he navigates us up the winding route to La Paz. I sit at the window and there are moments when I can’t even see the road – just the 1,000m drop into the jungle! It’s truly nerve-wrecking but a wonderful way to review the route and take in the stunning scenery.

Back in La Paz, the sun is setting and the views across the city’s suburbs is amazing. It’s a shame I don’t have more time in La Paz as it would be spectacular to climb the city’s outer mountains and look across this ‘city crater’.

At the hotel lobby I spot Susanne, who is absolutely exhausted and there’s a huge relief from both of us since we know how dangerous each other’s trips have been. I feel as if I had the easy one: When I was out drinking last night, Susanne had just started her climb, walking through the night, crossing crevasses and fighting against freezing temperatures at around 6,000m! Unfortunately the amazing weather has not been favourable, since the strong sunshine in the early morning means the snow is potentially loose, and for this reason alone, she had to turn around and miss out on reaching the summit.

Tomorrow’s early flight means it’s a relatively calm one this evening. We go to a steak restaurant which has a good reputation, but the service is absolutely horrendous. Forgetting the meal, Susanne and I look back on the last 24 hours which are the best of the whole trip, with plenty of memories to keep us occupied on the four flights home (La Paz to Santa Cruz to Buenos Aires to Paris to London!)

The eight hour flight with my two work colleagues to Washington DC flies by as Panos and I gulp down mini bottles of wine like they are shots of tequila. The British Airways crew are quite keen to join in the fun. When we’re discussing the potential problems of driving in the snow, we say that an extra inch is going to make all the difference. “I couldn’t agree more!” Quips the air hostess as she scuttles past…

Of the six British Airways flights to DC in the next 48 hours, ours is the only one which isn’t cancelled. The snow storms on the east coast are raging, but we seem to have slipped in before it really starts to pelt it down with snow. The three of us find the hotel and from the bar window we watch the layers of snow build up, lowering the chances of leaving the hotel tomorrow. It turns out to be a hugely relaxing weekend. Despite the roads being completely blocked (and the weather channel being the only tv station working), we take advantage of pool, jacuzzi, gym, bar, movies and restaurant for the next two days, before our three hour drive to Harrisonburg, Virginia.

Day 7 (11 February 2010)
Virginia, New York

Following the crazy drive to Virginia, a few days of work, a few too many beers and winning over $100 on the Super Bowl, we hit the road again for the six hour drive to New York City. I pass through Maryland and Pennsylvania before seeing the skyline of my favourite city outside of Europe. It’s always a jaw dropping site and I’ve got to give full marks to my mate Alex, who drives the final few kilometres into central Manhattan.

Days 8-11 (12-15 February 2010)
New York, London

I discover a drink called “5 Hour Energy”. It’s supposed to give a fast-acting, longer-lasting energy boost. Oh boy does it work. Unfortunately, its claim that it gives you ‘No Crash’ is rather misleading. What I didn’t spot was the asterisk next to this claim. It goes on to say (in ridiculously small font) that ‘”No Crash” means no sugar crash. 5-Hour Energy contains no sugar’. Hmmm.

Anyway, I spend the rest of the weekend peaking and crashing, whilst shovelling surplus amounts of cheese, beer and steak into my highly confused stomach. It’s fun to drink with mates at Times Square, and incredible to meet up with my girlfriend at a top hotel overlooking SoHo and the Financial District.

It’s a slightly unorthodox trip of New York this time and I try to explore the lesser well known parts of this enormous city. Fortunately, Susanne used to live in New York, so she takes me to some great cafes, restaurants and bars that only a true New Yorker would know. Since it’s Valentine’s Day, I also take her around Central Park, which is absolutely gorgeous, especially following the heavy snowfall. It’s a city that never fails to impress and I know there’s still so much more to explore for my next visit.

I’ve got that airport feeling again! I’m in an unusually quiet Heathrow Terminal Five and British Airways is offering me €600 and a free night in an airport, to fly tomorrow instead of this evening. The thought doesn’t even cross my mind: In 15 hours I simply have to be in Buenos Aires, the starting point of my adventure to Patagonia.

I’m in for a surprise as my supposedly direct flight stops in São Paulo and refuels before the last few hours to Argentina. It’s not quite another pin in the map, but I can’t complain about an unexpected stop in Brazil when I only left my office a few hours ago!

Buenos Aires is exactly as it’s described in my guidebook; it’s big, European-looking and clearly brimming with life. I didn’t expect so many skyscrapers and I’m also pleasantly surprised by the amount of green.

I take a taxi along the widest road in the world and dump my 90 litres of luggage at the hotel. It’s time for lunch so it’s great to meet three separate guys who are doing a different trip from me, starting in Buenos Aires and then heading north towards Rio. They’re a good bunch and we see some main sites such as Plaza de Mayo, Florida and Casa Rosada (not forgetting accidentally walking into a huge gay parade!) before finding a restaurant and my first Argentine steak and beers.

It’s a city that impresses and one that I immediately add to my very short list of ‘places I could see myself living’.

Back at the hotel, I meet my 15 new travel companions; everyone is lively and friendly so it bodes well for the next two weeks. It’s suggested we go to Estancia restaurant, with great local food (including an absolutely gigantic steak that I devour) served by men who are so old that it makes me wonder if the place was at all different in the 1950s!

Day 3 (8 November 2009)
Buenos Aires, El Chaltén

Five hours on a plane, three more hours on a bus and I’m finally in El Chaltén. I’m well and truly in Patagonia and the glaciers, snow-peaked mountains, crystal blue lakes and biting cold wind is all around me.

Despite the long day of travelling, it has been really enjoyable, getting to know the group and seeing the huge variety of landscapes fly by the window.

El Chaltén isn’t the prettiest town in the world, but the surrounding mountains are gorgeous, even if there’s a looming cloud, covering the jagged peaks in the distance. It’s another steak and some great local wine to knock me out before tomorrow’s long hike.

Day 4 (9 November 2009)
El Chaltén

It’s a long hike lasting nine hours, covering twenty-six kilometres of hugely varying geography. Apparently the weather has been horrendous recently, with violent winds, rain and snow preventing hikers from reaching the Laguna de Los Tres viewpoint at 1,400m. However, we’re insanely lucky; the clouds break and the wind is almost non-existent, giving an outstanding view of the Fitz Roy (El Chaltén) peak, screaming up to the bright blue sky. Deep into Patagonia, it feels like I’m a million miles away from home and it’s nature at its best.

It also is a great reminder of how fragile humans can be on earth; despite the lucky weather, occasionally the wind picks up or the sun gets hidden by clouds and it suddenly feels 30 degrees colder.

Back in the town, after a quick visit to the local chocolatier, it’s pisco sours all around and so much steak that I wonder if there are any cows left in Patagonia!

Day 5 (10 November 2009)
El Chaltén, Lago Viedma

The view from the bedroom window is even more beautiful this morning. The few clouds in the sky shift and leave a breathtaking mountain range all around El Chaltén. A short bus takes us to Lago Viedma, where a boat awaits. Despite the boat zipping through the freezing cold lake like a jumping dolphin, it takes an hour to reach the far west side. Yet it feels like so much less, as condors fly overhead, guanacos wander on the hillside and crystal-blue icebergs float around the shores of the lake.

When we reach the westside, the stunning Viedma Glacier appears, towering over the lake and rising back up into the distance. It’s a majestic sight and even more exciting since the next five hours will be spent trekking across it!

The rock beside the glacier is formed of vastly different colours and the contrast with the turquoise lake and deep blue sky is perfect for photos. With crampons attached to my foot, I start spiking my way across the glacier. It’s a strange feeling as I can hear the ice and water moving beneath me, and the constantly changing lanscape means the guides have to pick a route carefully around the deep crevasses.

There’s a short section of vertical ice that we practise climbing which is great fun, but surprisingly tiring, clinging to the wall of ice with axes and just a couple of spikes from my shoes.

As we approach a higher point of the glacier, we’re in for a treat: One guide starts hacking the ice with his axe and puts the chunks into some plastic glasses. Another then pulls out a bottle of Bailey’s! We salute and celebrate in style and I’ve another memory that will last me a lifetime, which can now be recaptured with a single shot!

There’s pizza and drinks before the three hour journey back to El Calafate, where a quaint wooden lodge awaits.

Day 6 (11 November 2009)
El Calafate, Perito Moreno Glacier

A greasy breakfast sets me up for what was to be one of the highlights of the trip: The Perito Moreno glacier. One of the few glaciers in the world that is still advancing, it splits Lago Argentino in half and every few years breaks and crashes into the water, connecting the two sides of the lake.

We approach the glacier on the winding mountain roads and suddenly it appears in the distance; the atmosphere and excitement is heightened even more by the Star Wars themes music played over the bus’ speakers! It’s truly apt, since the glacier spans kilometres into the distance and once again I feel like I’m on another world.

We stay a few hours and despite the average weather (it’s very cloudy and windy) I’m still enjoying every second, the dearth of photographs substituted by listening to the glacier creak and stir like the belly of a volcano. It’s truly alive and makes for an incredible acoustic experience as much as a visual one.

I could watch all day, eagerly anticipating each mountain of ice that breaks off into the lake, but our boat is waiting to take us near to its cliff-like walls. Only from the water level does the sheer size of it truly hit home. At 60m tall and with gigantic sheets of interconnected ice, it reminds me of Superman’s Fortress of Solitude!

