This is no ordinary meeting of the family. Hainsdorf Brunnsee, where Susanne’s family has lived for over 100 years, is a small village and I get the feeling that my girlfriend is the one who flew over the cuckoo’s nest! The news that she’s returning with her foreign boyfriend gets tongues wagging and peeping eyes at the windows.

Upon arrival, I meet the grandparents who are very welcoming, although I must admit it’s pretty easy when they don’t speak a word of English and my three months of learning German isn’t enough to even begin a conversation. I listen intently, catching words but never quite enough to get involved. I keep smiling and it’s a good start.

The obligatory visit to the 88 year old neighbour (that Susanne’s mum looks after) is next. She speaks in German, adding Slovenian, Italian and English words randomly, thinking that I’ll find it easier to understand; it doesn’t! She greets me by telling me that she’s very old and that her dog died, pointing to my feet and telling me that’s where it used to sleep. I’m unsure how to react and it doesn’t help that my eyes keep moving up to the flail that’s dangling above the main reception door!

A house tour follows, and I’m shown half a dozen sitting rooms which all look like they have been lifted straight from a Jane Austen novel. She strokes a statue of Jesus and I smile awkwardly; it feels like the perfect setting for the beginning of a horror movie!

Apart from the disgusted look on her face when she discovered Susanne and I have no plans on getting married, the visit is successful and I’ve made it through the toughest test!

Day 2 (2 March 2012)
Bad Blumau

Today is Christmas Day! Just over two months ago Susanne gifted me a day at her favourite Austrian spa, so an early alarm sets us up for our 11 hour session at Rogner Therme Blumau! It’s an hour’s drive north, and we enter through the VIP gate. This enormous complex, designed by Friedensreich Hundertwasser, is unique in every sense of the word. He believed that no part of the design should be duplicated, which means the entire place is full of interesting, quirky architecture.

The springs are hot, so it’s amazing to swim in the open with the sun shining and the cool wind blowing across the surface of the water. It’s Friday, so it isn’t busy either, which makes it even more relaxing. Susanne and I find our private lounger and soon we’re treated to a chocolate fondue, with cookies, grapes and a huge bottle of Champagne… Merry Christmas!

After a tasty lunch we find the saunas, although it does feel a little odd that my girlfriend’s Christmas present for me was to sit naked with a bunch of sweaty Austrian strangers! An hour’s massage is next, followed by a coffee body scrub, which sets me up perfectly for the final few hours floating in the various springs.

Day 3 (3 March 2012)
Grassnitzberg, Hainsdorf Brunnsee, Labuttendorf

After a lazy morning we visit the weekend house in Grassnitzberg. Set amongst the vineyards along the border between Austria and Slovenia, it’s a lovely wooden cottage in a secluded location with great views. While the weather isn’t bad, I’ll be returning in a couple of months at the end of spring when the colours have blossomed, so my camera has a rest of its own.

Susanne and I walk through the vineyards and across the border to a watch tower. It’s a short walk but it’s enjoyable to stroll through the fields and read the various signs indicating which grapes will be making people drunk in years to come!

We drive back to the main house and we’ve a new challenge to overcome: A couple of weeks ago a lost chicken decided to make a new home in their front garden. Despite some attempts, no one has managed to catch it, so it’s up to us! I play the role of ‘scary person making lots of noises’ trying to frighten it towards Susanne who has a net. We run around like idiots, and I climb several trees chasing the chicken with a big stick before Susanne finally catches it!

We meet Susanne’s uncle and aunt and go for dinner at Buschenschank Grabin, a typical rural Austrian eatery in Labuttendorf, with lots of people crowded around little tables. There’s loads of wine delivered to the table which is accompanied by a ridiculous amount of cheese and meat (fortunately no chicken!) and I enjoy the evening even though I can’t follow all the conversations. Susanne translates the main discussions, and it’s particularly interesting to discover that her uncle remembers sitting next to Arnold Schwarzenegger at school. He says that even at the age of 16, Arnie was massive and telling people he was going to be a body builder!

After dinner Susanne and I return to the weekend house, enjoy some whiskey and retire to bed.

Day 4 (4 March 2012)
Grassnitzberg, Fluttendorf

Another breakfast in the wooden lodge sets me up for another day of exploring the area and meeting family members. A 45-minute bike ride takes us through forests and around quiet lakes to Fluttendorf. We meet another aunt who owns her own restaurant and it’s full of Susanne’s family.

After an enormous bratwurst we leave for a quick visit to the local elderly home, where the neighbour’s sister lives. I’ve only ever visited an elderly home once before and this visit leaves me with the same strong emotions. We cycle back home and after a relaxing bath we head for the weekend house for the last night of the trip and enjoy a great bottle of Zinfandel.

Day 5 (5 March 2012)
Grassnitzberg, Hainsdorf Brunnsee, London

After some maintenance work in the garden, we return to the main house for a big, last lunch (seriously I feel like a goose being fattened!) There’s still time for one more odd encounter with the neighbour lady. She’s very sad to see us leave, and knowing that we’re about to fly home, she insists on placing holy water on our foreheads for safety! However, it does the trick as we land early, the bags arrive immediately and we get home nearly an hour earlier than expected!

Day 1 (1 December 2011)
London, San Francisco

An eleven hour flight and I arrive in San Francisco, 22 years since I last visited the west coast of the US. I remember very little of being dragged from state to state as a nine year old, so I’m looking forward to seeing as much as possible in my 10 day trip across California, Nevada and Arizona.

I land in the late afternoon and drop my stuff at the Orchard Hotel on Bush Street, a stone’s throw away from the Financial District. I have an initial positive feeling about the city. It seems to have a similar vibe to New York City, but it seems more modern and clean. Of course, it’s incredibly hilly, so that also adds a new dimension that is appealing to me.

I’m travelling with Mark and Max, both of whom can hold their drink, and it’s not long before we’re visiting each bar that’s on Mark’s extensive list that he has researched. We start in a small cigar bar that has plenty of character and some great tasting ales. Further north, past Chinatown, and Rogue bar has enough beers on tap to get the most enthusiastic beer-drinker excited. It doesn’t take long before Metallica is blasting through the speakers, so it’s odd to sit in a bar and listen to my favourite band in the city from which they came.

After an average pizza in the Italian district, Mark and Max revisit the cigar bar and I retire to bed.

Day 2 (2 December 2011)
San Francisco, Alcatraz

I wake with a horrendous sore throat, most likely caught from the air-conditioning on the long flight, but I’m eager to explore the city so I drug myself up and head out into the Californian sunshine. We start walking north-east towards the piers that overlook San Francisco’s Bay. From Pier 33, we jump on the busy ferry that takes us the short distance across to Alcatraz. There’s an obligatory photo shoot, lining up each tourist in front of large canvas backdrop of Alcatraz island. It seems a little odd using the canvas, since the actual view of the island is right behind us!

The Rock is full of history and I was unaware of its many uses over the years. Of course, the prison history is the most interesting, and it has been preserved brilliantly, so that one can really get a sense of what it was like to be locked up at Alcatraz. The outdoor area, where the inmates could visit once a week, is more of a torture than a pleasure: The fantastic view of San Francisco sits in the background, taunting the prisoners about what they are missing!

Despite the fact it’s December, the weather is actually very good, so when we get back to the mainland, we walk further west along the piers towards the Marina District. We have a cheese-packed lunch, before watching some of the street-performers on The Embarcadero. We meander through the streets, and decide to visit Telegraph Hill, which has a great view across San Francisco, and there’s even some fog around the Golden Gate Bridge. Some of the roads are ridiculously steep, and it’s so much fun exploring the various streets. I’m continuously impressed at the city and it’s fast becoming my favourite city in the US. It’s bold like New York City, but much cleaner and with so much more character.

We hail a cab and a rather eccentric Englishman drives us to Haight Street: He ducks as he’s driving through the ‘rough’ area of town on the way to Haight, saying he’s hiding from local shots… He drops us off and we enter yet another bar that’s playing metal. Unfortunately, Max then drops an entire pint of beer on my jeans, so I go off to the bathroom in a vain attempt to dry myself. In the meantime, someone taps on Max’s shoulder and says “You wanna fight!?”

I miss this little encounter, but I’m told Max’s face was an absolute picture until the moment he realises that it’s just the taxi driver messing with him! An iphone was left in the car, and the driver came to look for us to see if it was ours! What a chap!

We try some different ales and then move from bar to bar. I’m exhausted and the sore throat is agony, so each cold beer soothes a little, but I know it’s going to be a problem tomorrow. Fortunately, after a couple more stops, the jetlag hits the others too and we grab a taxi back to the hotel.

Day 3 (3 December 2011)
San Francisco

The sore throat has turned into an annoying cold, but despite this it’s an absolutely amazing day. We head north through Chinatown toward the docks, and hire bikes from Dylan’s Tours on Columbus Avenue, and then grab breakfast at the Boudin Sourdough, which is touristy but has some incredible different breads. The bakers shape them into different animals such as teddy bears, crabs and even crocodiles!

The main attraction today is the Golden Gate Bridge, and we’re given advice to cycle along the paths and parks on the north coast of the city. It’s a spectacular journey, and San Francisco is really selling itself on this sunny Saturday morning. There are joggers and cyclists everywhere, and the number of sport enthusiasts in the sea is unreal. The bridge grows as we approach, and I’m stopping every few minutes for photos from different locations and angles. The streets climb up Long Acre and Lincoln Boulevard, and it’s so quiet it feels like a an undiscovered city.

The cycle across the bridge is an experience I’d recommend to anyone visiting San Francisco. The wind blasts in your face and the road-racing cyclists fly by in their lycra without any care for the 200m drop into the ocean, but it just seems impossible to stare up these suspension cables and imagine the weight that they hold across the peninsula. There’s no fog, which is a slight disappointment, but the views from Cavallo Port on the northern side are spectacular. The port itself is full of life too, with fishermen everywhere and dozens of seagulls snooping for free food, including one that I spot swallowing a large crab whole!

Further north, we stop for lunch at the Murray Circle restaurant. It’s full of cyclists, drinking away the afternoon. It gives Max and Mark the idea of catching the ferry back to the city to start their evening early, but I’d like to see the bridge from the opposite side. We go our separate ways and I cycle back across the bridge. With the wind behind me, I’m back in no time, and meandering through the twisting roads that overlook the South Bay. I find a spot to lock my bike, and head down the path that leads past Battery Crosby and down to Marshall Beach.

The views here are some of the finest in the city. The Pacific waves crash onto the beach and I wade through the water with the soft sand beneath my feet and the enormous Golden Gate Bridge in the background. There’s hardly another soul there, apart from a group of people with music and beers, and the odd person sunbathing every 50m or so. It’s a great moment and it’s the moment that clinches it for me: This is my favourite city in the world.

I follow the trail back up to my bike and take Washington Boulevard to Presidio Heights. I stop for a moment to check the map, and a local couple offers some advice that I should cycle down Broadway. Their advice is spot-on: There’s a section of houses that are absolutely gigantic. Apparently they are worth around £30m each – and you can see why. They have the city to one side, a huge park on the other, and views to the north and west of the Golden Gate and the Pacific Ocean!

The cycle back east is incredibly fun. Some streets are so steep that my legs are burning from the effort, but it’s all worth it for the few downhill sections that are over 30 degrees steep!

I join Mark and Max at Rogue bar, and it’s already livening up for Saturday evening with the huge groups of people on bar crawls, although I never did find out why they were dressed as pirates..! The M&Ms are ready for another big night of drinking, but I’m starting to suffer from my cold. I’m a dribbling mess so I head back the hotel after a couple of drinks and have an early night.

Day 4 (4 December 2011)
San Francisco, Las Vegas

It’s lucky I avoided a big session last night: I’ve done the old ‘sweat out the illness’ and even if I do still have a cold, I feel a lot better. Last night the M&Ms revisited the cigar bar, and made a friend in another eccentric storyteller (http://pubdiaries.com/2012/04/29/the-occidental-barfly/).

We have a few hours to kill before a flight, so we visit Lombard Street, the famous road which twists around eight tight hairpin turns. Afterwards, we take a cable car ride back to the financial district. Although it’s really touristy, it’s very interesting to hear the mechanics of how it operates. Apparently they were introduced in the late 19th Century when Andrew Hallidie, a British designer, visited the city and witnessed an accident involving a horse being dragged down one of the streets. I do get the feeling that it’s mainly used by tourists, and that also explains one other thing I like about San Francisco: A lot of people walk everywhere, something which is quite unusual to see in the US.

We wander around the financial district in the last couple of hours, checking out some of the big name shops. A taxi takes us to the airport and as the sun sets an hour later, our flight approaches the lights of Vegas. The city is much bigger than I thought it would be, but it’s still strange to see the lights shining in the middle of an untouched landscape. If I didn’t know better, I’d think it’s an island, surrounded by a dark ocean.

From the moment we land, I’m in complete shock at the efficiency of this money-making machine of a city. The arrival gate is full of slot machines (!) and there is advertising absolutely everywhere. The taxi rank is something that needs to be experienced to believe. There are about 300-500 people waiting for a taxi, and the most organised queuing system I’ve ever seen rattles through the hundreds of tourists, ensuring that they are dropped off at the casinos as quickly as possible!

We arrive at Tropicana, at the southern end of the strip. It has been recently refurbished and looks reasonably good, with large rooms and a brightly-lit casino. We deposit our belongings and head straight for the strip. I find the whole experience rather surreal. It’s totally fake, and everything is designed to attract and steal your cash, but I can’t really complain, as that’s exactly what it’s supposed to be: A giant playground for adults to escape from reality.

We walk up to the Bellagio as the water fountain show is just finishing, and enter its casino. Mark and I start to play some Pai Gow Poker. It only takes a few minutes to get into it, and as the free drinks start coming, the chips stakes start increasing. Occasionally, we’re joined by other gamblers, some of whom place some enormous bets (one chap bet $3,000 in just two hands), and it makes the whole experience even more fun. Shockingly, Max decides to be the first person in the world to have an early night on his first night in Vegas, so Mark and I are left to the table for a few more hours before a Fat Burger and the blinding walk back past the Vegas lights towards our hotel.

Day 5 (5 December 2011)
Las Vegas

Yet again I feel a bit rough in the morning. I’m struggling to shake the cold but at least I’ve avoided a hangover. We walk nearly the whole length of the strip to find somewhere for breakfast, but it’s nothing but greasy fry-ups. In the end, we grab a taxi back to the hotel and visit Hooters, which is next door to the Tropicana and it keeps Max’s Vegas experience well on track after his early night: We walk into the famous restaurant and we’re served by someone with enormous breasts. His name is Bryan…

After a belly-busting meal, we decide to return to the hotel for a bit of a recharge. It’s exactly what I need and refreshes me for the next session, which starts at ‘New York, New York’, the enormous complex which sits behind the replica Statue of Liberty. Mark is at a poker tournament while Max and I drink some tasty ales. He bets on random things happening around us, and as the beers go down, I slowly hand him dollar after dollar.

Tomorrow is our final night in Vegas, so I decide to do my photography tonight. I walk most of the length of the strip, spending most of my time around Bellagio and the fountain show. I’m pretty much the only one there, but it’s more a show for video than photography, so I don’t hang around too long.

I call Mark at the hotel and he has been knocked out of the tournament by a lucky hand, so he’s back at the Bellagio with Max playing more Pai Gow. A taxi drops me off and I take my place at the table, with the boys to my left and with a rather chatty elderly lady to my right. Dotty is from Kentucky, and it sounds like she’s a relatively wealthy and well-travelled American who enjoys regular visits to Vegas. However, from the moment I sit down, I understand why the M&Ms are in hysterics. She’s completely potty and can’t go five seconds without talking. All of her banter is teasing other people, but the majority of it is downright racist, and she says it in such a blasse fashion that makes it impossible to know how best to react.

She decides that Mark, Max and I each have very hairy elements about us. By joining my eyebrows, Max’s thick head of hair and Mark’s long arm-hair (“Is that real hair or is your arm tattooed?”), she thinks that we’d be the hairiest person in the world! Tommy, the dealer from Hong Kong, has a terrible perm and Dotty is quite blunt about telling him he was ripped off when paying for it, and that those “bloody Asians” are taking over the world and that “we Caucasians need to watch out”!

I actually get lucky tonight, and end up about 40% up, as Dotty downs whisky after whisky. As we leave, she asks to swap email addresses and asks if we’re ever likely to visit Kentucky. We each stare at each other before replying in unison: “No. Not really!”

We join the taxi queue, and see that the Bellagio employee that opens the taxi door for passengers gets a dollar every 30 seconds or so. That’s not a bad income! We head to Hooters (surely we can’t get Bryan again…) but this time it’s Mark’s turn to bail since he has been getting the free drinks for about 10 hours now. Max and I devour some chicken wings and a couple of burgers, and decide to call it a night ahead of tomorrow’s big one.

Day 6 (6 December 2011)
Las Vegas

My cold is finally shifting and I feel a lot better this morning. We cross over to the MGM hotel and prepare ourselves for the largest buffet I’ve ever seen in my life. There are about six long rows of food, ranging from fried breakfasts to pancakes, and from pizzas to Mexican food. It’s quite simply ridiculous. An hour and four servings later, we hobble out of the MGM so stuffed that we each need some time back at our hotel to digest!

Mark and I meet in the early afternoon for a tournament at Mandalay Bay. I start well, playing some good hands and building my stack, but then I get a series of horrendous hands as everyone else bets large and I miss my opportunities to bluff. It leaves me low on chips and as the blinds and ante grow, I find myself with 7A (unbelievably this is my best hand for over half an hour) and I go all-in. Shockingly, eight others on the table also go all-in, leaving a ridiculous stake on the table. The flop gives me a slither of hope with a 7, but the turn and river leave me hanging. It’s disappointing, but an enjoyable way to pass a couple of hours.

I’m enjoying my stay in Vegas, but I don’t think it’s somewhere I can visit again. Although the buildings and areas of the strip are designed well, it’s really just all the same thing. One great advantage is that it’s full of people who are all there for the same reason. I can’t even remember seeing any children; it’s really just a massive adult playground.

We wander from casino to casino, and end up at Gilley’s. With rodeo games on the big screen, it’s definitely the bar with the most number of bearded men and Southern accents. The cowgirl waitresses are quite good too.

Following the advice from Wesley Snipes (“Always bet on black!”), I was planning to have a crack at the roulette tables. However, a mate from the UK calls and at the end of the call he jokes about putting all my cash on red. It’s obviously a sign… I approach the roulette table and put $50 on red. The ball spins, bounces a few times, and then rests on black. Dammit! I put another $50 on red. The ball falls on black again. Crap! I put $30 on red again. I lose again. Argh!

Happy hour comes and goes, so we decide to move to another ‘bar’ to end the Vegas stint in proper fashion. The night ends several hours later, and our hilarious taxi driver barely keeps his eyes on the road as he flicks through a load of call-girl cards, failing in his attempts to try and sell us a ‘happy ending’ to our visit to Vegas.

Day 7 (7 December 2011)
Las Vegas, Hoover Dam, Tusayan

For the first time on the trip, I wake with a headache. It’s unsurprising really; I had about four meals yesterday, but they were all devoured within about an hour for brunch yesterday morning at the MGM buffet. I check google maps to find the location of the car rental location and realise that somehow I’ve picked a location which is about 20 miles northwest of the hotel. I roll my eyes as I can already imagine the reaction from the boys, considering we need to drive nearly 300 miles southeast to the Grand Canyon…

“You stupid ****” says Mark.
“You ****ing ****” says Max.

I guess I deserved that. The garlic-infused taxi drives us for half an hour in the wrong direction and we pick up our massive SUV and start the journey back to the Grand Canyon. En route, we have lunch at a Mexican diner in Boulder City (possibly the smallest city I’ve ever been to). Straight afterwards, we pass the Hoover Dam, so it’s worth stopping to see one of America’s great construction achievements. Built in the 30s during the Great Depression, it’s really spectacular, made even better by the fact it’s really quiet and there are few tourists to spoil the atmosphere. I don’t think I quite appreciated it when I saw it 20 years ago, so it further builds my excitement about the Grand Canyon.

Max leaves us waiting for 30 minutes as he decides to use the facilities in the middle of the dam. I can only assume it’s the MGM buffet. I half expect to listen the news later today and hear that the Hoover Dam has been blocked for reasons unknown…

Although the landscape is mostly unexciting (apart from seeing a few mountain ranges every hour or so), it’s very relaxing and my excitement for the Grand Canyon grows more and more. By the time we reach Tusayan, the daylight has gone and we’ve lost our chance to see the canyon today. We check into the hotel and go to “Sophie’s” Mexican restaurant. I know we’re in Arizona, but I think we’re going a little overboard with the Mexican food! We wash it down with a couple of stupidly strong Margaritas and beers, before calling it a night.

Days 8-11 coming soon

I’ve visited the east coast of Spain every year for over ten years, ever since my parents were searching for their retirement home in the mid to late 90s. Whilst the Spanish have gone over the top with the number of new buildings, spoiling many parts of the Costa Blanca coastline, one natural beauty has remained unchanged: Montgó Massif. I’ve wanted to climb it every year, and this time I finally did it.

Autumn is fast approaching, but fortunately the weather is excellent, so there are plenty of opportunities to also explore some isolated beaches, eat at the many restaurants along the touristy Arenal, and take in the strong Spanish sun.

The actual trek up Montgó is relatively straightforward, but it contains plenty of variety, including a short 100m section of scrambling to get to the peak. Standing tall at only 753m, the mountain looks much higher due to its prominent location right next to the Mediterranean Sea. I call it ‘the elephant’ as its peak looks like the head of an elephant, and the steep drop to the sea seems like a perfect outline of its trunk. There’s even a big cave causing a shadow where the eye should be!

The sun is strong but a cloud hovers as Susanne and I reach the top, which slightly spoils the views. Nonetheless, it’s certainly a mountain that begs to be climbed again, so perhaps I won’t wait another 10 years for route number two!

It has been several years since I last ventured to the Lake District, and it was certainly a long time before I discovered an interest in climbing mountains. I also haven’t seen one of my school mates in a couple of years, so it seems like a perfect opportunity to kill two birds with one stone.

Despite my train being cancelled, I manage to make it to Darlington late on Friday night. Rob picks me up and we catch up over a late-night steak and beers. The plan was to drive west tomorrow and tackle Scafell Pike, England’s highest mountain. However, the weather forecast is horrendous so we decide to set up a camp halfway up, and hope that the weather is better on Sunday for the summit.

Saturday morning arrives and we head to Keswick, a climber’s paradise with dozens of mountaineering shops. It’s crammed with tourists and chucking down with rain but it still retains a quintessential English village feel. I eat a goulash soup (very English!) which sets me up for the rain-walk from Borrowdale.

The rain is immense, endlessly falling from the sky and drowning the trails and views. It doesn’t bode well, especially as I slip on a rock just five minutes into the trek and find myself sitting in a pool of water 30cm deep! The trail is more like a stream, and in places it takes some leaps of faith to avoid the flooded terrain. I barely touch my camera, and the views are nonexistent, but even so it’s an enjoyable walk and great to be out in the mountains again.

We reach Styhead Tarn, a pretty lake with some flat areas to setup camp. The rain is incessant, so it’s a quick rush to get the tent ready and take shelter. We cook some pasta in the tent, take a few swigs of whisky, and fall asleep.

A 05.30 alarm wakes me up and despite having slept well, it’s cold and I fear the worst about the weather outside. I unzip the tent and unbelievably, the clouds have shifted and it’s actually a beautiful day! The scenery is lit up by the rising sun and it’s exciting to see the surrounding mountains in all directions.

We pack up and head to the summit, passing a number of steep gullies that look wet and dangerous. Even the path we’re on is still slightly wet and it would have been risky to climb it in yesterday’s weather. There are a few other walkers at the summit, but fortunately they leave quickly as they’re attempting the Three Peaks challenge. It means we have the summit to ourselves and the views across the Lake District are fantastic, especially as the sun burns away the remaining whispers of clouds on the surrounding peaks.

We take a different route down, climbing another peak (Great End) on the way, which has a great view of the lake where we stayed last night. We scramble over the rocky terrain and join the trail that winds down the mountain, passing more and more tourists as we reach the bottom.

The sun is strong now and it’s unimaginable that the weather could be so different from yesterday, so it’s great to reach the car and look back on the mountain range that was invisible only 24 hours ago. I’ve now climbed each of the Three Peaks (it’s only taken 18 months..!) and looking forward to deciding which UK mountain will be next.

In 2004 I went on a trip through Scandinavia and Russia, and it spawned my love for travelling and photography. As I visited more countries, I understood the value of getting underneath the skin of a country, rather than simply ‘ticking it off the list’. However, when I visited my 39th country last year, I decided to make the 40th truly special.

The requirements were that the location be far from the tourist trail, allow for some beautiful photography, and offer the opportunity to test my newly-discovered interest in climbing. As I researched possible destinations, one jumped out of the page like no other: The Altai Mountains. It is one of the most remote locations in the world, thousands of kilometres away from civilisation, where desert meets mountain and the glaciers flow into seemingly endless plains. It would be a world that is opposite to life in London, and allow me to explore one of the few truly untouched places on earth, that looks the same today as it did thousands of years ago.

With about 7kg of clothes and 20kg of climbing and photography gear, my bag squeezes shut and my Mongolian adventure begins. The next two weeks will take Susanne and me into Asia for the first time (I can’t really count the two hours in eastern Istanbul!) and offer the potential of climbing three mountains over 4,000m, including Mongolia’s highest peak, Mount Khuiten.

We meet John, our mountain guide, along with a few others in our small group at Heathrow, and despite the airport disorganisation causing a three hour check-in, the Aeroflot flight gets us to Moscow just in time to catch the connecting overnight flight to Ulaan Baatar.

Unfortunately, our luggage doesn’t have the same luck, so we’re going to have to wait until tomorrow morning’s flight for our gear. It doesn’t matter too much as today the plan was to have a brief tour of Ulaan Baatar anyway. It’s 06.00 local time, which is 23.00 UK time, so we decide to drop off our hand luggage at the hotel and head straight out for site-seeing. However, after just 90 minutes of sleep in the past 24 hours, the jet-lag is inevitable and it hits me as soon as we reach the Gandantegchenling Monastery. Despite wandering around like a zombie, I do find it interesting as it’s so different to anything I’ve seen before. It’s only a couple of hundred years old, but the locals treat it like it’s been around for thousands of years and it’s captivating to watch them worship every statue and object. Both young and old visit the various dastans and institutes, few of which remain after the communist era. The most impressive is Migjed Janraisig, which is quite bland on the outside, but inside the building it holds an enormous 26.5 metre Buddha made of copper and gilded in gold; it’s truly jaw-dropping. Outside, there are chanting monks and children playing amongst the pigeons; I finally have my first Asian travel experiences!

We drive across the city and it’s a bit of a jumbled mess. Some buildings are new, some abandoned and there are plenty of building sites too. It’s like a teenager with loads of potential, but it just hasn’t decided what it wants to be when it’s older. The only constant is that on nearly every street there’s a karaoke bar! There are hundreds of them!

The main square is next to its parliament building which has some large and impressive statues in tribute to Ghengis Khan. It’s surprisingly quiet though, with very few people around and even fewer signs of trade. I haven’t seen a single coffee or snack bar in the whole city. I guess people are all at home waiting for the karaoke bars to open!

We have a tasty lunch but the lack of sleep really hits me and I even doze off for a few minutes at the table. Afterwards we head for the Mongolian National History Museum, which is reasonably small and is obviously centred around Genghis Khan’s triumphs across Asia. The section displaying the various regional clothing is also quite interesting. Unfortunately I’m absolutely shattered and can barely stay awake. The plan is to have a briefing back at the hotel and then go for dinner, but I decide to skip the dinner and go straight to bed at 19.00.

Day 3 (1 August 2011)
Ulaan Baatar, Bogd Khan National Park

12 hours of sleep and I feel full of energy. Breakfast is basic (unless you want a portion of chicken stew and rice!) and we’re relieved that all the luggage has safely arrived today.

Day-bags packed, we jump in the minibus and drive to Bogd Khan National Park, about 45 minutes south of the capital. Ulaan Baatar is an industrial city that clearly is going through a radical change, with power stations and building sites in every direction. However, the moment you’re out of the city, the landscape alters and green hills roll endlessly into the distance. The relatively short journey to the national park really gives a sense of how isolated and remote Mongolia is, since it’s a massive country and yet just a few kilometres out of the capital there’s practically no sign of human life.

At the park, we pass a few locals in gers and start the trek up Mount Tsetseguun. The weather is warm and the trail is a pretty straightforward two-hour walk up to the peak at 2,256m. We have a picnic lunch at the top (which offers some great views back to the capital, as well as further south into the endless hills) before marching back down.

For dinner we go to the ‘Broadway’ restaurant, which has pretty much every type of cuisine you can think of on the menu. Some in the group order beers and wine, only to discover that it’s illegal to sell alcohol on the first day of every month!

Back at the hotel the bags are re-packed in preparation for tomorrow’s early flight to Western Mongolia. This sounds easy, but when the boots, sleeping gear and climbing equipment take up 80% of the space, it’s like completing the world’s hardest jigsaw each time I pack!

Day 4 (2 August 2011)
Ulaan Baatar, Olgii, Altai Tavan Bogd National Park

Mongolia is 35 times as big as Switzerland, yet it has just half the number of people living across its land. Yesterday’s drive was the first indication of how sparsely populated this country is, but today’s three hour flight to Olgii, in far Western Mongolia, is the closest I’ve ever been to seeing planet Earth like it was before human civilisation. The views from the small 34-seater aeroplane are sublime, as for nearly the entire flight there are absolutely no roads, vehicles, people or buildings. The stunning green hills stretch out as far as the eye can see and the sun shines across the smooth land creating amazing, dune-like shadows.

The comfortable flight lands at Olgii airport, which is no more than a few rooms and a dusty runway. Our 4x4s arrive and we’re driven away from the swarms of mosquitos towards the mountains in the distance. Our five hour drive actually turns out to be eight hours, but the changing landscape and occasional stops make it reasonably enjoyable.

One stop in particular is memorable; I see Mount Khuiten for the first time and the reality of attempting the tallest mountain in Mongolia really hits home. It looks menacing but fills me with excitement and anticipation.

Several games of 20 questions later and we arrive in a picturesque green area with camels and goats, two large gers and a narrow stream flowing from the glaciers hidden behind the mountains in the distance.

We’re served tea and biscuits in our communal ger and after we pitch our two-man tents, we’re treated to a three-course dinner as John briefs us on tomorrow’s trek.

Day 5 (3 August 2011)
Altai Tavan Bogd National Park, Base Camp

A good night’s sleep, a wash in the cold stream and a simple breakfast sets me up for what I consider the beginning of the real part of the holiday. We wave goodbye to the local family and the innocent children who live in the other ger, and set off into the mountains.

I’ve about 10kg on my back today, but the pace is good and I find the going quite reasonable. The weather is perfect, as the heat from the strong sun is cooled by the high mountain winds. We trek about 9.5km, for six hours passing a few high viewpoints before a descent to 3,085m at base camp, just by the foot of the Alexander and Potaniin glaciers.

There are a few highlights, including some great mountain view and the wading across a river without boots and socks. However, the best experience is the first ‘close’ view of Khuiten, which straddles the two enormous glaciers flowing from China and Russia. It’s absolutely enormous and looks exactly like the challenge I hoped it would be.

Base camp is similar to last night, but it’s more remote and the long line of mountains that follow the borders of China and Russia make for a stunning backdrop. I decide to have a bath in the stream and words can’t describe how cold it is! The water is flowing directly from the glacier only 50m away, so it’s safe to say I won’t ever have a colder bath in all my life! It’s hugely refreshing of course, and it makes the subsequent hot soup and spaghetti bolognese go down a treat.

After dinner the sun disappears over the Altai Mountains and suddenly it rains, which I’ve always found to be such a comforting sound at the end of the day when I’m falling asleep inside a warm tent!

Day 6 (4 August 2011)
Base Camp, Acclimatisation Trek

A great day starts with a long lie-in (in mountaineering terms) before our departure at 09.00 towards the Russian border. Although it’s supposed to be our acclimatisation trek, it’s hugely enjoyable in itself. We follow the glacier westbound, before heading up a steep, rocky terrain towards one of those ‘never-ending’ summits, as each ridge reveals a further few hundred metres trek.

