El Ultimo

So it would sadly appear that the end has come for stage 1 of operation - Kiwi in America del Sur - and so I find myself now basically back where I started, an internet cafe in the airport killing time before my flight to a new land and life. This time it is to Santiago (stage 2, work time) not Buenos Aires and I do not have a big journey in front of me. But as with stage 1, I am well looking forward to it, finally I don’t have to search through my pack to find some clean undies, which can now be done on a floor. Before I get all philosophical about my travels over the last ten months I better give you a quick fill in with regards to what I have been up to for the last two months.

So as any one with an IQ greater than that of George Bush can see, I managed to survive my sailing trip from Colombia to Panama (aka mini America). 5 days sailing the Caribbean coast was awesome, even the two days in the open ocean with 6 - 7 foot seas and 20knot winds. The days spent sailing around 400 coconut covered islands was even better, although I did find it a little weird having the natives paddle out to our boat to ask as if we could put their cell phones on the charge and attending a 15th birthday party where all the grown mean of the island proceed to show the world how much drool one man can produce after consuming as much cheap rum as possible was just straight out disturbing.
I have made my way since then up to Honduras, through Guatemala and then to Cuban. In the name of my laziness, I will just touch on a few lessons learned during that time (and if you are still curious, email me).

• If you are heading to a diving island full of boozy travelers, it is best not to travel there with booze hags (should Kiff or Phil be scene, avoid them at all coast, you may loose days of your life)
• Diving on a hangover sucks, but is possible
• If you think that riding a horse up a volcano instead of walking will be good for your hangover, think again, especially if the so named horse suffers severe flatulence.
• Lava is hot.
• Assuming the room with the light on is her room is probably not applying the best principles of risk management, aye Phil.
• There are no Starwars Land Speeders at the Rebel base, (aka Tikal).
• Cuban Customs’ are bastidos, and will take liberty to ask you 10 questions 50 times and finish off with a quick drug test (Gran, you will be pleased to know that the Cuban government has recognized what most of the world already new, I am a clean pure individual)
• Cigars are disgusting, Mojitos aren’t.
• Fidel Castro operates a rather effective dictatorship, which is more about control than equality. Unfortunately Marx's idea about the brotherhood of man seems to be a little optimistic.
• Cuban customs’ are just as a bad on the way out.
• Colombia is awesome - despite what numb nuts Chaves says.

OK well now that is out of the way, something profound, hmmm. Well, after 10 months I could probably sit here and spiel on about the crazy awesome time I have had, seeing so many amazing things with such great people, but as most of you suckers have been at work, that would just be mean. Ha ha. Basically, if you have been on a big beast of a trip you will already know what I could say, if you haven’t, then get off your arss and do it!
But I will leave you with my biggest thought,
If you live in a clean country, be thankful. If you have access to decent education, be thankful. If you have the ability to see another country, be thankful. If you don’t need to worry about the food bill, be thankful. If you can vote, be thankful. If you can walk your street during the day and not have to worry about being mugged, be thankful.
Basically if I ever catch anyone from NZ or even Scotland, bitching I will beat you with spoons. We have it soo sweat. But in saying that, I will not be coming home, well not for a long while, so if you do miss me as much as I would miss me, you need to come and visit me.
Stay in touch and remember to fill me in on all the antics, I never get sick of hearing crazy kiwi gossip.

Peace & Love,
El Kiwi.

Colombia Times

It is 9:00am and time to be picked up and whisked away from my little Caribbean fishing town (where I am working on the all important project "get blacker than Nathan") to start a 6 day trek into the Jungle clad hills which surround my little beach haven. It is now noon (In South America time, good work team we are only 3 hours late), 1 Australian, 1 Swiss, 1 Japanese, 1 German, 1 Dutch, 1 Colombian and 1 Kiwi mingle around a juice vendor sucking down the glorious sweet, sweet nectar sold at such outlets. The team is assembled and it is time to go. We pile into a Refitted Landrover and are off via death road to a little village in the surrounding highland region known as the Sierra Nevada. After a quick lunch consumed while fending off the towns mangy dogs which roam the streets of any South American town we begin our journey to find some 2000 year old ruins.
We stumble up a hill dotted with the odd coco bean plantation and various collections of 18 year old soldiers with large automatic weapons having a gentle smoke on Colombians finest pot. Eventually we take a break at an army outpost where we chat cordially with some of the young men on their four month placement in the middle of no where. We soon hack on and find ourselves in our lodgings for the night, a shack perched in a little valley where the coco beans have been replaced by Coca plants. Our shack is nestled alongside the valley shop whose supply truck comes in the form of a donkey, and the lodgings of the local Coca plant farmer. We manage to get in a few hours of sleep in our hammocks and wake to asses the damage done by the mosquitoes that seem to not know that mosquito nets are supposed to keep them from eating me. An old Colombian man wanders into our camp and offers (for a small fee) to show us how to make cocaine, curious we wander off in to the jungle to learn the finer details of the drug trade. After an hour, some coca leaves, petrol, water, sulfuric acid, acetone, bi-carb soda, iodine, and we are presented with a past ready to be dried and cut into cocaine. The troop and I leave the old drug baron with his freshly made paste of dodgyness and return to our camp, albeit rather disturbed but ready for a good cup of sweet Colombian coffee. We continue on our way through jungle, hills, army camps, indigenous villages (whose people can only speak their native tongue), coca plantations. After two days of profuse amounts of sweet, we have arrived at an ancient Tairona city built some 2000 years ago and matching Machu Pichu in size, albeit that most of the ruins are still covered in Jungle. After a day of wandering through a rather eerie set of ruins, not hampered by tourists, gift shops or vendors harping crappy goods we done the packs again and begin the hike back to civilization / a town of fifty people connected to the world by a road which resembles a liquored up cliff. We begin our walk feeling all peaceful with ourselves after our chilled out night and day with the stunning ruins. I am walking through stunning Colombian highlands, but something is wrong, peace and love in my stomach turns to, well.............. I walk out of the jungle and back on to the walking track a little relieved and lighter. The day continues, much as it starts, we walk, talk, I run off for a "nature break", we fend off marauding mosquitoes (scientific name - C$%TS). Day 5 and 6 and and and we continue on in much the same fashion as the previous days, walking. We finally emerge, rather, sweetie, grimy and hairy. I hug Ryo the Japanese girl, who screams as the sweetie beard takes effect. It is really a scream of joy, we have made it and can return to the sane world of Colombia and the Caribbean coast.
I journey to Cartagena, organize passage on a boat to Panama. It is late in the afternoon I have just figured out what my plan is and as such am forced to finally buy a ticket to Santiago to finally start work (2nd of March and I will be re-entering the work force). Time to brush up on the Spanish, I decide to update my blog instead. The blog is done, all there is left to do is proof read it, but hmmmm I think that curing my hunger may in fact prove to be more important.