There’s time to check out El Calafate, but unlike El Chaltén which is pretty desolate, this town is designed like it’s trying to make Americans feel more at home. However, the restaurant choice is great; we’re driven high above the town where the table-view is fantastic, the wine goes down well and I’m force-fed a few more Argentine herds. The night doesn’t end there though; Susanne, Sandra, Barry, Matt, Dana, Dom, Hannah and I decide to relive our Bailey’s moment and order a bottle to ourselves. That quickly disappears, then whiskey and cocktails come and go, Barry seemingly downs a bottle of wine and we all temporarily forget about the pending long journey to Chile tomorrow morning…

Day 7 (12 November 2009)
El Calafate, Puerto Natale

A few people look worse for wear, but fortunately it’s a comfy bus ride across the Andes. However, it is a long one, at around six hours, including a ridiculously long wait at the Chilean border as they inspect every single bag for fruit, vegetables or any other illegal items. Although the pace is slow, it’s all very friendly. In fact, it gets a bit too relaxed the guards start to play around with my camera-cleaning air-blower. They inspect my documents and say “Carlo!! Es Español?”

I naïvely reply with “No – soy Italiano!”, as he smiles and hands me back my British passport…!

A few hours of driving through horizontal snow and rain and we finally arrive in Puerto Natales. It well and truly feels like South America. This Chilean town is full of multi-coloured houses covered with sheets of metal, short locals wrapped up warm from the bitingly cold wind and plenty of authentic, local shops with only a few backpacking tourists stores in the very centre.

Matt and I find an indoor greenhouse of local shops, with hundreds of souvenir items being hand-crafted in front of our eyes. We stock up on supplies for the forthcoming days and then meet the others for dinner at Angelica’s. I’m all steaked out, so I choose a soup, followed by a salmon dish that turns out to be the best meal of the trip to date. It’s then time for bed before the real Chilean adventure begins!

Day 8 (13 November 2009)
Puerto Natale, Torres del Paine

This trip was always going to be about the hiking and the drive to Torres del Paine raises my already high expectations for one of the world’s best trekking destinations.

The snow-topped mountains are simply gorgeous, but the jagged Torres peaks live up to their name, towering over the huge national park. On the way we stop for guanacos, dozens of condors and landscape views of the mountain range with the indescribably blue lakes in the foreground.

Today is a 19km hike along the Rio Ascensio, the right-hand part of the famous ‘W’ route. The landscape changes around every corner as the steady uphill climb takes us through woods, alongside the freezing cold river (from which I adore being able to drink!) and over all types of rocky terrain.

According to the weather forecast, it was supposed to rain, but it turns out to be another stunningly clear day, meaning the contrast of cold, pure Patagonian air is cancelled out by the strong bronzing sun. I feel I’m always writing about how lucky I am with weather, but even the locals are shocked by our fortune; they tell me that since September there has been just one day as clear as today. It means the final, steep climb over the boulders to the base of the Torres is perfect. The towers stand invitingly at the top and every step takes me closer to one of the world’s most stunning locations. However, nothing prepares me or how amazing it is at the top: It’s simply spectacular and is an instant favourite amongst the greatest moments of my life.

The towers at the top of the climb would be impressive enough themselves, but the addition of the lake is just surreal. It’s in the perfect location and I can’t imagine a painter making up a more beautiful mountain scene. I’ve become rather friendly (!) with Susanne from our group, so it’s even more wonderful to sit with her and share such a wonderful view.

It’s mid-afternoon, so the shadows of the towers are creeping across the lake. I can imagine that at the right times of day, it could be an even more unbelievable visual treat, but I’m just thanking the heavens for such great weather. It’s a shame we can’t stay longer, but there’s the hike back to tackle, so we set off, hopping down to our starting point.

There’s a nice lodge at the base, with a bar that has great views across the hike we’ve just completed, so spirits are high as we celebrate with drinks.

An already wonderful day gets even better as we’re driven a few kilometres to a private campsite. We’ve got it all to ourselves and the view is sensational. We sit in a small cabin, with a wood-fire and some excellent food and drink, watching the sun set behind the mountains. The group has bonded so well and we laugh away the evening to an unforgettable day.

Day 9 (14 November 2009)
Torres del Paine

Nearly everyone slept badly. It was insanely cold at night and most people’s sleeping bags only keep you warm down to around -5 degree Celsius. I’m an idiot as my sleeping bag is suitable down to just +9 degrees!

However, the 05.45 sunrise is worth the cold night; the warm sunlight creates a magical red tint on the mountains. It only lasts a few minutes, but I snap away with my cold, numb hands before returning to the tent, with two thermal trousers, a pair of linen trousers, gloves, hat, two pairs of socks and four layers on my top-half. Finally, I get some sleep!

A couple of hours and a warm shower (!) later, I’m ready for another hike. Since sunrise, the clouds have covered the mountain tops and there’s even a dash of snow as we quickly visit the Salto Grande waterfall.

Next is the boat ride across Lago Pehoé. I’d love a photo of this stunningly blue lake with the mountains in the distance, but there’s not enough time on this three day visit.

From our second campsite, we hike an easier 15km along the Valley of the Río Francés. Occasionally the clouds shift and give a glimpse of the incredible scenery, but it’s less of a photographic treat than yesterday.

Nonetheless, it’s still impressive at the base of the Paine Grande, Torres del Paine’s tallest mountain, with glaciers melting into a fast-flowing river back to our starting point. It suggests that the weather can make such an enormous difference on the landscape. Walking back, the blue sky makes an appearance and although we’re retracing our steps, it sometimes feels like a totally different hike.

At the campsite, there’s more fun and drinking; I’m absolutely exhausted from my lack of sleep, so I don’t stay up too late and rest up.

Day 10 (15 November 2009)
Torres del Paine

Some of the group have picked up injuries and others wanted a warm room; it means I get to borrow a (decent!) sleeping bag and I get a much better night’s sleep.

I unzip my one-man tent and it’s like someone has moved me in the middle of the night; the visibility is much better and I realise what a great spot I’m in. After breakfast it’s a much gentler hike of 11km to the Grey Glacier. It’s another day of hugely varying landscapes. I particularly like Lago Grey; it looks so inviting for a pleasant swim, but its numerous floating icebergs say otherwise! There’s a windy peak where we get a great view of the glacier, before returning back to Lago Pehoé for our afternoon boat ride.

It’s a treat to stand on the upper deck of the boat with the sunshine in full force. Yet again the landscape changes with brilliant greens and blues contrasting against the majestic mountain range. I feel there’s so much more to see and I certainly don’t rule out a return to Torres del Paine.

Back in Puerto Natales, I’m amongst a few who opt for a full body deep massage. It’s insanely relaxing and sets me up nicely for another enjoyable dinner. The group really has bonded well and I laugh so much that my sides end up hurting more than my hiking legs!

Day 11 (16 November 2009)
Puerto Natales, Punto Arenas

A four-hour drive and I’m in Punta Arenas. Still on the Pacific coast, it’s cold and windy, yet the sun continues to ignore the weather forecast, so the horizon glistens in the distance. Out hotel is the best so far, but there’s no time to relax as it’s straight for lunch and another steak before our afternoon trip to see penguins!

Our guide is a strange chap who talks in the most monotone voice I’ve ever heard in my life. He waddles along and you could be forgiven for mistaking him for one of the penguins.

Guide aside, it’s a worthwhile trip as the actual penguins are gorgeous. They are frighteningly cute and I have to resist the temptation to take one back with me!

Punta Arenas actually seems like a nice place, but the lack of sleep in Torres del Paine has caught up with me, so in the evening I stay at the hotel with Susanne and we take advantage of the luxuries such as swimming pool and sauna. It’s the perfect way to unwind after an eventful few days and the forthcoming long journey tomorrow.

Day 12 (17 November 2009)
Punta Arenas, Ushuaia

Today was never meant to be a good day. A 12-hour bus ride, including another border crossing, doesn’t exactly jump out of the page as a highlight of the trip. However, it turns into a classic. Sitting at the front of an immensely comfortable double decker coach, with sublime southern Patagonia and Tierra del Fuego views, makes the journey absolutely fly by. Oh, and the beer, bottle of wine and the 500 ml of whiskey helped too…

Matt and I get suitably tipsy whilst the crazy driver slowly makes his way down to the southernmost city in the world. Along the way, there are plenty of events: Crossing the Strait of Magellan and seeing the jumping dolphins, the hilarious two hour wait as the coach gets lodged trying to descend from the ferry ramp and the nearby minefield, which is just begging to be jumped..!

The final few hundred kilometres are stunning. I’m literally at the end of the world and surrounded by gorgeous snow-topped mountains and sea views in nearly every direction.

Ushuaia is also impressive and although it’s one of few departure points to Antarctica, I’m pleased that apart from the main street, it hasn’t lost its “middle of nowhere” town atmosphere. It’s also surrounded by huge mountains and holds a very pleasant port, full of well-travelled ships.

It’s a late and very tasty Italian meal, before my first night at the end of the world.

Day 13 (18 November 2009)
Ushuaia

I’ve no hangover but I’m exhausted from the shortage of sleep, which makes it hard work walking north-west to the viewpoints over Ushuaia. However, it’s a fascinating troll with such variety in building designs, from cute wooden cottages to crumbling shacks that barely look habitable. The stray dogs are everywhere, barking and growling at my every step, but the view at the end is worth it, looking over the town and into the horizon, as I long for the ship that will one day take me to Antarctica.