Suddenly, the horizon appears and the rural Russian landscape is before my eyes. There’s a rather modest marker that indicates the border, and standing between Russia and Mongolia without seeing anything but mountains and valleys makes you realise how big this world really is.

We trek along the borders that follow the ridge of this mountain to the next marker, which is slightly higher and offers even better views into Russia. We have a short rest and then descend down a slightly different route, which I really enjoy as the rocks change almost every 100m. From large boulders to small stones, there’s plenty of variety and gives a very visual example of how the cold winters carve up the mountain. One section is almost like walking on a pebble beach, and in another, you can spot large rocks which have been split into two so perfectly that they seem like giant jigsaw pieces.

The final descent back to the foot of the glacier is on a steep, narrow valley which is littered in shales. I love the sound of my heavy boots sliding amongst them, and it sums up the day’s hike up to 3,875m with a great variety of views and terrain.

The sun is still shining strongly, so I take advantage and wash my clothes in the glacial stream. It’s also an opportunity for another ice-cold cleanse, which turns out to be really lucky as shortly afterwards the sun disappears behind the clouds and the cold rain comes and goes throughout the evening and dinner.

Day 7 (5 August 2011)
Base Camp

Today was supposed to be a day of rest and preparation for tomorrow’s big climb to high camp, but the weather is foul and it means everything around camp is twice as difficult to complete.

However, it is a necessary day, as organising the packing is significantly harder than it sounds. It’s a 700m ascent, so every kilo counts: Pack too much and the climb is too hard; pack too little and I’m stuck at high altitude potentially without vital belongings. To make it harder, we need to carry the tent, food, gas burner, pots and utensils in addition to all our own clothes and equipment.

I also discover that at high camp it will be three in each tent. Whilst this makes sense for load-carrying, I think the tents are far too small for three people. I’m pretty tired today too, so this news, the bad weather and the lack of views means that although it’s an important rest day, it’s my least favourite so far.

Day 8 (6 August 2011)
Base Camp, High Camp

The weight of my bag is absolutely insane! I can barely lift it and yet I have to carry it 11km to high camp. Surprisingly, the weight doesn’t feel so bad when it’s on my back, but it certainly does slow my pace.

Fortunately, yesterday’s bad weather has completely cleared and we have sublime blue skies for the climb. The first few kilometres are tiring, but once we’re on the glacier, that’s when it really feels like hard work. However, Mount Khuiten becomes slightly closer with every step and the exciting thought of scaling it spurs me on.

Higher on the glacier, we rope up since there are a number of crevasses. There are no incidents, but George drops a glove and it skims down the ice about 30m away. It’s crazy to see it so close, and yet know that it’s an unnecessary risk to retrieve it.

After the long slog we reach high camp, which is on a slopped area of snow, with incredible views of our mountain objectives. I’m exhausted, so even the simple task of carving a space in the snow for the tent is really draining. With tents pitched, we spend the remaining hours of the day melting snow for the evening’s dinner and for tomorrow’s water supply. It certainly does give me a newly found appreciation for water on tap!

Day 9 (7 August 2011)
High Camp, Mount Khuiten

Today is the most important day of the trip, so when my 05.00 alarm wakes me and I hear the battering of the wind and snow against the tent, I fear the worst. However, unzipping the tent reveals another glorious blue sky and the sound was simply the top layer of snow blowing along the glacier and over the tent.

After a simple breakfast (there aren’t too many options when it takes 45 minutes to boil water!) we rope up and start plodding up the mountain. Although the weight of my bag is significantly reduced from yesterday, I find the going really tough. I’m unsure if it’s the altitude, the simple food or (most likely) my dearth of training, but every step is a real effort.

Most of the others are finding it much easier. There’s a real range of people on this expedition, from the youngest (Susanne) to the oldest (who is the same age as my father), most have more experience than me. The eldest has even reached 7,000m on Everest!

We’re roped up into two groups and the first is led by Usukho, who himself has scaled Everest twice. John leads me in the other group and we follow Usukho about 200m behind. For the first few hours, I’m one of the few holding back the pace, but as we reach 4,100m, I get my first view of the Chinese mountains and it’s like a shot of adrenaline as I find the next section (which is also the steepest) far more comfortable. We reach a ridge where there’s an option to go to either of Khuiten’s summits. John insists that the one on the right is a couple of metres higher, so we head straight to it.

The final steps are magical; I reach the highest point in Mongolia and the 360 degree view is spectacular. I can see mountain ranges in Mongolia, China and Russia, and it’s one of the most satisfying and rewarding moments of my life. Strangely, Kuscho led his group to the other summit, so we decide to follow the ridge and reach that point as well, just in case! The GPS says it’s a couple of metres lower, but it’s worth the extra effort, especially as it gives the best view of the peak we just climbed.

We’re obviously much quicker descending to high camp, but the morning’s slow pace and strong sunshine means we’re in for a few surprises. Just a couple of hundreds metres away from the tents, the snow has become much softer and John guides us around multiple crevasses. There are six of us on the rope, so a fall shouldn’t be serious, but it’s still a huge shock when Susanne suddenly finds herself waist-deep in the snow and her legs dangle above the crevasse! She pulls herself out and moments later Jerry also falls. This time the crevasse seems big, and when Eckhard jumps across, more snow falls into it. It’s my turn next, so I leap as far as I can onto what I think is solid snow, only for half of it to crumble beneath me. I pull my leg out and when I look back into the crevasse, I’m shocked that I can’t even see the bottom of it!

With a mix of relief and excitement, I’m back at the tent and it gives me great pleasure to look back at Khuiten knowing I’ve conquered it! Kuscho offers me some vodka and says that I have to dip my third finger in it and flick the drops towards anything which I want to thank or obtain good luck. Flicks completed, I down the vodka and return to the tent for an early night.

Day 10 (8 August 2011)
High camp, potential Nairandal ascent, Base camp

The wind and snow seems much stronger overnight, and unfortunately this morning’s 05.00 alarm doesn’t offer the same weather as yesterday. In fact, it’s the worst weather of the trip so far, and the high winds smash the snow horizontally across our four tents. John says the snow storm means it’s too dangerous to tackle Mount Nairandal. It’s a great disappointment, as the peak is the exact point where China, Russia and Mongolia meet. However, the real objective of this trip was Khuiten, so I’m just hugely grateful that this storm didn’t arrive 24 hours earlier.

We sit tight for a few hours and then pack up the tents for a return to base camp at 10.00. The weather is still pretty bad, but by the time we reach the edge of the glacier, the wind has dropped, the clouds have shifted and suddenly Nairandal is back into view. It’s a shame it didn’t happen earlier, but at least the weather is good whilst I’m carrying this huge load back to the base camp.

On the way, there’s a fantastic river which has torn a tunnel through the glacier. It’s absolutely enormous and it’s fascinating to watch the water disappear into the darkness within the glacier.

Upon arrival at base camp, we’re treated to a cup of fruit juice, and suddenly all the basic services seem like luxury! Water is available immediately, food isn’t in plastic containers and you don’t have to dig your own hole to go for a crap! There’s already one dug for you!!

After a few games of cards, a few shots of whisky and vodka, I pitch the tent and fall asleep.

Day 11 (9 August 2011)
Base camp, Mount Malchin

Ten hours of sleep and I’m raring to climb another mountain. A few people have decided to have a rest day, so I leave with a smaller group towards Mount Malchin. I opt for a much slower and steady pace, and unsurprisingly I find the climb much easier.

Unfortunately Susanne isn’t feeling well, so the ever-changing weather doesn’t help. It starts cloudy, then it snows, but as we reach the ridge which lies on the border between Mongolia and Russia, the wind is relentless, desperately trying to push me into Russia! The terrain is also really strange. Like the acclimatisation trek, we have to climb over everything from huge boulders to tiny stones. In fact, it feels like I’m climbing an enormous pile of rocks rather than a mountain.

At the 4,037m summit, the wind drops and the clouds shift enough for a stunning view across to yesterday’s high camp and north into Russia. The sunshine is warm, so we stay a while before tackling the uneven rocks again for the descent. Like clockwork, the moment we leave it starts snowing heavily, to the point where we divert off track and end up at a completely different point at the base of the mountain.

Following a stream, we trek down the valley and back to our starting point. Most people didn’t enjoy the climb today, but I found it really interesting, especially with the huge boulders sitting on the summit seemingly held up by millions of small rocks that become smaller near the bottom.

The weather has been just as erratic at base camp, but the sun shines when we arrive and for a final time I watch the sun lowering over the Altai Mountains, as large birds hover above our tents, waiting to pounce on an unsuspecting marmot.

Day 12 (10 August 2011)
Base Camp, Olgii

We have a democratic vote to change the schedule, since days 12-13 where supposed to involve a slow trek back to the Altai Tavan Bogd National Park entrance, followed by a five hour 4×4 ride to Olgii. Instead, we combine the days so we have an extra night in Olgii. John jokes that ‘we might be the first Westerners to have ever stayed in Olggi for two nights!’

The skies are as blue as when we scaled Khuiten, with just a few perfectly-formed clouds that appear to have been cut and pasted from The Simpsons! We pack up the tents for a final time and it’s a casual pace trekking back to the park entrance. With such beautiful weather, it’s impossible to ignore the stunning mountain range behind us, so there are a number o moments when I turn around and with an element of disbelief, stare at the highest mountain knowing that I’ve stood at its peak.

After a quick lunch and a play with the camels, we jump int the 4x4s and a slightly different (but equally impressive) journey brings us to Olgii. We’re driven through the dusty centre and arrive at our ger camp, where our host guides Susanne and me to our own private ger!

The hot showers are a welcome surprise and we each take turns having our first proper clean in over a week. Meanwhile, it’s funny to watch the frantic staff climb the ladder onto the shower huts and refill the containers with buckets of hot water!

All clean, we sit around a proper table (!) and have a celebration dinner. Mongolian beers are followed by Kazak cognac and by the time the many bottles of Chinggis Khaan vodka are opened, the drinking games are in full flow. The night ends with local dancing, some very strange animal sounds and a healthy does of Kazak whipping!

Day 13 (11 August 2011)
Olgii

Straight after breakfast we’re driven to see the local Mongolian eagle-hunter. The bird itself is hugely impressive, with its frighteningly long claws and silk-like feathers. I was hoping to see a local Mongol dressed in full traditional clothing, but instead the eagle rests on the protected arm of a casually-dressed young man. Nevertheless, the eagle is fantastic and I can absolutely believe it when we’re told that an adult eagle is capable of catching a small wolf.

The group splits for lunch, with some opting for a local bar. I joining the others in Sandagash’s home ger. Sandagesh has been our cook for the trip, so it’s a real pleasure to be invited to her home. It’s nicely decorated although I do find it a bit odd that she has a rubber dingy in her ger! The meal is delicious, especially the spaghetti bolognese with horse meat!

Next on the itinerary is something I’ve been craving for days: Olgii is host to some Turkish baths, so we spend the next couple of hours sweating in the sauna and jumping into the freezing cold plunge pool. It’s quite simply the best way to rid my pores of all the filth I’ve been carrying around the Altai Mountains!

Our driver, Aidos, then takes a few of us to one of his favourite Kazak bars. Olgii has around 40,000 people and most buildings and roads are in awful condition. He stops at on building that looks half abandoned, yet inside it’s completely modern, with nightclub lighting, a huge selection of drinks and fancy leather seats that wouldn’t look out of place in a sports car.

We stay for a few, before rejoining the others for dinner at Sandagash’s ger, where on of our group (who started drinking at lunchtime) falls flat on his face asleep in the dingy. We finally have our first casualty of the trip – and it’s not down to avalanches, or crevasses, or rock falls or altitude problems or even the difficulty of melting enough snow to drunk the next day – but to the might of Chenggis Khaan Gold vodka!

We end our stint in Olgii by going to the Duman nightclub, that again is hidden inside a sombre building, but has plenty of life inside. The club fills quickly, with loads of local Kazaks, most of whom are dressed like American pop-band members. Yesterday’s late night takes its toll on most people, so at midnight we return to the gers for our final night in Olgii.

Day 14 (12 August 2011)
Olgii, Ulaan Baatar

I would have liked to spend more time in Olgii, to capture the life of thisi solated town in Western Mongolia, but we’ve been advised not to roam around with cameras or wallets, so instead I have a relaxing morning, taking my time to prepare for our midday flight back to the capital. Aero Mongolia is surprisingly efficient and we land on schedule at 15.00 in Ulaan Baatar. It’s Friday, so the streets are absolutely crammed full of workers keen on starting their weekend. Horns blare, cars overtake huge lines of queueing vehicles and the air is filled with the infamous Ulaan Baatar smog.

The next stop is the Marco Polo restaurant, with such unusual decor that it feels like I’m eating inside a museum. Contemporary art is displayed on the walls, a piano sits in the dining area and suddenly I feel a million miles away from the Mongolia I’ve seen over the past two weeks. Oddly, its second floor is also home to a strip club!

We rewards ourselves with beers and wine, before moving onto a bar across the road. Again, it’s modern and seems lost in this dusty city. Vodka starts flowing and everyone is in the mood to make this the main last night: We return to Marco Polo and head straight for the second floor! It’s a strange club, as it’s actually a pretty good bar, which isn’t at all sleazy and even has a decent choice of drinks. It just happens to have loads of naked women wandering around!

At 02.30 we grab a cab and the alcohol takes its toll on me: The drive charges 5,000 tugrik (about £2.50), so as I fumble around sorting all the dozens of Mongolian notes, I give him the money and then step out, leaving my wallet in the car, containing €200 and $105, as well as all my bank cards. I think that’s the best tip he’s ever going to get!

Days 15-16 (13-14 August 2011)
Ulaan Baatar, Moscow, London

Without an alarm for the first time in two weeks, I wake up on the final full day in Ulaan Baatar, and try to forget about last night’s frustrating wallet incident. It’s already nearly lunch, so we head to the Silk Road restaurant that is next door to the one we visited on day two. There’s an English paper that we pass around it’s the first contact we’ve had with life back home. Apparently there have been horrendous riots across the UK, so it’s bizarre to think that I’ve been thousands of kilometres away, oblivious to the troubles back home.

With a soup and a steak inside me, Susanne and I decide to visit the state department store. It’s absolutely thriving in the city and completely unrecognisable from the city we saw on Sunday two weeks ago. The store is full of consumers, paying prices that wouldn’t be out of place on Oxford Street. One floor has an enormous souvenir section, so I have a bit of fun trying all the daft wooly hats. Susanne buys some local cashmere and then we return to the hotel. There’s an hour before meeting the others so I opt for another sauna and plunge pool session. It’s a fantastic way to sweat out last night’s silliness and sets me up for my final evening in Mongolia.

I meet the group and we’re driven to a traditional Mongolian song and dance experience. We’re shuffled into a rectangular room, with raised seating that surrounds a carpeted front stage. I find it strange to be surrounds by so many tourists. It makes me realise why this trip has been so great: I’ve been thousands of kilometres away from home, but also completely separated from the tourist trail. Days would pass without even seeing another tourist and it has helped me experience a side of Mongolia that so few have seen.

Putting aside my dislike of being surrounded by clapping tourists, I really enjoy the show. My favourites are the throat-singing man (which has to be heard to be believed!), the weird dancing acts and the absolutely phenomenal contortionist who could do such amazing things with her body that the minds of every man in the room were racing with ideas!

The farewell dinner is hosted at a dual Mexican-Indian restaurant. It’s an entertaining evening but yesterday’s late night, and tomorrow’s early start means it’s a quiet and relaxing final meal.

With a 03.45 alarm, the journey home begins and I’m left with the many wonderful experiences I’ve picked up in Mongolia. The group was fantastic, the rural Mongolian life was unforgettable, but the best part is that I’ve gained a love for being far from civilisation, allowing me to enjoy the beauty of nature without any distractions. I’ve also climbed another few peaks, including Mongolia’s highest, and I still had the same indescribable feeling when I made it to each summit. With a bit more experience (and a bit more fitness!) I’m already looking forward to more stunning views like the one I experienced at the summit of Mount Khuiten.

I’ve just completed three months without drinking a single drop of alcohol. That’s 1/4 of a year, yet it doesn’t feel that long so it really shows how quickly 2011 is flying by. I didn’t plan on drinking anything until the end of this year’s main holiday in August, but it was always going to be tough to avoid a drink or two at a stag-do; a stag-do that is a long weekend in Belgium; a stag-do that is a long weekend in Belgium when there’s a three-day beer festival…

An early Eurostar journey takes us to Antwerp, via Bruxelles, arriving just in time for a typical Belgian lunch (in a pub) with just as many calories in the beer as the food. The healthy weekend continues with visits to a number of bars to prepare us for the onslaught of the beer festival, which is a series of tents with super-strong beers on tap. After a few hours we head north from the old town and wander through the surprisingly large ‘t Schipperskwartier, that seems even bigger than the similarly coloured area in Amsterdam.

My lack of drinking recently means I wake with a cracking hangover, but a tasty lunch on the river dock (and some hair of the dog) soon wakes me up for a repeat of day one. We do manage to squeeze in a couple of touristy things, such as the walk through the Sint-Anna tunnel that takes pedestrians to the westside of the river Scheldt, a stroll around the picturesque old town and the impressive Onze-Lieve-Vrouwekathedraal (Cathedral of our Lady), and even some time to watch an odd street-play whose actors seemed to have escaped from a mental hospital.

The stag-do ends appropriately with seven lads looking largely worse for wear on Sunday morning, for the painfully slow train trip back to London Kings Cross.

Following an early alarm, I take the underground to Kings Cross, a train for six hours to Glasgow and then hire a car (from the ridiculously friendly staff at Enterprise) for the final three hour stretch to Fort William. Despite a police crash investigation which delays the journey for around half an hour, it’s a relatively pain-free journey to the UK’s capital of outdoor activities. The weather is outstanding, so it’s particularly pleasant to drive through the beautiful highlands and along Glen Coe.

It’s a four-day trip to Scotland with Susanne, to learn some mountaineering skills and get a bit of practice ahead of this year’s main climbing holiday in July. Having bought a few climbing tools, I’m keen to figure out how they work!

Fort William is much smaller than I expected, but it sits on the loch quite perfectly, especially as the sun sets over the mountains in the west. There are plenty of trekkers wandering around, but there are also a huge number of people on their way to the local pubs. For such a small and remote place, it seems to have quite a drinking culture. That said, with the choice of whiskies they have here, it’s not entirely surprising! An indian meal (not great) and an early night sets me up for tomorrow’s adventures.

DAY 2 (23 APRIL 2011)
FORT WILLIAM, GLEN COE, BUACHAILLE ETIVE MÒR

At 08.00 we meet Alan Kimber, a friendly Englishman who has lived in Fort William for over 40 years. Coincidentally, his name is also on the front of our mountain guidebook, so it appears we’ve found the right chap to lead us up the mountains!

Based on the weather forecast, he suggests a plan for the next couple of days. Due to the rather mischievous outlook today, it’s decided to leave Ben Nevis for Sunday, and tackle another peak today. After a 30 minute drive, we reach the base of Buachaille Etive Mòr, one of the popular mountains in Glen Coe, due its varied routes and pyramid-like shape.

I decide to climb with all my photo gear, as I’d like to test out what I don’t need, and (more importantly) what I’d struggle to carry on harder routes. With a misty fog surrounding the mountain, we start the ascent.

A simple uphill trek brings us around the north edge of the mountain, and at the base of the Curved Ridge route. From a technical point of view, it’s easier than any of the indoor bouldering I’ve done recently. However, it’s still pretty steep and the thought of slipping is always at the back of my mind. It means concentration levels need to be high, especially as some of the rocks are wet and slippery.

Alan reels off advice throughout the day; even the most simple and obvious advice is really useful, as it’s all about using as little energy as possible to complete the route. The various rope techniques are particularly interesting, and I’m keen on making sure I get this right: Whilst this is not a technically challenging route, there are several points where a fall would be lethal. It plays at the back of my mind, but it also spurs me on.

Since we’re all connected by rope, it’s important to keep up the momentum, so there are few points that allow me to take out my camera gear. I’m conscious that I’m carrying about 6kg of unnecessary camera equipment, so even though it’s weighing me down a bit, it’s a great lesson learned.

After a few hours, we reach the summit and I celebrate with a Yorkie bar and a jump photo! The clouds also start to shift a little, so even though the weather isn’t fantastic, it allows me to see the base of the mountain and the route that I’ve just climbed, which is highly satisfying.

We trek down the easier ‘tourist’ route and return to Fort William, where Susanne and I are lucky enough to book a table at the Lime Tree, which has a varied selection of well-prepared food. However, we’re practically falling asleep at the table, so we quickly make our way back to the hotel for a well-deserved rest.

DAYS 3-4 (24-25 APRIL 2011)
FORT WILLIAM, BEN NEVIS, ONICH

I certainly feel yesterday’s efforts in my legs, but I’m truly excited about today’s climb. At 08.00 we meet Alan again and he describes the Tower Gully route that we’re going to attempt today on Ben Nevis. It’s on the north face so there should be loads of snow and plenty of opportunities to learn some mountaineering skills on snow and ice.

We drive to the base of the UK’s highest mountain, and the clouds hover around the towers. It looks rather moody, but this only increases my excitement. Setting off, I’ve replaced a number of camera lenses with extra climbing equipment. It really adds up and it’s suddenly so obvious why the lighter gear is so much more valuable.

I’m testing my new mountaineering boots, which actually aren’t made for this kind of climb, but I want to try them out a few times before I take them to higher altitudes. They’re comfortable, but clearly not designed for walking on rocky terrain, so I find the going quite tough for the first couple of hours. Fortunately, we soon hit snow and from there on it’s like having a mini massage each step I take!

Before the climb gets too steep, Alan teaches us how to perform a self-arrest with an ice axe. It’s the skill required to stop yourself if you slip on snow or ice, and start sliding down the mountain. Of course, you could find yourself flying down on your front or back, or even head first, so there are a number of scenarios that we need to learn. Whilst it’s not something I want to do for real, it is extremely good fun to practice!!

Further up the mountain, there are patches of ice which require some grade II climbing. Like yesterday, it’s not particularly challenging, but a fall would still be serious. It’s perfect practice for me and once again it’s hugely satisfying to look down on a section I’ve just climbed.

As we’re half way up, I suddenly hear a huge roar behind me. It starts like a rumble of a double bass, and then it breaks up, like a crashing of instruments falling down the mountain. It seems as if the avalanche has fallen right where we were climbing only minutes earlier, so it’s a perfect example of how careful (and lucky) climbers need to be.

The final stretch is up through Tower Gully. The snow is thick but Alan assesses the avalanche possibility and feels it’s safe enough to continue. I plunge my ice axe into the snow and it’s unbelievable how much easier it makes the climb. As I climb over the cornice, I look over my shoulder and can barely believe what I’ve achieved. In the other direction, it’s quite funny to see loads of other people stroll by on the tourist path, some of whom are just wearing shorts and basic trainers!

After a quick jump photo, we walk the final 100m to the summit and once again I celebrate with a Yorkie bar (this could be the start of something special!) Unfortunately the weather still hasn’t shifted the clouds, so there’s nothing to see as far as a view is concerned, so we take off most of our gear and start heading down the tourist path. It’s little more than a walk, but it’s quite tough on my feet due to my big boots, so I’m pleased to cross a soft, soggy marshland back back to our starting point on the north side.

I look back at Ben Nevis with a great sense of achievement; I’ve learned lots of new skills, learned loads about what things I shouldn’t take mountaineering (definitely not my 100-400mm lens!), but more importantly, I’ve had an absolutely fantastic time doing so. I’m already looking forward to the next mountain!

Dinner is at the most acclaimed restaurant in the area (Loch Leven Seafood Cafe), which is hidden down a rural side road near Onich. The food is great, but once again I’m absolutely shattered so it’s yet another early night.

The drive back to Glasgow on Easter Monday is a fantastic way to end the trip: Since the weather has picked up, we get some great views of the Highland mountains, which are practically begging me to climb them in the near future!

Special thanks to Alan Kimber for his guiding and for taking a few of the photos whilst climbing. I thoroughly recommend his company, which can be found here: www.westcoast-mountainguides.co.uk

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 shuttle bus from the airport to Stavanger is running slightly late. It’s a mild hiccup at 01.00 after a late Friday night flight from Gatwick. Norway redeems itself as the bus driver takes a detour just so he can politely drop me off outside my hotel!

I wake a few hours later and Tonny, a mate from Copenhagen, meets me for breakfast. There’s no time to waste so we jump straight into the rental car and work our way east towards Lysefjorden. It’s a hilly, green landscape with water everywhere and actually reminds me of Wales. However, we approach a ferry crossing and suddenly the mountains grow and the fjords are everything I hoped for.

We reach the parking area at the base of Preikestolen and already the views are impressive as dark rocks rise vertically from the valley floor around us. The weather is completely random. It literally changes every few minutes, from torrential rain to blue skies, and everything in between. I’ve never seen so many rainbows and with the dark clouds, it creates some stunning scenery.

The trek to Preikestolen is not particularly long, but it’s reasonably steep in places. Furthermore, with the constantly changing weather, it’s very wet and many of the rocky paths are flooded with small streams. It’s the best of both worlds; the landscape is vibrant and green, yet since it’s near the end of summer, it’s not packed with tourists.

The higher we climb, the better the views of the fjords, especially along the ‘cliff route’ near the peak. However, nothing could have prepared me for the Preikestolen: It’s an absolutely perfect example of nature at its best. The views into and along the fjord are impressive enough, but the sheer vertical drop from where I’m standing is incredible. It’s like a giant has taken an axe to the cliff edges and sliced away huge, clean chunks off the mountain. Better still, is the weather. One minute the sun is shining brightly and the rocks appear to illuminate, causing a breathtaking view high above the water below. A few minutes later and it’s absolutely chucking it down, with clouds smothering the entire area. It’s such a strange feeling as my photos make it look like I’ve visited several times, in completely different seasons.

Of course, with such a surreal cliff edge, spirits are high amongst the (few) tourists that area there. Near the edge, a couple play tennis, a lady does yoga, and everyone else lowers themselves so they’re dangling over the nerve-racking drop. I obviously do a project jump, and that sets off another tourist from Australia, who hands me her camera and says ‘I want one like that!’

We stay for ages and take a ridiculous number of photos of this natural wonder. I really can’t begin to describe the feeling of sticking my head over the edge and staring down into the 604m abyss!

It’s a slightly different and equally impressive walk down the ‘hill route’ and as the weather continues to play games, it’s actually laughable how many rainbows I see.

Back at the car, we’re approached by the two tennis players who are tourists from Oslo and have missed the last bus to Stavanger. We give them a ride and as they slug back a bottle of Bacardi, they are grateful for the lift back to the city.

After a quick shower, we go to a highly recommended Indian restaurant and stuff ourselves silly. Whilst I’d love to go out Norwegian style, it has been a long day and tomorrow is an early start.

Day 3 (29 August 2010)
Stavanger, Bergen

A 06.15 alarm sets me off towards the airport and as I check in (using my fingerprint!) I wave goodbye to Stavanger, a region I’ll most certainly visit again.

Six years ago I visited Bergen very briefly at night, and I remember it being very picturesque. It’s great to be back and explore it properly, as I certainly didn’t do it justice in 2004. The hostel is as expensive as a good hotel, but its position is outstanding. It offers incredible views over Bergen, only beaten by the view from the top of the Ulrikken, which overlooks the small city at 642m high. I’m glad we take the funicular up, since it’s a steep walk down and I’m still carrying all my gear that I wouldn’t leave in the hostel lobby.

It’s a beautiful area, with hundreds of walking routes and one can see why it’s popular with trekkers. Once again the weather is changing randomly: It’s a mix of clouds and sun, then the heavy rain falls just long enough for us to visit Hakon’s Hall, which is by the World Heritage area of Bergen. Once the sun is out again, I explore the narrow alleys which are filled with colourful shops and it’s understandable why nearly every postcard shows this area of Bergen.

For a few hours we stroll around the hilly, northern part of the town, where there are fewer tourists and I get a sense for real Bergen life. It’s calm and relaxing, with unique little shops selling all kinds of homemade foods and drinks. The Lille Lungegårdsvannet is a small lake in the centre of Bergen, and unlike six years ago, there are a number of arty exhibits on show. One in particular is fantastic: It’s a huge cube which looks like it’s a lump of liquid metal, reacting to a powerful magnet. I can only assume that the artist was a fan of the T-1000!

Tomorrow is the start of the real road trip, so we have dinner by the port, catch the sunset from the hillside and return to the hostel for a relatively early night.

Day 4 (30 August 2010)
Bergen, Hardangerfjord, Stalheim, Flåm

The real road trip starts today, leaving Bergen early and driving south east along the Hardangerfjord. The weather is holding up, which really makes a difference with the luscious green valleys contrasting with the blue skies and red buildings. Waterfalls, that are in pretty much every single landscape, shine brilliantly amongst the colours, and it’s a good sign for the several hundred kilometres of road we’re about to travel along the west coast of Norway.

The Steinsdalsfossen is a popular tourist stop, not only for the size of the waterfall, but also because it’s possible to walk right up to it, and even behind it. After a quick coffee, we follow the fjord northeast, stopping occasionally for photos. The blue skies start to disappear behind clouds, but the area is so pure and natural that it doesn’t take anything away from the scenery.

Further north, we take a detour off the main road toward Stalheim. It’s another famous stop in the region, but since we’re in the first week of September, it’s devoid of other tourists, so the winding road is free to explore at our own pace. This valley is also home to a road that regularly appears in top ten lists of the world’s best drives: The Stalheimskleiva. It’s a ridiculously steep road that turns every 50 metres, swooping down the fjord like an enormous snake.

Before too long, we approach Flåm, one of the most famous fjord ‘resorts’, although it’s barely a small village and there’s not a soul in sight. I get a bit of a surprise at the hostel, when the owner explains that it’s a shared bathroom and we have to pay extra for the bed linen. Worst still, when I ask about the showers, she tells me that they are coin operated, giving you just five minutes of hot water! I’m almost afraid to ask how much it’s going to cost me to take a dump!

Day 5 (31 August 2010)
Flåm, Myrdal

Flåm is a huge tourist destination and yet it was practically a ghost town for dinner last night. However, this morning the gigantic ship arrives and hundreds of tourists flock this village. There are cameras waving everywhere and the few tourist shops suddenly start counting the kroners.

The train from Flåm to Myrdal (climbing 864m in altitude, over just 20km into the mountains) is supposed to be one of the best journeys in the world. It certainly is spectacular, but with the worst weather of the trip so far, it loses some of the colour and vibrance of the postcard pictures down in Flåm.

That said, the Kjosfossen is a beautiful waterfall and the train stops for a prolonged look. Better still, Norwegian folk music starts blaring and a couple of traditionally dressed women suddenly appear from the rocks around the waterfall and dance mysteriously and provokingly! It’s incredibly cheesy but a lot of fun!

However, the main reason for this train journey is so I can watch the pensioners take the train back down, and I can hop onto a rented bike and take the fun route! Tonny and I are given quite possibly the crappiest bikes on earth and we laugh as we bobble down the rocky steep path down the mountain. We make a detour to reach the Reinungavatnet and Seltufvatnet lakes, and out of luck we find the top of the waterfall which we saw from the train.

The train is approaching, and we notice the two dancing women run from a hut, take off their huge winter jackets and take their positions. It completely changes the ‘mystery’ of the dancing women! We can’t help joining in with the dancing, so if any tourists looked high up above the beautifully-dressed dancing women, they’d see two hikers dancing away and laughing hysterically to themselves!

The bumpy ride down the fjord could take only an hour or two, but there are so many great sports with beautiful views of the waterfalls, the fjords, the tiny remote homes and the absolutely stunning river with its emerald green water, so the journey takes much longer with all the stops. We leave our bikes and climb rocks a few times, to explore the stunning scenery and to find more photo opportunities.

We reach Flåm and once again it’s completely dead. It means another quiet bugget dinner (in a gorgeous setting) followed by a visit to the only pub, which is actually a brewery and pretty much the entire bar is made of natural materials. The bar itself, seats, table and building structure is all made of finely carved wood. The beer taps are even made of bones! The delicious ‘India Pale Ale’ sets me up for a well deserved long sleep.

Day 6 (1 September 2010)
Flåm, Aurland, Lærdal, Borgund, Kaupanger, Sognal, Jostedal, Gjerde

It’s another long day of driving, but the weather totally clears up which means plenty of stops and loads of photos. It starts with Stegastein, a man-made platform that overlooks Aurland. It’s a truly wonderful view, even from the public toilet which has its own window across the fjord!