Back in town, the museums don’t look too inviting, so Susanne and I have a pit-stop drink before meeting our guide, Cynthia, for lunch. She’s awesome and has been so influential in making this trips so special, and it’s wonderful to have a real friend as our tour leader. After lunch, we’ve a journey that involves a four hour boat ride around the islands south of Ushuaia. There are hundreds of tire-looking sea lions and more types of birds than I can possibly imagine, yet the most shocking beast was the grossly overweight five year old kid on the boat who didn’t stop stuffing his face with cookies for the whole journey. He must have had at least four coffees, each with a frightening amount of sugar, as his ignorant mother looked on adoringly. The fat little bugger wouldn’t have looked out of place with the sea-lions…

Once again we’re overwhelmed by the good weather, and the cameras are out for group photos as we all know our holiday is rapidly approaching its end. It’s yet another Italian meal for dinner (I’ve serious withdrawal symptoms from eating so many cows!) as we plan our final day at South America’s southern tip.

Day 14 (19 November 2009)
Ushuaia

It’s raining as we’re driven east of Ushuaia, so I’m wondering whether I’ve made the right choice in opting for the full day of activities. Unbelievably, the moment we arrive, the rain stops and the clouds disappear. Once again I’m thanking Zeus. Susanne, Cynthia, Matt, Dom and I start with some relatively gentle canoeing (although they may argue that I was the only one doing anything ‘gentle’). Again, I’m overwhelmed by the beauty of this part of the world, with rising mountains in every direction, some in Argentina, others on the small Chilean islands south of Tierra del Fuego.

We’re treated to hot pumpkin soup and after we remove our fisherman-like waterproof clothing, walk to a nearby village port. It’s quaint and picturesque, more so now that the sun is in full force. Better still, there’s a lovely local stopping point selling delicious cookies, which I devour like a deprived cookie monster.

A boat takes us to an inhabited island which has two types of penguins, which are cautious when we approach, but it’s still surprising how close I can get without them hobbling away from me amusingly.

We’re sharing the boat with a few others, including some Americans who start talking about the fishy beavers we’ve just seen/ Our group is in a stupidly childish mood and we exchange humorous glances ad the American girls continue to talk about how much they like beavers. I simply can’t control myself when one of them then announces, “All this talk really makes me want to eat beaver!”

We stop at another island, for another relatively short walk before finding a wooden shack that half looks like it’s about to collapse. It all adds to the atmosphere as inside there’s food aplenty and litres of wine.

The beautiful surrounding area is hugely inviting, so with a belly full of cheese and wine, we set off across the island. Our friendly Argentine guide leads us across the island (with Cynthia swooning!), along the woody tracks and varied shores. It’s not a hard walk, but it’s really warm due to the strong sun, so the occasional cool Pacific wind is a welcome relief. It’s a truly great day and I’ll never forget walking on the incredible purple shells that litter the beach on the final few hundred metres back to the boat.

It’s a huge final night at a restaurant that overlooks Ushuaia’s bay. Amanda and Dana provide a hilarious reward ceremony that really summarises how well the group has bonded. The drinking then continues in an Irish bar packed with young backpackers and I’m temporarily chuffed to know I’m in the southernmost Irish bar in the world, only to realise I’ve been stumped by another Irish bar that’s just 100m down the road!

Day 15 (20 November 2009)
Ushuaia, Buenos Aires

Surprisingly, I don’t feel too bad, despite just having four hours of sleep. Some of the group look like Death, so I count myself lucky for the flight back to Buenos Aires. It’s a roller coaster of emotions as I leave Ushuaia’s airport (I can’t imagine a more beautiful location for an airport) and wave goodbye to Southern Argentina.

Buenos Aires’ city buzz and modern liveliness feels like I’m already home and my thoughts immediately return to the surreal memories that I’ve collected over the past two weeks.

In the afternoon, Matt, Susanne and I explore the area around the president’s building where there’s another demonstration; this time it’s political flags everywhere, with countless references to Che Guevara. We play frogger to get across the busy road the separates the centre from the Puerta Madero and it’s like the road has separated two entirely different cities. The marine is full of modern bars, restaurants and incredibly trendy high rise apartment buildings. It reminds me of Canary Wharf in London and it’s good to stop for a quick beer in the sun.

Even more out of place than the modern buildings is the natural reserve, which sits east of the city. Its swamp-like features feel like I’ve just travelled 200 years into the future to find a flooded city.

A taxi takes us back through the skyscrapers and American company logos and back to the hotel just in time to catch the rest of the group. It’s our final night together so we return to the Puerto Madero and find the Cabaña Las Lilas restaurant. Despite it being full of businessmen, the staff are surprisingly unpretentious and the food excellent.

Day 16 (21 November 2009)
Buenos Aires

Most of the group has left and I’ve missed the chance to say goodbye. It’s a real shame as it has been an outstanding group and I certainly want for us all to keep in touch.

Susanne and I head towards Palermo Viejo, which is a cool area full of independent shops. It’s finally raining today (after waiting two weeks for rain in Patagonia, it’s a bit strange to find it here!) so we chill in a nice little bar with freshly made fruit cocktails.

It’s great to then meet up with a friend who has moved here from Brooklyn and we catch up over beers in an area littered with lively bars amongst all the young locals. In fact, it’s such a great area that I return with Matt and Dom for my final evening in Buenos Aires.

It turns out to be a hilarious end to an unforgetful trip. After all, Argentines are famous for their late-nights, so it’s only right that we don’t get back to the hotel until 05.30; I forget to set my alarm, temporarily lose my passport and then have a last minute panic for my 13 hour flight home!

18 years ago, at the age of ten, I had my first holiday memory: I was standing on the top of the Empire State Building and I couldn’t believe how small all the cars and people looked on the road far below. It affected me and I remember it like it was yesterday. Sure, I have glimpses of holidays at a younger age, but this moment really stuck in my mind. I’ve always promised to return, especially to see what parallels and differences there are between two of the greatest cities in the world.

The flight from Heathrow Terminal 5 to JFK Terminal 7 was a pleasure. British Airways clearly still know how to train their staff and (unlike American Airlines) the air hostesses constantly smile, they are only too happy to help and they don’t charge $6 if you want an alcoholic drink! Three films later and I’m staring out of the window as we descent over Long Island. The view is fantastic and really shows off the wonderful geography, especially with the sun low in the sky.

I find myself on the metro to Manhattan and it feels like I know this place. The train carriages look familiar and I’m even expecting to recognise locals on the train. It’s only because I’ve seen so many films set in New York, but it’s a strange feeling nonetheless. I snap out of it when a rat the size of a small dog, looks up at me and then darts across my path. Soon afterwards, I’m in a queue and the guy in front of me reaches the cashier and says, “How yoo doin’?” I couldn’t have planned this ‘welcome to New York’ any better!

It’s a relatively long metro journey to 103rd St in the Upper West Side of Manhattan. I’m in New York because I have a work conference from Tuesday to Friday in Virginia, and rather than spend two weekends in Washington DC, I thought I’d snap up the chance of a weekend in New York. Unfortunately, last minute planning means I picked a real shithole of a hotel.

Fortunately, the area doesn’t look too bad. Unfortunately, the shithole of a hotel double-booked my room. However, nearly an hour later and I’ve been relocated to a glorious hotel near 79th St and I’ve even been upgraded to a superior double for the hassle caused. I can’t really complain!!

I head out and find Times Square. I can hardly miss it: This ridiculous interchange on Broadway makes Leicester Square look about as entertaining as a single LED in a muddy field. It seems ridiculous to read all the ‘save by using energy efficient light bulbs‘ tips on the metro, when you’re practically blinded by the lights on the streets above. It’s an epileptic fit, waiting to happen.

I walk for what seems like miles and the temperature is dropping by the minute. It starts to snow just as I catch my first view of the Chrysler Building. A few steps later, the Empire State Building shows its peak over the other skyscrapers. It doesn’t seem as overwhelmingly huge as when I was 10 years old, but it seems to grow every step I take towards it.

It becomes overbearingly cold, so I jump back on the metro and show my head at Union Square, but it’s still freezing, so I warm up in a Vietnamese restaurant and then head back to the hotel. It’s nearly 04.00 UK time; it may be the City That Never Sleeps, but Carlo most certainly does.

Day 2 (7 December 2008)
New York

I wake early and head for the financial district. I immediately locate the World Trade Center site and am rather disappointed at the lack of memorials; it’s basically a huge building site. Nearby, the streets around Wall Street remind me of the City of London, with impressive company names and uniquely designed buildings. The New York Stock Exchange is particularly impressive and my only complaint is that I’m here on a Sunday, when most of the streets are empty.

Heading south, I find the port that has ferry rides to Liberty Island. It’s something I never did back in 1990, so I jump on and see the monumental copper statue get closer and closer. The weather has been poor, with bitingly cold winds (not helped by skyscrapers creating wind tunnels on every street) and a photographers worst enemy – a thick, cloudy, white sky. Fortunately, as I approach the Statue of Liberty, the clouds break a little and the statue appears to be reaching towards the sun. The wind is still painfully bitter, but a few ‘Project Jump’ photos warm me up. I’m happy taking photos for ages, but strangers keep seeing my camera and asking me to help them with their family portraits. After the fourth request, I decide to get out of there. I don’t enter the statue; the head has been closed for a while for safety reasons and I’m not too fussed about a close-up of her feet. Furthermore, despite all baggage going through an x-ray, they still require you to hand in bags before going inside the statute, which all seems rather backwards.

Ellis Island is next; it was the arrival point for millions of immigrants and has a relatively impressive museum detailing its history. The experience is made more realistic by the fact I’m sitting on a ferry to Ellis Island, surrounded by foreigners yapping away in Italian and Chinese! However, as I’m checking some of my Liberty photos, one Italian peers over my shoulder and says, “bellissima, questa foto.” He makes my day!

Back on Manhattan, the wind is worse than ever, so I jump back into the subway. The subway is ridiculously cheap: It explains the lack of electronic displays and the woeful attempt to cater for disabled, but it does seem to work quite efficiently. Furthermore, it’s a huge relief to know that the trains are always at the right temperature, something hugely missing from London’s underground. I exit at 14th Street and find “Cozy”; it’s famous for its soups and burgers, so I order exactly those.

I spend the next couple of hours with some friends I met when I visited Washington DC in January. It’s great to see them but when we go into Saks on Fifth Avenue, I’m tired of seeing $2,000 price tags on every item of clothing so I decide to visit the Rockefeller building instead. I’m delighted I do, since I was seriously considering a helicopter flight tomorrow just so I could get a decent picture of the Empire State Building. However, I think I capture exactly that on the 69th floor of the Rockefeller, standing for about an hour in the blistering cold winds.

I avoid catching pneumonia, but unfortunately I’ve missed the meeting point for dinner, so after a few night shots of the Flatiron building, it’s time to head back to the hotel.

Day 3 (8 December 2008)
New York

The day starts with an omelette sandwich and a dunkin donut. Well, I’m in the US after all! It’s an early walk across Brooklyn Bridge and today’s weather makes yesterday feel like a day on an African beach. As I cross the enormous bridge, it feels like half the wind from the Atlantic Ocean has blown past my face. It’s worth it though, as the views are exceptional and the bridge incredible.

I stop at a coffee shop, only in order to defrost, but I’m tempted to have a huge slice of chocolate cake and I can’t help adore the fantastic change in accents. The waiter sounds like he has stepped off a 1930s gangster movie set and I don’t dare short-change him!

On the Brooklyn’s promenade, I get an outstanding view of Manhattan. The sun has yet to emerge from the clouds, but that doesn’t stop me trying a Project Jump photo that I thought of yesterday. It’s quite an ambitious photo, that I struggle to get right, but the 73 attempts certainly help warm me up! Typically, the moment I get the photo I want, it’s like The Big Apple flicks a switch and the sun magically lights up the city. I know further photos will look better, but I’m also quite fond of my fingers and they are moments from completely snapping off. A park ranger then approaches me, as he has seen me jumping towards a camera on a tripod. I try to convince him that I’m not a professional, but my face is numb from cold and I can barely get the words out. He asks further questions: “Hoos gonna see these photos?” He backs off when I tell him I’ll show the photos my mother and father..!

I get the subway back to Manhattan and exit at Penn Station. After booking my ticket to Washington DC, I enter Macy’s and manage about half an hour of shopping, but give up and walk down the road to the tallest building in New York. I’m pleased to see that it’s just how I remember it. I was concerned that the Empire State Building was only “special” to me because I saw it when I was ten years old, but the views from the top are just as awesome to a 28-year-old. I don’t remember the heavy security to get in, but what really makes an impression is the attitude of the staff. I have found staff in New York (everywhere – not just the Empire State Building) to be incredibly welcoming and friendly. I guess it’s that American attitude towards work and pride in their work; it really rubs off and makes the experience (whether on a tour or ordering a coffee) so much better. The English should take note.

Next on my packed itinerary is a close-up of the Chrysler building and a wander around Grand Central Station. I can’t quite capture a photo as good as the wonderful “light through the window” famous photo of Grand Central, but I’m impressed nonetheless, especially as police are everywhere and they aren’t anal about people taking photos as they are back in the UK. I particularly like the group of art students sitting on the stairs, sketching scenes from around the main hall.

The sun is now pretty low in the sky and I promised myself I’d take photos from the Brooklyn promenade at sunset, so I catch a train back to Brooklyn. I end up going too far into Brooklyn and it’s a long walk to the river. Strangely, I get asked for directions by so many people, despite the fact I just can’t look more like a tourist (backpack, camera, tripod, map!) I can’t miss the spot I was this morning; there are photographers everywhere, waiting for the right moment during the sunset to capture Manhattan at its finest. It’s a truly gorgeous view and I forget about the cold, lying on the rocks and taking probably my best photos of the trip.

There are so many things I’ve failed to see, but there’s only so much I can pack into the day. I’m pleased that I stop at Times Square at night, as it looks so much better against the dark sky. I’d love to get photos of Little Italy and Chinatown, but when I’m invited to dinner at a French restaurant on the edge of SoHo, I decide to leave my camera at the hotel. I feel naked without my backpack; but it’s pleasant to wander around and feel like a local, with no one staring at me. Incredibly, a guy on the subway starts a conversation with me and we end up talking about London. Then, just before I reach the restaurant, I walk down a quiet street and another pedestrian says hello as he walks by. It’s insane: New Yorkers have a terrible reputation but I’m overwhelmed by their friendliness. Dinner is fantastic and we follow it with drinks (a Long Island Iced Tea!) in Little Italy.

Tomorrow I catch a train to Washington DC before heading west into Virginia. My New York adventure is over and I’ve barely scraped the surface of this great city; I’ve not even seen Central Park. So, it’s an excuse to come back and I’ve confirmed what I feared would not be the case: I most certainly could convert from Londoner to New Yorker.

I wake at 05.00 to the sound of three alarms. Twenty-five hours later I am crashing in a bed on the other side of the world. It’s the furthest I’ve ever travelled and I’ve finally made it to South America!

I’ve already had a few moment of panic; my cards don’t work in Miami International Airport and I’ve completely forgotten to bring documentation that proves I’ve had the yellow fever inoculation. HSBC sort me out with some dollars and soles (I dread to think how much that’s gonna cost me) but my calls to the NHS are fruitless; there is no way of accessing my records until Monday, so I need to keep my fingers crossed until then.

The flights are easy; despite being surrounded by dozens of Orlando-bound families and screaming kids, I block them out with a trio of films; Hancock, Get Smart and (ashamedly) Sex and the City.

I’ve already surprised myself with my Spanish. I can understand a lot and I’ve gaining confidence speaking which is helpful, as even Miami feels like South America; everyone there (staff included) is speaking Spanish as their first language. It’s crazy that as an American, you’d actually feel like you’re in a foreign country!

A shockingly cheap taxi ride and my driver finds my hotel in the Miraflores area of Lima, despite him having what I’m convinced is a severe case of short-sightedness. Nonetheless, I’m safely here, in the capital of Perú and I’m raring to explore.

Day 2 (19 October 2008)
Lima

I wake in the City of Kings and I have a day to cram this capital city intro my memory. I’m in Miraflores, the commercial hub which is littered with parks, sports grounds and the main beaches of Lima.

I walk southbound through Parque Kennedy and I’m surprised how quiet it is. I reach the coast by about 08.00 and discover the Parque del Amor. The mosaic wall follows the coastline but is dominated by the huge (‘El Beso’) sculpture, of a couple kissing. There is a single couple replicating the sculpture but after a quick exploration of the craggy coast, the park is soon being invaded by tourists.

It’s a three kilometre walk back north before I reach the pyramids of Huaca Pucllana. It’s a huge shrine built with adobe bricks whose Wari architecture has outlasted centuries of erosion and earthquakes. It was used as a religious site and 1,500 years ago was host to human sacrifices and as a cemetery for the ‘lucky’ chosen ones. It’s very impressive and the tour also includes a walk through a small farming area, which is home to hairless dogs, vibrant guinea pigs (which I hope to eat later on this trip) and a pair of mating llamas. The female looks unimpressed and the male is hardly playing up for the cameras; in fact, they look rather bored.

I’m shown some local varieties of plant, including one which has hallucinogenic pins. Hmm… perhaps it’s a little early on the trip for that, but I think it would go down a treat for the two llamas!

It’s about 8km to the centre of Lima, so I hail a cab who drives like a lunatic to get me there for the haggled price. Taxis are in abundance; you can’t walk a block without a taxi honking its horn at you to see if you want a lift. Either that, or they just all fancy me.

I arrive in Plaza de Armas just in time for the changing of the guards. I’m only here for a day so I’m extremely luck to witness this long and brilliantly choreographed display. The Palacia de Gobierno is armed by guards with machine guns and on every corner there is a huge tank with armed soldiers on the alert.

After lunch and a delicious ice cream, I wander around the streets aimlessly, taking in the buzzing area. It feels like a European city centre and it’s only the strong October sun and dry Rio Rimac that reminds me I’m south of the equator.

The Covent San Francisco is an enormous complex which combines a church, courtyard, library and fantastic catacombs. The only disappointment is the ban on photography, especially as the dusty light spilling through the library skylight would have been a keeper. The catacombs were very impressive too, especially the 10m deep well, full of skulls and bones with an artistic symmetrical shape of remains at the top.

My next Peruvian taxi driver is pretty crazy. He wants to talk all the way, which is great Spanish practice, but when he has difficulty explaining the meaning of a word, he shows me with hand movements; as the car starts swerving across the lanes of traffic, I have to quickly reassure him that I understand! So far, I’ve found the locals warm and friendly. I don’t know if that’s because I’m trying in Spanish or whether they really embrace tourism, but I’m happy either way.

I meet an English girl who has just finished the two week trip that I’m about to start and she was unfortunate to have rain at Machu Picchu, but despite this she said that every second was unforgettable. So, it’s good to meet my new friends as our guide introduces himself and talks us through the plan for the forthcoming adventure.