Further north on the highland route is Lærdal, an incredibly cute little village which has lods of little colourful homes. I’ll remember it as a ghost town as there was practically not a person in sign, which is really odd as most photos of this village make it look like you can’t see the road through the tourists.

The highland road is impressive and really reminds me of Scotland. It’s a strange landscape as the Norwegian summer is over, which means there are pratically no tourists, but the wonderful weather means it’s like the middle of July and there’s a hardly any snow that we expected this high into the mountains.

Again, we avoid the main road (and the ridiculously boring 25km tunnel) and take the ‘historic’ road along the edges of the mountain. It’s quiet, beautiful, and a much more enjoyable way to experience rural Norway. We deliberately travel a few extra kilometres east, so we can visit the Borgund Church. It’s one of just 28 Norwegian churches that remain in the world and apparently the only one that stands as it did 800 years ago. It’s amazing. A real feat of carpentry and architecture, as the whole church is carved out of beautifully coloured wood.

Back west, we take the Fodness ferry crossing, visiting another (less impressive) church in Kaupanger, and then work our way around Sognalsfjorden, which is yet another stunning fjord, especially now that the sun is really shining strong, creating unbelievable blues and greens in every direction I look.

The final stretch is north along Jostadel, another winding road along the side of a fjord. With the sun low in the sky, the colours are truly remarkable; I’m seeing Norway in all its glory. Jostedal Hotel is another family-run place, practically deserted in the mountains, with gorgeous views all around. It’s unbelievably relaxing, and the fresh, cold air reminds me of Patagonia and yet again I feel like I’m a million miles from home.

Day 7 (2 September 2010)
Jostedalsbreen

Today was another highlight of the trip, with a day trekking on the Nigards Glacier. It’s a day where I really need good weather and I’m in luck: The sky is blue as far as the eye can see and the sun is strong enough to catch a tan. It’s incredible, considering that I’m further north than the Shetland Islands.

A short drive north and we reach the glacier. It’s very big and we can only see the tip of it creeping over the mountains. With crampons and ice axes, we join a group that includes a Spanish couple and bunch of reserved Singhalese.

As we ascend the glacier, the pace is very slow since we’re all tied together with ropes, in case of anyone slipping into crevasses or water holes. Apparently the crevasses on this part of the glacier aren’t too dangerous, at around 30m deep. However, the water holes can be deadly: You’d get sucked down and spat out at the bottom, or worse, you fall into a hole that gets narrower near the bottom and you’d drown, freeze, and turn up several years later for the next group of tourists to spot!

We trek up the glacier for a couple of hours, but disappointingly there is no actual ice climbing. Apparently the view from the top of the mountain is exceptional, as you’d see the full scale of the glacier, flowing from the horizon in the distance. However, it takes several hours to reach the peak so we settle for another photogenic spot, with a great view of the moon disappearing behind the glacier.

The route down is more challenging and more interesting, but unfortunately despite this trek being called the ‘Blue Ice Walk’, we don’t get a chance to venture into any of the massive blue caves. It’s another disappointment, but at least I get a chance to take some photos from the outside.

Back at the hotel, it’s unbelievably relaxing to sit on the sun deck, with shorts and t-shirt, the sun on my face and a cold beer in hand!

Day 8 (3 September 2010)
Gjerde, Hornindalsvatn Lake, Hellesyt, Geiranger

Another day of driving but this time there’s a time limit. We absolutely must reach Hellesyt for 15.00 otherwise there’s a long wait until the next ferry through the Geirangerfjord. Even though it’s only 50km as the crow flies, we have to circumnavigate the enormous Jostedal Glacier, so it’s actually around 250km.

That said, the pace is relaxed and there’s time for a number of stops en route. As with all roads in this region, the views are spectacular. Once again there isn’t a cloud in the sky, so the blue fjords and ridiculously green fields absolutely glow. Words can’t describe how beautiful this area is and one could easily spend more time exploring in more detail, including the deepest lake in Europe (Hornindalsvatn) whose depth is an incredible 514m. Even with this wonderful weather, it looks absolutely freezing!

Hellesyt is a picturesque village, which marks the beginning of one of the most famous ferry journeys in the world. We arrive with half an hour to spare, and then board the small ferry that will take us 20km down the Geirangerfjord. It’s absolutely breathtaking. The fjord cliffs are truly enormous, and even though there’s not too much water from the waterfalls, the whole route is still another example of nature leaving me gobsmacked.

Standing on the deck of the ferry, I turn into the stereotypical tourist in Norway, with my camera in hand and snapping away at the beauty passing before me. Whilst it’s absolutely incredible, I can’t imagine spending more time sitting on a ferry and experiencing a trip this way. It takes away the magic of ‘deserving’ the view and also means that you have to quickly shoot photos before you lose the moment.

Geiranger is really beautiful. The Norwegians have done well to control the number of buildings, and despite the huge ship that stays overnight in the port (with its fumes polluting the clean, mountain air), it feels like a lost village, hidden away from the world. It helps that it’s so quiet; I can’t imagine how different this place would be in the middle of summer.

The hotel is the best yet and we take advantage of Tonny’s status as a travel agent to get the room with the best view. It’s quite simply the best hotel room view I think I’ll ever see in my life! Further up into the mountain, is the famous Flydalsjuvet, where every daredevil gets their photo taken. The sun isn’t in the right place, so we decide to return tomorrow.

After a fish dinner, we try driving into the mountains for a better view of the sunset. We reach a really harsh landscape, with glaciers, dark rocks and much less greenery than down in the fjord, which we briefly explore before returning to the hotel to end the day.

Day 9 (4 September 2010)
Geiranger, Hellesyt, Ålesund

I was supposed to stay in Geiranger for two nights, but the non-existent travel options tomorrow mean that I have to do a last minute change of plan and travel to Ålesund today. However, it turns out to be one of the best days.

It starts with a hearty breakfast and an early morning trek to Geitelva, which gives a fantastic view of the Seven Sisters waterfalls. However, it’s still a little early in the day so although the view is exceptional, the sunlight isn’t ideal for photography. It’s a real shame as this area clearly has so much more to offer and I’ve only scraped the surface.

We complete the 10km hike and return to Flydalsjuvet, to get the daredevil photo I wanted yesterday. Since the weather is still out of this world, the view is perfect and completely sums up the beauty of this fjord. I take my postcard photos, saying my goodbyes to Tonny (he’s travelling for another three days further north into Norway) and return to the ferry back to Hellesyt.

From there, I catch a cheap bus (by Norwegian standards) to Ålesund, which is possibly the most scenic bus journey I’ve ever done! I was worried that the change of plans would wreck the day, but it really is a joyful journey, across the mountains and fjords. There’s a moment of panic at one point, when a group of French students get back onto the bus after the Magerholm-Ørsneset ferry crossing and realise they are one person short. The bus driver isn’t impressed and refuses to wait any longer, so they all get off to find their missing friend and the bus leaves them stranded!

Ålesund is small but geographically very interesting. It’s very hilly and the surrounding islands make it really unique. I climb up the steep hill to Aksla and arrive an hour before sunset. My plan was to see the sunset and then have dinner, but it’s absolutely gorgeous and the colours in the sky resemble an African sunset. I end up staying for three hours just watching the town turn from day to night. It’s a perfect way to end the final night of my trip.

Day 10 (5 September 2010)
Ålesund

It’s a placid final day, with a gentle walk around Ålesund. I spot the French group, so they must have found their friend and a way of getting here after all!

I was hoping to do a bit of shopping in the morning, but absolutely everything is shut on Sundays, including most coffee bars. I wander around taking a few photos, but there really isn’t too much to do, so I return to Aksla and climb to the top for one final view of the town, before my flight home via Oslo.

I decide to surprise visit my father for his birthday. I don’t normally visit my parents in the summer holidays, but it’s actually really nice to soak up the sun and have a energy-free holiday for a change. For the first time in years, I opt to leave my camera equipment at home, although I’m glad to take my underwater compact camera as it gives me a chance to try some more unusual jump shots.

Using a swimming pool, a 10 second timer, and a huge amount of patience, I finally get the shot I want. Below is the photo, along with a selection of the failed attempts..!

When I joined the boys on a long weekend to Berlin, I expected a grey city, scarred from the second World War. What I discovered was a vibrant place, full of energy and packed with culture. Oh – and a huge range of ridiculously strong beers, alongside every type of sausage you can possibly think of…

Day one was stereotypically German. Our nominated guide (David briefly lived in Berlin) takes us to a restaurant that has a huge garden, with long tables shared by locals and tourists. It’s essentially a massive beer garden, that also offers food. Being asparagus season, we all have a suitable amount of greens that will no doubt confirm the truth of the infamous myth tomorrow morning. We also try a variety of local beers that set the tone for the trip: This is all about seeing as much of the city as possible, so that our bodies don’t even think about nurturing a hangover.

Day 2 (5 June 2010)
Berlin

I wake the following morning at a respectable time and head straight for the Fernsehturm television tower, where David tells us that the only way we’ll have time to see the many sights is if we hire bikes. It’s a perfect call as we jump on our bikes and zip from one incredible monument to another. I’m truly amazed by my first impressions. Germany’s capital is absolutely packed with things to see. There are so many stunning statues and buildings, so it’s an absolute pleasure to cycle around the wide paths and roads, in complete awe of the architecture surrounding me.

The city, considerably flattened in World War II, has retained its openness, with parks and statues placed all over the city. I start with communism at the Engels & Marx monument, and then pass a huge motorcycle parade, the Altes Museum and Berliner Dom. The Konzerthaus Berlin is a good place to stop for a well deserved beer break before passing Checkpoint Charlie, which is a strange experience: As I stand in the middle of this busy city road, I can’t help think that less than 70 years ago it was one of the most dangerous places to be in the world.

A little further east we find the large remains of the Berlin Wall on Niederkirchnerstrasse, and visit the Topographie des Terrors. It’s surreal to stand next to the wall and consider the fact that such an insignificant object could represent so much.

We travel northwest and enter the absolutely gigantic Tiergarten. The sun is in full force as we reach the Schloss Bellevue so it’s perfect timing to ride through the park amongst all the locals soaking up the glorious weather.

On our way back east, there’s a brief stop at the Soviet War Memorial (I suddenly feel quite conscious of my CCCP t-shirt, I’m wearing…) and then to the Brandenburger Tor, which is one of the main symbols of Berlin and Germany. It’s large and impressive, but absolutely packed with tourists, so it requires a little more effort to find a unique shot.

We’ve packed so much into one day, but one of the most impressive stops was yet to come: The Holocaust-Mahnmal is enormous and is a very impressive memorial to the murdered Jews of Europe. Uniquely designed, and spanning across a 19,000 square meter site, it’s impossible not to be overwhelmed. It’s yet another outstanding example of how well Berlin is remembering its past, whilst educating for the future.

After all the cycling, it’s only fair that we end the day with a well-deserved amount of food and drink!

(Congrats if you spotted the error – I’m actually crossing into the East side of the wall)

Day 3 (6 June 2010)
Berlin

There are a number of areas in Berlin where you can still see the remains of the wall. The morning starts with a quick visit to an antique market, on our way to a huge area which has been kept exactly like the wall was before it was taken down in November 1989. It’s shocking to see the photos of all the people who tried to cross it, especially a chap called Winfried Freudenberg who died in a crossing attempt in March 1989.

Looking through the crack of one wall, across the field to the high second wall, it’s hard to imagine that anyone could make it across alive, and really underlines how desperate people must have been to risk it.

It’s a slightly relaxed afternoon with some beers and some rather aimless wandering around, before we decide to visit the spectacular Treptower Park. It’s an absolutely enormous Russian monument to remember those who died in battle for Berlin in the early 1940s. With the gorgeous weather, the Germans are out in hundreds and the parks are full of people playing, eating, drinking and sunbathing.

The evening starts quite sensibly, with an Italian restaurant and a few bottles of wine. What seems like it’s going to be a rather subdued second night, turns into complete silliness when we find a punk bar which has a karaoke night. My first ever solo karaoke effort goes down pretty well; I think Kylie Minogue would have been proud. I have a crack at Simon & Garfunkel’s Bridge Over Troubled Water and the local punks seem to appreciate my headbanging to the climax of the song.

However, the best moments are no doubt Max’s “I’m gonna make you bleed” line in Welcome to the Jungle, and Mark’s super-enthusiastic rendition of AC/DC’s You Shook Me All Night Long.

It sets us up nicely to buy a bottle of whisky and enjoy the incessant ramblings of our new best friend, Herr Spargel…

Day 4 (7 June 2010)
Berlin

It’s not the most energetic of mornings, as everyone is feeling the effects of the late night. Before our afternoon flight back to London, we drag ourselves to the Fernsehturm Berlin, the famous television tower that has a rotating restaurant at the top. None of us can stomach food, so we just have coffees whilst Berlin’s cityscape spins around us. Germany’s capital has left a very strong impression on me, and there’s no doubt about it; I definitely will return.

It’s a frantic finish at work on Friday evening ahead of my overnight flight. Before I know it, I’m waking up in Egypt and hurtling through the empty streets of Cairo in a taxi that seems determined to break its record time (as well as trying to completely rip me off).

At about 08.00, Susanne and I arrive at the Oberi Mena House hotel, which is just a stone throw away from the pyramids. After a prolonged argument with the reception, we get the room we booked and although the accommodation is nothing to rave about, the view is simply sublime. The pyramids are everything I hoped they would be: Huge, magnificent, mind-boggling and perfectly photogenic.

After breakfast, Susanne opts for a 90 minute massage whilst I tour the hotel’s grounds taking photos of the pyramids from every possible angle under the blisteringly strong sun. An Italian lunch, a play in the swimming pool, a siesta and a French dinner (with belly dancer!) sets us up for the next seven, energetic days.

Day 3 (9 May 2010)
Cairo, Giza

An early start and our private guide takes us to the foot of the Great Pyramid. So many friends have told me that I’ll be disappointed, the crowds are obscene and the sights are underwhelming. I couldn’t disagree more. Firstly, at 5,000 years old, they are shockingly well preserved. However, it’s their sizes that impress: They are simply enormous. To build them with today’s technology would be an achievement, so it’s quite staggering how magnificently they stand.

If the outside is impressive, then the inside is mind-blowing. I climb the vent-like corridor up to the tomb, squeezing under low ceilings and narrow stairs and I feel like I’m in an Alien movie! Inside the Great Pyramid I can really see the scale of the architecture. Stone walls are massive, smoothly cut and perfectly joined like a gigantic jigsaw puzzle.

Wandering around the pyramids, I take in as many memories as I can of the last surviving ancient wonder of the world. It’s not just the sights that make it special; I’m also pleasantly surprised by the relatively low number of tourists, and even the local vendors aren’t overly pushy or aggressive.

On the other hand, the Sphinx is pretty busy. Whilst it’s still possible to get tourist free photos, there are large groups of stupidly (and disrespectfully) dressed tourists squeezing through the narrow paths of the Valley Temple of Khafre. That aside, the Sphinx is beautiful, even if it is a little smaller than I expected.

Next on the itinerary is a short tour of Cairo. The Hanging Church is pretty, the Citadel and its large Mohamed Ali Mosque is overwhelmingly grand and there’s also a quick visit of the Khan al-Khalili market, but since we’re the only people there, the storekeepers are annoyingly incessant. That said, I do like the shout from one chap: “What do I have to do to get your money?!”

The last stop is the Egyptian Museum. Walking around I can’t help feeling guilty for the fact that I’ve seen dozens of similar, stolen artifacts in the British Museum! Nonetheless it’s particularly interesting since we have a private guide detailing the story of each King or Queen statue that we pass.

Far and away the most exciting thing in the museum is the King Tut Exhibition. A year ago in London, I visited the ‘Tutankhamen on Tour’ show, only to be disappointed that the actual coffins and masks weren’t on show. It’s therefore hugely exciting (as well as overpowering) to stand in front of the golden mask and all of the immaculately preserved items of his tomb.

Another crazy Cairo car journey gets us back to the hotel and we go for the highly recommended Indian restaurant, even though my stomach is pleading with me to avoid it…

Day 4 (10 May 2010)
Cairo, Al-Farafra, White Desert

It’s no surprise to find I’ve a dodgy stomach, but fortunately it’s nothing to worry about so we jump into a minibus and nine hours later we reach our private jeep ride. We stop a few times on the way; for petrol, for lunch in an Oasis town and also for a couple of photo opportunities along the (mainly uninspiring) desert road south west of Cairo.

The bumpy ride gives me a cracker of a headache, but that doesn’t spoil the jeep ride into the White Desert. The low sun and the surreal white rock formations make for some stunning scenery. We arrive at our first camp and our Bedouin guide cooks us a lovely meal whilst the sun sets gorgeously in the background. As we take in the amazing setting, things get better when a desert fox approaches our camp. It’s timid and unbelievably cute, with its big ears flinching nervously as it creeps closer for a nibble of our dinner.

Although we get a choice to sleep in a tent, Susanne and I opt to sleep outside on the desert floor, with the beautiful African night sky above us. My headache is pretty bad so I settle down and fall asleep under the amazing, bright stars.

Day 5 (11 May 2010)
White Desert

After a fantastic night’s sleep in the open desert and a simple breakfast, we wave goodbye to the foxes (who are still lurking around the camp in the early hours) and set off to see the highlights of the White Desert.

I certainly expected photography fodder, but the White Desert is quite simply out of this world. Whilst I’ve often said places makes me feel like I’m on another planet, this place is completely unlike anything I’ve ever seen on Earth.

Mushroom-shaped limestones, of varying sizes, protrude from the white sandy landscape like something out of a science fiction film. It doesn’t become repetitive either, as the shapes and bizarre rock formations change every few kilometres, creating more surreal and mind-blowing views.

If it wasn’t extraordinary already, then the next stop really was: Sitting alone in the middle of the sandy desert, is an oasis, no bigger than 50m squared, with palm trees, bushes and a stream of fresh water pumping out of the desert floor.

I strip off, jump into the water and can barely believe I’m sitting in a pool of water in the middle of the Western Desert! Like being on a tiny island in the middle of the sea, I feel a million miles away from home, surrounded by nothing and without a sound in the air apart from the water trickling away into the desert floor.

We have lunch in this idyllic location before shooting off to more perfect photography locations in the afternoon. With the sun at full force, the intensely blue sky and the white rocks dipping their heads out of the yellow sand, I can’t dream of better contrasts of colour.

We visit the White House, a huge area of smooth rocks that rise high above the desert sand, where we see more foxes, with their heads sticking out of their little cave homes.

Yet another surprise is in store as our guide, Ibrahim Saleh, starts driving around some huge white rocks, searching for a suitable camping spot. He finds one in a smooth area of soft sand, with spectacular views in all directions. The camp is set, with just the jeep and a single cloth sheet protecting us from the morning sunrise. With sleeping bags and cushions on the floor, we eat a pasta dish before another night amongst the stars and foxes!

Day 6 (12 May 2010)
White Desert

Time and time again this trip exceeds itself. Today, it starts with a stop at the Ain Khadra oasis, which is much bigger than yesterday’s, but despite seeing sand in every direction, it doesn’t feel quite as secluded. However, nearby is a hidden cave, into which I crawl about 10m under the desert floor. It’s fascinating that a near lifeless desert can contain so many unusual and exciting features. I’m in a perfect playground and I can’t believe that we go for hours without a single other person in sight. The White Desert is so geographically jaw-dropping; if it was in the US then it would be packed full of tourists, but its remoteness in the Western Desert makes it all the more special.

We jump back in the 4×4 and hurtle across the landscape reaching speeds of up to 80km per hour. It’s thrilling and like a boat on a calm lake, we glide across the varying depths of sand and rock.

Ibrahim seems to play with his routes too, always choosing the more interesting turns and drops, over sand dunes and between the giant rocks.

The day then springs up surprise after surprise: Lunch is served under a huge overhanging limestone rock, which looks like it could fall at any moment. Ibrahim tells us there’s a great view at the top of the mountains so we climb through the hot and deep sand to reach the summit. He’s not wrong: The view is spectacular and even I’m lost for words and pause for a while before taking photos. It’s breath-taking and we stay a while, taking in its beauty.

Two more surprises are in store. The first is the jeep ride to another mountain peak, which gives another surreal valley view. Thousands of oval rocks, spread evenly across the valley floor and it just doesn’t look like anything else on Earth. In fact, the wind eroded rocks actually resemble thousands of eggs like in the ‘Alien’ film!

The final surprise is yet another amazing view, reached only by a narrow mountain footpath high above the sand dunes below. Our guide tells us that one could easily fill four days exploring the White Valley, and today certainly supports his view, as time and time again, I’m shocked by the never-ending beauty of this desert.

Another new spot is chosen for dinner and camping and this one is deep in the valley, with soft sand and high rise mountains all around us.

Once again the foxes keep us company as we eat our best meal yet (chicken, rice and a host of vegetables, in a delicious sauce – how he does it in the middle of the desert is a feat in itself!) and fall asleep in our final night in the White Desert.

Day 7 (13 May 2010)
White Desert, Crystal Mountain, Black Desert, Cairo

It’s another day of travelling but a very rewarding one. It all starts with me taking control of the wheel and zipping across the White Valley floor. Whilst I’m nowhere near as fast as Ibrahim, it’s still exhilarating stuff, reaching nearly 50kph and sliding up and over the hilly sand dunes!

We wave goodbye to Ibrahim and transfer to our minibus to Cairo. There are a couple of great stops on the way. Crystal Mountain is unimpressive from a distance, but close up I can see the thousands of crystals, embedded in the rock and glistening in the sun. It’s great fun to smash loose rocks together and see what exciting treasures are buried within!

A little further north-east is the Black Desert. Whilst it’s not as mind-blowing as the White Desert, the contrast of dark mountains with the light-coloured sand is very impressive, especially from the top of one of the mountains over which we scramble.

The journey back is more enjoyable than before, mainly as on the way out I had such a headache. This time I can really take in all the outrageous surplus real estate that is being constructed in Cairo’s suburbs. There are thousands and thousands of huge apartment blocks, mostly unfinished or abandoned, and some which even lean and bend above the weak, sandy foundations.

The traffic intensifies and our driver’s driving becomes aggressive and manic, just like everyone else’s. It’s like NASCAR racing, with lunatics trying to rush across on foot. Some people say that life in London is busy, but compared to Cairo, it’s like a countryside breeze! I find it strange to compare the deficient, modern apartment blocks, with the unbelievable pyramids that have stood proudly for nearly 5,000 years. Similarly strange is the comparison between Bedouin life, simple, calm, polite and friendly, with the aggressive city life of Cairo. It really makes me wonder what evolution has really taken place in the past 5,000 years.

This opinion is supported as Susanne and I go through security at Cairo’s airport, only to be offered bribes by two separate security guards. We politely decline their offers, only to find that the ‘illegal’ items which they wanted cash to admit, were actually allowed anyway!

Day 8 (14 May 2010)
Sharm El-Sheik, Sinai Mountains

We arrive late in Sharm El-Sheik, and as all the beach goers head in one direction, Susanne and I get a taxi in the opposite direction, northbound into the Sinai Mountains. I’m exhausted, fall asleep and wake up over two hours later in St. Katherine, at a cute hostel with beautifully local decorations.

It’s an early start and we meet our guide called (unsurprisingly) Mohamed. He has some English, but keeps to himself and starts leading us up the steep mountain trail.

We pass locals and the deeper we go into the mountains, the more simple the locals’ homes become. It’s not long before we reach homes that have no electricity, water filtered directly from local streams and the children stare at us like we’re martians from another planet.

Mohamed leaves us at a gorgeous small lake, which rests silently in the valley. As he disappears, we strip and cool off in the fresh water, with the stunning Sinai Mountains all around.

We find Mohamed and he invites us into a local’s home, where the owner makes some tea on an open fire, as the family carry on with their daily rural chores. It’s another wonderful experience, even if I’m trying hard not to think about how my stomach is going to react to the tea later on!

We climb further into the mountains and find another home, which will be our home for the night later on. We meet a couple of other travellers: One is a dodgy chap who looks like Ralph Fiennes, who I’m convinced is hiding behind a fake charity in order to syphon taxes for his own benefit. The other is friendly and seems quite bright, even if he did let himself turn a painfully raw-looking colour (“I didn’t think the sun would be that strong at 10am”…!)

Mr Sunburn tells us of his overnight supernatural experience at the top of Mount Katherine. In the middle of the night, he heard footsteps circling him, and even loud pieces of metal being scraped across the stone floor. I hang onto his every word and can’t wait to climb the mountain tomorrow morning!

After sharing a huge plate of food (literally – we each had spoons and dug into a massive plate of vegetables), Mohamed guides us up Mount Abbas Pasha. Once again he storms ahead, which although is rather unfriendly and dismissive, it does make Susanne and I feel like we’re are the only ones for miles around. We reach the peak, at 2304m and Mohamed says “Ok. I go. You stay for sunset. You have torch? Good. Yes, you walk alone to camp. In dark, yes. You have torch, yes? No problem.”

It all seems a bit odd that he would just abandon us on the mountain, but it does mean we get to share a stunning 360 degree view in complete isolation.

Although we do have torches, the trails can all look very similar and it would be easy to take a wrong turn and head deep into the seemingly endless mountains, so we leave as the sun sets so we just get back to the camp before it starts getting too dark and dangerous.

Dinner is with Mohamed and an energetic 24 year old who I think is his son. I try not to think where the chicken came from and gobble it down before my last night under the African night sky.

Day 9 (15 May 2010)
Sinai Mountains, Sharm El-Sheik

We wake early as we’ve a long climb to the top of Egypt’s tallest mountain. Mohamed says it’s a three hour walk, but Mount Katherina peaks above the mountains far away in the distance. In fact, three hours later I’m drenched in sweat and still some way from the summit. It’s another two hours before I’m at the final rocky steps to the top.

It’s a hard slog but worth every pain as I stand at the peak, knowing that noone in Egypt is standing as high as me. The view is stunning with Sinai Mountains as far as the eye can see.

Susanne then jumps out of her skin as we take a few steps down and suddenly spot a small Chinese girl in her 20s. We haven’t passed a single person on the way up so her “hello” completely takes us by surprise. Like the two we met yesterday, she’s another strange character, walking through mountains on her own. She says she has been at the top of the mountain for six days!

After a brief chat, we leave her and start our descent towards Mohamed who waited a few hundred metres down. I start thinking about how on earth the girl lasted six days at the peak with the heat and lack of water, and my mind wanders to the chap who heard footsteps and strange sounds at this peak just a few nights ago… It was her! Chinese ghost girl!!

It’s a long walk down via an incredible route with rocks of hugely varying mix of red and black rocks. It almost looks as if the mountains are bleeding under the intense sun.

We finally reach our starting point and after a brief breather, we jump in a taxi for the two hour journey to Sharm el Sheik. There are armed checkpoints every few miles and it’s fascinating to see how controlled the area is.

There’s little over 24 hours left of the trip, but after six days of camping and trekking, We decide that we deserve a treat for the final day. Susanne has kept the actual hotel as a surprise, so I’m covering my ears and humming to myself as she tells the driver our destination! I really don’t have a clue which one she chose, so it doesn’t seem to matter when the driver gets onto his radio and starts asking despatch for directions in Arabic:

It turns out I speak better Arabic than I thought!

We arrive with backpacks, smelly clothes and dirty hiking boots and feel like we’re standing out like sore thumb. The little golf buggy takes us all of 20m to the main reception, where African drums are played as we walk through the entrance and we’re treated to some freshly squeezed fruit juice. The reward continues as we find our enormous room, which is full of items that some of the locals deep in the Sinai mountains have probably never seen. It’s a strange experience as it feels absolutely nothing like the Egypt I’ve experienced for the past week. We relax with a delicious Italian dinner on a table overlooking the Red Sea as it shimmers under the moonlight.

Day 10 (16 May 2010)
Sharm El-Sheik

After a hearty breakfast, it’s straight to the ocean to swim with the fish. There’s no time for scuba diving, but it doesn’t matter as there’s a plethora of sea life right by the shore. Fish, jelly fish, beautiful corals and crystal blue water in very direction makes it a perfect way to relax after the six days of mountains and deserts.

However, relaxation reaches a new level when Susanne and I treat ourselves to a couple’s 90 minute massage! It’s the perfect way to end a perfect trip.

I’m lucky that my parents live in an amazing part of Mediterranean Europe. Whilst most people fly to Alicante to visit monstrosities such as Benidorm, one doesn’t have to travel very far to see some truly remote areas, away from the beer-guzzling beach goers.

It’s a great few days with scenic walks, deserted cliff-edges and winding roads into the mountains. Even the one day of heavy rain is fun; anyone who has ever swum in the rain knows what an amazing feeling it is!

I do my obligatory visit to my favourite beach, Moraig. It’s different every time I see it, as it’s the first point that sea storms hit every year. This year, the road is completely destroyed, which means even fewer people are there to spoil my view. I climb the rock up to the 18m-high cliff from which I jumped a few years ago and it looks more daunting than ever before: Perhaps I’m growing up!

Good meals and countryside walks are hugely relaxing, and I’m already spotting mountain peaks for my next visit!

My four day weekend of trekking started yesterday evening with the hardest bit: Squeezing past the thousands of other rush-hour Londoners who were equally desperate to get out of the city for the Easter break. A six hour bus, tube, train and car-hire journey later, Susanne and I arrived in Llanberis, the gateway to Snowdonian mountains in Wales.

We wake to find the overnight showers gone, and a mix of sunshine and clouds covering the mountain peaks at each side of the valley. It’s Easter Friday and we visit the impressive (disused) slate quarries and climb up the north side of the valley, giving a great view of Llanberis, our home for the next few days. It’s a relaxing day, walking around Dolbadarn Castle and Llyn Padarn, warming up our muscles for tomorrow’s trek, the first since I was in Chile in November.

Day 3 (3 April 2010)
Llanberis, Mount Snowdon

An Austrian alarm wakes me at 07.30 and after a greasy breakfast we jump in the car and park it 10km away in Pen-y-Gwryd. The journey back is the long way: We start by trekking up the rocky path towards Crib Goch. This is the more challenging walk to the peak of Mount Snowdon, but it’s actually quite straightforward.

There is the option to go via summit of Crib Goch, but with the deep snow, it’s considered highly dangerous without the right climbing gear. In fact, whilst walking around the valley of the beautiful Llyn Llydaw, a rescue helicopter hovers beside the top of Crib Goch, where some climbers appear to have become stuck.

I’m always going on about how lucky I am with weather, but this trip seems to take the cake. The forecast was four days of rain, yet the sun in shining and there are even times when we stop to take in the view and the rays of Vitamin D that I’ve missed so much.

Only near the top does the weather change; and boy how it does! The falling snow slices my face from a horizontal angle and my feet sink deeper into the ground. Despite being the tallest mountain in Wales, it’s not actually that high at just 1,085m. However, the strong wind and snow makes it feel four times as high. It makes the final climb a real slog, but hugely satisfying and memorable.

I’m truly shocked at the beauty of this part of the UK. The mountains really live up to their name, with jagged peaks and cliff-edges everywhere to be seen. The only disappointment is the number of people on the mountain. The peak is truly packed and feels just as busy as a London Underground platform.

We don’t stay long as it’s a complete whiteout, so I do my obligatory ‘jump’ photo before heading back down the north side of the mountain. The path is so smooth that it’s just as easy to sit on your backside and slide down the mountain! It’s a total of 14km and on our return in Llanberis, we grab a bus, pick up the car and return to the hotel for a celebration wine and dinner.

Days 4-5 (4-5 April 2010)
Llanberis, Mount Tryfan

Another early start and another calorie-filled breakfast before we head towards Llyn Ogwen. It’s a 20 minute drive and once again the sun in shining, allowing a great view of the dramatic Mount Tryfan. It’s a really unusual shape with rugged crags and various routes to its three peaks.

We’re advised to stay clear of the north face. The recent heavy snowfall means it’s particularly dangerous, especially without ice-axes and crampons. It’s good advice; the walk around the west of the mountain takes us past Llyn Bochlwyd, a lake which resembles the shape of Australia and is a beautiful spot for sipping whiskey and relaxing in this mainly undisturbed part of the world.

My new boots carry me through the streams and deep snow up the south face of Mount Tryfan. We take a slight wrong turn which means there’s a slightly challenging climb up a narrow stretch of rock, right next to a cliff-edge. Whilst I’m not exactly dangling from a rock like Stallone, my heart is still pumping as we successfully reach the first peak unscathed!