We’re a group of nine; a couple from Vancouver, another from Cork, two girls from Gothenborg, a lady from Stockholm and a girl from Australia. Our guide, Jose, takes us for dinner to get to know each other. It’s a great evening in a restaurant overlooking the choppy-looking Pacific and after stuffing myself with the largest chocolate cake in the world, we make our way back to the hotel.

Day 3 (20 October 2008)
Lima, Cusco, Juliaca, Puno

Today was the day I was dreading; I suffer from some serious altitude sickness and all that’s going through my mind is that I’m ruining my trip and missing things I’ll never get to see again. It starts with a bus to the airport to catch our flight to Juliaca, stopping at Cusco on the way. Cusco is around 3,200m and I’m not sure if it’s my mind playing tricks on me, but the moment they open the cabin doors I feel short of breath. The pain kicks in about half way to Juliaca and I’m covered in a freezing cold sweat and I’m absolutely convinced I’m going to be sick. The others say turbulence was bad, but I don’t remember that, I just rush for the airport toilet on our arrival.

Our next mode of transport is a small bus and I’m now starting to feel really nauseous. Even though I’m longing to look out of the window to see the Peruvian landscape, I lie down and suffer in silence. We stop once and I force myself outside for fresh air and a photo but despite the stunning view (with llama!) it doesn’t help me at all.

We’re at around 3,800m in this town, the highest I’ve ever been in my life and my body just doesn’t know how to cope. We’re meeting at 19.00 to go through tomorrow’s agenda so I crawl out of bed and with head in hands I listen to all the unbelievable things I know I’m going to miss tomorrow.

The others are great; all of them are sympathetic and offering me drugs left right and centre. However, I fell even worse and I run to the toilet and projectile vomit all over the place. It’s like the world’s worst hangover and the flu all at once.

It’s about 16.00 and I’m straight to bed in our hotel in Puno. I’m told that Coca Tea and five minutes with an oxygen tank will help, so I force the tea down but I’ve absolutely no appetite and I’m sure that I’m instigating a second vomiting session. Fortunately, the oxygen is a treat; every breath clears my head and I’m practically begging the staff to let me keep it!

I’m straight back to bed and despite a few visits from my drug fairies, I’m a shivering wreck alone in bed for the rest of the night.

Day 4 (21 October 2008)
Puno, Isla Taquile, Isla Amantani

What a difference a day makes! I have an awful night’s sleep and I feel like I’ve been on an all night bender, but I’m feeling much better. I’ve a cracking headache but that’s probably due to a lack of food and water.

Breakfast is good and every bite I take is a tiny cure. The others all slept badly too, some feel like they have a cold, others are short of breath and most also have this splitting headache. I’m incredibly lucky; it seems that I missed some trips to the pharmacy, a brief tour around Puno (which we also have time for on Day 5) and a meal in the evening. I’m literally praying that I have no more severe symptoms and I wouldn’t wish my experience on anyone else, so I stock up on drugs and set off with the others.

We’re in for a treat; a frantic pedal powered taxi ride to the port is so much fun; we’re weaving in and out of the traffic as our drivers practically race us to the docks of Lake Titicaca.

It’s a four hour boat ride to Isla Taquile. The scenery is sublime and sitting on the roof of the boat is fantastic, with the strong sunshine and the strong rush of air blowing into my lungs, it’s like I’m making up for the shortage of oxygen for the past 24 hours.

It’s a relatively steep ascent to the top of the island and it’s my first taste of the stereotypical Peruvian locals. Loud colour and faces that must have years of stories look perfect with the stunning Lake Titicaca in the backdrop.

I’m feeling better by the minute and despite some stomach issues (which really isn’t pleasant when there is no flush and you have to put used paper in a bin next to the toilet…) I feel good at the 4,000m summit.

We have a great lunch of soup then fresh fish from the lake and after another dash to the toilet, we climb down the other side of the island where our boat is waiting. We’re all absolutely exhausted and we’ve only walked about 1km! We’re all saying the same thing: How the hell are we going to manage the 40km Inca Trek!?

Another hour on the lake and our enthusiastic guide tells us that Lake Titicaca (Titi Q’aqa) means Puma Stone in the local Quechua language. He jokes that the Spanish speaking Peruvians say that the Peruvian side of the lake is called Titi and Bolivian side is called Caca! Of course, the Bolivians say the opposite!

On the next island we will meet some locals who will be our families for the night. A large group of young girls, with brightly coloured clothes, welcome us to Isla Amantani. We are soon paired up and since I’m the odd one out on this tour, I get to join our guide, Jose, with Rosita, who takes us up the hill to meet the Familia Flores. The house is big and I even get my own room with a concrete hard bed and a mountain of locally made blankets which should help through the cold night. After all, at around 4,000m this is the highest point at which I’ll sleep on this trip.

We’re quickly taken to the top of the island at around 4,100m. All the locals gather here each evening and there’s a small, concrete football pitch surrounded by cafe bars and the local primary school.

It’s a daily ritual for the locals to challenge all the tourists and I can barely believe how different I feel to last night, so I’m quick to volunteer. The locals are on man short, so I join the Peruvians and run around (albeit very slowly!) at 4,100m. It’s an experience I’ll never forget.

We relax with teas and hot chocolates (some are mad enough to have alcohol!) before the descent back to our adopted families.

I join the Familia Flores for dinner, which comprises of a pretty good soup starter followed by a bland stew and rice main course. The family is made up of the father (a carpenter), the mother, grandmother (who is about 65 and doesn’t speak Spanish) and Rosita who is 15 years old. The other three daughters are studying in Puno, which is where the father lives most of the time. The kitchen is simple and the family sit on stools eating their food with smiles on their faces. It’s a unique experience.

Before I know it, I’m dragged back up the hill (I can’t begin to describe how quickly you get out of breath at this altitude) and our group all meet up for an evening fiesta. The island is pitch black and it allows a stunning view of the stars, something I’m determined to capture on film before the end of the trip.

We dance with the locals and the songs seem to last forever as we struggle to breath and keep up with the young locals! Once again it’s a fabulous moment and my prayers were answered that I recovered so quickly to experience such a great day.

Day 5 (22 October 2008)
Isla Amantani, Islas Uros, Puno

I wake up and can barely believe I’ve been sleeping on an island at 4,000m on the other side of the world. Once again I’m sitting in my adopted family’s kitchen and I watch the mother prepare pancakes using a fire and simple utensils that could have been used hundreds of years ago. They only make pancakes for the tourists and normally live off the garden for themselves. I drink loads of Coca tea; even though I feel fine, I want to minimise any chances of further altitude sickness.

I give the family a couple of presents as a thank you and I also buy the chullo that they lent me for last night’s fiesta. I’ve seen better (and cheaper) ones elsewhere, but it means more to me to have this one.

I’ve taken photos of the family and I’d love for them to have copies. They have practically no ‘unnecessay’ possessions and I would hope that they would like them. Since there’s obviously no post, Jose says that if I send them to him, he can ensure they reach them.

After goodbyes, I meet the rest of the group by the lakeside, where there are dozens of locals trading food which has just arrived from Puno by boat. It’s unbelievable to watch such simple lifestyles when not far away is a town with all the modern conveniences. The population of such communities is diminishing; children go to secondary school in Puno and then never want to return. Fortunately for these islands, there are enough people who like the idea of no taxes, no crime and living by the three rules: “Do not steal, do not be idle, do not lie.”

We’re back on the boat for three hours to reach Islas Uros. Once again, the views are amazing, especially as we approach these unreal man-made floating islands.

As I take my first step on one of the islands, my feet sink a few centimetres. The water is about 30m deep and I’m standing on 2m of reed branches. The ‘ground’ must constantly be relayed as the old branches rot into the river. It’s unthinkable that these people live in huts made of branches when they know what other options there are in life. Saying that, ever single local seems happy. From children playing with sticks to elders comfortably watching the world go by.

Declan and Tiff row us to another island and there’s even a chance to stroke a pet condor; Declan and I are the only ones to volunteer and we’re blown away by its huge wingspan and strong beak.

We jump back in our boat which quickly gets use back to Puno and I get to do all the things I missed on Day 3. The markets are fun, especially the haggling and watching Aileen in action. Most store owners are old women and they knit away whilst their children play around with random objects. It’s all so simple and yet so normal to them.

Puno itself is quite nice in the very centre and the streets are crammed with school kids in the their military-looking uniforms. Later, we have dinner and a few of us stay on for a quick Pisco Sour, which would be massively tempting as the beginning of a big session, if it wasn’t for the fact we’re still at 3,800m. Tomorrow is another early start so it’s yet another early bed time.

Day 6 (23 October 2008)
Puno, Cusco

Today was always going to be a day of travelling. It’s about a six hour bus drive from Puno to Cusco but it’s confirmed what we were warned about last night: The farmers near Cusco are striking and have blocked the main road. Anyone who tries to pass will be attacked with rocks and stones.

It means a detour that lasts around 10 hours. Fortunately the detour is a cross-country, gravel track through the mountains proving beautiful views and a chance to see the real Peru. The difference between the lives of the town and country Peruvians is stark. Locals watch in awe as a busload of tourists drive by and children wave and run alongside the bus.

The route also takes us higher that anywhere I’ll be on this trip at over 4,300m at Lake Layo. Strangely, much of the landscape actually looks like Scotland’s Highlands; just a lot bigger! Some mountains have snow and there are others that remind me of the red, wavy-looking Atlas Mountains in Morocco. One ascent is particularly fun; the road is throwing the bus all over the place and the cliff edge is becoming ever so much closer to our tyres. But it’s worth it as the view from the top is outstanding and it turns a long bus trip into a bus adventure, especially on the few occasions we get stuck in the road.