The scramble to the highest peak is fun, especially as the sun is really strong and you can’t help but love the views in every direction. The contrasts of colour, from dark rock and white snow to the green and yellow plants and grass, it’s a truly gorgeous location.

At its peak, Mount Tryfan is famous for two large rocks, nicknamed Adam and Eve. The tradition is to jump from one to the other, gaining ‘Freedom of Tryfan’. I was well and truly up for it, but the wind is strong, the sheer drop would be fatal and my tail is well and truly tucked between my legs!

I settle for a jump in a slightly less dangerous spot, before working my way through the maze-like route back down the mountain.

It’s a much shorter trek today, but even more enjoyable since the mountain was practically deserted, the views were even more spectacular and the terrain more challenging. We reward ourselves with our second enormous indian dinner and rest up before the morning’s six hour journey back 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!

This trip starts with a disappointment; my Indiana Jones hat hasn’t arrived through the post on time and that doesn’t bode well for my search for the Holy Grail… Nonetheless, my mood lifts sitting at Heathrow in front of the departure board. There’s something about being in an airport, seeing all the destinations and watching all the Chinese tourists with their medical face masks, which makes me feel like I’m living another life. In this episode, the destination is Amman and I’ve nine days to explore western Jordan.

The check-in lady seems pleased with herself, having found me a seat near the front of the plane. I smile and ask if that will get me there faster and she looks at me like I’m a complete moron. She then shakes her head and gives me a serious, “er, no….”

Fortunately, the Jordanians seem friendlier; the flight is great (with metal cutlery!) and I’m particularly impressed seeing how they cater for those still on Ramadan. I’m even more impressed with the bloke at Amman airport with a ‘Carlo Bezoari’ sign, even if it does seem a bit daft to get excited about reading your own name…

My Jordanian driver (who likes to be called Bill) is a great chap and that makes the 45 minute drive to the city absolutely fly by. At 02.00 local time, I settle down for my first night’s sleep in the Middle East and I can’t wait for the exploring to begin.

Day 2 (19 September 2009)
Amman

It turns out that my hotel is far from the city centre. Armed with a map and a piece of paper with the name of the Citadel ruins (both in Arabic) I head for the streets and catch a cab. Despite the driver’s compulsive need to cough up phlegm into a tissue every two minutes, the drive is easier than expected and I soon arrive in the Jebel el-Qalaa region of Amman. Thousands of years old, it’s clear why this has always been the city centre; 360 degree views are impressive and one can relax in near-silence above the bustling market streets.

I’m soon approached by a friendly guide who takes me around and gives me more information about Jordan than I can possibly digest. The Temple of Hercules, the Omayyad Palace and the Archaeological Museum (containing parts of the actual Dead Sea scrolls) are the stand out features and the lack of many tourists means I can totally immerse myself in history.

Below the Citadel, the downtown area contains further Roman ruins and thousands of market stalls. My guide seems to think I’ve never seen herbs before and shows great delight in showing me fresh thyme and rocket leaves, before stopping and buying about 20 tomatoes (examining each one meticulously) from whom he claims is the best tomato grower in Amman! These comments would be charming, if he didn’t keep coughing up phlegm into a tissue and then putting it in his pocket…

He also insists on taking photos of me everywhere; I’m tempted to do a couple of jumping photos, but I’m not sure he’ll get it, so I save them for later on.

Next is the Roman Theatre, which can hold 6,000 people and has been maintained fantastically . The acoustics are sublime; I’m told to stand on stage and shout like an opera singer and my voice echoes around the theatre like I’ve never heard before. However, the locals must have high standards, as I don’t get so much as a whisper of an applause.

I’m absolutely starving, since I’ve had no breakfast or lunch, so I wander the streets to find some food. Two hours later and all I’ve found is a garage of kids putting coal into hundreds of bags and a row of shops with tightly-caged animals (who look hungrier than I am). I keep searching but since it’s Ramadan, I have absolutely no luck. I catch a cab back to the hotel area and this driver’s phlegm coughing really takes the cake; it sounds like he’s coughing up a lung and each time he does it, his car swerves across the road. After he tries to rip me off, I spot a row of fast-food chains, but fortunately resist the sinful temptation to have a Whopper meal. Completely desperate for food, I finally find a modern coffee shop (that even has an apt poem about how magical food is!) and persuade them to make me a sandwich.

In the hotel I’m transferred to another room where I’m introduced to the guy who’ll be my room-mate for the next eight days. Unbelievably, it’s the Danish guy from the Roman Theatre who asked me to a take a photo for him! We share a couple of beers before meeting the rest of the group; half of them are from various locations around the US, there’s also a French couple, a Swiss girl and two girls from the Netherlands. We find a local restaurant serving simple food, so with a non-alcoholic beer and whilst smoking a shisha (which gives me an unbelievable head rush like being back in Amsterdam!) I have a great time getting to know my new travel buddies.

Day 3 (20 September 2009)
Jerash, El-Azraq, El Uman, Amman

It’s about an hour’s drive to Jerash, 31 miles north of Amman. I’ve seen Roman cities several times, yet this is still an incredible site. From Hadrian’s Arch, the Oval Plaza to the numerous theatres, it oozes with history and its remains (only discovered in the 1920s) really give a sense of the size and significance it must have had in the first few centuries AD. The Cardo, a 600m paved street is the city’s “Broadway”, and the chariot tracks are still visible in the 2000 year old stones.

The original plan was to head back to Amman, but all 15 of us (three Canadians joined overnight) agree to see the desert castles, east of Amman. The five hour round trip is worth it; all three castles are unique (I particularly like the one-tonne stone doors that you can still push open and closed) and the desert views give a scale of the vast emptiness in the Middle East.

At the furthest point from Amman, we’re 30km from Saudi Arabia and just 200km from Iraq! We stop for photos of the road signs and a group of curious local kids come over and watch my jumping photos. I try to get them to jump with me (especially as one of them has a toy gun, that looks frighteningly real!) but they don’t understand and just stare and laugh at me instead!

The beautiful sunset makes it an enjoyable drive back to Amman and thanks to the French couple’s fantastic guidebook, we find an excellent restaurant with real, traditional, local food. However, it’s in a posh area of the capital and seems like a million miles away from Downtown, which clearly goes to show the dramatic divide between rich and poor.

Day 4 (21 September 2009)
Dead Sea, Amman

As we cross the mountains I catch my first glimpse of the Dead Sea. I’m not sure what I was expecting (perhaps for it to look more like a lake since it’s not actually a sea), but it just looks exactly like any other sea.

At 411m below sea-level, the lowest place on earth, the sun is blisteringly hot. The Dead Sea is famous for its very high concentration of salt (so much so that the water is so full of minerals that it’s actually 26% solid), yet there’s not even a sniff of salt in the air.

I wade into the sea and the moment I try to swim, I feel the difference; you float without trying and submerging yourself is near impossible. Not that you’d want to; the water is so salty that it stings your lips and eyes. That said, it’s supposed to be wonderful for your skin, so I bob around in my natural health spa.

There’s also the option to cover every inch of your body with Dead Sea mud. It’s great fun and makes for some fun photos. Even more photogenic are the number of local women still dressed in Burqas, whilst covering their hands and feet in mud and sitting on the shoreline.

After lunch, I ask about the huge salt rocks along the coastline, so we make a detour to see them. The views are spectacular and Israel is clearly visible across the Dead Sea.

Our guide, Riad, seems to be in a chirpy mood today and tells us story after story along the route back to Amman. We all quiz him on rules around the number of wives a man can have in Jordan and he shows a real humorous side of his character. One tale is of some men who were offered a choice of many women, only for them to say that they would prefer some men. We’re both amused and speechless as he shakes his head in disgust and with utmost sincerity he says, “Yes, these men were SICK”!

Surprisingly, most of the group are happy to eat at a local fast-food joint near the hotel. I’m pleased that Tonny and the Dutch girls (Eline and Desirée) are keen to see more of Amman, so we take another crazy taxi ride to Rainbow Street, a nice area of the centre where a lot of the wealthier young locals seem to spend their evenings.

It’s on a hillside, looking west across the city centre and the rooftop terrace makes for a gorgeous view whilst dining the evening away.

Day 5 (22 September 2009)
Amman, Mount Nebo, Madaba, Wadi Mujib, Karak, Petra

There were always going to be a couple of days of long travelling and today was one. We stop plenty of times, but after an awful night’s sleep (I can only blame myself and the 10pm Turkish coffee for that) I’m quite pleased to sit back and see the desert scenery from the bus window.

The day’s highlights were Mount Nebo (with great views across the Dead Sea into Israel, made more impressive with the knowledge that it was the very place Moses saw the Promised Land before he died) and further south, Wadi Mujib, an enormous valley that reminds me of the Grand Canyon and also offers some stunning panoramic views with winding roads through the mountains.

Madaba was less impressive. I’m not a fan of mosaics and although it was interesting to see how they are made, the Madaba Mosaic map (showing the Palestine/Egypt region) was slightly under-whelming, evening if what it depicts was actually quite interesting.

Karak is a town on the top of a hill with great 360 degree views. However, the castle is less exciting than my guidebook indicates and I’m quite pleased to hit the road for the final 130km to Petra.

Day 6 (23 September 2009)
Petra

Today was arguably the best day of my life. Petra is simply gob smacking and I lost count the number of times I was left speechless in awe. The entrance opens at 06.00 and the original plan was to leave the hotel at 07.30. I don’t want to lose a single minute and once again it’s Tonny and the Dutch girls who feel the same, so we leave at 05.45 to arrive on the dot.

It’s a decision none of us regret. We walk along the 1.5km Siq and there’s total silence. The huge walls that lead to one of the world’s most famous sites is completely empty and it’s an absolute privilege to have it to ourselves. Each step takes us closer to the Treasury and it’s like a little teaser around each bend of the Siq.

Finally, I see it: the photo I’ve been dreaming of is before my eyes and there’s not a single person in sight. I take my obligatory jump photo and then walk the final steps of the Siq as the Treasury opens up in front of me.

Of course, the direct sunlight is still hidden from the huge mountain walls, but nothing can beat standing alone in front of one of the new Seven Wonders of the World.

A camel owner soon arrives and lets us know that there’s a short climb that gives us a higher view of the Treasury. The ‘no climbing’ signs don’t stop us (after all, there’s no one to tell us off!) and the view from the top is sublime.

Other tourists start arriving and we move further into Petra. Around every corner there’s another stunning building, carved out of the mountain itself and each time it takes my breath away. Each one is unique so it’s an absolute photography heaven.

I never did get my Indian Jones hat, so after a quick coffee near the Roman Theatre, I settle for a keffiyeh, which I desperately need to keep me cool in the strong sun. We quickly head back to the Treasury, to see what it’s like with the sun shining perfectly on the rock walls and the number of tourists shocks me; it makes my early start feel even more rewarding.

The walk to the High Place of Sacrifice is a winding climb to 1,035m, with beautiful rock formations everywhere to be seen along the route. From the peak, where animal and human sacrifices were carried out, the view of the city of Petra is breathtaking. The cliff-edges hang over the canyons invitingly and I can almost hear my mother’s disapproval as I sit over the edge and stare down into the abyss.

Further tombs are scattered along the rest of the walk and as we descend from the mountain, the fantastic Royal Tombs appear before our eyes.

There’s a fun incident with a young boy who helps tie my keffiyeh and then follows us for ages offering us his ‘air-conditioned taxi’ (camel!) and after a late lunch we head to the Monastery. It’s a Petra highlight and once again we’ve timed it to perfection: Most people are leaving (which is surprising in itself since it’s only 16.00) and our 30 minute climb takes us to the unbelievably well-preserved Monastery at the top, where we once again can take pictures without another tourist in sight. A further climb gives some great views across the canyons to the west.

The sun is low in the sky, which means time is running out, but the light makes the ruins even more beautiful. A quick descent past the closing stalls (with shouts of ‘happy hour’ prices!) and a walk through the city of Petra takes us to the Royal Tombs. By this time, sunset is nearing and the warm colours of the rock are stunning on this stretch of wind-eroded tombs.

The final walk past the treasury and through the Siq is tiring, but we’ve packed two days worth of sights into just over 12 hours and I couldn’t have dreamed of a better day. Yet the best was still to come: Three nights a week, the Siq and Treasury are opened at night and we’re lucky enough that tonight is one.

After dinner we return to the Siq and about 300 people are ready for the night walk to the Treasury. With tripod in hand, I set up for a night shot and everyone streams ahead. Within moments, I’m completely alone without a sound in the air and the mysterious Siq all to myself. It’s quite simply one of the most magical moments of my life. That said, some travel advice if you ever find yourself alone in the Siq: Don’t fart! It echoes around like a volcano eruption!

The candle-lit view of the Treasury is just as special as when I first saw it in the morning and for the remainder of the evening I sit in front of it with the others, listen to the local live music, seemingly transported thousands of years back in time.

Day 7 (24 September 2009)
Petra, Wadi Rum

A couple of hours drive and it feels like I’m in a different part of the world. Gone is the endless mountainous terrain, replaced by a flat, sandy landscape with large rocks screaming 600m out of the floor like they are lost in the desert.

Wadi Rum is a mix of yellows, reds and browns, contrasting wildly and I can’t wait to explore. We arrive at our desert lodge and after a quick bite, jump into the two 4x4s. We’re completely baffled and amused by our shockingly young driver (I don’t exaggerate when I say he looks no older than 10 years old!) Nevertheless, we start our adventure bouncing our way through the sandy desert.

We fly up and down the sand dunes and occasionally stop for photos, although the heat is intense, hinting how dangerous and remote this area really is.

At one steep, sandy-covered hill, we’re in hysterics as we attempt to race up and down it on foot. Tonny looks like he was born in the desert as he flies up and down. Then in the race down, I fall flat on my face in a cloud of sand which makes for some amusing photos.

The Jebel Umm Fruth Rock Bridge is one of two natural bridges, eroded through time and offering breathtaking panoramas. We then move to an elevated rock, sipping tea and watching the beautiful desert sunset.

In the evening, we experience a Bedouin Barbeque, which involves the food being cooked over several hours in a zerb oven, buried into the sand. We sit around a fire, smoking water pipes, listening to the local Bedouin music (and not forgetting 10% Petra beer!) It’s the end of two incredible (and wildly different) days, yet tomorrow at the Red Sea has the potential for another just as good.

Day 8 (25 September 2009)
Wadi Rum, Aqaba, Red Sea

I decide against the early morning camel ride since I’ve done that before and I needed a good night’s sleep. I’m pleased I did, since it’s another energetic day when we arrive in Aqaba, the only access point Jordan has to the sea.

After dropping things off at the hotel, the French couple, Dutch pair, Tonny and I opt for scuba diving whilst the rest of the group go snorkelling with a glass bottom boat.

We’re just 3km away from the Saudi border as we take our fast-track scuba lessons and jump into the Red Sea. It’s fun, but the time flies by and only once I’m used to the equipment do I start to really enjoy it, but by then the time is nearly up.

We chill on the beach and it’s strange to see girls in bikinis drinking beers and western music pumping, which is a complete contrast to the strict Islamic lifestyle I’ve see everywhere else.

Stranger still, is swimming in the sea knowing that I could go in any of four directions, reaching Jordan, Saudi Arabia, Israel or Egypt!

It’s a blisteringly hot evening in Aqaba and the five of us (Tonny went out with the others) drink tea on a table by the beach (with the waves gently reaching our feet) before an enjoyable meal in the bustling centre of Aqaba.

Day 9 (26 September 2009)
Aqaba, Red Sea, Amman

I go scuba diving again in the morning and now I’ve finally figured out to stop bobbing up and down like a yoyo, I really enjoy the experience. I go deeper too, and at around 20m it’s like being on another planet to spin under water and look up to the sky, seeing the water surface so far away.

The corals are beautiful and the fish unbelievably varied. I try some photos with a disposable camera and I’m eager to see how many times I’ve caught Nemo on film!

I snorkel for the remainder of the morning and get a nice sunburned back in the process, but it’s a truly relaxing way to end such a varied and energetic few days.

We drive along the King’s Highway back to Amman. It was Saddam Hussein who paid for this long road that stretches the length of Jordan and he even gave the country free oil in return for Jordan’s alliance. Interestingly, Jordan was the first Middle Eastern country to oppose Iraq when the international conflicts grew!

We quiz Riad on his religious beliefs and it’s interesting to learn more about Islam and the views on the western world from a first hand perspective.

Our final evening is another is another restaurant with local food and yet another that the king himself has visited. Afterwards, there are goodbyes, although some amusingly awkward; we’ve all got on well, but with such a large group, it’s hard to get to know everyone well.

Since it’s still not late, Eline, Desirée, Tonny and I share some beers on the hotel patio (plus a few tokes of a ridiculously strong Egyptial shisha) and so ends an unforgettable first trip to the Middle East.

It’s a little strange to finish work on a Friday and then find myself in a coffeeshop in Amsterdam five hours later! Despite visiting Amsterdam a few times for work, I’ve never had the pleasure of seeing this iconic city as a tourist. My first impressions are positive: It reminds me of Bruges and it brims with history, even though nothing actually looks very old.

My first Amsterdam joint hits me like a ten tonne hammer; it’s insanely strong and leaves me completely conscious that I’m absolutely wasted! It’s fun to wander around the beautiful canals at night and although it’s probably a good idea that I left my camera at the hotel, I am slightly curious about what photos I might have taken in such a state!

Day 2 (11 July 2009)
Amsterdam

Amsterdam is tiny. Fewer than 800,000 people live here and the whole city is within walking distance. So I stuff my face with stroopwafels (munchies!) and head straight to the red light district. At this time of the morning, it’s pretty empty and most windows have the curtains closed; no doubt the ladies are getting their beauty sleep. That being said, I do find one street with the doors clearly open. With cigarettes in hand, these middle-aged prostitutes hardly look in the mood for work. Some look bored, some look depressed and they all look like they’ve just run a marathon… it’s not the Amsterdam I was expecting.

I move on quickly and meander my way south, through the Dam Square with the relatively impressive Koninkliljk Paleis, and past the flower market on the southern edge of the city centre. It’s picturesque but I still can’t get over how small the city is. If you take away the bars and coffeeshops, there really doesn’t seem to be much else to do. That being said, the Heineken brewery is a worthwhile visit and when the sun really starts to shine, the area around the Rijksmuseum is beautiful. Slightly further east, on Albert Cuypstraat, there’s a great little market which sells everything from fake designer products to household furniture. I’m not even surprised to see some chocolate penises for sale (this is Amsterdam, after all) but I am a little taken aback at the sight of chocolate vaginas…!

In the evening it’s back to the red light district: It’s heaving now, with bright lights and enormous groups of rowdy and horny stag dos. There must be 20 guys for every female tourist and I’m surprised that the guide book can say it’s not seedy. Watching filthy old men staring at these girls, some of whom are very young, and then march in like it’s a Starbucks is really weird.

After a few beers it’s time for another coffeeshop. Half an hour of smoking and a space cake later, I remember why I don’t normally take weed; I’m knackered and all I want is my hotel bed!

Days 3-4 (12-13 July 2009)
Amsterdam

It’s chucking it down so I head straight for the Anne Frank museum. Having read her diary, it’s daunting to creep around her house, knowing the events that unfolded 65 years ago. Just like when I visited Auschwitz, it’s a powerful reminder and really hits home.

Like turning off a shower tap, the rain just stops and the clouds clear making it another beautiful sunny day. It means it’s worth visiting the large Vondelpark in the southwest of the city; it’s truly relaxing as live bands play music, cyclists whizz by and the locals stroll around the park’s lakes. Furthermore, the surrounding canals are much more quiet than in the city centre and it finally feels like I’ve found the Netherlands. The “I amsterdam” sign is absolutely enormous and definitely worth the long search to find it. I’m not in the mood for more museums as the weather is still glorious, so the rest of the day is spent walking around and stopping occasionally for beers and a tan.

After an average evening meal (I really could have done with a local to point out the decent restaurants – where the hell are they!?), I avoid the coffeeshops and finally take some night photography. By Monday morning I feel I’ve ‘done’ Amsterdam and bearing in mind how much walking I’ve done, I feel like I’m one of the only blokes in the world to have gone to this capital city and had a healthy weekend!

Less than a month ago I went to Scotland for a weekend of highly-energetic mountain biking. I love Scotland; it’s one of my favourite countries. Better still, when the sun is strong, the amazing history and architecture is impossible to ignore. However, this weekend’s trip is slightly different: It’s my mate’s stag-do and the best man doesn’t have much sight-seeing on the agenda.

It’s entertaining watching the stag get completely hammered: The highlights being when he threw his pint of beer on the floor “when no one was looking”, his pathetic attempts to act sober when getting into clubs, stumbling into the staff room of a bar (thinking it was a toilet) and (best of all) trying to open a door which turned out to be a mirror.

The next morning we soak up the alcohol with a Scottish breaky and then head 90 minutes north to Ballinluig for some white-water rafting along the River Tummel. It’s all good and Tom even manages to raise a smile when I drag him into the river…

The day ends with more drinking and the ‘obligatory’ visit to a strip bar. Tom seems to enjoy his private dance but then two girls start doing some ‘stuff’ on the bar, which I can’t even begin to describe; we don’t know whether to be turned on or throw up!

The following photos are from the white-water rafting official photographer, including Rob’s awesome leap (4th photo), me showing how not to hold a paddle (3rd photo) and my skull-crushing headbutt on the Grade 4 rapid (10th photo)!!

Half an hour on the tube, over three hours on a train and two hours in a car, yet the journey had only just begun. I’m in Scotland for a long weekend with a mate from school and we’re tackling two of the 7stanes.

I ride to work nearly every day nowadays, which is an 18km round trip through the busy streets of London. I’ve learned to become fearless of bendy buses and zombie pedestrians stepping out into the middle of the road, whilst weaving through the traffic, in order to dart through the amber lights in the morning rush hour.

However, London isn’t renowned for its mountainous terrain, so when we arrive at Mabie, in Southwest Scotland, I’m surprised how much of a challenge mountain biking can really be. Sharpy, my drinking buddy and teacher for the weekend, ignores the fact I’ve never done this before and immediately takes me to a ‘Red grade’ trail. The description on my map says red trails are suitable for ‘proficient mountain bikers with good off-roading skills’ – a higher level of fitness and stamina is required’!

Surprisingly, after a few wobbles, I don’t do that badly. It’s hard work but incredibly good fun. The steep climbs are worth the effort, as the descents are even more satisfying than flying down a black piste on skis.

Dalbeattie is a relatively small village and yet it’s frightening how many barrels of beer the locals must go through each week. We spend the first evening mixing with them and I’ve never seen people give themselves such a liver pounding. There are women who look double their age and men who are double the size they should be, and it’s not hard to see why; everyone is completely trashed! It is entertaining though, and the Scottish friendliness throughout the day continuously reminds me why Scotland is one of my favourite countries.

Day 3 (31 May 2009)
Dalbeattie

An enormous Scottish breakfast keeps the hangover at bay and we head straight back to the trails for more biking. Today it’s the Dalbeattie Stane and at over 30km, it doesn’t sound like very far. However, the ascents are long and the downhill sections are steep and technical, meaning it’s an absolute killer on the legs.

As always, I refuse to go anywhere without my camera gear; it’s an extra 10km on my back that I could do without, but there are photo opportunities everywhere, especially as the weather this weekend has been simply outstanding – you’d be forgiven for thinking you’d gone over a mountain and found yourself in southern Europe!

It’s another red trail, but we try a few of the black ‘trick’ sections as I slowly build more confidence. However, Dalbeattie’s infamous ‘slab’ is a well beyond my comfort zone; it’s a long, steep and rocky descent that practically screams at me, “pain and blood”!!

My legs are exhausted but there’s still enough light to explore the coast. With the sun low in the sky, the views are outstanding, especially on foot along the footpaths over Rockcliffe. I particularly like the pier at Rough Firth.

The beaches are extraordinary: I’ve never seen such flat plains of sand and apparently the tide comes in faster than you can run, catching out many tourists. In the end, we settle for a seaside restaurant and a relatively early night, preparing ourselves for tomorrow’s final biking effort.

Day 4 (1 June 2009)
Dalbeattie, Mabie

The massaging beds in the bed & breakfast are a Godsend! I really thought I’d struggle to move today but as we head back to Mabie, I’m excited to test my skills and see if I can do better than my first attempt two days ago.

Being more familiar with the route, we go a lot faster and it’s a great way to end the long weekend; and although it’s a shame that it’s over so quickly, I’m actually rather relieved that I’m still in one piece! Even more surprising, despite the shaking, vibrating and alien-like sounds that Sharpy’s car made on the journey back to England, it too managed to stay intact!

I force myself to down a truly repulsive Gatwick airport coffee knowing that for the next six days I’ll be treated to the best of the best. The destination is Catania, where my father grew up, and we’re taking this pilgrimage to explore the east coast of Sicily.

As we approach the island, I know I’m in for a treat. The glorious weather gives a sublime view, practically into the mouth of the ever-volatile Mount Etna.

My memories of Palermo return as soon as we hit the roads, with the sounds of horns blasting, the scooters zipping in and out of traffic and the carefree attitude of pedestrians walking across the busy roads as if it were a catwalk.

The only difference with Palermo is the road, cut out of black, solidified lava, making a great contrast against the old building architecture.

It’s a great hotel but we head off immediately for food, finding a famous little bar with stereotypical Italian service. The arancino goes down well whilst we meander around the streets of central Catania. I’m filled with stories of what things used to be like in the 50s, and it’s like having my own personal guide, boiling with enthusiasm and reliving his youth with me; the only thing is that the guide is my father!

Along the coast, we visit two of the Aci: Aci Castello and Acitrezza. The old photos of Aci Castello make it look like a classic painting; nowadays it’s full of buildings and busy roads. The castle itself doesn’t lose its appeal. The views down the coast are great and I see the old men sitting around and watching the world go by.

Acitrezza, where my father was born, is even better. The town itself is typically Sicilian, but the ‘beach’ is the difference. It’s full of solid lava, including some enormous boulders that look entirely out of place, prodding out of the sea. Legend says that Cyclops threw these enormous rocks at Odysseus, but this is almost more believable than the truth: They were actually launched (20km across Sicily) in one of Etna’s violent eruptions!

I can’t help but feel like I’m finally on holiday: The sun is strong and on the promenade the local teenage couples show (a little too much) affection for each other, as tanned, camp-looking men roller-skate around them. It’s no-holds-barred Italy at its best.

Dinner is a reunion with a distant relative who my father hasn’t seen in half a century. I ask for food that isn’t easily found in London and I’m treated to some Sicilian antipastos followed by squid ink pasta. We then stroll around the Piazza del Teatro, which seems to be the local hangout for all the beautiful people; it’s like being backstage at a fashion show!

Day 2 (1 May 2009)
Catania, Mount Etna

After a poor night’s sleep (even my earplugs can’t muffle the sound of my father’s snoring), I’m heading towards another beast: Mount Etna. Like my father, it too rumbles through the night (no doubt much more quietly) at over 3,300m.

We drive north through the suburbs of Catania, spoiled by a surplus number of buildings and cars everywhere trying to escape the city for the 1st May national holiday. The Highway Code should be re-written for Sicilians: It seems there’s a well-followed, controlled chaos that rules the land, even if it does entirely defy logic. However, since in Italy you give way to those joining on the right, the system falls to pieces and confusion prevails when you get to a roundabout; Sicilians are baffled and it reverts back to ‘first come, first served’!

Mount Etna (or Muncibeddu/Mongibello in Sicilian/Italian) looms over Catania quite beautifully. It’s as if the mountain is totally lost and just settled itself next to a coastline city. It makes for a fantastic landscape and it’s almost confusing having left the city and suddenly being at 1,000m and heading towards the snowy peaks. The higher we climb, the more the landscape changes; from concrete buildings, to green pastures and then finally to black rock, as all signs of life disappear under the layers of lava built up over centuries of eruptions.

The contrast of snow and black lava is picturesque in itself, but the mix of cloud and steam filter the strong sunshine and create a unique environment, making it seem like a totally foreign planet.

The funivia takes us high above the clouds and a jeep completes the climb to 2,920m. The sun is still strong but the bitterly cold wind half makes me forget I’m a short distance away from a volcano crater. I take a few photos and my hands are totally numb through cold. Fortunately, Mother Nature comes in handy when you’re on a volcano and all you have to do to warm up is lie down on the ground!

We opt for the hour walk back to the funivia and after I steal a couple of rocks of lava, we quickly return to Catania as another of my father’s long-lost friends is waiting to join us for dinner.

Day 3 (2 May 2009)
Catania, Siracusa

The first stop before Siracusa is to visit my grandfather’s grave in Catania’s main cemetery. It was nearly 20 years ago when I last stood in front of his grave and even though I never met him (he died in 1971) it still has a profound effect on me. I was named after him and to see my name written on a gravestone is still as moving as it was when I saw it as a 10-year-old. The cemetery itself is beautiful, or it would be if they banned cars and motorbikes. You could really spend hours lost in the maze of graves, fantastically built. Some are huge (nearly as big as my home!) and contain the remains of entire families. Unfortunately the noise of the traffic speeding by is ridiculous, and destroys any sense of peacefulness.

We take a wrong turn and end up on a quiet country road near Lentini. As we search for the road bearing south, we drive along one stretch of road which is dotted with African women standing by the side of the road, each about 200m from the last, as if waiting for the bus to Siracusa. It seems they have all been waiting a while for the bus and have got a little hot in the Sicilian sun; they’re all practically stripped down to the underwear and some even bend over their chairs, unable to stand up straight any longer. However, the non-existent bus doesn’t lower their spirits; some even smile and wave as we drive by…

Siracusa is impressive and I’m pleasantly surprised that although it’s more Greek ruins (that I’ve previously seen in Agrigento), it’s totally different and full of history. Unfortunately, the Teatro Greco is being set up for a forthcoming play, which means that the beautiful architecture is covered with modern seating and means a panoramic photo is out of the question. They have “ruined” the ruins!

The Orecchio di Dionisio is an enormous cave around the corner from the amphitheatre. It’s hugely impressive both visually and acoustically, and its shape, similar to an ear, makes for some fantastic echoes. Supposedly, Dionisio left his prisoners in the cave, so he could listen to their secrets from afar! We’re treated to something else, as we’re lucky enough to enter at a time when a Dutch opera singer starts singing! The strong sunshine disappears around the corners of the cave, which also allows me to try some unusual “jumping” photos.

We drive across the bridge to the island of Ortigia, which is the touristy part of Siracusa. That said, it’s relatively quiet, especially along the backstreets surrounding the Piazza del Duomo. At the most southern point of the island is the Castel Maniace. As a military base, it’s normally closed to tourists, but following a recent G8 summit, they have opened it specially. I wish they hadn’t! I’m left rather unimpressed and return to the narrow streets which seem to have a million stories to tell.

We end the day with dinner with more distant relatives in Nicolosi, a relatively quiet town between Etna and Catania.

Day 4 (3 May 2009)
Catania, Forza d’Agrò, Gole di Alcantara

Today was always the odd number: It’s a six day trip and it would mean travelling quite far from Catania to see another “major” site. So it’s lucky my father was born here, as we head north and explore some of the lesser well known sites, which is great as the lack of tourists means it’s like being a fly on the wall to Sicilian life.

We go to Forza d’Agrò, following the river from the coastline, which takes us through some small villages. There are markets on the streets and it’s the first glimpse of what life may have been like for my father back in the 1950s. Shockingly, however small the villages, they all seem to have fantastic sporting facilities. One village has a high quality football field surrounded by a running track and even has stands for the crowd! It does make you wonder where the money came from to pay for it..!

I paddle across part of the river to get some photos and further upstream, when we arrive at Basilica SS Pietro & Paolo, my father starts speaking with a local and discovers that he actually knew my uncle!

Forza d’Agrò is a pleasant little town high into the mountains and despite the mass of construction, it still retains its village feel at the peak, upon which the (unfortunately closed) castle sits. Back at the coast, views from Capo S’Alessio are splendid, along the coast and across the sea to Italy.

There’s still time to kill, so we search for the Gole Alcantara, which (bizarrely) isn’t even in my guide book: It’s fantastic; a winding series of rapids, carving away at the unique rock formations which makes for some great photos. You can even wade up the rapids, but following a lot of rain in April, the current is too strong for that today.