Nonetheless, 10 hours in 10 hours and I’m grateful for my ipod as we crawl northbound towards Cusco. We finally arrive and I’m impressed with Cusco’s centre. It’s incredibly touristy, but the huge square and Spanish-looking buildings give it lots of character.

We visit the great cathedral before going for dinner, by which time I’m exhausted so I’m pleased to hit the sack in what is probably our best hotel yet.

Day 7 (24 October 2008)
Cusco, Saqsaywaman, Pisaq, Urubamba, Ollantaytambo

Two days in a row I’ve woken without a headache so I hope this means I’m finally used to this altitude. First thing I need to do is pack a maximum of 6kg for the porters to carry on the Inca Trek. This includes my mattress and sleeping bag, so it looks like I’m gonna absolutely stink over the next few days! The porters carry 25kg (including my 6kg) so I feel I’ll do well if I cope with my 12kg of camera gear: I’d better get some good shots!

First stop today us a bus ride up the valley hills which gives a fantastic view of Cusco. The next thing to see is Saqsaywaman, which means Satiate Falcon in Quechua, but I prefer to say it with a Jamaican accent.

Pisaq is the next destination for lunch but the road travels through the Sacred Valley, which offers stunning scenery and is the agricultural hub for the Cusco region.

The restaurant seems out of place; it’s a great buffet but the place is full of tourists. I think we’ve eaten relatively well but I guess travelling with a group hardly means we’ve going to be trying local eateries. Mind you, in this restaurant we’re kept entertained by the miserable bastard who serves the puddings, who we nickname “Asshole”.

Urubamba is the next small town and we stop for a demonstration of how Chicha is prepared and, more importantly, how it is drunk! The traditional Chicha is disgusting, we all agree on that; but the strawberry one goes down a treat and it’s only the knowledge of being at 3,800m that stops me drinking more!

Arriving in Ollantaytambo, I cant help but see the enormous Inca ruins. I’ve seen a few already but this is so well preserved that you can really appreciate the amazing architecture. We climb it in the blistering sun and from the top we can see a film crew filming a new tv series (“Eldorado”). After exploring the ruins, conquered so easily by the Spanish, we approach the crew and I’m shocked how close we get. I’m a couple of steps away from the main cast, including Shane West who apparently is well known, but I’ve never heard of him!

It’s dinner, then back to the hotel in Ollantytambo, for my last night’s sleep before the adventure I’ve been looking forward to more than anything else in my life.

Day 8 (25 October 2008)
Ollantaytambo, Piskacuchu, Yunkachimpa

It’s tough. I’ve completed the first day of the four day Inca Trek, from Piskacuchu (“Point 82km”) to the campsite at Yunkachimpa. It’s not too far and there are only a few steep ascents bu the weight of my camera gear is obscene. The porters somehow carry double and used to carry around 70kg before restrictions and regulations came to force six years ago, so I count myself lucky.

We’ve hiked for six hours and the scenery is very impressive. Our starting point was at 2,500m and we’re now camping at (a very cold) 3,100m, so although we’re high, we’ve only at what seems like the base of the Andes.

There are checkpoints throughout the trek where we all meet and locals (I must admit I didn’t think anyone lived in this are) sell chocolates, soft drinks and alcohol for the brave!

We’re also spoilt; for the 11 hikers (Dan and Anna from England have joined us), we have over 20 porters, Breakfast, lunch and dinner is served and although it’s welcome, it feels a bit of a cheat.

Nonetheless, we’re all exhausted, so when it starts to absolutely chuck it down with deafening thunder, we call it a night.

Day 9 (26 October 2008)
Yunkachimpa, Dead Woman’s Pass, Paqaymayo

It’s a dreadful start to the day as Declan and Aileen must return to Cusco. Dec has been sick all night needs a horse to take him back. He’s pale as a sheet and understandably gutted. He either has experience some awful altitude sickness or, more likely, got food poisoning.

It serves as a reminder to the rest of us that this could happen to anyone and we need to everything possible to minimise such bad luck. So, we head off slowly and get even slower, as we meander up the mountains, between the wooded areas and through the clouds. It’s a real killer day and I cant describe the satisfaction in reaching the 4,200m summit, with glorious views at Dead Woman’s Pass.

It took five hours to reach the top so it’s an enormous relief that the last two hours is a (steep) descent to our second campsite, Paqaymayo. Here, there are even shower facilities, but since we’re up at 3,700m, they are obscenely cold. It’s a refreshing way to end the day and relax in the campsite, surrounded by the enormous Andes and listening to the waterfalls in the distance.

Day 10 (27 October 2008)
Paqaymayo, Runkuraway, Sayacmarca, Phuyupatamarca

I sleep fantastically and wake at 06.00 in my solo tent. I’m very lucky to have a tent to myself as a solo traveller should be sharing, but I’m the spare one in an odd-numbered group.

Today is a day of ups and downs, bizarre weather, diverse geography and another injury. It starts with a steep ascent, but I’m full of energy today and I find it considerably easier than yesterday so I reach the Runkuraqay High Pass quite quickly. Still, it’s steep ascents like this that make the Inca Marathon story even more impressive: Every year the porters race across the full length of the Inca Trek, which is the same distance as a marathon. Incredibly, the record is 3h15m! It still baffles me now to think about it.

The next section is downhill, passing the impressive Sayacmarca Inca site and down towards our lunch meeting point. The diversity is unreal. It rained from 17.00 yesterday, all night and was still raining up to the 3,900m peak today. The other side of the mountain is called Cloud Forrest and it’s obvious why. The landscape is suddenly jungle-like and the clouds hover over the entire route, with mountains eerily disappearing and reappearing within a matter of seconds.

Just a kilometre or so later, we emerge from the jungle and the sun hits like a burning furnace. The weather is so unpredictable and so random, it means two people travelling 30 minutes apart would have an entirely different experience.

However, disaster strikes our group again as on the descent from the Runkuraqay High Pass, behind me I hear a scream of pain from Mathilda and the few of us near her rush to help. Fortunately, Dan and Anna are doctors and they are confident that it is just a sprain, but she’s in agony and has to reach the meeting point with the help of others. News travels fast and the porters react quickly: She has no choice as they prepare to actually carry her to the next camping point! It’s a few kilometres of undulating, rocky ground, much of which around narrow paths with sheer cliff drops and yet the two porters who take turns carrying her are practically jogging all the way! It’s unbelievable how strong they are and how sure they are of their own footing.

The views today are the best yet. I feel like we’re deep in the mountains especially looking across the jungle landscape from the Saqyacmarca Inca ruins. The last few kilometres were absolutely breathtaking. The narrow undulating path is easy to walk but I’m stopping every few steps for photos.

The campsite is also on a spectacular mountain peak and you can see for miles in all directions and it’s today that makes the trek worth it.

It’s Leah’s birthday and the porters have a surprise; as we sit in our cold communal tent, they bring out a huge birthday cake! The food the chefs have prepares has been amazing, but to manage to bake a cake with utensils they have carried for 35km is nothing short of brilliant! At 19.30 it’s time for an extremely early night. We’re still at 3,600m and there’s a long descent to 2,500m tomorrow.

Day 11 (28 October 2008)
Phuyupatamarca, Wiñaywayna, Machupicchu, Waynapicchu, Cusco

It’s an incredibly early 02.45 wake-up. We leave at 03.00 in the pitch blackness and some people aren’t too happy about it. It’s mainly my fault as when we were told that we were staying in a campsite two hours behind most other trekkers, I was gutted and asked if we could leave earlier to catch up. No one complained then but nearly everyone is annoyed now.

I actually find walking in the dark quite easy; my torch lights the next couple of steps I need to take and it’s all downhill. Unfortunately, not everyone has a torch so the pace is painfully slow. Furthermore, we have two more injuries: Kim’s knees are shot to pieces and Tiff has pain in one knee as well. Since we’ve only one guide, Victor refuses to let me walk ahead. It’0s understandable but so frustrating as the two hour hike to Wiñaywayna ends up taking four hours. It’s therefore 07.00 and we’re at the point at which most trekkers left two hours ago. I’m livid but there’s nothing that can be done, but what doesn’t help is that despite the fact we are just 6km away from Machu Picchu, people are happy to stop and have breakfast. Our guide, Victor, says it’s the strangest thing he’s seen in the 500 times he has done this trek.

We finally set off at 07.30 and finally we’re allowed to go at our own pace. I can hear the train at the bottom of the valley and it pains me to know that I’ll arrive when hundreds of people are already there. We’re told it’s an hour and half to reach the Sun Date of Machu Picchu but I’m determined to get there as quickly as possible. It takes me just 40 minutes. Words can’t describe my feelings as I climb the final few steps, walk through the Sun Gate and get my first view of Machu Picchu. I’m overwhelmed with emotion and burst into tears. It’s the happiest moment of my life.

I’ve really enjoyed travelling with the group and I wouldn’t change that at all, but to travel the last part on my own means I’m left with my own thoughts and makes the experience so much more personal. I’m blessed with great weather and I make my way down the mountain, unable to keep my eyes off this unbelievable site.

Inevitably, there are tourists everywhere, including those non-trekkers who just stay in hotels just a 30 minute drive away. It’s a strange feeling as I resent them being here and I don’t feel they deserve to be. However, I’m confident there is no way in the world they would have the same joy has those who have done the trek.