Day 5 (4 May 2009)
Catania, Taormina, Castelmola, Mazzarò, Isola Bella

Taormina is one of Sicily’s most popular destinations. I had been looking forward to today and unfortunately it has left a rather bitter taste in my mouth, and that wasn’t because of the horrible arancino that I was served in one of the central piazzas.

It’s absolutely packed full of tourists and I can’t bear to imagine how busy it is in the summer months. This I could accept, if it wasn’t for the fact that all activity revolves around commerce and taking advantage of all the tourists. It means that this lovely mountaintop town has been transformed into nothing less than an outdoor shopping mall.

The Teatro Greco is slightly better. However, even though I don’t mind the fact that they still use the theatre for shows (after all, its position with dramatic views of Mount Etna in the horizon is absolutely awesome), but they replace the broken, ancient seats with wooden and metallic benches. It makes absolutely no sense and completely ruins the possibility of imagining what it looked like over 1,000 years ago. That being said, sitting in the amphitheatre and writing my journal in the sun, with the panoramic views of Calabria, Etna and the Jonio Sea is almost unbeatable.

Further up the mountain, is a smaller village called Castelmola. It’s quieter than Taormina and for this I prefer it. The castle at the top also gives a view inland as well, and is well worth the steep drive from Taormina.

Back at the coast, we visit Mazzarò, where my father learned to swim, and the beautiful beach at Isola Bella, which certainly lives up to its name! In fact, only at high tide does it actually become an island. Therefore, being low tide, we cross the path and I jump around in the shallow water as the sun disappears into the mountains behind us.

Day 6 (5 May 2009)
Catania

I still haven’t seen Catania, despite staying here nearly a week. Fortunately, there’s enough time before our flight to visit the Piazza del Duomo and the local “Pescheria” fish market. It’s a lovely way to end the trip, surrounded by life as it probably was centuries ago, with the incomprehensible Sicilian cries still ringing in my ears.

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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13 months ago AC Milan became European Champions and I had just visited a rain-soaked Madrid, completely devoid of tourists. This weekend in Madrid was sunny, warm and full of young travellers taking in the sights.

It would have been great for photos, but apart from a brief tour of Parque del Buen Retiro and a couple of other of the capital’s attractions, I’ve managed to spend most of the weekend in restaurants and bars, stuffing my face with tapas and cañas. Vida difi­cil!

This school reunion doesn’t start off too well. Andy (who I’ve seen once in eight years) arrives at Gatwick and finds his ticket is for the Friday flight, not today’s (Thursday). A £75 upgrade, some wine and beer and a ridiculously short flight to Germany later, we’re wandering around Köln trying to find the tourist attractions.

Where. The. Hell. Are. They.

It could be the awful weather, but this city (bar the excellent Dom, which holds the largest free-swinging bell in the world) isn’t particularly inviting for the snappy happy tourist.

Of course, this trip was never really about photography, but all about experiencing some German culture… drinking.

Day 2 (4 April 2008)
Köln, Wuppertal

I can’t even kid myself that this holiday is about photography any more. Today I meet with Moritz, the German exchange student I last saw in 1997. Moritz gives Andy, Mark and me a mini-tour of Wuppertal before showing us where to buy pizza. He kindly then shows us the direction to a bar…

Things go a bit foggy as the night progresses and fortunately the camera brings back all the memories, so it turns out to be a photography trip after all!

My first experiences of this Eastern European country are mixed. I can’t miss the huge rich/poor divide; I’ve witnessed scenes that resemble what I have seen in Africa; I’ve also seen some beautiful landscapes and met some very friendly locals.

Firstly, everything seems to happen in slow motion. It takes two hours for me to collect my hire car, since there was no record of my payment and that led to a random trip across Bucharest with some non-English speaking bloke. My first petrol payment then took about 15 minutes. The credit card machine appeared to throw a fit at the thought of contacting a UK bank for payment. Yet, the locals are all delightfully friendly and this slow pace just seems to be part of every day life.

BraÅŸov is different. 150km north of Bucharest and it’s a lively place with tourism, commercialism and plenty to see. The trip took forever and I constantly panicked about driving straight past it, which is laughable now that I’ve seen the unmissable Hollywood-style “BraÅŸov” sign on the mountain beside it.

My trip was bizarre in itself. I’ve never seen so many new homes being built. In one area there must have been literally thousands of new houses. There’s clearly a market for those with money, but it’s shocking to see what only can be described as “shacks” just beside some of these expensive-looking buildings. About 50km north of Bucharest I hit some traffic. The road has suddenly turned into a field of potholes and I’m making about 1km every 10 minutes. One driver behind me isn’t prepared to wait any longer; he literally falls off the road onto the nearby field and bounces his way about 200m through the thick grass alongside the road. Having reached the front of the queue, he flies up the embankment and lands back on the road. I can’t help but laugh!

In BraÅŸov, although I only take my camera out for one photo, I can see I’ll have plenty to visit tomorrow. Tonight I settle for a nice meal and some local beers; my waiter also introduces me to Balinka – which could cause problems as it’s actually rather tasty.

15th March 2008 – BraÅŸov, SighiÅŸoara

The weather was warm and sunny yesterday from Bucharest, over the snow Carpathian Mountains and into BraÅŸov. It’s therefore disappointing that it’s cloudy and raining this morning. I wonder around and visit the (pretty awful) Historical Museum, hoping the clouds will clear. Looking north, it seems that the weather is better, so when the rain starts coming down harder, I jump in the car and head towards Sighisoara.

I wasn’t planning to visit the birthplace of Vlad Å¢epeÅŸ (aka Dracula), but I’m glad I do. The sun is out and it means I can climb the cobbled steps up the old town in SighiÅŸoara and get some great views. A few hours wandering and a large plate of pasta later, I’m back in the car heading back to BraÅŸov.

I’m making good progress on the 150km drive, until I suddenly spot a police car. Before I can utter a profanity, the policeman is pointing at me and telling me to pull over. I’m absolutely bricking it, since I left the paperwork in the hotel room. Worse still, the policeman doesn’t speak a word of English and using hand gestures he indicates that the speed limit is 50kph. Apparently I was doing 80. Shit.

In my defence, there are absolutely no signs but all I can do is point to my phrase guide and keep repeating that I’m sorry, “lertaÅ£i-mă, lertaÅ£i-mă, lertaÅ£i-mă…”

I have to sign a document that I’m sure says I’ve been given two points, but the policeman then keeps saying “kein problem” (!?) and that it’s just a warning. With a huge sigh of relief, I crawl back to BraÅŸov.

Being St. Patrick’s Day, I find an Irish bar and before I know it, I’m on a Guinness pub crawl with a couple of great Irish blokes who live in Romania. More locals join us and we end up in an absolutely lovely house with dozens of cats. There’s absolutely no way I’ll be in a good state tomorrow…

16th March 2008 – BraÅŸov, Râşnov, Bran, BucureÅŸti

The lack of food and surplus Guinness last night means I wake up feeling slightly worse for wear. I’ve also lost most of the morning which means I’ve a lot to cram into the day.

The weather in BraÅŸov is a little disappointing again so I decide against climbing the hill towards the Hollywood-style Brasov sign and instead follow Mark’s (one of the Irish chaps) advice to drive to Poiana BraÅŸov. He’s spot on as the view from the winding road is great. It’s a shame I didn’t get any close up shots of the square, but I guess that’ll teach me for going drinking with the locals!

Poiana BraÅŸov itself is a ski resort just south-west of BraÅŸov and it’s surprising how quickly the landscape changes. It’s as if I go around a corner from spring and find myself in winter. The snow-covered mountains are covered in green trees and it’s very pretty. There’s a buzzing atmosphere in the town too and I stop to watch the people sledging, take some photos and have a local dish in a restaurant.

Further west, I reach Râşnov, which is famous for its fortress. The town is actually like stepping into the past, as locals play in the streets with any random items (a small rock for a couple of kids) they can find. In the fields, people of all ages play football together and it suddenly feels a million miles away from home. There are huge potholes in the road so I’m weaving around them, with one eye looking for the fortress and one eye ensuring I don’t rip a wheel off my car.

The fortress is pretty funky and it’s like a mini-village at the top of a big rock. It’s also heavily damaged and floorboards creek and bend as I walk around. The fortress overlooks Râşnov and the surrounding area and after I have a go at archery (I’m not sure if it’s shockingly difficult or whether I’m just totally crap at it), it makes me realise how hard it must have been for archers to defend themselves from the tiny view-holes in the fortress.

Another 20km away lies Bran. It’s one of Romania’s top tourist spots as the castle is the one in which Dracula (the fictional one) lived. Apparently Dracula (the real one) only ever went there once. That doesn’t stop the locals from celebrating this little town. There are people selling “Dracula Blood” wine, there’s a campsite called “Vampire Camping” and everywhere you look there is lettering that drips with red paint!

The castle had just closed by the time I get there, but I’ve been told a few times that inside is nothing special. I take a few shots and I consider staying until sunset so that I can see how it looks at night – but I’ve a long journey so decide against it and jump back in the car.

It’s lucky I do, since the journey is knackering and it feels like half of Romania’s population seems to be heading back to Bucharest too. Worse still, after driving for about five hours today, I get completely lost in the capital. The traffic is unbelievable and it reminds me of driving in Paris; it’s every car for themselves. After aimlessly driving around for about an hour, I spot Steaua Bucharest’s football ground, fortunately all lit up since there’s a game on and I finally find my bearings (football – my constant saviour!) I had treated myself with fancy accommodation on the last night and I couldn’t be more grateful; the hotel is really gorgeous. I’d love to experience Bucharest nightlife but it’s already 9pm and I’m exhausted and starving, so I treat myself again and order a delicious room service.

17th March 2008 – BucureÅŸti

My alarm goes off and I jump back in the car. The hotel charged me for the internet access but they don’t have any record of the room service. I should have kept my mouth shut but, after all, there are two empty dishes in my room. After a few phone calls, they give up and say that no one knows anything about me ordering room service. It’s particularly good news since I thought I ate far too much, so I’m pleased to hear I didn’t have a meal after all…

The Lonely Planet guide book says “Forget Prague, forget Budapest: Bucharest is Eastern Europe’s secret.” I can’t help but disagree. To me, it’s just a very cosmopolitan city which is absolutely buzzing with rush hour traffic and littered with high rise buildings. It actually reminds me of Milan more than any other city. It’s a large city too, and since there’s little advice on what to see, I decide to tour by car and stop every time I see something interesting. First stop is the simply gigantic Casa Poporului parliament building. Apparently it’s the 15th largest building in the world, not far behind the Pentagon (although it looks much larger to me).

Back in the car I find a tranquil park, which is a pleasant relief between all the frantic driving. My flight is at three, so I decide to head back early in case I get lost again, but I easily (but slowly) make my way past the Piata Victoriei and the Arcul de Triumf (practically identical to the Paris one – but unfortunately covered in scaffolding as I go by) towards the airport.

In the airport, there’s another long wait while they check the condition of the car before I head to the departure board just before one o’clock. I’m scratching my head as I don’t see a three o’clock flight. Hmm. There is a 13.40 flight though. And it says “check-in closed”. Shiiiiit. I’m absolutely petrified of the thought of missing my flight so it’s a huge relief when I’m checked in by a trainee member of staff who simply says, “Be fast!”

With that, I say my (quick) goodbye to Romania.

I’ve landed in Switzerland and unfortunately I’m three months too early to see Italy in the European Championships. So instead, I jump on train from Genève to Täsch.

The journey itself is easy and picturesque, in particular as the train works its way around Lake Genève. I can imagine that in summer, still with the snow-covered Alps in the distance, but with a greener landscape, it must be beautiful.

Täsch is the stopping point for vehicles before the ski resort of Zermatt. It’s not very exciting and the nightlife is hardly famous. In fact, the most exciting thing about the village is the cross high on the mountain, which is lit up at night. It’s an early night before my first day of skiing in nearly two years.

7th March 2008 – Day 2 – Zermatt

The train to Zermatt is quick and runs every 20 minutes. Despite my first view of the Matterhorn (I’ll call it Matterhorn, instead of Cervino since I’m on this side of the border), Zermatt doesn’t impress me at first sight. There is construction everywhere, which in itself is infuriating since the buildings are practically on top of each other already.

Nonetheless, it’s an absolute joy to actually take another train (with heating!) to 3089m and then jump off and start skiing straight away! The weather is pretty poor today and the clouds refuse to shift, but it’s fantastic to be back in the Alps.

8th March 2008 – Day 3 – Zermatt

The weather is better today, although it’s still not the clear blue sky that welcomed me on Thursday. However, the clouds don’t budge from around 2500m and it allows some great views across the mountain peaks. As the ski-lifts emerge from the clouds and the sun hits you like a burning furnace, it’s like everything below the clouds doesn’t exist anymore.

Although it’s wonderful for the train to take you from Zermatt directly to the ski-slopes, it’s bizarre that the actual ski region is seemingly so far from the resort itself. The geography of the area is such that it’s not easy to get from one ski zone to another. Worse still, is that you can’t actually ski down to the resort. It means you either have to time your runs in order to catch a train back, or you have a 2km walk home with skis on your back.

On closer inspection, Zermatt has got some stereotypical Swiss buildings. However, it’s so densely built up that it loses its attraction. I think it says everything when I realise I don’t have a single photo of the town itself.

9th March 2008 – Day 4 – Zermatt

Now that’s what skiing is all about! Today was by far the best day, with excellent weather, great skiing and by far the best mountain views I’ve ever seen in my life. I expected to see so many glorious views in Zermatt, but today surpassed anything I could have hoped for.

I’ve broken a few ‘firsts’; skiing at over 3800m, skiing on a glacier and standing at the peak of the Matterhorn Glacier Paradise at 3883m. As one person near me said, it’s like standing on top of the world. I can’t even imagine how they constructed this platform, as taking the lift through the clouds and hundreds of metres above the piercing glaciers was nerve-wrecking enough!

It’s an amazing ski down the mountain, with the Matterhorn at my side and the huge, open pistes covered in fantastic powder-covered snow. I take it all in, as tomorrow is another four hour train back to Genève for my flight home.

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.

The echoes of horns and scooters are ringing in my head and the scents of spices and petrol still linger on my clothes. I’ve returned to Africa and this time I’m in Morocco. More precisely, I’m in a small riad just off Djemaa el-Fna in the central medina of Marrakech.

The accommodation is not quite what I expected, with no towels or toilet paper being the obvious missing items. There’s also no lock on the door, but the ‘hotel’ does have security in the form of an 80-year-old man who sits on the floor at the entrance of the building.

The huge square in the centre of the medina houses dozens of stalls with waiters trying their utmost to draw you in. Settling for one, I’m disappointed that any menu choices I make are ignored. Funnily enough, the only options available are the more expensive ones. It’s comical to see couple after couple sit down and look completely bewildered when random food is dumped in front of them!

Surrounding the food stalls are many musicians and acts to pull in the crowds. I was warned about the relentless demands for payment if you take someone’s photo but I can barely point my camera anywhere without someone jumping in front of me demanding money. One act catches my eye; a man is forcing a chicken to smoke a cigarette and a crowd of about 30 surround him. My shutter barely snaps shut before a ‘spy’ in the crown tells the performer that a photo has been taken. Immediately he stops the show and suddenly he’s in my face asking for money. With everyone staring at me, I stutter to find the right response in French. He’s not dissuaded when I tell him that I didn’t even get a photo of him (which was true), so I tell him I’ve got no change anyway. However, his reply to that is that he’ll take my bag instead! He then touches my shoe and says that will also do! What’s crazy is that I’d be glad to give him money if I actually got a decent shot or if he finished his act, but his aggressive stance leaves my unsympathetic. I quickly walk away and disappear into the crowd.

I spend the next hour lost in the labyrinth of streets, shocked by the lack of civilisation and chaotic mix of tourism and poverty. It’s a shocking start to my journey and a mentally exhausting day comes to a close. I’m looking forward to tomorrow, but I can’t help but wonder how many packs of cigarettes the chicken has had…

14th October 2007 – Marrakech

The city guide is informative but reminds me of being in school. He starts every fact with a question, and only continues when I give him an ignorant blank stare. The tour starts south of the riad in the Jewish quarter. The Palais de la Bahia is impressive but just exaggerates the difference between rich and poor. However, I can’t help but smile as I imagine the prime minister lying in his room and demanding that one of his four wives come and entertain him!

Next I see where these men were laid to rest. The Saadian tombs are extravagantly decorated; in particular the men’s, which I think is well-deserved after such a tough life…

A taxi, without seatbelts, hurtles through the traffic and drops us off in the northern part of the old town. Similar to the bazaars in Istanbul, I’m guided through the maze of souqs, stopping occasionally for brief pleasantries with the locals.

Every small area has its own necessities, from butchers to bakers and opticians to dentists, everyone is catered for. It seems that the guide has his fingers in every business; he walks me to a rug-maker, a carpenter and a pharmacist and each one presents me with their best sales pitch (no doubt our guide gets some commission!) The carpenter is particularly impressive; he carves the wood using simple tools and his bare feet. After creating a fancy design on a kebab stick, he then holds his feet and chisel and with a wide grin he says, ‘My Black & Decker!’

The pharmacist is a pleasant coincidence; I woke up with an awful sore throat and the shop-keeper is only too keen to present me with a solution. Snorting this black powder (which also passes as a treatment for many other random symptoms), my nose feels like it’s on fire, but I’m told in good faith that it’ll work…

The tour ends in the Djemaa el-Fna square. It’s totally different to last night and with the bright, blue sky you can see how big it really is. My photography experiences this time are also better; the entertainers suggest I take photos and hold out a tray for their tips; much better than last night’s aggressiveness.

The huge Koutoubia Mosque towers over the square, but it’s behind this mosque that Marrakech shows its modern side. There’s a huge colourful park and the locals clearly gather here for a little tranquillity away from the buzzing atmosphere of the main square. Further west and outside the walls of Marrakech is the new town with wide and modern roads surrounded by fancy hotels.

It’s already time for dinner so after a quick shower, I head towards the Djemaa el-Fna. This time I get to enjoy the madness from a restaurant balcony. As the sun sets behind the Koutoubia Mosque, the scents and colours of the Central Medina come alive.

Gazing down onto the square, it’s the perfect spot to end the day, watching the mix of donkeys, cars, scooters and bikes, weaving their way around the pedestrians and snake charmers!

15th October 2007 – Aït Benhaddou, Ouarzazarte, Zagora

It’s a 6 o’clock start this morning and the new guide is already waiting. We jump into his huge 4×4 and within an hour we’re climbing the High Atlas mountains. The views are incredible, in particular the formations of the rock that look like they’ve been carved out purposely, like the carpenter we met yesterday. Although it’s very warm and there isn’t a cloud in the sky, there is still a tiny amount of snow on the highest peaks.

Aït Benhaddou is the first stopping point and we’re lucky to be there so early when this Kasbah is practically devoid of tourists. The view from the top is incredible but it’s the view from the river that really impresses. The buildings look like sandcastles and the whole town almost looks fake. Of course, the locals take advantage and get money out of me in every possible way, including holding my hand as I step across the stepping stones in the river. One young boy rides a donkey towards me and it’s a stereotypical photo opportunity. The boy is whacking the donkey with a huge stick and the poor animal doesn’t have a clue what it should do, so when the boy holds out his hand and says, ‘Money, money!’ I can’t help thinking the donkey deserves it more than him!

Halfway up the hill, I’m invited into a small house, built with mud and stone. Inside, there’s loads of memorabilia from Gladiator, and I’m told which scenes were filmed here.

Further south-east, we reach Ouazazarte, which is the film capital of Morocco. Lawrence of Arabia and Cleopatra were both filmed here. After a soup and Tajines lunch, I’m back on the road and heading further south-east down the Draa Valley. The valley looks totally out of place, with a luscious green centre, full of palm trees and the bright reflection of the river makes a pleasant change from the dry landscape of the High Atlas Mountains.

The destination is Zagora, the ‘door to the desert’. It’s the last place you’ll find shops, petrol stations or any other commercial activity. There’s a buzzing atmosphere with people everywhere, all getting from one place to another by foot, bike or donkey. In fact, it barely feels that on the other side of Zagora, begins the Sahara Desert.

However, that’s no journey for a 4×4; those steps will be taken by camel.

Before I mount the beast, I’m offered more Moroccan tea. These people have an obsession! To say the English like tea after being to Morocco is laughable. The Moroccans drink it around every corner! There’s even a procedure for pouring the stuff, repeatedly sloshing it back into the teapot until it’s fully brewed.

Anyway, tanked up on tea I prepare for my camel adventure. It doesn’t take me long before I name him ‘Hungry’. Hungry belches and burps throughout the whole 7km walk into the desert. If Hungry gets anywhere near anything that resembles shrubbery, he swings his neck towards it and snatches a mouthful. He’s taking dumps on the move and it’s at least a comfort that if we ever got lost in the desert we could follow the breadcrumbs back home…

Emma’s camel behind me is called ‘Sleepy’. Every time I turn around he looks like he’s got his eyes closed and he’s staggering around like he’s either sleepwalking or pissed.

Our guide is a pleasant chap who seems to live and breathe the desert. He only speaks about as much French as I do, but it’s enough to have a bit of a chat and keep asking ‘are we there yet?’

When we finally do arrive, the sun is setting and the mountains in the distance light up in a beautiful array of purples and oranges. The nomad tents are already set up. We’ve one huge tent just for relaxing and dinner and at 100 paces rests another for sleeping. Of course, before I’m allowed dinner, I’m treated to another session of Moroccan tea…

The only light is a gas-fired cylinder and although the sun has disappeared, it hasn’t got too cold. It has become dark though. Incredibly dark. In fact, I’ve never seen a landscape so dark and I only have to look up to the sky to see something else I’ve never before; so many stars. It’s like someone has shifted the earth into a different part of the universe, as the sky is littered with thousands and thousands of bright stars. There are so many more than I’ve ever seen before and it’s simply breathtaking.

After dinner (tajines again), I’m all ready for bed. My sore throat has turned into a bit of a cold and I’m cursing myself for being probably the only person who could ever catch a cold in the Sahara Desert! Mind you, it’s another early start tomorrow as I’m told the desert sunrises are something not to be missed.

16th October 2007 – Sahara Desert, Zagora, Tamgroute, Tamnougalte, Ouarzazarte

My first and last night in the Sahara Desert is superb. Surrounded by nothing but nature, it seems a little odd to wake to a mobile phone alarm clock in order to catch the sunrise. The sun is already trying to peak over the mountains in the horizon, but before it does I’m treated to more wonderful colours.

The camels are enjoying them too, although Hungry seems to be heading in the opposite direction. With one leg tied up, he’s hopping on three legs towards some shrubbery in the distance. Every few steps he slips and smashes his front knee on the ground, but he’s relentless, determined to reach his goal.

As Hungry disappears behind our tent, I go towards the sand dunes. It’s these that were probably the thing I was looking forward to most and although a lot smaller than I hoped, I’m like a school boy at playtime, launching myself up and down the dunes. As the sun rises, the contrasts of colour on the sand dunes are amazing. It’s exhausting walking along them and as the strength of the sun grows by the minute, it’s easy to see how unforgiving the desert can be.

After a simple breakfast, it’s time to leave. Our guide has found Hungry and before we know it we’re on our way back to Zagora. It’s a different route back, through a desert village. There are locals around, but it’s the children that shock. They are full of life and have so much energy (‘Bonbon?’ They ask, again and again…); it’s crazy to think how different one person’s childhood can be from another.

I’m relieved to get back to Zagora as this time my arse has taken a beating! It was only a couple of hours of riding but desert travellers must have buns made of steel – it absolutely wrecks!

Next on the agenda is a village called Tamgroute. I’m taken to an Islamic Library that contains over 4,000 books, all written out by hand over hundreds of years. It’s impressive, but even more so is the Librarian as he has so much passion for his collection and yet he looks old enough to have written the first one.

It’s not just the library that Tamgroute has as its claim to fame. It’s also well-known for its pottery. I’m introduced to another guide who takes me around the village. Ducking and weaving through the streets, it’s another fictitious-looking town. The guide takes us through someone’s home just to get to another street and it’s absolutely pitch black as the guide holds our hands as we carefully tip-toe through the darkness. When I reach the other end, I turn and look back through the passage and take a photo of the entrance just as a woman walks past. The workers use holes in the ground to heat the pottery and simple tools to carve and create these items that will then be transported to the major towns for all the tourists to buy. Yet, half of the workers walk around with mobile phones! What is very interesting is how the colours are created. Each colour, from red to green, is created using different flowers, plants or other natural ingredients. He shows me one colour that he’s very proud of – they only discovered how to make it three years ago!

As we travel north-west up the Draa Valley the landscape turns from a monochrome brown to a mix of contrasts with green farmland and blue rivers. Ghost villages don’t appear that different to the inhabited ones nearby; they all look like sandcastles, strangely linked with telephone cables. The lucky ones also get electricity.

There’s one area that is made up of what looks like finely compressed sand and the way it bobbles up and down and forms row upon row of hills, it looks entirely man-made. Not that the dirt-bikers care. The quiet landscape is ripped apart by some tourists flying through on dirt-bikes, taking advantage of the dusty road and flying up and down on this alien-like terrain.

An average meal in a deserted (but incredibly unique) restaurant is followed by a tour in Tamnougalte. Here, the BBC is filming a new series based on the life of Jesus. It’s called ‘The Passion’ (which sounds awfully like a certain Mel Gibson film) and the film makers have turned this small village into a living example of village life 2000 years ago. There are dead animals hanging on a ‘market street’, pools of red and blue water to colour clothes and general props lying around – none of which are fake. The meat is practically cooking in the sun and the smells are absolutely real. The tour around the village is very interesting and our guide is brilliantly informed and has a cracking sense of humour. I particularly like the key and lock which opens the Kasbah – it’s made of wood and the way it has been finely carved seems like something you’d really find around the time of Christ. Incredibly, the key isn’t a prop; it’s the real way to unlock the Kasbah nowadays!

The next 75km brings us back to Ouazazarte and although it’s nice to be welcomed into a hotel, it was probably more comfortable in the desert last night! The hotel’s restaurant is pretty poor and a long and eventful day comes to an end.

17th October 2007 – Ouazazarte, Tamdakhte, Telouet, Marrakech

Breakfast is no better than last night’s dinner. I’m also starting to feel a little rough and it looks like the cold I’ve picked up is starting to get the better of me. Nonetheless it’s another active day which hopefully will keep me going.

Heading towards Aït Benhaddou, we pass many small villages. Occasionally they have electricity and some even have sporting facilities (well – a football pitch on a flat area of rock). Many look similar but it’s always interesting to see the locals go about their life. Time seems to stand still here. Most people live off their land or their local village and the lack of tourism means I get to see Moroccan rural life as it really is.

So it came as a bit of a shock when our guide takes us off-road to taste some of the real rural communities. The road steadily becomes more and more narrow, just as the drop at the edge of the road becomes bigger and bigger. Soon we’re climbing around the edge of the Ounila Valley with a sheer drop just centimetres away from out tyres. We crawl from village to village and in each one we see the hard working farmers in their fields and the small gangs of children who wave us hello and goodbye.

Out here you really see the true colour of Morocco. The earth is a striking red and it makes for some dramatic views alongside the harvested valley, despite the overcast weather. Some buildings are practically carved out the valley itself, supported by nature alone. The road itself brings some surprises. Occasionally there are locals walking or even cyclists braving this landscape, but there’s always the worrying thought of another vehicle coming the opposite direction. Fate showed its sense of humour when we approach a blind corner and suddenly a deafening roar brings us to a halt. I half expect a rockslide as an absolutely enormous tractor bellows around the corner and stops in front of us. I’m not so keen on us reversing along this narrow road, so I breathe a sigh of relief when it’s the tractor that squeezes past us on the outside!

Lunch is in Telouet and the food is another disappointment. I’ve heard so much about excellent Moroccan food but bar the odd meal, most have been quite average. Furthermore, the flies are so incredibly annoying and constantly land on your food; it’s a wonder I haven’t picked up a dodgy stomach.

Fortunately, Telouet is a great place at 1800m and it has been standing ever since the karavans made their long journeys between Marrakech and the Sahara. It houses the impressive Kasbah of el Glaoui, which unfortunately will not last much longer. Many parts have already fallen and what remains is practically ruined. The young guide for the palace is very knowledgeable and very witty. He obviously speaks Arabic, Berber and French, but his English is spot on too. He even uses slang expressions and continues to speak even when he has nothing to say; he practises words and pronunciation and then laughs at himself. We encounter some Germans and he then speaks German to them. To top it off, when he discovers I speak Italian, he’s proud to continue the tour in Italian!

There’s one area of the Kasbah which has been kept in very good condition, with marble that has been imported from Italy (traded with salt – the ‘gold’ of the time). It’s incredible to think that this crumbling building holds a floor of marble!

Climbing back into our 4×4, we relax for the drive back to Marrakech. I say ‘relax’, but the driver decides to put on a music tape; the five awful songs are repeated for the next two hours and by the end of it I’m convinced I know most of the Berber words… Fortunately, it does keep my mind off my dodgy cold that seems to have taken a turn for the worse.

My cold becomes even more of a problem after arriving back in Marrakech. It’s a slightly bigger, nicer riad that again is within a stone’s throw of Djemaa el-Fna, but I can barely bring myself to move, let alone mix with the crowds of the central medina so I go to bed at a ridiculous 7pm.

I wake up over 12 hours later and I’m dripping with sweat. It’s terrible to say but I’m grateful it’s the last day and even more grateful that this didn’t happen 2 nights ago in the Sahara Desert! Furthermore, I have picked up a bug from something I ate (damn those bloody flies!) and my whole immune system seems to be giving up the ghost. I drug myself up with anything and everything from the medical bag that looks like paracetamol and I force myself to wander around the souqs to try and find any hidden corner that was missed on the first couple of days.

If ever there was a sign that I wasn’t well, my camera doesn’t even leave my bag. So, as my shutter has a holiday of its own, the next stop is Marrakech airport to catch the flight home to London.

Cheddar Gorge makes for a fantastic walk. The views are good, although I was expecting the gorge to be a little bigger; maybe I was hoping for a mini-Grand Canyon…

Beneath the rock is more impressive. The caves are full of history and make for some great photos (although I’d advise people to get there first thing in the morning; the hoards of overweight tourists with their ice-creams and sweets don’t really add much to the creepy, dark environment). The Wookey Cave is even better, although you’re not free to wander around like in the Cheddar Caves.

Apart from the obligatory cider-drinking and cheese-tasting, there’s also time to visit Wells and even have a walk around Glastonbury. It’s not festival time but the city centre has an air of celebration – albeit most of them are homeless people drinking and smoking drugs on the streets. Saying that, the Tor is lovely and the 360 degree view from the top is spectacular and it gives a much better example of what the atmosphere would be like at Glastonbury Festival.

On the way back to London, I stop by Stonehenge. It’s an interesting tour, especially as it lasts about an hour and the ‘facts’ are thrown at you thick and fast: ‘We think that this was the sacrificial altar… we think that the stones were moved on rollers… we think, we think….’

I’d love to return for sunrise/sunset, as the colours must be gorgeous, but this time I settle for some silhouette shots and some, er… inventive ones…

This moment has inspired me to share a travel idea.

So I’m in Edinburgh today. A colleague of mine is in Edinburgh on Monday. Surely it would be possible to hide something today, so that they can discover it (with the aid of some Dan Brown style clues, of course)? We’ve started with something simple. It’s hidden in a graveyard just off Princes Street and all they need to do is find the right grave.

I’m sure this has probably been done, but I wonder if there’s a market for a holiday where you have to trek across Europe collecting all these clues? Or how about hiding your ticket home?

I quite like the idea of leaving a load of hidden “gems” across Europe and see who could find them. Or if other travellers could leave some hidden items and maybe I could capture a few..? Anyway, my flight is boarding so I had better be off.

Oh – and Natalie’s flight was delayed, so she made it after all…

I stepped off the plane in Palermo yesterday evening and the heat hit me like the blast of air you get when opening an oven. Temperatures have reached 47 degrees Celsius and the signs are everywhere. Sirens can be heard regularly and in the distance are rows of fires billowing smoke up into the air.

It doesn’t feel any cooler in the hotel either, since the air conditioning isn’t working, so it’s a tough start to the day. Nonetheless, it’s an excuse to get out early and see what this city has to offer.