Of course, it’s time for photos and after the obvious postcard shots, I take some of my ‘Project Jump’ photos. I’m wearing my Superman t-shirt (I couldn’t resist!) and some Americans cheer me with each jump, asking for more and more! It’s very funny but inevitable attracts the wrong attention. A security guard isn’t impressed and tells me off, but as he approaches, he notices my tripod and camera lenses. He immediately assumes I’m not just a tourist and says I need a permit to take photos. He says I need to go to the main entrance and get a professional photo permit: It costs $7,000!!

My rusty Spanish gets me out of trouble and I keep a low profile until the rest of the group arrive, just before 10.00. Group shots over, we’re told we only have enough time for a two hour tour, or to climb the dauntingly-looking Waynapicchu. Everyone chooses the tour except me. It’s a shame I miss the tour but the view from the peak of Waynapicchu is stunning and the best of the hike. The climb is tough; nearly all steep steps on narrow paths on cliff edges. It even involves crawling through a small cave, dragging my camera bag behind me. The top is full of photographers, standing precariously on the huge rocks that seem to defy gravity. I stay for 20 minute before meeting the group back near the train station, at the base of the mountain.

The journey home involves a train and a bus and my first view of Machu Picchu keeps running through my mind. I don’t know why it has affected me so much; I’m just so joyful that I’ve seen the site that I’ve wanted to see more than anything else in the world.

Day 12 (29 October 2008)
Cusco

Most people today have stomach problems. I’ve pretty much been like that the whole trip, but last night’s guinea pig seems to have solidified a few things!

It’s a day of relaxation, following the 45km Inca trek. Some sleep, some go shopping and I join a few at a local Cusco market, which sells everything under the sun. Some people don’t like to be photographed, whilst others lap it up, including the lady who arranges the pig heads symmetrically for me! Everything is cheap, from freshly made pineapple juice (delicious) to the lamb being skinned in front of my eyes.

I spend much of the rest of the day in bars and restaurants. Cusco is pretty, in particular the main square, but I’m constantly approached by people selling things, from finger puppets to hats and jumpers, and from massages to weed and cocaine (“no problemo amigo – la policía no está aquí!”)

The massage sounds just like what I need and I search around for a deal. However, I need to be careful; if the massage price is too good it means it’s not actually a massage! I haggle one price down for an hour’s full body massage. It’s frighteningly cheap and if it was any cheaper I think she would “massage me long time”!

We have a few drinks in the evening accompanied by pizza and live Peruvian music and also check out the highest Irish bar in the world. It’s then a slightly more respectful 23.00 bedtime to prepare for tomorrow’s flight to the Amazon jungle!

Day 13 (30 October 2008)
Cusco, Tambopata National Reserve

Landing in Puerto Maldonado is like being in a different country on the other side of the world. It’s 34 degrees Celsius and the humidity makes me sweat like a pig within minutes.

It’s not long before I see my first tarantula; there are two of them on the ceiling, motionless and looking evil!

It’s an hour by bus on a dusty track surrounded by thick jungle, until we reach the Rio Tambopata in a village called Infierno (so-called due to the ridiculous heat and surplus number of mosquitoes!) at which point we take a canoe-style boat for another hour southbound. Climbing the river banks and walking ten minutes through the jungle, the narrow path guides us to the Posada Amazonas Lodge. It’s quite a large complex, built from wood and ropes and it’s truly impressive. Rooms are open to the wild with just net curtains protecting the beds at night. We’re not just open to the wild either; since rooms are built with bamboo, you can hear every sound form the neighbours as if the walls were non-existent. It makes for some interesting toilet trips!

Dusk is approaching so we trek for 20 minutes through the jungle, spotting giant ants, butterflies everywhere and listen to the sound of monkeys echoing through the trees. Even the trees themselves are amazing; my favourite being the walking (yes – walking!) trees that look like they are upside down with dozens of trunks, new ones growing all the time allowing it to move up to 10cm every year!

We reach the viewing tower, which shakes like crazy as we climb nearly 40m, but the view above the canopy is sublime. It really hits home how deep and mysterious the jungle is. The sun dips behind the horizon and we climb down into darkness and find our way back to the lodge and sleep with nature all around.

Day 14 (31 October 2008)
Tambopata National Reserve

It stays warm throughout the night and I sleep very well, with the calming natural noises of the jungle in the background! Nonetheless, it’s a 04.00 start in order to make our way to some lakes nearby.

The jungle is all about seeing the wildlife and although we see five otters (of which you are normally lucky to see one), the birds just don’t show up. So it’s time to go piranha fishing instead!

The guides catch a few yellow-bellied ones but no one else has any luck. I’m determined and try again and again, but the little buggers keep eating all the steak I’m throwing at them without taking the hook!

At this point, the rain forest sticks by its name and it absolutely chucks it down. It means our visit to the clay licks is delayed and we can’t see the parrots and macaws that normally come in their hundreds.

Instead, back at the lodge, we chill and watch the brilliant dusty titi monkeys and the awesome howling monkeys, that sound like cheeky teenagers wetting themselves with laughter!

After dinner is our night walk. I’ve been looking forward to this but within two minutes I’m totally freaked out. It doesn’t help that it’s Halloween today! The jungle is like a completely different place at night; insects glow, the evil ones lurk and ever sound creeps me out! Furthermore, Keith and Naomi (another Canadian couple) find an enormous tarantula in their bathroom and it’s ridiculously fat, hairy and fast!

One the night walk, I like the sleepy-looking Phyllomedusa palliata frog, but apparently it is obscenely poisonous. The caiman is like a small crocodile but it’s super quick and looks like it could take your hand off – not good when it’s pitch black and they can grow as big as me! There’s a great wolf spiderweb, guarded by its creator, which yet again is poisonous and it’s at head height just one metre from the path, so one step in the wrong direction could cause all kinds of problems!

Other insects are enormous and look like made up creatures from sci-fi films. I even see glowing green eyes as an insect flies around me head; you just can’t make this stuff up!

Back in the lodge I have candles everywhere and check ever step to ensure I’m not barefoot treading on a fat, hairy tarantula! After double checking my bed (!) I settle down to my last night in the jungle.

Day 15 (1 November 2008)
Tambopata National Reserve, Cusco, Lima

At 04.00 there’s a tiny knock on my bamboo wall. It’s time for bird-watching and involves a 15 minute walk to the clay licks. Despite the lack of rain, it’s still wet from yesterday and totally the wrong conditions to see the hundreds of parrots. It’s a shame I’ve missed this spectacle, but worth the try.

A trek, boat ride ad bus journey later (I do like the sign that says buses are not permitted to cross the bridge with passengers as it may collapse!) and we’re back at Puerto Maldonado for the flight to Lima, stopping briefly at Cusco.

We’re in for a treat on the final evening. After all, a visit to South America isn’t complete without a football match! Jose’s Cusco-based team Cienciano is playing the league champions (Universitario) who are the richest team in Lima. The game doesn’t disappoint. Two goals, a yellow card every few minutes, two red cards (including one of Cienciano’s coach who is practically scrapping with the ref!) and of course, the mosh-pit style violence in the stands! We shelter in the “expensive” seats (30 soles which is about $10!) just metres away from camera crew and injured players. Despite the 80,000 seat stadium being half empty, the atmosphere is everything I hoped it would be, living up to the South American football reputation. It’s a good taster for my potential future visit to Boca versus River!

It’s all goodbyes at dinner and I settle down for my last night in Peru.

Day 16 (2 November 2008)
Lima, Miami, London

I arrive at Lima’s airport and meet Mark, an Englishman who is part of the ‘other’ Gap Adventures group. There has been an unspoken rivalry between the two groups and it’s a great shame.

Over some beer, Mark tells me all about his group as we we sit in Miami airport. With 15 people in their three week trip, it was a great chance for more fun had we merged when we met in Puno. It also turns out that Jose (our guide) was even better than we thought. Theirs acted stoned all the time, tried to sleep with all the girls and even made them pay for airport taxes and other fees that were already part of the trip’s cost.

I then have further problems with the airport staff (seriously – what the hell is wrong with these people!?) as the waitress tries to rip me off with the beer prices. I complain to the manager and he says I don’t have to pay the bill. Free beer! What a way to end a holiday!

Our guide was fantastic; a great guy who turned our Peruvian trip into an adventure. My special thanks to Jose and all of the great people in our group for a journey I will never forget.

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I’ve financed this trip, but taking the opportunity to raise some money for Parkinson’s Disease Society. I’m therefore hoping as many people as possible will sponsor the 45km Inca Trail hike (www.justgiving.com/carlobezoari). All money donated will go directly to Parkinson’s Disease Society. Please give generously!
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I’m sitting on a transatlantic flight reading American Psycho. Rather worryingly (and coincidentally), the fat American sitting next to me keeps speaking and grunting to himself and giving people aggressive stares. Fortunately, I survive the flight and land in Virginia. It’s my tenth state but the first time I’ve been to the US since 1991 so I’m looking forward expand my photography into a new continent. However, I’m only in Virginia for about an hour as my real destination is another new state for me – the District of Colombia. I’m swiftly processed through immigration, but only once I confirm that I haven’t got any terrorist links and I was not involved with the Nazi concentration camps between 1939 and 1945.

I arrive in Washington DC and the first thing that strikes me is how incredibly empty it is. I exit Foggy Bottom Metro and apart from a few stalls and students, the place looks deserted. It’s also very spacious and modern-looking but (with the USA’s short history) that doesn’t surprise me. It’s like a Disney film set as everything looks too clean and organised; it just looks completely fake. I mean, there are even hundreds of tame squirrels jumping around your feet!

I walk a few blocks (I’ve waited years to say that…) to find my hotel and I’m pleased to see that I’ve got the largest room I could ever dream of having. Although I really can’t think why I might need my own kitchen!