I’ve twice missed the catacombs in Paris, so Palermo’s tombs are first on the agenda today. The maze of bodies is organised into different sections; men, women, priests and my favourite – ‘professionals’. It’s quite eerie, but very few are anything but clothes and bones. Those that have signs of ‘flesh’ or hair just don’t look real, even if they are over 100 years old.

The heat in Sicily has caused a number of power cuts, so it’s no surprise when the lights go out and the corridors of skeletons go pitch black. I half expect to hear the rattling of bones in the darkness! The last body to be placed in the tomb is of Rosalia Lombardo, a little girl whose face seems so real and delicate, that she could almost be sleeping.

Outside the catacombs, the heat is scorching and it seems ridiculous that no one has opened up a coffee shop or ice cream parlour; they’d make a killing!

About a kilometre east, I find a family run joint with air conditioning. The Sicilian language they use amongst themselves is fast and difficult to follow, although the general gist is about the constant power cuts due to the weather. Cue the power cut! Sitting in semi-darkness, drinking chilled ice-tea, the air conditioning grinds to a halt…

‘Volete un pò di pizza?’ The owner asks, taking a fresh pizza from the oven. I can’t hide my grin. La vita Siciliana è bella!

Palermo’s cathedral is grand, but it’s the Palazzo next to the Porta Nuova which supposedly attracts most of the tourists. It’s surprisingly quiet at this time of the morning and we’re escorted through the parliament rooms, occasionally bumping into the odd government official.

The hotel is just by the Quattro Canti, which is the point at which the main two roads cross through Palermo. Nearby, the Fontana Pretoria holds dozens of half naked statues and apparently unimpressed locals at the time nicknamed it the ‘Fountain of Shame’.

North up via Maqueda, I reach the Teatro Massimo. It’s a large theatre, which was used to film the ending in The Godfather: Part III.

The port area towards the east is unimpressive, so I head towards La Kalsa district, which was badly destroyed in the war. The effects are still evident as little has been reconstructed or repaired. Some narrow roads look seedy and there’s a curious (and even suspicious) stare from some of the locals. However, there are still friendly people around, including one elderly woman dropping a basket from her balcony to collect goods from the market below. She lets me take her photo and her husband, with a mouthful of ice-cream, says the photo will cost me 55 euros. He grins at me with his teeth full of chocolate!

Around the Piazza Magione, young children speed around the gravel tracks on motorbikes and gangs of teenagers loiter on corners. The area isn’t a complete write-off; there’s the fantastic Garibaldi park, which contains some of the most fascinating trees I’ve ever seen in my life. Branches spiral out from the tree and embed themselves into the ground. Others dangle for metres, tempting a Tarzan re-enactment!

The evening passes quickly, with walking, pizzas and some moonlit photography.

27th June 2007 – Corleone

The Carcere Ucciardone prison holds the most notorious mafia criminals in Sicily. I guess I was expecting guards everywhere, watchtowers and all the Alcatraz-style décor, but unsurprisingly, it’s just a huge plain wall. However, the mafia stories bring me nicely to the next destination: Corleone.

It’s a small town halfway between Palermo and Agrigento. Don Vito, from The Godfather, came from this town so I’ve keen to see what it looks like.

I’m so busy looking around that before I know it, my car is face to face with a carabinieri vehicle. He winds down his window and with a sturn voice, asks where I’m headed. I tell him I’m not really going anywhere; I’m here to see the town. He then asks whether I realise I’m driving down the wrong way down a one-way street! I’ve only just arrived in Corleone and already I’m in trouble with the carabinieri!

Fortunately, he sees me for the idiot tourist that I am and tells me to turn around and keep my eyes peeled; ‘occhio, occhio…’

It’s a charming little place but I’m surprised at the lack of Godfather mentions (bar a couple of Il Padrino posters in an ice-cream shop). There are a few other tourists, probably there for the same reason I am. I like Corleone, but not for the reasons I expected.

The twisting, hilly road leads south towards Agrigento. Arriving quite late, there’s enough time to soak up the old town and settle down in a popular enoteca.

28th June 2007 – Agrigento

The Valley of the Temples is “just down the road”, so I set off on foot to find this Unesco Heritage site. An hour later and I’m lost in Agrigento’s maze of high rise buildings. Fortunately, it’s hard to miss the temples and once there’s a gap between the building, I see the direction I should be headed.

Approaching the temples, after about a 5km walk, is an indescribable feeling. The surrounding area hasn’t been touched by anything “modern” (with the exception of roads), which means you see the temples as they were 2500 years ago (albeit a little more crumbled). It’s another hot day and the clear blue skies and intense sun creates some fabulous contrasts of colour. It’s truly one of the most incredible things I’ve ever seen.

I also didn’t expect to see so much; from Tempio di Giunone on the eastern side all the way west to the Tempio di Castore e Polluce, there is over a kilometre of fascinating history and beauty.

It’s a photography heaven for me, but I’m also determined to get original angles and shots. With so many visitors, there must be a lot of similar photo collections around the world! Saying that, despite the gorgeous weather, there aren’t that many tourists and it only takes a bit of patience to get some shots sans personne.

The archaeological museum is average, but a (delicious) pit stop at the Promenade dei Templi restaurant refuels me to see the rest of the temples. Walking westbound, the temples become more and more ruined. However, even the huge Tempio di Giove (112m x 56m) is jaw-dropping, despite it being a mass of rubble. A copy of one of the massive statues has been laid in the centre, giving a breathtaking idea of how incredible this must have been.

Heading towards the exit, I notice a discreet sign pointing towards the Giardino di Kolymbetra. Climbing down, I feel like I’ve just discovered Frances Burnett’s Secret Garden!

There are flowers and fruit trees everywhere, streams of water and a winding pathway through this fairytale gem. Down at the bottom, there is a trio of tanned gardeners, one of whom is at least 80 years old and he immediately approaches. His name is Leonardo and he’s ever so keen to be a guide. He walks to what looks like an opening in the crag and says that it used to be a church where the locals got married. This was 2500 years ago! I ask him how long he has been here and he says he was brought here with his aunt in 1933!

Although he’s not supposed to, he takes a cutting from the garden and says it’s the flower that couples were given as a symbol of love. He says Emma can take this cutting since she’s English but she must keep it covered so no one sees it! Then he points up a stony path and says there is one more ruin to be seen.

Heeding his advice, I follow the path and cross the railtrack to find the final ruins in the Valley of the Temples. They are less dramatic than the others, but with not a single person in sight, it’s like a lost part of the ruins.

It’s a long (and steep) walk back to the town, but I’m rewarded with a number of cocktails back in Agrigento.

A friendly German couple from Arizona start chatting to us but then it becomes rather exhausting when they describe their three month European vacation (in full detail…) Fortunately, I’m saved when the piazza turns into a huge African party to celebrate unity and togetherness in Sicily!

29th June 2007 – Selinunte

The Valley of the Temples are famous across the world. Yet 100km up the coastline is a small town called Selinunte, which holds some of the best preserved Greek ruins in the world.

The road is winding and it seems to take forever to get there, but the regular moments of suicidal Sicilian driving always keep me amused. Cars overtake when in the opposite direction other vehicles are also overtaking. The roads are old but fortunately quite wide, although I do find myself sucking in air when we’re squeezing four cars across two lanes at 100kph… My favourite was whilst I was being overtaken, another driver decided to overtake the car that was overtaking me; all the worse when you consider there was even a car hurtling towards us in the other direction!

There’s a sigh of relief when I pull up to the entrance of the ruins in Selinunte. The weather is still outrageously hot but it makes a perfect setting for these ruins that sit upon a hill overlooking the sea. There are even fewer tourists here and it allows me to soak up the history surrounding this stunning place.

Selinunte is also famous for its beach, from which you can even see the ruins. It’s a surreal backdrop and allows me to cool off in the water whilst still admiring the views!

Back in Agrigento, the sun has gone to bed and the ruins are fantastically lit up. Unfortunately, the ruins aren’t open at night at this time of year, so I feel I’m going to lose the famous night time shot that I’ve been yearning. Never one to give up easily, I jump in the car and start driving down the country lanes around Agrigento. You simply can’t get anywhere near the ruins and I’m about to lose all hope when I spot a dirt track off the side of the road. I hit the breaks a little hard and quickly turn down the track. There appears to be a little drop from the main road and as the headlights swing across the fields, there’s a massive crunch as the car drops onto the side road. It doesn’t sound good so I spend the next 10 minutes ensuring the photo makes up for the potential damage to the car…

I hit the jackpot as I get one of my favourite photos, with a gorgeous blue, black and yellow contrast of the hillside. Furthermore, the car appears to be fine and with a bit of a “run up” I force the car back up onto the main road. I’m not the only one hitting a jackpot though, since I feel like I’ve lost of pint of blood to a thousand Sicilian mosquitos. Next, it’s my turn for dinner and a final night in Agrigento.

30th June 2007 – Monreale, Palermo

I’ve made it! 130km of “dodgecar” and I’ve returned the hire car to the centre of Palermo without a scratch! There were a few close calls and I nearly took out a moped at 40km/h, but my deposit is safe.

It has also been a successful day as I’ve seen so much. A few hours in Monreale, just south-west of Palermo, is a must. The cathedral has an impressive winding route to the viewpoint at the top and the town itself (although obscenely packed with tourists) is a stereotypical Italian town.

Back in Palermo, I decide that as a change to all the pasta and pizza I’ve been eating, it’s worth a visit to the Lonely Planet recommended Michelin star restaurant, Sant’Andrea. It’s hidden away in a maze of little alleyways, and I clearly look lost as a little old lady approaches me. She’s seems half my height and four times my age and yet she’s got more life in her than I could ever imagine. When I tell her what I’m looking for she looks at me with disgust. She begs me not to go; her friend runs the place and it’s over-priced and snobbish. She pushes her nose up in the air and with her best English accent mocks me, “I’m from Sloane Square!”

She advises some little bars and mimes eating some hot snacks with audible delight. She’s interested in where I’ve lived but she’s horrified when I don’t know which London theatre she’s trying to remember: “Ignorante! Ignorante!!” She cries, reminding me of my father’s similar style of mocking. I could listen to her all day, but she finally turns on her portable radio and it belts out classic music. She waves her arms in the air and walks down the street as if orchestrating the traffic. She leaves me with one final request: ‘Ti prego, non andare a Sant’Andrea!’

I kick myself for not taking her photo, but I could never forget her. It’s a fantastic experience that sums up Sicily for me and I simply can’t ignore her advice. Finding a small coffee shop in the middle of what appears to be a war-torn 1940s street, I ask if they can do food. The reply is positive, although after taking my order, the owner runs out the front door and leaves the bar empty. He returns five minutes later with two plates of food that clearly came from another bar down the road. It’s tasty, it’s quick and most importantly, it’s Sicilian.

The afternoon allows me to explore La Kalsa in a bit more detail. Building are in ruins and it’s crazy that this area that is so central can be so neglected. I particularly like the graffiti on the broken walls, mimicking a cash machine, supermarket, bank and McDonald’s.

The last couple of hours are spent by the coast, taking in the last rays of sunshine and eating some fantastic ice-cream. The locals play football in the park area and I’m laughed at again when they see me taking pictures – “paparazzi!”

My Sicilian adventure has been everything I hoped for and more. It’s an island of beauty and history and the locals resonate a spirit of life that I’ve never seen anywhere else. Furthermore, the food and weather has been out of this world, leaving me with just one question: When can I return!?

It therefore came as a nice surprise that the weather was glorious! I spent the weekend drinking wine, walking along the beach in Wittering and bouncing up and down on a trampoline.

There was also time to travel west into Portsmouth. I’ve been before, but only on business and I can’t say I was that impressed, although I never did make it to the harbour. What a pleasant surprise! There’s plenty to see, from bars to shops and it all feels a bit like a fairground. Dominating the entire port is the huge Spinnaker Tower, which has the largest glass floor in Europe for those who dare stand on it!

Unfortunately the only thing I didn’t get to do was learn how to surf. With the strong currents, I was advised to stay out of the (seemingly calm) water. I guess the Beach Boys soundtrack will have to stay in its case until next time…

I’m in the capital of Spain and I’m watching Madrid’s scenery on television. The newsreader tells me that the thunderstorms and rain is widespread across central and northern Spain.

The day didn’t start this badly. In fact, I’ve walked several kilometres today, mostly in the Parque Del Buen Retiro, and Madrid is exactly as I expected it to be. Typically, I couldn’t be much further east from the hotel when the storm hits and I get completely soaked. It brings an end to a day where my camera barely leaves my bag.

21st May 2007 – Madrid

The clouds have shifted and Madrid’s colours appear around me. I’ve a positive impression so far, but I don’t feel this city has been built for photographers. Maybe I haven’t got my photography head screwed on, but I actually find very little to shoot.

Furthermore, I’m told photography isn’t allowed in the Palace. Worse still, I’m told I have to leave my camera and all my lenses in a cloakroom. It really annoys me, but the efficiency in which they refund the entry tickets indicates that they probably have this problem quite often.

Heading further south, there’s the Catedral de Nuestra Señora de la Almudena which has a lovely west-facing garden across the city suburbs. The guidebook recommends a cheese shop, a buzzing market and a coffee shop resembling one you’d find in the 1930s. All three are closed. So I try the nuns’ convent. They sit behind a revolving wooden window, selling cakes and biscuits and they remain hidden from customers at all times. I ring the bell, although there’s no indication I’m ringing the right one and I feel I’m disturbing someone’s private home.

‘¿Hola?’ cries an old lady’s voice through the intercom. It’s a voice you’d expect to hear when Little Red Riding Hood knocks on her Spanish grandmother’s door…

‘Hola,’ I reply. ‘¿Vendes de dolces?’

‘Estamos cocinando!’ Cries the voice… I vision a bunch of little old nuns running around a kitchen, frantically preparing dough and cake mixture! She says to come back at four pm.

La Plaza Mayor is large but uninspiring, which sums up quite a lot of Madrid. It’s a lovely city, in which I could quite happily see myself living, but as far as tourism goes, there’s not so much to offer someone other than the abundance of art in its three main museums.

Of course, a visit to Madrid is not complete for a football fan without seeing the Santiago Bernebeu. However, again I’m disappointed and I decide against the stadium tour.

After finding another coffee shop closed, I decide to ignore any more Lonely Planet recommended destinations and choose a restaurant. It turns out to be a bad choice, but it is now time to re-visit the nuns.

I’m instructed through some alleyways behind the huge door and I’m suddenly faced with a revolving door about the size of a small cupboard. The lady’s voice returns and she asks what I want. There’s a list of products on the door so I name the first one. The door starts to revolve and I’m guessing she wants some money. My Euros disappear and then there’s some frantic whispering from the other side. The door then spins again and suddenly there’s a pack of biscuits in front of me. I’m sure it’s not what I asked for, but before I have a chance to think about it, the door spins and the biscuits are gone! A few other tourists are watching this show and we all start laughing, a bit confused as to what I’m supposed to do next. Clearly the nuns find it funny too; they’re giggling to themselves behind the door. There’s a bit of a pause and then the biscuits return, this time in a plastic bag. ‘¡Tómelos!’

The sun is out in full force, so it’s much more pleasant at the Parque Del Buen Retiro second time around. The lazy afternoon turned into a lazy evening too, with a little too much sangria and much too little night photography.

22nd May 2007 – Madrid to Toledo

An early start, a super efficient train and I’m in Toledo by 9am. I’ve been looking forward to Toledo as I’ve been promised a bit of a photographic adventure. It’s therefore disappointing to report that it’s all very much over-rated.

Yes, there are narrow streets and old building everywhere. Yes, the small city is a maze of historical architecture and yes, the whole place sits almost impossibly on the top of a huge hill.

However, I’ll remember the traffic. I’ll remember that each corner I turned in its labyrinth risked a potential collision with a speeding vehicle. I’ll remember the scaffolding absolutely everywhere. The demolished buildings. The unfinished re-developments. The thousands and thousands of tourists. Oh, and did I mention the traffic?

It’s a real shame as there were parts I liked. Towards the south-west, the number of tourists diminished and further south it seems devoid of visitors all together. It meant that you could appreciate getting lost in the streets and enjoy the fact that you’d never know whether it’s a steep up or downhill climb around each corner.

Sick of the fact photography was not allowed in most building attractions, I followed the road south of the Tagus river, which climbed as high as Toledo’s peak, giving a fantastic view of the entire region. The lack of noise and the seemingly peaceful Toledo is how I’d like to have remembered it.

That idea is washed away, literally, as the thunder storms and rain brings more water than the area has seen in months. It also means there’s no chance of any night photography.

23rd May 2007 – Toledo to Valencia

Ce l’abbiamo fatta! Siamo campioni d’Europa meno di un anno dopo la vittoria a Berlino! Ho sofferto molte delusioni nella mia vita calcistica (Argentina nel ’90, Brasile nel ’94, Francia nel 2000, Marsiglia nel ’93, Liverpool nel ’05…) ma in questo periodo siamo campioni del mondo e campioni d’Europa. Forza Italia e forza Milan!!

The day starts well. Before leaving Toledo, there’s time to further explore the south eastern area along the river. It’s calm with the noise of the water being the only sign of time passing. It looks like you could cross the river at one point when the water level is lower and I make a point to find out whether you can (note: I still haven’t found out’). Despite the relatively strong current, fish occasionally jump from the water, trying to swim upstream.

Of course, a visit to Toledo’s cathedral is a must and fortunately photography is allowed. I’ve seen some impressive cathedrals before, but the fact this huge building was built for such a small number of people at the top of such an extraordinary location makes it all the more impressive.

The efficient train arrives back in Madrid in plenty of time for the 14.00 to Valencia and I ask for tickets.

‘No,’ says the ticket salesman. I pause, awaiting an explanation… He stares at me blankly, so I ask him why not. ‘El tren hay una problema.’ Great.

He tells me the next train is a regional one that leaves at 4pm. Bearing in mind Milan’s Champions League Final in Athens is at 20.45, I check the arrival time.

‘A las diez’… Mierda. I guess a bus trip is in order.

After an extraordinarily awkward discussion with the information desk (who tells me he only gives ‘train’ information) I finally find the bus station. This ticket salesman jokes whether I really want a ticket to Valencia. I’m confused. He points to my Milan shirt and then asks whether I’d actually prefer a ticket to Athens..!

The trip isn’t as bad as I expected. The four hours is split in two with a 20-minute refreshment halfway there. Best of all, was the screening of ‘Flight of the Phoenix’ during the last two hours, which helped time pass quickly. The opening crash sequence also made me quite grateful I wasn’t flying to Valencia!

My first impressions of Valencia are positive, although my mind was more focused on finding a restaurant showing the game, which I did. Despite the joyful ending, it has been a long day and celebrations are relatively reserved: Tomorrow I’ve a new city to explore!

24th May 2007 – Valencia

Valencia is a fantastic city. I’ve only had a day and a half to explore it, but is vibrancy and youthful environment makes it so enjoyable. Every corner I turned, there’s something to see, from the sublime fresh food market, to narrow, twisting streets and plazas everyfew dozen metres.

There are other tourists and there are plenty of cars, but it just seems so much more relaxed than Madrid or Toledo. Much of the traffic is directed around the centre and alongside the very impressive old river bed. The old river Turia flowed along what is now a massive long area of grassland, football pitches and other sports facilities.

Coffee shops are unique in style and nearly everyone treats you like you’re the first tourist they’ve ever seen. If Madrid is a middle aged man, and Toledo is his retired father, then Valencia is the eldest son at university!

The highlights of the day (other than the obvious tourist attractions) included discovering the Café de Los Henas (with its own coffee dessert which has shot to the top of my list: Espresso, Khalua and a ball of vanilla ice cream all in a tall glass!), relaxing in the massive Jardines del Real o Viveros (reading about Milan’s victory in Gazzetta Dello Sport) and seeing the way that the city is so beautifully lit at night.

I can say with confidence that I’ll return especially as there’s still much to see. Even at the top of the numerous view points (including the impressive Cathedral) you can see how much more there is to explore, in particular the port and sea-front that I did not see at all.

Tomorrow lunchtime I leave Valencia and travel 100km south to see my parents for a few days. After walking at least 20km per day for the past five days, a relaxing family reunion with sangria and barbeques is just what the doctor ordered!

I really must get it into my head why 7am flights are so cheap. It sounds like a good idea to arrive early in Frankfurt for the Bank Holiday, but three hours sleep and a cloud-filled sky don’t motivate me to do too much exploring on the first day. Nonetheless, my first impressions of “Bankfurt” are positive. Despite the number of skyscrapers, it has retained a “small town” feel to it and the old town (completely destroyed in March 1944) has been rebuilt exactly as it stood before the Allied bombings.

The 200m tall “Main Tower” is not the tallest building in Frankfurt, but it does give an impressive view of the rest of the city and I watch the sunset amongst a comical line of photographers with shutters snapping every few seconds.

6th May 2007 – Frankfurt

A good night’s sleep prepares me for a long day of walking. Frankfurt is not a large city, but the banks of the Main River make for pleasant strolls and there’s photography fodder everywhere I turn.

The Jewish Cemetery is frighteningly moving. Unlike the one in Warsaw which is just an enormous mass of graves, in Frankfurt there is a long wall with tiny plaques representing each person who was exported and killed in the Second World War. Each name, date of birth, date and place of death is a shocking reminder of what happened just 60 years ago. The Jewish History museum is disappointing, but again the large wall of named casualties can’t help but hit home.

Now you’d think it’s relatively easy to find a Frankfurter in Frankfurt. In the same way you’d expect to find Cheshire cheese in Cheshire, or a tasty curry in Madras, or even a decent game of poker in Texas… I really thought there would be frankfurters everywhere but I was wrong; not a sausage!

The sun takes its toll and the next stop is a 1000 year old tower that has been converted into a bar! The speciality is cocktails and it’s a suitable way to spend a couple of hours on a Sunday afternoon!

There’s an area south of the Main called Sachsenhausen which reminds me of Dublin’s Temple Bar. It’s full of character during the day, but later in the evening it’s full of beer guzzlers and doesn’t have the same appeal.

The last stop is back in the old town and I finally find my long sought after meal. Along with a huge beer, the frankfurter goes down a treat. Tomorrow I’m going home and my journey is complete!

Three years ago I missed a train from Oslo to Stockholm. It meant I lost half a day in the Swedish capital and subsequently I rushed the visit and promised I would return. This weekend, I did.

From the main train station to the view down Vasagatan, it all comes flooding back to me and it doesn’t feel like it has been three years since I left Stockholm on the ‘binge ferry’ to Helsinki.

The old town, Gamla Stan, is just how I remember it; the cobbled, narrow streets are beautiful and the colours exaggerated by today’s bright sun. However, despite the blue skies, it still feels no warmer than when I was here in October 2004. I suppose I’m not made for Scandinavian weather!

Unbelievably, I don’t remember the Kungliga Slottett, the main attraction in the old town. Further south stands another tourist trap that I also don’t recall – a 60m tower overlooking the city. I wonder whether it was even here three years ago, but I embarrassingly rubbish that thought when I discover it was opened in 1883!

It’s interesting to walk through the KungsträdgÃ¥rden. The ice rink on which I fell so many times is simply gravel in springtime and the trees are in blossom. However, it seems that the outdoor, oversized chessboard is still in use. The elderly men are deep in thought and I can’t help wondering whether if it’s the same game as when I last walked by!

22nd April 2007 – Stockholm

DjurgÃ¥rden is one of the most touristy places to visit in Sweden’s capital. Once again, it’s another place I failed to visit last time I was here.

To get there is a relatively short walk along Strandvägen, admiring some of the older boats in the quay. One boat is a stylishly decorated coffee shop and I’m feeling a little lethargic so a caffeine hit is in order.

The first stop on the island is the aquarium. Its residents include sharks, piranhas, colourful fish and all kinds of frogs, so poisonous that even touching a leaf where one has been sitting could be lethal!

It’s interesting and particularly clever how they have recreated a rainforest (with authentic rainstorms!) but the sharks swim in circles and you can’t help feel that they are yearning for freedom.

In the Skansen, there’s an area with enclosed animals. Having recently been on safari, I find it horrible that the enclosures are so small. Monkeys hold onto a railing by a window and the bears sit on the highest rock as if they are looking over their prison walls.

The rest of Skansen is really well created. The ‘old’ area mimics traditional Sweden, with all kinds of tradesman’s shops, ranging from glass blowing, carpentry and engineering to bakery and dress-making, only using the tools available centuries ago. My favourite is the woman working in an old style home. She tells me she makes about 100 flat breads per day and they must be eaten quickly before they go off. Strangely, if cooked twice (each turn in the wood fire oven only lasts a few seconds) the bread can last for 25 years! She’s right when she says they are addictive; I eat one and for the rest of the day I’m craving another!

Stopping occasionally for coffee and cake, the rest of the day is spent wandering around admiring the architecture and beautiful views across the sea towards Stockholm. To save a long walk back, there’s a ferry crossing to the Old Town. It’s a strange feeling, as the last time I was on a boat in the Baltic Sea, I had just drunk a bottle of 60% vodka!

Without the flat bread recipe, I settle for a steak at ‘Broncos’. The cheerful waiter tells me that it’s a converted pharmacy, which explains some of the more unusual decoration in the restaurant. I tell him it’s the perfect place to eat since if I fall ill they can treat me…

‘Yes,’ he replies, ‘and I am training to be a medic also!’

Then he brings the drinks and tells me that the guests at the next table are firemen, confirming that this is indeed the safest place to eat in Stockholm!

The weather has turned and tomorrow’s forecasted rain has come early. It means my night photography session is cut short, although I’m delighted to find a small courtyard that I photographed three years ago, which allows me to compare my photography skills between then and now!

23rd April 2007 – Stockholm

I’ve one final thing to see before I go home. The Vasa museum is another tourist favourite and yet another I missed in 2004. I’m starting to wonder whether I saw anything but the inside of a nightclub last time I was here!

On the way I stop at ‘Coffeehouse by George’. It’s one I photographed on my last visit so I’ve been promising myself I’d one day go back. The three year wait was worth it! The caffeine kick gets me ready for a history lesson at the museum.

The ship is hugely impressive. From its incredible design to its remarkable rescue 300 years later, Henrik Hybertsson’s masterpiece is full of fascinating history. Normally I’m so shocked how humans have created such fabulous feats without the aid of modern technology, but my amazement is slightly reserved this time seeing as this ship sank so soon after leaving the docks!

It’s already time for me to return to London, but I’ve fulfilled my promise to re-visit Stockholm and see the (many) things that I missed. I step onto the bus for the airport and the driver says, ‘I’ve never driven this one before! I’m very excited!’

I don’t share his enthusiasm; all I’m thinking is whether Captain Söfring Hansson had said the same thing..!

Highlights were a restaurant allowing me to test out my pizza making skills, window shopping in the Golden Quad, the huge skeleton art display by Il Duomo, relaxing in the Parco Sempione and of course, each of the three goals Milan scored against Empoli.

Milan is going through a prolonged period of throwing away scoring opportunities and this game was no different. However, seeing Ronaldo in the Rossoneri shirt was a great sight, as was the return of Serginho after his long injury. Of course, the game doesn’t have to be good to enjoy the San Siro – I adore each visit as the crowd is fantastic and even half empty there’s a great atmosphere.

My first time in Asia doesn’t last very long. Arriving at the Sabinha Gökcen airport, I find a small bus that is heading west, across the Bosphorus and into Europe. There’s clearly a divide between west and east, but it’s more like a distinction between rich and poor, than a difference in architecture.

The further into Istanbul we drive, the larger and more modern the buildings become. The traffic also intensifies and it takes forever to complete the last couple of kilometres.

I step off the bus a little confused. We’ve crossed the huge Fatih Sultan Bridge but we haven’t gone across the Golden Horn. It means I’m in northern Istanbul and I’m already lost.

I enter the underground and immediately I’m stopped by the police. He seems satisfied with my camera equipment, although before letting me pass, he can’t resist squeezing my dust blower!

A few minutes later and I clearly look confused as I’m stopped by some more police, who are only too happy to explain I’m in the wrong place and I need to catch the funicular from Taksim to Kabata?.

I exit the underground having not travelled anywhere, only to pay a second time to get on the funicular. I’m searched again by police before being waved onto the train.

The next choice I have to make is which direction to take the tram from Kabata?. Since I can’t figure out the tram map, I use the logic of ‘the sea is over there, so I guess I go this way…’

It works a treat and before I know it I’m across the Golden Horn and passing all kinds of impressive mosques and buildings. As I step off the tram, there’s a wonderful smell of incense and there’s Turkish music coming from the nearby shops. Old ladies sit on the pavement creating jewellery and there’s the hustle of city life around me.

A local points me in the right direction for my hostel and I soon drop off my backpack. It’s a friendly welcome I’ve received so far and despite the sign in the hostel’s lift, I feel safe.

The receptionist suggests a local restaurant and I’m glad I heed his advice. The weather is pretty poor and I don’t want to walk too far from the hostel so I decide to explore the Sultanahmet area. Despite it being one of the most touristy parts of Istanbul, it’s actually very quiet. There are locals on park benches, there’s not too much traffic and life seems very relaxing.

Locals smile and it’s not long before I enter the Blue Mosque. The courtyard is enormous and amongst the visitors there are plenty of locals coming to pray. There’s a woman in a niqab and I fire off a few shots. She’s not impressed. She suddenly bolts to hide behind one of the pillars and I feel a bit guilty.

Removing my shoes and entering the mosque is a moving experience. Having studied Islam at school, it’s bringing back lost memories from 10 years ago. Watching the people praying under the gigantic Mosque domes, it makes me wonder whether a more widespread teaching of others’ religions would help reduce the hatred and human separation that religions so often cause.

A couple of photographers beside me ask an old woman to stand in the prayer hall for 30 seconds for a long exposure. As she stands there, confused and alone, the couple suddenly feel awful as they realise she was there to pray and wasn’t actually a visitor!

However, they don’t feel half as bad as I do, when a police officer approaches me and asks me whether I’ve been taking photos. I feel daft – I’m holding my shoes in one hand and holding my camera on a tripod in the other.

‘No photos in here?’ I ask innocently.
‘It’s ok. But have you taken photo outside mosque?’ He asks, pointing towards where the woman in the niqab was sitting just 10 minutes ago. I panic, realising she’s obviously made a complaint. I quickly point to the opposite side of the mosque and say I’ve taken photos over there. He points back at to the courtyard, ‘Not there?’
‘No,’ I lie.

He accepts my answer and assumes he has the wrong guy. It’s a close shave and it’s a lesson learned. From now on, I’m going to ask for permission however far away I am from my subject!

Leaving the mosque, it has already become dark. Just as I step from the courtyard, the deafening announcement for prayers screams from the speakers. Nothing could have prepared me for how loud it was going to be and it’s another absorbing experience that the textbooks can’t describe.

Outside of the mosque are the taps used for washing the feet as part of the praying ritual. Some locals allow me to take photos, but I don’t stay long; it’s getting cold so I head back to the hostel. On the way there’s a friendly looking man working in a stall. It’s a classic shot and I ask if he minds a photo. He misunderstands and says yes, because when I line up the shot, he covers his face and looks away. I apologise, smile, and his friendly expression returns. I’ve lost the shot but at least I shouldn’t have any more police after me!

The day has passed quickly and the spitting rain isn’t inviting me to do any more night exploring, so I decide that’s it a perfect time to indulge myself in the Turkish Baths!

The experience lasts about two hours at the famous ÇemberlitaÅŸ Baths (www.cemberlitashamami.com.tr). I’m treated to a steam room, a vigorous body scrub and soap lather by a huge Turk, followed by a deep tissue, oil massage from another man who seems determined to crack every joint in my body!

It’s an invigorating experience which I thoroughly enjoy and prepares me for the best possible night’s sleep!

23rd March 2007 – Istanbul

Istanbul is waking up, preparing itself for another day and I seem to be the only tourist witnessing it. I’m strolling westbound up Yeniçeriler Caddesi and everyone is walking in the opposite direction. I turn north and start the descent towards the Bazaar district. Shops and stalls are only just opening but there’s a buzzing atmosphere. The majority of people seem to be couriers, carrying huge sacks of goods on their backs. Some roads are incredibly steep and the older men get a helping push from behind to make it up the hills. I’m a little too early for the Grand Bazaar but by the time I reach the Spice Bazaar, it’s just opening up. Still, I’m the only person there who isn’t a local and the forceful salesmen I was expecting to see are non-existent.

I settle for a coffee in the Tea Gardens and watch the cats chase the birds around the square. I then use the bar’s toilet and wish I hadn’t. There’s a hole in the ground and next to it, a hose pipe and wash basin. Predictably, there’s no toilet paper; but there is a bar of soap…

With the ‘experience’ behind me, I head back northbound to the Spice Bazaar. I think I must have been in the toilet longer than I thought as the market is now full of tourists and the place suddenly feels alive. I get calls in Spanish and Italian (a favourite being ‘amigo sin barba!’) but it’s the completely random shout of ‘Forza Milan’ that draws me in!

All the shop owners I speak with are friendly and they all allow photography which also makes for a pleasant change.

The Grand Bazaar is now open and that too has an electric atmosphere. One café bar has an incredible selection of cakes, so I decide to try a chocolate slice and a Turkish coffee. The coffee is intense. I’m used to espressos, but the caffeine kick from this was mind-twisting. I’m high as a kite and simply bouncing around the Grand Bazaar, completely lost but shooting everything that catches my eye.

I come across an exit and realise it’s chucking down with rain outside. Just at that moment, the calls for prayers echo around the city and there are hundreds of Muslims rushing past me into the Nuruosmaniye Mosque. I stumble across a stairway that leads me above the streets below which gives me a better view, albeit in the rain.

Back in the Grand Bazaar, I find the iç Bedeslen and I’m a little disappointed that the eagle symbol isn’t as golden as the guidebook implied. However, the guidebook is spot on regarding the ?ark Kahvesi, a bar for local bazaar traders. In its smoky interior, there are groups of men playing cards, backgammon or simply refuelling with a quick kahve.

After my pit stop, I decide to follow a recommended 90 minute walk. I’m not too strict about following the exact route and subsequently exit the (impressive) university in the wrong place and end up walking half an hour in the wrong direction.

Back on track, I make it to the Süleymaniye Mosque, which, typically, has just closed for the next hour for prayers. It means I’m stuck in the courtyard listening to the incessant Islamic chanting for sixty minutes. However, it does force me to try and be a little more creative with my photography.

Inside, the dome is exactly twice as high as it is wide. It’s impressive, but probably more so on the outside.

I walk around its exterior and further north, through narrow roads, full of shops, towards the Golden Horn. Although I crossed it yesterday, today is more relaxing and I can really take in the view.

Crossing the Galata Bridge is excellent. It’s littered with restaurants with the waiters trying to beckon you in. One asks if I’m Italian and upon hearing my answer, he pulls out his mobile and asks me to translate a text message for him. My first thought is that it’s some kind of scam but when I tell him it’s a love message meaning ‘You’re always in my thoughts’, he’s ever so grateful. Maybe it was a trick to get me in the restaurant and he’s got the same text in 10 different languages! Or maybe I’m just a cynic!

I pass the local fishermen who allow me to take photos, one insisting on seeing the final picture before letting me walk away!

As I reach the other side of the bridge, the sun makes its first appearance of the holiday. It couldn’t be better timing; it’s low in the sky and I’m not too far away from the Galata Tower.

The climb to the foot of the tower is exhausting enough and I’m praying for a lift up the 60m viewpoint. My prayers are answered and I’m high above the city looking along the Bosphorus, with a different continent on each side. I spend an hour watching the sun disappear over the horizon but although I’m lucky the sun is visible, it’s still very cloudy and I’m denied a stunning sunset.

A lad then asks me if I’ll take a photo of him. He’s a New Yorker called Saqib who was uninsured and had his camera and lenses stolen only a couple of days ago. I take his email address and promise to send him the photo.

Next, I have a long rest at a restaurant on the Galata Bridge. With live Turkish music playing, I sit by the window with a fantastic view of the Golden Horn and the lit up Süleymaniye Mosque.

Surprisingly, the fishermen are still there, but even more bizarre is that on the west side of the bridge, street stalls are being set up, seemingly at random. The whole of Istanbul appears to be a non-stop trading city. Apparently there are 60,000 taxis in Istanbul; one for every 120 people. However, there must be thousands more shops and you’ve got to wonder how they ever make any money.

It’s quite a walk back to the hostel and a long day of walking finally comes to an end.

24th March 2007 – Istanbul

I look out of the window and it’s chucking it down. I haven’t had any luck with the weather on this trip but I suppose I should be grateful that most of it is being spent inside mosques, museums or markets.

In any case, by the time I’ve had breakfast, it has stopped raining and I make my way towards the Hippodrome. Not much is left standing, but the chariot race track is now part of the modern road. A little further to the east, is something I missed on Thursday. I’m trying to find a statue of Medusa’s head but it’s nowhere to be seen. I kick myself when I realise it’s in the Basilica Cistern that I’ve walked past about four times.

It’s worth the search; inside the underground water cistern, there are vast stone columns, reaching high up above the creepy and hauntingly lit space. The sound of water dripping from the ceiling adds to the atmosphere, although it’s slightly spoilt by the relentless yapping from a group of Japanese tourists!

At the far corner of the cistern, are two Medusa statues that form the base of a couple of the pillars. One head is on its side and another upside down; it’s an interesting and thought-provoking piece of architecture.

My next calling point is the famous Haghia Sophia. Over 1,400 years old, it’s a mind-boggling construction. The cost and time to replicate it nowadays would be obscene and this was built by men so simple that they thought they would fall off the earth if they sailed too far towards the horizon!

The tourists are out in their hundreds today, but the mosque is massive inside and there’s enough room to wander around without being bumped and pushed. The dome itself is gigantic, and even though half of it is covered by scaffolding, it only adds to the perspective to see how high the dome really is. The view from the upper floor is also impressive, although seeing an old, crooked marble pillar doesn’t fill me with confidence!

Next on the itinerary is the Topkap? Palace, surrounded by the Gülhane Park. There are many workmen improving the surrounding area, but once inside the Palace, I’m faced with room after room of historical artefacts. However, my favourite areas are the pretty courtyards, full of colour and wonderful hollow trees; one of which wouldn’t look out of place in a horror film!

I spend a while walking around and hunger strikes, so I leave the gardens and head back towards the Blue Mosque. In its vicinity is a restaurant called Doy Doy, recommended by both my guidebooks. On the way I feel I’m passing the real hangout areas for the local traders and I fire off a few shots.

I ask one man if I can photograph the rug-making. He lets me and tells me all about his brother’s trips to the UK to trade the hand-made rugs. He offers me some products for sale, but nothing captures my eye, especially not the rug (’95 years old,’ he claims!) that’s so ragged I wouldn’t even use it as a door mat!

I find the Doy Doy but apart from the Goulash soup, it’s very ordinary. I’ve gone full circle and I’m back at the Hippodrome. However, the clouds have cleared and the sun is finally making a proper appearance. The views change dramatically and it’s as if a painter has colour in their pencil sketches: The Blue Mosque looks much better now it isn’t washed out by the white sky and the sun is shining off the sculptures and green grass.

It has brought everyone else out too. As it’s the weekend, understandably there are more locals resting in the parks, however the tourists too are all flocking here to take in the sun’s rays. There’s one old woman who practically poses for my photography and then inevitably asks me for money. I’m not sure if she wants it for pigeon food or for the photo I’ve taken, so I give her a lira so she doesn’t make a scene. Unsurprisingly, she then says she wants two!

I walk away and decide to explore an area not described in the guidebooks, west of the Hippodrome. It makes for a relaxing walk: There’s not a single tourist in sight and just a few children playing and store keepers sitting on the roadside, drinking Turkish Tea.

Half an hour later, I’m back on Yeniçeriler Caddesi and suddenly I’m back in the Grand Bazaar. It’s heaving and completely different to yesterday. I find an exit and stumble across a modern coffee bar called Café Storks, in which I eat far too much cake and chat with a Turkish waiter called Metin. Incredibly, he has an Australian accent due to all the Aussie backpackers he meets at his second job at a youth hostel. I discover that it’s the most popular of the youth hostels which explains why mine is so quiet! I ask him where I can watch the grudge football match between Greece and Turkey and he tells me his youth hostel has a top floor bar overlooking the Blue Mosque and also has a tv screen, so I promise to pay him a visit.

Back at the youth hostel, I shower and change before heading out for some night photography. I get some funny looks and comments when I’m lying on the floor trying to get a unique angle of the Blue Mosque but the evening is passing quickly and I’ve a promise to keep.

The youth hostel where Metin works really is much livelier than mine. I meet a Norwegian lad and a guy called Matt (who is intent on visiting Iran to teach English) and we enjoy watching the local celebrations when Turkey beats Greece 4-1.

The beers and rak? then starts flowing and before I know it, we’re smoking a fruity tobacco from a nargile with Luise, her German friends, a criminal investigator from Bologna and one of the bar staff! The clocks go forward an hour so what was five hours until my morning bus to the airport suddenly becomes four, so I stagger through the Sultanahmet and get myself to bed: Tomorrow is another brief stint in Asia before my flight back home.

Finally! I’m south of the equator! However, I need proof! So I head straight for the wash basin and with a big grin on my face, I watch a litre of water spin down the plug hole in the “wrong” direction!

I thought that was going to be the biggest culture shock of the day, but I was immediately proved wrong. I’m in Nairobi for just one night and staying in a modest 3* hotel (which has enough staff for a place four times the size). The hotel is surrounded by an electric fence and barbed wire, but it’s great inside; in particular the outdoor bar area. It’s a quick stop though as we grab some lunch (the spiciest salad you could ever imagine) and head out in a tiny minibus. I’m excited about the tribal dancers that I’m going to watch and even more so for the giraffe sanctuary I’m visiting, but it’s the journey there that surprises me the most. The so-called roads are barely wide enough to fit a couple of cars, but there are cars overtaking bikes with trucks coming in the other direction ! Add the potholes and the five men literally standing on the back of some vehicles and it made for an eye-opening ride…

Furthermore, are the numbers of pedestrians who must be walking for miles, just inches away from the heavy traffic. However, it’s the thousands of people in their hut-like buildings alongside the road that really makes me feel so far from home. From dual-purpose businesses (hotel & vet in one!) to metal-workers and from carpenters to single shelf stands (with hardly enough fruit to feed a single family), it’s a life I’ve never seen before.

The vehicle is moving fast so I snap away, hoping I can capture any of these memories. Some people wave at me, but some shout. I actually have found the Kenyans to be very friendly so far, but I can understand why some aren’t impressed; tourism is helping the country so much but the number of cameras capturing their poverty must be horrible for them.

The tribal dancing is good fun and really gets me in the mood for this African trip. The only problem is that despite the strong sunshine, the performance is carried out indoors and the light isn’t brilliant.

The giraffe sanctuary is excellent. They are kept for up to two years so that they can survive when released into the wild. Despite their young age, they are really enormous and it’s great to feed them and their tongues are like stubbly sandpaper and seem to have a bigger appetite than a drunk male student on a Friday night! It starts to chuck it down with rain, but there’s one photo I want before I go. I reel off about 10 shots standing on the edge of the road, getting absolutely soaked, but to me, it’s worth it as I think I’ve got the photo I want.

The drive back is even more hectic than the first, as we hit rush hour, but soon I’m back at the hotel and eating a fantastic buffet dinner!

1st February 2007 – Nakuru

My alarm gets me up in time for a super buffet breakfast. It’s an early start as the journey to Nakuru is 156km. It doesn’t sound like far, but the roads seem to get worse and worse each kilometre away from the capital. It means the journey lasts all morning, but the scenery makes up for it.

As the “road” climbs up to over 2000m, the number of building reduces, but there are still people everywhere. Some walk, some cycle, and some are just sitting in the middle of nowhere, watching the few cars go by, but it’s shocking how many smiles and waves you get. In particular, the young children who live (and even work) on a tiny patch of earth by the main road, with a plastic sheet and four wooden branches the only thing sheltering them from the sun and rain. It’s so surreal and yet they get so much pleasure from a returned smile or wave.

Just before lunch, the 4x4s are stopped by armed guards at the entrance to the Nakuru National Park. Despite the size of their massive machine guns, they appear friendly and welcoming and the journey continues past the barricade.

Neither the road nor the landscape has changed, but it suddenly becomes quieter. There’s not a person in sight. It all becomes clear when just a few hundred metres down the road, there are four or five jeeps stationary in the middle of the road. There’s not a moment to think as next to the jeeps is a small pack of lions, crossing the road in front; I whip out my camera but already the moment has gone as the lions seem to disappear into the long grass. Then comes a moment of luck; the leading lion jumps up a tree and climbs onto a branch to look around. Lions rarely do this in Kenya, but these young male lions still seem to have some of their playful instincts.

It’s a stunning start to my first safari and minutes later the jeeps arrive at the Sarova Lion Lodge. The complex is situated inside the National Park, with a feeble looking electric fence and a cattle grid the only thing between us and the wild! This isn’t overly reassuring (especially the cattle grid) as it’s not the animals with hooves I’m worried about! Furthermore, the regular power cuts don’t make me feel any better about the electric fence!

Nonetheless, it’s beautiful and the view is outstanding. It’s such a strange feeling to walk into a hotel room (more like a forest cabin) knowing that there are deadly jungle animals just a few metres (and a single cattle grid) away!

In the room, I’m drenched with anti mosquito spray and I’ve sprayed enough repellent into the room to bring down a rhino, but two relentless mosquitoes refuse to leave me alone; I therefore ignore the fact that I’m in a National Park and make my first kills of this safari…

The buffet lunch is good but I’m only too happy to jump back into the jeep and back on the safari. I see a number of giraffe, zebra, waterhog, buffalo and birds, but by far my favourite is the huge group of baboons, making their way along the track. They pass right by the jeep and the youngest look so cute dangling in between their mothers’ legs, looking around with curiosity. It’s not just their bottoms that are funny – they play and jump around with each other all the time.

Back at the lodge the staff put on a tribal dance, which could have been fantastic with all the bright colours around the fire in the dark, but unfortunately the lights are turned on, which slightly spoiled the atmosphere. Another huge buffet is then served and once again I go to bed completely stuffed.

2nd February 2007 – Nakuru

After another buffet breakfast, the day gets off to another excellent start as a few lions are protecting their own buffet; a dead zebra. It’s the first time I’ve seen anything like this before and yet I’m not shocked – maybe because it isn’t that close to the jeep. You can only just see the zebra and apart from what seems to be a small blood stain, nothing seems out of the ordinary.

The aim this morning is to get close to Lake Nakuru and see the flamingos. John, one of our two safari drivers, decides that the most direct route is impassable due to the heavy rain; but we soon spot some people who thought otherwise. In the distance, and out in the complete open, are three people with their arms in the air trying to catch our attention.

As we approach, two of them turn and start walking down the muddy track and the third tells us that he’s their driver and they are stuck in the mud. I watch with utter amazement as these two men (who we later discover are an obnoxious and ungrateful German/Dutch pair) walk about 100m back to their abandoned car. You hear quite a few stories of tourists being killed by stepping out of their vehicles and yet these men show no fear (or an incredible amount of stupidity) just a few hundred metres away from where the lions were seen!

After the rescue mission, I’m pleased to see some more monkeys. These are even more playful than the baboons; in particular two small monkeys that were chasing each other around. I catch a few shots but miss the classic one when one of the monkeys performs an impressive body slam from the tree branches down onto his friend!

As the lake becomes closer, the number of animals increases, including ostriches, zebras, different types of birds and of course flamingos.

However, I’m disappointed by the flamingos as the weather has become slightly worse and despite being able to get out of our vehicles (now that we’re in a flat, open terrain), I can’t get the classic, pink flamingo shot. Nonetheless, it’s a perfect opportunity for a group photo, which is probably a good time to describe the group: There are 12 of us in all, including my father. Despite everyone not knowing each other (I knew no one but my father before leaving London), the group has bonded well and there’s a great sense of humour in the camp. Both our drivers are called John and we’re making our way around Kenya in two huge Toyota 4x4s. With the happy snaps taken, the jeeps are on the move again, but not for long as a zebra is spotted on the sand, looking rather motionless. A closer inspection reveals that it is dead and has died recently, most likely from heat exhaustion, poisonous leaves or possibly even from eating too much following a dry spell. The tracks around the corpse show that its last steps were difficult and that it lay struggling for a while before dying.

Returning back the lodge, we see (amongst other things) some more funny baboons and monkeys, a rhino right next to the road and even a hyena, which would probably have been grateful to know about the recently deceased zebra.

I promise myself a smaller lunch, which proves to be difficult as it’s another excellent buffet. The weather has been wet each afternoon and today is no different. However, I take advantage of it this time and jump into the pool, with the locals shocked eyes all on me. It’s absolutely chucking down with African rain; the best kind of swim you can have! Soon after, we jump in the jeeps and head off again.

We go anti-clockwise around the lake this time and climb to the viewpoint. Although impressive, we’ve picked the worst possible time, as visibility is poor and it has started to rain again. The baboons on the cliff edge keep up the entertainment though.

As the weather dries up, we see a hippo in the distance. It’s out in the open and our driver does a remarkable job of keeping up with him despite having to stick to the road tracks. There is a single warning from the hippo, but apart from the odd (rather evil) look, he doesn’t appear to be too bothered about our persistent chasing.

It’s getting late, so John puts his foot down a little to get us back to the lodge. Suddenly, as we’re turning a corner, a rhino appears from nowhere; we’ve clearly startled it as it lets off an aggressive noise and points its horn toward us. We slow down slightly and that’s when the rhino starts charging!

It’s all very dramatic but the charge was only a small warning, done out of fear more than anything else; it was still three or four metres away from us and cautiously walked away when it realised what we were.

Of course, this isn’t the story we relay on our return to the camp: The rhino becomes a black rhino; the charge was fierce and at speed; we were all in imminent danger etc. etc. However, I think Fred (the story teller) may have pushed it a little too far when he explained that a leopard jumped between the jeep and the rhino and saved the day!

3rd February 2007 – Mount Kenya

Another morning of driving quickly passes. There are always plenty of things to see, as poverty is written all over the Kenyan countryside. Part of the journey involves a wet, muddy road. We’ve been in the jeeps for a couple of hours so it’s a welcome rest to stretch our legs and take some shots of the jeeps making their way through the most difficult sections although disappointingly, the drivers avoid the deep water!

Driving through the Springwater region just east of Mount Kenya, there’s suddenly a shout of ‘elephant!’ The jeeps come to a sudden halt and through the trees I see my first African Elephant. And then my second… and then third! One is huge and turns towards us for a closer look. I’m shooting away and just catch enough before he loses interest and wanders away.

We arrive at Ol Pejeta House, which is a luxurious home that sleeps 12. Everything is on another scale: The living room is about twice the size of my own apartment and the gardens extend for acres. However it’s the bedrooms that are unreal. They are all different, some with sitting areas and fires, others with enormous balconies and some that are simply huge; one measured over 200m2! Its bathroom alone was bigger than a normal room with a bathtub around four times the size of a normal one! Everyone is happy and we settle down for some lunch.

We’re served by a very friendly lad called Walter who has the biggest and whitest smile I’ve ever seen. The other is a rather nervous looking girl whose name I didn’t catch. Despite the calm and slow service, I’m actually very pleased with the food. It’s all table service which is a relaxing change following all the (excellent) buffets.

However, this natural, slow rhythm isn’t appreciated by everyone. Some grumble about the speed of the service and most people complain about the quality of the food. I think the better a place is, the more people seem to complain! I’m enjoying every minute of it though; it makes quite a change from my usual holiday: a pizza, a bunk bed and a shared bathroom in some dodgy hostel!

I’m keen to get outside again but once we do, we don’t have the luck we did with the elephant: There are a few animals around, but the rain at lunch seems to have kept the majority hidden. Before we know it, we’re back at the lodge and yet again the food isn’t good enough for some of the others. I understand that you are not always going to be happy with the food, but I think the treatment of Walter (our only waiter for the evening) is nothing short of rude. Personalities are starting to break the surface, or maybe I’m just starting to feel the effects of constant company. Either way, cabin fever is setting in!

4th February 2007 – Mount Kenya

Today I went to the only place in Kenya where you can see the Big Five as well as chimpanzees. I also went to (probably) the only place in the world where you can stroke a black rhino’s horn (in the wild) without being in trouble!

Unfortunately, there doesn’t seem to be any accommodation in the world that is good enough for (some of the people in) the group with whom I’m travelling. Today the number of complaints has increased again.

It has been a mixed day, starting with an excellent breakfast (although not for some of course) and a visit to the chimpanzee sanctuary. As I’m walking along the route to see the chimps, we pass a small marsh area, which has some deep water surrounded by lots of mud. From the water, through the mud and along the path I’m on, there are some huge footprints. I’m quickly told that they are hippo footprints – and apparently quite fresh too!

Further along, we see the numerous chimpanzees that are being protected by the locals. We meet a small Spanish television crew who is taking two years to make just six episodes about nature conservation. Their high definition camera probably costs more than any property in Kenya, but it’s their absurd 1600mm lens that makes me jealous!

Our next destination is Morani’s home. Morani is a black rhino whose parents were killed by poachers. He has had two rhino fights since and lost both, meaning he would die on his own in the wild. For years, the locals have looked after him and allowed tourists to say hello.

We each take our turn touching this huge animal’s back. He’s lying down but we’re warned that although tame, he is a wild animal after all and can act randomly. That’s two tonnes of unpredictability!

I approach and the guide says I should touch his horn. The moment I do, the motionless heap stirs and before we know it, he’s up on his feet, turned towards us and checking us all out. There’s a slight panic as people back away in all directions, but the guide calmly points us which way to go, leaving an empty route for Morani to stretch his legs and find some lunch.

Returning to the lodge for our own lunch and it’s the same story with the service. It’s slow but again I find it a perfect way to relax after this morning’s adventures. Some of the others don’t agree and make their feelings known.

Two or three in the group had one mouthful and then left the whole plate of food, muttering about the incompetence of the staff. I can never forget the phrase I was told as a child in order for me to finish all my food at every meal: ‘Think of the starving African children…’ Somehow, that phrase seems more relevant here!

Unfortunately, yet more rain has kept the animals out of sight in the afternoon, although we do get a great view of some giraffes. Some rhinos also show off their toilet skills with a spray so powerful that it seems they have an industrial pressure hose in their bladders! They then take some pleasure in walking along the road, refusing to move out of the jeep’s way.

The evening meal is just what I’m after, but what started as muttering at lunch, has now become quite loud and frankly I find it embarrassing – so I finish dinner and go straight to bed.

5th February 2007 – Masai Mara

A day of travelling has actually turned out to be very exciting. Heading south of Mount Kenya, we soon stop at the equator. Here, there are a couple of dozen tourist shop ‘huts’, but more importantly, we can watch the ‘equator test’.

It starts with a local showing us that 20 metres south of the equator, the water spins clockwise. We then walk 40 metres to where he says we are in the northern hemisphere and the opposite happens. It’s actually more impressive when he stands on the very point of the equator and the water does not spin in either direction!

The next few hours are hard; the roads are in awful condition and we only have one short break. However, the people along the road always give you something to look at; in particular a long stretch of road where you can buy your potatoes from one woman (and her small box of potatoes) and then you’d have to walk about 500m to the next woman if you wanted another type of vegetable and so on. I suddenly appreciate Sainsbury’s home delivery so much more!

When we get to Nairobi, we drive straight through the centre. It’s lunchtime and the only word I can use to describe it is ‘chaos’. It makes the London underground seem like stroll in the park! I’m not impressed either; it’s dirty and polluted and suddenly rural Kenya doesn’t seem that unappealing after all!

We arrive at the Wilson airport and upon entering, we practically double the number of people in the whole departure lounge. However, we’re efficiently taken through security with just one slight concern about my tripod and another passenger’s penknife – which could both be used as weapons (the absurdity of this soon becomes clear…)

Walking over to the plane, we have to identify our bags, and then jump onboard. I’m too busy taking photos of the smallest plane I’ve ever flown in and before I know it, there’s just one seat left – in the co-pilot’s! It was a great feeling to be at the front, although apart from the take-off and landing, I do wonder whether pilots get quite bored. Our pilot didn’t do too much and he looked quite automated throughout the flight. I did find it funny that the confiscated penknife was left on the ‘dashboard’ between the pilot and me!

The 12-seater plane lands on a dusty airstrip and the only tings in the vicinity are three wooden huts; one is the toilet, one with a hand-written board saying ‘Departure/Arrival Lounge’ and the best, a shack with the words ‘Duty Free Shop‘ on it!

Waiting for us are a couple of Maasai, with their fantastic red clothes and designs shining in the bright sun. We’re told that the relatively short distance to the lodge has been compromised by the heavy rain that has been falling since October. It is supposed to be dry season and yet the plains are green and the tracks are thick of mud and water. It takes nearly two hours to travel to the lodge but it absolutely flies by. We stop to see some hippos in Lake Mara and see the numerous Maasai villagers walking around, some empty handed, some carrying food and some armed with a carved piece of wood!

I expected a dry, brown and dusty landscape and although it’s a shame not to see that, the 4×4 journey certainly makes up for it. Grinding our way through the deep water, the jeeps are climbing over all angles with its passengers flying around like rag dolls!

We have been told that the final lodge is the most luxurious of all. If ever there was an understatement..!

The lodges (Saruni Lodge) remind me of the kind of accommodation that Indiana Jones would choose in the 1940s; the location is just outside the Mara National Reserve in South East Kenya, lost in the hills with a stunning view to the west into the Masai plains.

Best of all, is that everyone who works there is an actual local Maasai! In fact, for the 12 of us (there are six double lodges in the whole place), there are an incredible 48 Maasai on call to help! This is particularly useful since the lodge has no fences, no boundaries and no way of preventing animals (lions too) from walking right up to your lodge!

It’s so surreal having to flash a light at your front door so that a Masai Warrior can accompany you to the main communal area! At any time, a lion could approach and the only thing in its way would be your Masai guide! I’m not sure how reassuring it is that his only weapon is a pointy stick!

After a great dinner, I’m escorted back to the lodge (!) and ready for my first night in the wild…

6th February 2007 – Masai Mara

It’s supposed to be an early start for a game drive but the weather was really wet last night again, which means we’re no better off leaving early. Furthermore, the rain has made the roads even worse.

Eleven of us set out (one staying at the lodge due to some… er… stomach problems) and we’re bouncing up and down across the Masai Mara. There are plenty of animals to be seen, as well as all the local Maasai (including one small child actually being stalked by some vulctures!) but what makes this really special is that our Maasai drivers are free to drive wherever they want. This means that when we see something, we can drive straight off the track and zoom toward it – rather than letting my camera do all the zooming.

It doesn’t take too long before we do so, as in the distance we can see some elephants running around. As we approach, we realise that one male is chasing a female and is rather determined!

They are absolutely huge and stampeding around in such a random fashion that it’s important for us to be able to quickly drive away if things become dangerous.

The male elephant finally caught its mate and lifted the front of its enormous body metres into the air, landing on the back of the female. The elephants both let off an ear-piercing screech which sounded nothing like your stereotypical elephant trumpet. If anything, it sounded all rather painful for the female, who slipped away from the male’s grasp and then started charging in our direction! They were probably about 100m away and fast approaching. Although in a prime position, the situation was becoming a little risky so our driver decided to move to a different position so we could safely watch this pornographic display.

You can guess what happened next.

The wheels spun but the soggy, thick mud offered no grip whatsoever. Even with four wheel drive, there was no hope; we had sunk deeper and were well and truly stuck.

All heads snapped back to the approaching elephants and we all breathed a sigh of relief as the female turned towards some trees, with her number one fan eagerly following behind.

There were some small trumpets from the trees, and some rustling of branches and leaves that wouldn’t have been out of place in a Carry On film, but it seemed like we were out of danger.

The driver stepped out of the jeep and took a look at the situation. Suddenly, a deafening growl came from the trees. The driver’s reaction was hilarious – he seemed to whisper, almost mouth, the word ‘lion’, as if trying to convince himself what he heard was real! Within seconds, he was back in the jeep and all eyes were on the trees just 50m away. Then, a second growl came. However, although it sounded similar to the first, the driver relaxed, saying that it was simply the elephants mating!

The next 20 minutes involved a rescue mission, so as the natural sounds continued to come from the trees, the second jeep pulled us from the mud.

Safe on firm ground, we continued to watch some of the other elephants, including a mother with its tiny baby, who was hiding under its mother’s trunk.

There are plenty of other animals to be seen too. A large herd of buffalo keep us entertained and it almost seems normal to be surrounded by zebras. It’s strange, but each day that passes makes you more accustomed to your environment and each day I’m longing to see more extravagant things. I think I summed it up quite well (albeit rather sadistically) when asked what I wanted to see next: Chasing, blood and death!

There’s a quick stop to rescue yet another stuck vehicle, but soon afterwards we have a real break. We’re in the middle of nowhere and the two jeeps stop side by side; we’re all told to get out and make ourselves comfortable. The thought of being ambushed by a pack of lions soon disappears when the Maasai reveal a huge picnic for us all! Despite the strong sun and dehydration, I simply can’t resist a beer in the wild!

This rather surreal situation makes me think of a potential Kitkat advert, in which a chap jumps out into the African plain, alerting all the nearby lions. ‘Snap’ goes the chocolate bar and he’s saved, as the lions all join him for a break. The ambience suddenly changes when he swallows the last piece…

Following the meal (and the obligatory photos with the Maasai), we’re back on the ‘road‘ and heading back to the lodge. We’ve travelled quite a distance today but the road is never tiresome; the views are fantastic and every few minutes we pass a local Maasai. It has been a great day of safari.

7th February 2007 – Masai Mara

Today has been one of the most shocking, eye-opening and thrilling days of my life. It has also given me the opportunity to test out my photography skills and has certainly given me the most rewarding shots of the trip so far.

The plan is to head out early and spend as much time game watching as possible. The Masai guides are asking what we would like to see so they can plan the day as efficiently as possible, especially as the weather hasn’t helped our cause too much so far. What also hasn’t helped is that there are still a few in the group who seem to be more bothered about when lunch and dinner will be. We appear to be planning our safari around when some people want to be back at the lodge! It all seems a bit backwards to me and fortunately a few speak up and say we want to see animals, animals, animals – who cares when we eat!

The difference in scenery is clear: By setting off earlier, there is far more wildlife and we’ve also caught the time of day when visibility and landscapes are really eye-catching.

Passing the locals is always interesting and despite quite a long drive on the ever-deteriorating roads, there’s not a moment when I’m not enthralled.

First on our checklist is a leopard. It’s the only one of the Big Five that we’ve yet to see and the guides know of a potential spot (pun!) to see some.

We’re in luck: Deep in the tree’s branches lies a single leopard. I take loads of shots but he barely moves. It’s a shame but we’re all very happy to have completed the Big Five. As the guide is whispering facts to us, my father suggests that he will step from the jeep so he can film from a better angle. I look at him with despair, hoping that he’s joking. His face is deadly serious and he’s preparing to step out.

‘Stai scherzando!?’ Are you joking?
‘No.’
‘Ma non hai sentito cos’ha detto due minuti fa?’ You didn’t hear what he said two minutes ago?
‘No.’
‘La madre del leopardo – sotto l’albero – solo qualche metro dalla macchina!’ The leopard’s mother is at the bottom of the tree – just a few metres from the car!
‘Veramente!?’ Really!?

I’m nodding in disbelief and my father is either acting very convincingly or he’s just realised how serious his mistake could have been!

Next, we come across some hyenas that appear to be circling a group of springbucks. However, they don’t appear to be making much of an effort and they start moving into the opposite direction. The springbucks’ reactions are sublime. There’s tension in the air and yet they all stand motionless, reserving their energy unless absolutely necessary. One hyena passes right by a springbuck as if he wasn’t there and there’s a huge part of me willing the hyenas to crave some breakfast!

However, my telepathic attempts fail and it seems that the hyenas aren’t in the mood for working for their food. They suddenly pick up their pace and we quickly get the jeeps in gear, hoping that they’ve smelled something that we clearly can’t.

A few hundred metres away, we get a second hint that something is either dead or dying. There are vultures in the air, circling something hidden in the bushes.

The excitement builds and we’re overwhelmed when we see a fully grown male lion, hovering over a dead carcass. I can’t recognise the torn mess of flesh and bones, but our driver says it’s a dead hippo. We’re told that the lion will have been pushed out from its pride and that it’s struggling to survive on its own. It’s unlikely that it killed the hippo and there are moments when the lion turns and I can see how skinny he is. He isn’t the only one with a free meal through – every inch of the carcass is absolutely covered with flies.