It was an early flight from Heathrow so with the time difference it’s now about 1pm and I’ve got half a day to explore Washington. I immediately head south towards The Mall. I’m overwhelmed by the size of everything and the whole area is littered with monuments and memorials. The Vietnam Veterans Memorial is particularly moving, with 1,421 names across a huge black wall. Apparently the designer, Maya Lin, was 21 when she won a competition for the design. Strangely, she only got a B-grade!

The Korean War Veterans Memorial, with the details of the number of dead, injured or missing fighters, is also shocking. I see a postcard of this memorial when the ground is covered in snow and it looks absolutely amazing. I can only hope that I’m lucky and the snow falls before I leave in eight days.

Next is the Lincoln Memorial; I actually feel nervous as I walk up the famous steps towards the statue. I’ve seen it in so many films and knowing that it means so much to Americans is very emotional. Abraham doesn’t disappoint; the statue is enormous, powerful and looks so pristine that it could have been made yesterday. Despite the hundreds of tourists, it doesn’t feel crowded and I’ve never seen such respect for other photographers as I have in Washington so far. Everyone appears to wait for their turn and avoid walking in front of each other.

Seeing the Washington Monument in the distance is great, especially with the lovely reflection in the water which reminds me of the scenes in Forrest Gump after the Vietnam War. Unfortunately the sun is already low in the sky and I’m losing the possibility of good shots. In any case, there are no more tickets to climb the Monument today, so I’m advised by a very friendly member of staff to come back tomorrow morning. The people who work or volunteer are all so incredibly pleasant that it really makes you feel welcome as a tourist. Saying that, when I ask her whether morning or evening is better for the view from the top, her enthusiastic answer isn’t exactly what I’m looking for: “Any time is great! As long as there’s sun!”

I make my way to the White House and I’m surprised how close the perimeter is to the building. The fence isn’t high and there are very few policemen around. Mind you, every single one of them carries a gun. It makes me wonder whether you could get closer to Buckingham Palace or the White House. I think you’d probably get closer to Mr Bush, but I reckon you’d likely get a bullet for your efforts. I’m tempted to ask one of the guards whether people have tried to climb over, but I don’t want to push my luck. After all, it is my first day…

13th January 2008 – Washington DC

At 8.30 I head straight to the Washington Monument. I thought the city was deserted yesterday but today it’s like a ghost town. The homeless are still wrapped up in their blankets and the only other people are the two policemen outside the White House. I’m in the first group to climb to the 555th foot viewpoint of the monument. Disappointingly, there are windows at the top which are filthy on both sides. Furthermore, the sun is still pretty low in the sky, so although the view is ideal for watching over Washington, it’s pretty hopeless for photos.

I walk along The Mall past the museums. The whole area is wonderfully designed and I particularly like the mark-points that represent the solar system on a scale from 12th Street to the US Capitol.

I enter the National Air and Space Museum and among the items on display are the Apollo 11 Command Module and the 1903 Wright Flyer. They have been preserved fantastically and it’s unbelievable that this fragile-looking module went to the moon and back.

The rest of the museum is interesting but unspectacular, however, just like the Washington Monument, it’s free so I don’t mind whizzing through. Just before I leave, I spot a flight simulator so I decide to have a go at being an air force pilot (this does cost me a few dollars). For the first few minutes I’m flying around trying to find the enemy plane. The simulator rocks about as you’d expect it to and just as I’ve locked onto the enemy plane, it screams by me. I turn the control to make a 180 turn and suddenly the whole simulator turns upside down! It’s absolutely great fun and I spend the next couple of minutes rocking about trying to find my target. Unfortunately my time runs out and I’ve failed to get a Medal of Honour, but I take some consolation that I survived my first mission…

I exit the museum and the sun makes a short appearance, just long enough to get a few shots of the Capitol building, which unfortunately is closed on Sundays. The Library of Congress is also closed today so I walk on towards the US Supreme Court which has some towering pillars holding up the entrance. I get told off for sitting on the floor (simply taking a photo) and then make my way to the Old Downtown. Pennsylvania Avenue links the White House to the US Capitol and apparently it used to be full of seedy shops, until John F Kennedy said, ‘It’s a disgrace – fix it.’

It did the job as it’s a wide, clean road that sums up the power that stands at each of its ends. I take 6th Street up towards the MCI Center and suddenly it feels like I’ve walked out of a theme park and into a real city. Finally there’s rubbish on the floor, cars everywhere and people buzzing around every street corner. It turns out there’s a big game about to start and I decide it’s worth a visit. I’m not sure whether to go for a $50 or $65 seat, so I ask the vendor which is best for someone who has never watched basketball before. She looks at me strangely and with a slight hint of humour she replies, ‘This is ice hockey, sir.’

I walk around the block into Chinatown, which is very small and then noticing the time I settle for the Green Turtle sports bar. My enthusiastic waiter asks me about 100 questions about which type of burger and which brand of beer I’d like. Looking around, everyone wears their team colours and they almost look ridiculous in their American Football shirts without any padding. However, despite the real sense of sporting pride, there’s a much calmer atmosphere than you’d find in any sports bar in London.

My meal is huge (although not as big as the half kilo burger you can order!) and I do enjoy watching the ice hockey, even if the random fights are entirely daft. Perhaps I’ll see a game next week.

The US Navy memorial is picturesque (although difficult to capture in a photo) and the FBI building is massively disappointing. It’s very ugly and I can’t imagine Mulder & Scully getting excited about going there every day…

On the other hand, the Old Post Office is a delight. The 12 storey building was nearly torn down in 1934, but has since been redesigned with shops and restaurants inside. The observation deck gives a fantastic view and the lack of glass means I can finally take some shots across the capital. I meet Chuck, an American who lives south of the river who is only too happy to tell me about how Washington has changed and the difference before and after 9/11. He also confirms my thought that you really can’t visit the White House any more unless you have a congressional or embassy invite. Crap.

It’s time to return to my hotel and head north-west to Virginia again, to officially begin my business trip. I’ll return to the capital on Friday and with a bit of luck, I’ll find it covered with a thick layer of snow…

18-19th January 2008 – Washington DC

This morning was tough. Three hours sleep and far too much to drink last night in Georgetown means I struggle to return to tourist mode. A big Thursday night with work colleagues doesn’t help matters either.

Friday evening was a little intense, mixing all kinds of drinks and food (apple crumble with melted cheese?!?) and things got silly when we tried to convince our waitress that there was a drink called a Purple Helmet! Undefeated, she returned to our table with a new American cocktail, which coagulated nicely in my stomach…

This morning, I show Chris and Dan around the main monuments before finding our way to the Spy Museum. The interactive museum even allows you to have your own secret identity as you wander around “completing tasks” but it’s lost on me as I can barely keep my eyes open. Mr Bond, I am not.

Hoping some calories will perk me up, I try a McDonalds (supersize of course!) It’s absolutely enormous – ridiculous in fact – and now I feel knackered and bloated. Last night our waitress told us about the reality of their salaries and how much they depend on tips. It has helped me avoid being the typical “10% British guy”, but Dan takes it to hilarious levels. He’s also so knackered that he can’t be arsed calculating the percentage and in one place he unknowingly tips 60%. The challenge begins to be the first to tip 100%…

My colleagues get themselves on a flight back to the UK, so I try a power nap to get me out of this daze. It does the trick and by sunset I’m out doing some evening photography. Strangely, the Reflecting Pool is practically empty and the only reason I can think why (other than to clean it) is that perhaps they don’t want it to ice over in case morons like me decide to slide across it…

It has become extremely cold since last week (the snow came and went unfortunately) and the freezing conditions totally wake me up. In fact, I’m so awake that I can’t resist another session in Georgetown with my newly found DC friends. Glug glug.

20th January 2008 – Washington DC

Washington has impressed me with its efficient city: Cleanliness, friendly locals, straightforward road layouts, maps everywhere, signs to help every tourist. It appears to be the epitome of efficiency.

However, I decide to find the Marine Corps War Memorial by foot and to say that was a bad idea would be the biggest understatement of the year… It appears to be the only area of Washington that doesn’t cater for pedestrians and I end up performing some of America’s best ever jaywalking. I’m skipping across four-lane speedways before I attempt to cross the Theodore Roosevelt Bridge (which has no proper pavement) struggling against a biting wind so strong that I would have been more comfortable in a wind tunnel. I cannot begin to describe how cold it is.

However, I don’t actually feel so bad, so I guess the two mile walk is possible the best hangover cure I could ever imagine. It’s worth the struggle across the bridge as the clear blue skies allow for some great shots of this Iwo Jima monument. Having recently seen Flags of our Fathers, it’s a touching monument that I’m pleased I’ve seen. Nearby, is the shocking Arlington Cemetery, which is worth a visit just in itself. The row upon row of headstones is a shocking reminder of recent history and further strengthens my confusion why there are no monuments in the UK such as those found in Washington DC.

Further south, is the disappointing Pentagon building. Photography is totally banned but it wouldn’t be worth it anyway. I catch the (nice and warm!) metro back to the Old Downtown and with a soup and pizza, I finally feel like I’m back to normal body temperature.

However, the lack of sleep finally hits home and I’m suddenly absolutely exhausted. In the Gordon Bierch bar, a Red Bull does nothing for me. And then a Red Bull with vodka doesn’t do me any favours. So I soak in the atmosphere and watch the American Football. I’ve been utterly impressed with Washington and cannot wait to return, so it’s with a little sadness that my trip is already over and I have to catch the red-eye home.