I’m mesmerised and whilst watching, the lion’s head suddenly lifts; its eyes focusing far beyond the hippo. I follow its gaze and see that it has already noticed a jeep about 300m away, whose driver has momentarily left the vehicle. It dawns upon me how real this is and that there is nothing preventing the lion from approaching us, just a few metres away.

A short while later, the lion steps away from its meal and into some thick grass. Its head is only just visible and it’s unbelievable how camouflaged he is. He lowers his head and disappears. He is just a few metres away and yet you’d never know it. Just one step out of the jeep and he’d be on you before you noticed he was even there.

This makes the next stop quite amusing. A few in the jeep need a toilet break and unlike the men who can stand behind the jeep, the ladies require a little more privacy. We stop at some bushes and the driver says it’s safe; no lions there! They must be quite desperate to go; without a second thought, the ladies start to climb from the jeep. The next moment was a blur: A hyena jumped from the bushes and the women were shrieking themselves back into the jeeps! We all erupt in laughter and the hysterics continue when we approach a second set of bushes and a couple more hyenas step out into the open! Disbelief and adrenalin must have been the only reason why the ladies approved the third set of bushes and they were still laughing when they returned to the jeep with their newly-found tribal name: ‘Pissing With Hyenas’!

Next on the agenda is a visit to a local Masai village. Unlike some, this village hasn’t been (completely) commercialised and we can actually walk around and talk to the locals without feeling like it’s just an outdoor museum.

We’re first treated to a dance by the village’s women which has a haunting but catchy chant. However, it’s the village’s children that make this so surreal.

The village is a circle of homes, inside which is the grazing area for the livestock during the night. It’s therefore thick with mud and faeces, but most shocking of all is the lack of toilets, so it’s not just in the cattle’s excrement that we’re walking.

The children are huddled together, eagerly awaiting the gifts of pens, pads of paper and tennis balls and for the first time in my life I’m testing my portrait photography. I’ve seen countless images of third world country poverty and I’m well and truly immersed in it. I want to capture every single memory.

There’s one child who isn’t allowed any gifts. He cried earlier in the day, which is a Masai sign of weakness and he is now being punished. Separated from the group, he now watches from the other side of the village.

Unbeknownst to me, the others are getting a tour of one of the Masai homes, so I catch up and my father and I are lucky enough to get our own interview with Philip, one of the guides who grew up in such a village. The facts are shocking: Each woman has their own home which has one room for the cattle, and one open-plan room with two beds, separated by a fire-place. My ‘open-plan’ description makes it sound like a studio apartment. The reality is that the house is made of cow manure and mud, compressed together to form the walls and roof. There’s a tiny hole which allows a little light in and the smoke from the fire out. The beds too are made of manure, with a plastic sheet over the top. One bed is for the woman and the other for the husband, who usually has more than one wife. Depending on with which wife the husband chooses to sleep that night, the children will sleep in their father’s unused bed.

As I sit inside this ‘hut’, listening to Philip tell us how the days are passed, I can’t help wonder how this can still exist. It’s not like they don’t know about modern technology. It’s definitely not because they don’t have the ability to ‘evolve’. They simply choose to live this way.

I exit the home that’s barely tall enough to stand in and as I’m swamped with flies, a local boy starts talking to me. He speaks well but I find it hard to communicate. I feel embarrassed that this is his life.

I ask him about some of the objects they use as tools. One, he tells me, is a drinking container. They fill it with cow blood and milk. Other jewellery items are made from cow’s bone. I’m trying to learn and understand more about the Maasai, but all that’s racing through my mind is whether there’s anything they can’t make without a cow!

I ask about a weapon which is shaped like a thigh bone, heavy and rounded at one end. He says it’s for killing lions in self defence. I’m shocked. One hit around the lion’s head and he tells me that would kill it. I pause whilst I build up the courage to ask, ‘What if you miss!?’

He looks at me blankly and I’m not sure whether he didn’t understand my question or whether he couldn’t fathom the idea of missing!

We say our goodbyes and head back to the lodge; the Maasais have put on a tribal dance for us all, which is the stereotypical image I had in my mind of Maasais before I came to Africa. It’s the last night with them, so I’m intrigued to find out more. Speaking with one of the Maasais, he tells me that most children could spear an animal from 40m by the time they are teenagers. The Maasai then explodes with laughter when he learns that my father has one wife and just two children.

‘I have two wife! I have twelve children!’ He shouts with pride.

I return to my room; it’s another early start tomorrow and I’ve much to contemplate in my last night in this lodge.

8th February 2007 – Masai Mara, Nairobi

The day starts like every day should: I get a 30 minute body massage from a Masai Warrior!

I’m revived and anxious to be out again. There’s a slight delay as one of the jeeps is stuck again. We’re kept entertained by one of the Masais who chases the ever-playful Sarikoki (the tame eland who resides at the lodges) away with a branch. We’re returning to the airstrip and once again I’m captivated all the way. It’s not very often you enjoy a two-hour drive to an airport! Then again, it’s not very often that you’re halfway to an airport and you get a radio call saying to turn back a mile as there’s a herd of 28 giraffes to see!

The weather is fantastic today so we get a cracking view of the giraffes and it’s only our pending plane journey that pulls us away from nature.

At the airstrip, the sun in unforgiving and we shelter in the departure ‘hut’ lounge. I start talking to a local and it turns out he works in the ‘duty free’ shop and his gentle sales technique convinces me to look around. I decide to buy some gifts for my girlfriend and we start to haggle over price. He’s refusing to budge on price but then takes a fancy to my Nike baseball cap.; He offers me loads of free gifts in exchange for the cap and it’s only when I tell him it’s my girlfriend’s cap that he understands why I can’t exchange it! After all, I don’t think the following would go down too well: ‘I got you a present! I swapped your cap for it!’

We finally agree on a price and he wins a happy customer.

I then notice one Maasai using a mobile phone. It’s a surreal moment for me and it makes for one of my favourite photos of the trip.

After a slight delay (the lack of electricity and communications means we never really know if or when the plane was coming!) we set off back to Nairobi. For a short while we’re flying low across the African plains and the view is simply outstanding.

Strangely, during the drive from the airport back to our starting point, Nairobi doesn’t seem as dirty and chaotic as a few days ago.

After a short break at the hotel, we take a wander around the local market. Being practically the only tourists there, the stall workers fight for our attention. Some play games and enjoy the hustle, but others are clearly working hard to make a living and don’t take too kindly to our playful attitudes. I have an idea of speaking just in Italian only to be completely shocked when the hard sell continues in Italian! It works out best just shaking your head to everyone.

However, I do have my eye on one item and following a lengthy negotiation, I finally get it at the price I want. Unfortunately, once the other stalls see that you do have money to spend, the hassling becomes relentless. Out of pure curiosity, I ask for the price of a photo album and after laughing at his original quote (in the region of around £150!) his final price suddenly drops to just £5! It’s an absolute joke and I leave the market. However, the salesman isn’t defeated – he follows me for about 50m along the road, often blocking my route. What started as entertaining has suddenly become quite threatening. I finally convince him that I’m not changing my mind and all I’m left wondering is how many tourists would have just paid him to leave them alone.

We’ve a special treat in the evening, as we are driven to the other side of Nairobi, to a game restaurant. Walking to our table, I pass the ‘kitchen‘, which can only be described as a vegetarian’s worst nightmare!

The waiter explains that food will continue to arrive at the table until we lower our flag (we’re actually given a mini flag!) to accept that we’re beaten!

There’s no question whether I’ll try some of every animal on the menu (rump steak, lamb chops, leg of lamb, beef sausages, lemon & herb chicken, pork sausages, leg of pork, chicken livers, turkey, chicken wings, chicken gizzards, pork spare ribs, crocodile and ostrich meat balls!) although I’m surprised how much I dislike the crocodile. It’s really unpleasant so I ensure I make up for it with an extra helping of ostrich!

We’re all absolutely stuffed and despite the extra weight, the journey back doesn’t seem half as long and we all retire to our rooms.

9th February 2007 – Nairobi

And so it is the beginning of the end. It’s the last day on this eventful trip and I’m back where I started in the Westlands, Nairobi.

Despite the forthcoming eight hour flight back home, there’s one more surprise in store and it’s another one which practically keeps my finger permanently held on the shutter release button.

The David Sheldrick Wildlife Trust (www.sheldrickwildlifetrust.org) is more commonly known as the elephant orphanage made famous by Daphne Sheldrick on the BBC’s ‘Elephant Diaries’. It’s only open to visitors for a short period of time each day and subsequently it’s absolutely packed full of tourists, eagerly trying to get on the front row to watch the playful elephants.

First on parade are the youngest of the elephants. Just a few months old, they are learning like sponges, touching and playing with everything they see. It’s wonderful to watch and even better when they come up close and inspect you, allowing you to stroke their hard and dusty skin.

There are also some waterhogs, but the main attraction is the elephants and I can’t take my eyes off them. The weather is exactly as I expected it to be before arriving in Africa: The sun is strong, bright and making the colours brighter than they have been all holiday.

Suddenly, a huge group of local children arrive, smartly dressed in their school uniforms. It’s incredible to see their reactions. They clearly have never interacted with animals such as these before and there’s a nervous curiosity amongst the group. Earlier in the holiday, we were told that African children are often taken on such tours, to try and teach them about wildlife so that when they grow up they too can continue the excellent conservational work.

The baby elephants are then taken away and they are replaced by the stampeding teenagers: The ambience changes completely and it’s as if the older elephants are celebrating their free time to the tune of Alice Cooper’s ‘School’s Out’!

They splash around in the water and mud, throwing dust all over themselves and the rangers. They become more and more rowdy and start falling onto each other as if helplessly rolling around in hysterics.

The children also enjoy the theatrics, but it’s even funnier when the elephants approach and fear grips the children as they huddle together for safety! One child in particular, is crouching on the ground, with his head held firmly between his arms! It’s a wonderful sight and typically it’s when my memory card is full. I scramble for a spare memory card but the moment has gone, although the children are suddenly intrigued by my camera equipment. Some smile for photos and others just look completely confused by the whole experience!

Our stay at the orphanage ends and on our way out there’s a chance to speak to some of the rangers, including Daphne’s own daughter, who also works there. However, she refuses to be filmed and shakes her head in a miserable manner, stating ‘I don’t do filming’…

Nonetheless, it doesn’t spoil the visit and my final memories of Kenya are of the beautiful elephants and the comical reactions from the local African children.

Final thought: I wish to thank those on the trip who made this possible. The group with whom I travelled were fantastic and the knowledge and history that I learned from those in the group who used to live in Kenya, made the holiday unique. A special thanks to Brenda for her enthusiasm, organisation and relentless effort to ensure we all had the best possible time. Thank you!

My first few hours in the Czech Republic have been a bit of a rollercoaster ride. Arriving early and easily finding the way to the centre of Prague was a relief; I’m here with Emma for just three days and I want to make the most of it.

I booked two nights at the Irish Club Hostel. Its website insisted it really was a lovely place to stay and had some great photos to boast. However, I think I’m going to have to start being a bit pickier about where I stay in future: All the doors are locked, there are no lights and no sign of life. On a positive note, there is a small sticker with a telephone number that guests can ring. We’re told to wait 10 minutes…

An hour and several calls later, there’s still no one to help and I’m getting very angry and impatient. A wander around the block doesn’t help as there are no other hotels nearby. Just as I’m ready to catch a taxi to the nearest hotel, a text message tells me that there’s a problem and no one can arrive for a couple of hours. ‘Go get a coffee and come back at 2pm. Very sorry.’ It says.

Fortunately, there’s a cracking pizzeria around the corner and the time flies, with some absurdly cheap pizzas and beers. The hostel is open on our return and I’m too relieved to argue. After dumping our things, we head to the city centre.

Walking through the Letná park and the Jewish area in the old town, I’m already forgetting about the problems at the hostel. The weather is holding up and Prague is not the overcrowded city that I’ve been warned about. We head towards the main square (I’m stopped by a friendly chap asking me how he can turn off his camera flash!) and already I’m ready to climb the Old Town Hall tower There seems to be something magnetic between tall buildings and me – it’s all I ever seem to do when I’m somewhere new!

Unfortunately, the security guard isn’t keen on the idea of my tripod accompanying me up the tower. He wants me to leave it with him. Funnily enough, he doesn’t ask what is in my rucksack. For all he knows, I could have a rifle and I’m paying the 100czk so that I can have some target practice. I guess he thinks it’d be all too easy with a tripod.

Anyway, Emma isn’t a fan of heights so she guards the tripod whilst I go up. The climb itself is pretty impressive and the views are fantastic especially as Prague doesn’t seem to have been ruined by too many modern buildings.

Back at ground level, we decide it’s time for a beer stop – we are in the Czech Republic after all! The pubs are absolutely everywhere, but they are all quite unique and with a selection of interesting looking lagers. Inside one, I’ve got one eye on the choice of beers and another on an old man who is sitting on his own, propped up by one hand and a cigarette in the other. He has a depressed gaze, which doesn’t change at all each time he struggles to take another sip of his beer. I really want to talk to him but Emma is already uncomfortable enough that I’m surreptitiously taking photos.

The day has passed quickly and it’s already dark outside. I’m not a big fan of tours, especially when we’re stretched for time, but the ‘Ghost Walk’ does sound quite appealing. It starts around the corner so we join the small group. The tour guide speaks with a quiet voice, often making jokes to herself that she seems to love. The ghost stories are just as you’d expect and the occasional surprise appearance of a ‘guest ghost’ keeps us all amused, but the best part of the tour is actually the route she takes us. The cobbled streets are narrow and winding. Every building, from private homes to commercial buildings, restaurants and bars, has its own sense of style and you really can’t get bored just walking around.

It’s not particularly late, but we’re starving, so we look around for a restaurant. The choice is massive but we hit the jackpot with a tiny little place with just four tables and a waiter in a tuxedo offering us one of the best meals I’ve had in years. The red wine, from Southern Czech Republic, goes straight to my head and by the time we’re done I feel like I could take on the locals in a drinking competition! However, my legs aren’t up to it and 19 hours after we first woke to head for the airport, the next stop is the hostel.

12th January 2007 – Praha

After a well-needed rest, it’s time to go to Prague’s castle on the west side of the river. The castle is impressive, although once again I’m told off by security. This time it’s an over-enthusiastic guard who doesn’t like me opening the windows to take photos. He’s pretty well armed so I close the window and give him the thumbs up.

Everywhere I go, I’m told not to use flash and I’m constantly reminded that I’m not allowed to use my tripod. I think it’s a bit over the top, especially as one has to pay to get a ‘photo sticker’ allowing you to take photos. Things get even more ridiculous in one area of the castle where I’m told I have to hand in my backpack (with all my camera equipment) before going any further. I refuse and subsequently don’t get to see that part of the castle.

The Lonely Planet guide book says that the Golden Lane is over-rated, but I couldn’t disagree more. The shops are built into the castle wall and are very picturesque. Just next to it is the torture dungeon, with some horrible-looking devices that would have anyone screaming for a lawyer.

After a quick lunch, we head further south towards the Mala Strana area. It seems less touristy than the east side of the river, but I think this is just because it has fewer pubs for the groups of beer-guzzling groups of lads! I particularly like a narrow path we come across, which is so tight that it has its own traffic lights for pedestrians!

Before this trip, I read about a wall which has been dedicated to John Lennon. People are allowed to write their messages for the late musician and although the guide book opted to omit it from their things to see in Prague, I really wanted to. However, this holiday has sprung up rather quickly and I completely forgot to find out where it was in Prague. So you can imagine my delight when we took a wrong turn and found it! It was much bigger than I expected and the graffiti ranged from the odd lyric and scribble, to large colourful pictures and even a 3d mould. The only downside is that I had the song Imagine stuck in my head for the rest of the afternoon!

We see the memorial to lives lost to communism and then take the funicular up to the top of Mala Strana (thanks to the very kind couple who gave us spare change, when the funicular staff wouldn’t!) There’s a tall lookout point and a mirror maze that unfortunately are both only open at the weekend. Nonetheless, the view from the hill is superb and we stroll back down towards the Little Quarter. There’s an inviting café with some funky decorations so we have a break and have a round of coffee then beers.

After a day and a half of being in Prague, we finally go towards the Charles Bridge. I’m determined to get a classic shot of the bridge. I’ve seen some very good ones, but most of them are taken in thick fog, or with particular characters on the bridge itself. I’m out of luck since it’s a clear evening and the bridge is absolutely full of drunk tourists on their way to bars.

I think the camera-phone is going to create some kind of step in human evolution, since everyone seems to walk around with their right arm extended, oblivious of anything around them except what’s on their two-inch camera screen.

The surplus water, coffee and beer is taking its toll and we’re both keen to find a toilet. Apart from at the castle, every toilet stop is charged, with rates from a pointless 2kr all the way up to a rather steep10kr (bearing in mind that half a litre of beer costs around 25kr!) Mind you, there’s so much dog piss all over the streets, a few drunks taking a pit stop wouldn’t make much difference!

A woman’s absurdly loud laugh forces an English couple to complain at our next restaurant. It doesn’t bother me though as I plough my way through another meal. Once again, the beer is strong and I boldly claim that I’m going to get up early and walk (half an hour) to the Charles Bridge for a dawn photograph. We jump in a cab (make sure you get an AAA taxi in Prague – we nearly made the mistake of choosing another company at three times the price) and head to the hostel in the hope that an early(ish) night will help me wake at 5am.

13th January 2007 – Praha

6am. Charles Bridge, Prague. I wouldn’t mind if I knew when dawn was going to break. Or if it wasn’t so damn cold. Fortunately, there’s practically no one here. It’s not surprising really…

At 07.12 I take my first photo. Dawn has clearly passed; it’s just that the clouds are so thick it is blocking most of the light. I’m disappointed and yet quite chuffed. The difference between this morning and last night on this famous location is unbelievable. It really lets you appreciate it and although I didn’t get anything near the classic orange horizon I was hoping for, I would have kicked myself if I hadn’t tried. After all, I didn’t come here to sleep!

It also lets you appreciate coffee when you find a bar open and you’re numb from the cold! After a long, slow and warm breakfast, we walk northbound towards the castle. Yesterday, we missed out the Saint Vitus Cathedral and apparently there’s another great tower to climb! And great it is. Nearly 300 non-stop steps but the view is worth every one.

The plan was to head back towards the Petrin tower and the mirror maze, but rather than go down from the castle and then go up the funicular, we take the direct route up the hill. Unfortunately it is so tiring that the prospect of climbing a further 60m up the viewpoint isn’t quite so appealing! We entertain ourselves in the small mirror maze and then decide to head down the hill again. Once again find ourselves in the same coffee bar as yesterday, but it’s a brief stop before entering the St. Nicholas Church. Inside is some impressive ceiling art, but it’s the golden statues that really stick out. However, it’s not too long before I start thinking about food again…

The guide book says there’s a good pizza joint in the new town. Funnily enough, the new town is actually about 700 years old; it’s just that it was named long after the old town had been established! The pizza restaurant is brilliant too; delicious food and once again the strong beer is tastier than anything you’d find in London.

We decide to take the underground back to the hostel, whose platforms remind me of the Russian subway, albeit a little less glamorous. Before we know it we’re back at Prague’s airport and once again I’m cursing the stupidity of those in authority. For some reason, we’re told that our water bottle has to be thrown away before entering the gate (the hand luggage is scanned at the gate). However, anyone who has purchased duty free, is allowed to take it onboard. This seems rather illogical to me, since I would assume that if you have the knowledge and ability to get your hands on liquid explosives, then you probably have the know-how to seal it in a bottle of Tia Maria…

For this trip, I haven’t been quite so organised. There are two reasons. Firstly, my pen isn’t working and secondly because catching a 06.45 flight has made me so tired, I can barely hold my eyes open, let alone hold a pen.

The first day of Austria’s road trip started with the early flight to Salzburg. The weather was sunny, clear blue skies and we have no trouble picking up our Volkswagen Polo and starting the adventure.

Right from the first kilometer, we see stereotypical Austrian scenes: There are the flower-covered wooden homes, women dressed in traditional clothing and everything is so clean!

Despite this, Austrian road signs are awful! We get completely lost, end up in the middle of Salzburg and it takes us at least half an hour to get to our bed & breakfast.

The house is enormous. Its view across Salzburg is outstanding. Better still, we’re greeted by the smallest little Austrian old lady you could ever imagine! She doesn’t speak a word of English, so my awful German phrases are put to the test (curse the damn English education system!)

The room is just what we need, but despite the temptation to catch up on sleep, we drop off our stuff and take the short walk down to the train station.

A few minutes on the (very efficient and modern) train and we’re in the central station.

Heading south down Rainerstrasser, we aim for the Old Town. It’s a Unesco World Heritage Site and you can see why. The cobbled streets wind their way through some lovely buildings and despite the mass of tourists, I really like it.

We’re starving, so we find a restaurant that claims that Mozart used to dine there (I’m sure they all do ) and I have an incredibly strong garlic soup, followed by garlic, onion and pepper pizza! Emma’s pizza has lots of weird-looking vegetables on it.

We gobble it all up and go further south to the castle. Refusing to pay for the lift, we climb up to the top. The views are very good: You can see across the whole of Salzburg.

After the descent, we go to St. Peterskirche. The churchyard houses the entrance to the Katacomben, which was a little disappointing after our rather long search for it.

We explored the area a little more and found a square with a huge chess set. We watched as an old man comfortably beat a young chap at chess and then we went for a coffee.

We’re so tired, that Emma actually falls asleep at the table! It’s still early but we decide to head back towards the station. On the way, we got to the Schloss Mirabell. Greek statues and amazing flower displays all make a stunning setting, especially with the castle in the distance. I haven’t seen the Sound of Music (shame on me) but apparently this garden features heavily.

At this point we’re absolutely shattered, so we make our way back.

Despite it being on about 19.30, we need a bit of rest. I lie on the bed stating that I just need “a couple of hours to wake myself up…”

26th August 2006 – Salzburg, Salzkammergut, Zell am See

12 hours later, we wake up! I’m completely revitalized, but it’s unbelievable how shattered I was yesterday!

The plan was to leave Salzburg straight away this morning. However, we cut the day short yesterday so we still have a bit to see.

After a delicious breakfast, served by the delightfully friendly old woman, we drive back into town (trying not to run over any of the dozens of rabbits that they keen (in and around a hutch the size of our room).

We park centrally, I eat a chocolate croissant and we find ourselves walking up yet another steep hill! This time it’s on the north side of the river Salzach.

From the top of the hill, at the Kapuzinerkloster, the view is spectacular across the river and towards the castle. The local homeless people agree: Each viewpoint is clearly their bed for the night. It’s a shame really, as there are beer cans, sleeping bags and dirty rucksacks preventing you from standing in the ‘guard points’ of the city.

We get back to the car and quickly head eastbound. It doesn’t take long before we arrive the Salzkammergut lakes. They are beautiful and everything I have hoped for in this trip.

We meandered around the lakes stopping occasionally for photos and a couple of times for me to go paddling. Although it is a bit chilly, if I had a towel, I’d go for a swim. The water is just so incredibly clean and inviting it’s unreal.

At one point, I slam on the brakes as I see a perfect photo opportunity. I pull over and take what I hope is a great shot of an old man sitting on a bench in a field. When I return to the car, I turn the ignition and the most ear-piercing siren frightens the life out of us. I wait a second, looking around the car, but the noise gets louder. ‘Turn it off!’ screams Emma, probably thinking the same as me, that the engine is about to blow. I turn the key and the car is off, but the noise continues. Opening the door, we see from where the sound is coming. There appears to be a church-like building, emitting what sounds like an air raid warning!

We’re relieved but confused and when the noise stops after a minute, we drive on, jotting down the name of the building in the hope of finding out what on earth it was for. (update: we think it was the local fire station)

Before we know it, it’s lunchtime so we turn down a few places before finally settling for a lakeside restaurant. We adore the set menu, but he number of wasps is ridiculous, They’re everywhere, but most interestingly, one which flew into the sugar and munched away for about 20 minutes before flying off, no doubt at twice the speed!

Just before we set off, we use some public toilets (they are absolutely everywhere! Free toilets seem to be a top priority for the Austrian tourist board!)

We keep following the road around the lakes and god through some lovely villages. Most houses have their own ‘section’ on the lake, but occasionally there are areas left for the public, which means we stop quite often. Although we’re doing quite a lot of driving, it doesn’t actually feel that way.

In one town, we notice that there are a rather large number of small cards. They look like mini racing cards are all dressed up in unique ways. The brightly coloured vehicles are parked, on behind the other, blocking a side of road for a good 200m. I run down the road to see what is happening and at the front I find an announcer; the anticipation from the gathering crowd is high and it seems as if the start gun is about to be fired, signaling their race into the Alps!

We soon find ourselves in Bad Ischl. We were going to spend the night here on our first itinerary and we’re glad that plans were changed, It feels much more commercial and completely unlike the previous 100km.

We head west as we need to get to Werfen. There are some ice caves there and we’re running out of time. However, before we find the caves, a stunning, almost fairytale-like castle appears in the distance. We park at the bottom and get the cable car all the way to the top. It’s lucky we did too, as the castle itself has some very well organised tours, which involve a ridiculous amount of walking from the depths of the castle where the prisoners were thrown into well-like holes, to the peak of the watch tower – with great views of the castle and the surrounding area. We also see the birds kept at the castle, including some enormous eagles.

The tour takes around two hours and they are starting to close it down for the day, so we take the cable car back to our car and set off further west to our final destination of the day: Zell am See.

It takes quite a while to get there, which is a pain because we know we have to do the same road back again to see the ice caves.

We were warned by ‘Eugene’ that the drive up to the bed & breakfast was a little too steep and hard to navigate for a two wheel drive vehicle. Of course, I take this as a challenge! When we arrive, I consider heeding his warning… it’s ridiculously steep and made of dirt and gravel, but that doesn’t stop me! I rev the engine and fly up it, thinking that I’ve only got a couple of turns to make. Emma is really panicking and I must admit, when the wheels start spinning and I have to stop, even I’m a little concerned! The rear wheels are incredibly near a large drop, but fortunately I get some grip and start moving again. It ended up being about eight tight corners, so when we see the gorgeous house, looking over Zell am See and the lake, it’s a great relief.

It’s worth the effort though, as Eugene, from Dublin, greets us with a fantastic welcome. He shows us around his home; our room is unbelievable and the living area is great. There’s a bar (appropriately named ‘The Honest Bar’) so we grab a couple of Guinnesses and have a chat with Eugene. He’s been there four years and it’s all for the skiing! They are open in summer and winter (the whole town becomes a ghost town in spring and autumn) and you can see why it’s popular. There are mountains every side of us; it’s an adventurer’s heaven! It’s already quite late and we have our longest day tomorrow, so we go to bed.

27th August 2006 – Zell am See, Werfer, Großglockner, Klagenfurt

Eugene’s breakfast is great, but we set off early as we’ve got the get back to Werfen for the ice caves. We couldn’t have picked a better day for it too, as it’s pouring with rain, so a bit of shelter is just what we need!

The driveway isn’t quite as bad going downhill and before we know it, we’re arriving in Werfen, only to find the ice caves are up a mountain. We get to the car pack which is around 950m high. Then there’s a 20 minute hike, a frighteningly steep and wobbly cable car ride, followed by another 20 minute struggle to get to 1775m! And that’s just the entrance!

The caves are 42km deep, but we’re allowed to explore just the first, which involves 700 steps up and then another 700 back down. Inside, a full history is given; this includes how the first explorers found it and how the incredible ice formations are created. Including the walks, the whole tour takes over three hours, so we haven’t got time to see the waterfalls, west of Zell am See, that Eugene recommended to us.

Instead, we head to the road I’ve been looking forward to for the whole holiday: Großglockner strasse. It takes you through the Alps, past the Großglockner peak at just under 4,000m.

We have lunch before the climb and then are charged €26 to enter the Großglockner region. You can see why it’s famous. Apparently it’s one of the world’s finest road journeys; however, the weather hasn’t improved much since this morning, so all the best views are blocked by thick clouds. Nonetheless, it’s fun to drive through the clouds, never knowing what is around the next corner!

We stop frequently, even though I don’t take too many photos. Really it’s a chance for a breather and a chat to the bulls and cows.

We also stop to have a play in the snow. We’re driving at around 2,500m so it’s pretty cold! The sun tries to creep through, which makes for some stunning rainbows; unfortunately they each only last a few seconds before fading away.

After a couple of hours, we reach the edge of Großglockner. It is surrounded by a river glacier, which is incredible to say the least. Crawling around the shrubs of grass are also some marmites. They’re cute, but just look like squashed rabbits.

We start the descent, which is surprisingly quick. There’s a little town that represents the end of the Großglockner strasse, so we stop to refuel on food and drink. It looks like the car needs a rest too, as smoke bellows out of the bonnet! My initial thought was that I’ve just over-used the brakes on the way down and just as I’m popping the bonnet, a friendly German comes over to investigate. He tells me that he sees it all the time; it’s definitely the brakes!

The remaining descent from the Alps is very pretty. The weather has improved and the typical Austrian village pop up every ten minutes. However, we’ve still got a long way to go, so we jump on the tedious motorway and make our way to Klagenfurt.

It’s a bit of a struggle finding our accommodation and it’s a bit of a disappointment when we do. We know we booked a youth hostel, but rather than a double room, they’ve given us a dorm all to ourselves!

We dump our stuff, have a pizza at the local restaurant (we really need to lay off the pizzas from now on) and hit the sack.

28th August 2006 – Worthersee, Graz

We wake early and immediately make our way to Worthersee. It’s west of Klagenfurt and our plan is to drive around the whole lake. Like the second day, the weather is holding up, but not quite warm enough to go into the lake, as inviting as it seems.

We stop to watch an old man feed the little birds (never have I seen such tame birds) ducks and fish!

Travelling clockwise around the lake, we stop at Maria Worth, which is a nightmare parking zone. Whilst looking around its cute church, we notice there’s a viewing point a few kilometers south. It’s worth the detour, as the 465m high tower sticks out of the hills’ treetops, allowing a beautiful view north over the lake and south into Slovenia! We suddenly realise how close we are to Lake Bled, where we were 10 months ago!

After watching a goat teach its kid how to fight with its horns, we continue our journey. The further we travel, the more touristy the area becomes, especially on the west side of the lake; it’s full of shops, hotels and tourists, so we don’t stop and decide to head east to Graz.

It’s a shame to travel on a motorway, but we’re glad we do, as we arrive in Graz quite quickly and despite arriving early at the hotel (which is our worst accommodation yet) we’re glad because it’s easy to get into the centre and the centre of Graz is lovely.

Most of the things we want to see are on the east side of the river, including the castle which is high above the city, with beautiful views all around. Climbing the 260 steps, I wonder when Arnold Schwarzenegger last took this route (or maybe he cheated and took the 60 cent lift!)

Walking around the hilltop takes its toll, it’s full of steps and there are hidden routes everywhere. What strikes me is not only that it seems to be the ‘meeting point’ for the local teenagers (who all act completely the opposite to UK teenagers, with their picnic and quiet music!), but the number of older people who also get to the top, just for a read or a relaxing nap! One woman in particular, taking one small step every couple of seconds, was working her way to the top, for no apparent reason.

The sun is starting to shine quite strongly, so we sit at the lovely bar near the famous Schlossberg clock (with its backwards hands) and have a couple of drinks. There is an Italian couple next to us and the guy sounds so much like Vito Corleone it’s unbelievable! The waitress brings the wine to his table and I hope for her sake it isn’t corked!

The sun sets, although there are still enough clouds to prevent a nice view, so we make our way down to the river.

There are a couple of ‘touristy’ attractions by the river. One is a modern art gallery; its building shaped like a huge bladder and it glows a lovely green colour! The other is in the river itself. They have constructed an artificial island, used for small shows, but it is also a modern bar. We have a quick drink (by this time, I’m starting to feel it) and decide to head back.

After a couple of trams in the wrong direction, we figure out which is the replacement bus service and settle down for the night.

29th August 2006 – Graz, Linz

The rain last night was immense! It sounded like a year’s worth of rain fell and it has done the job too, since the sky is a beautiful blue – perfect for photos!

I think all the walking has started to take its toll though, as we can’t even think about returning to the top of the hill in Graz! Instead, we find the Stadtpfarrkirche church, which has an infamous stain glass window, with Mussolini and Hitler watching Jesus being tortured (update: I have since found out that I was looking at the wrong window. Hitler & Mussolini are actually about 3 metres down from the two characters I was looking at – argh!)