On the Road North

So, since we last conversed I have managed to make my way up the Peruvian coast, into Ecuador, out of Ecuador, and in to where I am now, a Colombian café in the town of Medellin. After the debaucheries my brother instilled in me during his stay, I was very keen to ‘lye low’ so to speak, and so from Lima I headed north to Ecuador where I quickly found myself on a plane, destination, the Galapagos Islands. Oh baby. Over the following two weeks I spent my time (and money, lots of it) under the water trying to convince sharks that I was one of them. I have now firmly established that I do in fact have a sick fetish for the glorious overgrown fish (sharks), and in fact, one night found myself asking a very attractive Scandinavian girl to move aside as she was blocking my view of the shark documentary which the kind bar staff had put on. Any how, I did manage to pry myself away, well more my wallet managed to pry me away. After spending a few days in the Ecuadorian capital (Quito for those of you geographically impaired, no names come to mind, Rosie) I shot the gap for a little town by the name Banos (for those of you that speak Spanish, the fact the town is called 'toilets', refers to the hot geothermal baths in town). I found myself in a lovely town, marred however by one unsettling aspect, it is perched under a fecking live volcano. A fact people had managed to omit when telling me about it, hmmm. It was a little disconcerting hearing the large rumble of a volcano with a bad case of the runs and so after deciding that death by volcano wasn’t on my list of things to do (yes it did take 4 days for me to decide this) I high-tailed it and decided that the coffee and Caribbean coast of Colombia were calling me. So started a three day bus journey courtesy of buses driven by men who seem incapable of understanding they were not in a formula one race and that vehicles can actually come around blind corners so it is probably not the best place to pass. Ben if you thought Peru was scary, well you probably would have just got out and walked these ones. After spending 6 months in South America I have become very use to the insanity that pervades the roads here and normally don't bat an an eyelid at driving on the wrong side of the road, passing in dubious locations, bus drivers downing a few 'cans' along the way and generally just driving like they no longer wish to live. So when I tell you that I was asking the mother next to me if she could spare a nappy you should take it as a strong indication that the bus drivers in Southern Colombia are nuts. To make matters worse the passengers who shared the ride of death with me seemed oblivious to our peril and loudly informed the driver he was behind schedule. "People, we are not in a fecking impenetrable life capsule, shut the flock up and let the man take as along as he wants". I pulled into Medellin a little on the green side of life (brought on by either fear, or my usual dodgy street bought breakfast served by an old women who doesn't understand the term 'clean' leave alone 'hygiene'), but at least I was alive and in Medellin!
Medellin is a town which is famous for, funnily enough, cocaine. This is the place where the cocaine trade grew up and blossomed into a multi billion dollar industry. I am happy to report that this is no longer cocaine capitol of the world and has moved on to a far better drug, coffee, but I will get to that soon. Medellin is an awesome city, very clean, safe, pretty and full of very friendly people. Colombia in recent years has become a rather 'sane' place and things seem more organised and sorted here than most of the other places I have been. This city even has a brilliant subway system which works a treat. Now Auckland take note, if Colombian drug lords can operate an effective public transport system, what does that say about you! Any way, back to more important things, coffee. As I was saying, the coffee market in Colombia is big business, they have guys walking around the streets with coffee dispensers on there backs selling the sweet nectary goodness for next to nothing, and unlike the rest of South America the coffee is actually really good! Any way I have to leave you now as I am off to fight the Colombian drug cartels by supporting alternate economic uses of the land, one cup at a time!

Hola Peru

After two and a half months gallivanting around the paradise (all be it an impoverished one) know as Bolivia, I decided it was time to get myself into Peru. Not before however experiencing the joys of La Paz and its famed death road, which gets the name from the fact that 55 people a month died on it when it was the main road north. There is now thankfully an alternate route which means that those willing can fly down it on a mountain bike descending about 3400m in a couple of hours. Once that was complete and another mugging attempt had been avoided I had no more excuses to stay in my beloved Bolivia and thus jumped on my last Bolivian bus (characterised by the string and coke bottles which constitute functioning parts) and headed across the worlds easiest boarder crossing into Peru. Before continuing I should pass on some advice with regards to my latest avoided mugging.
Points to note if avoiding a mugging is of interest:
1) don’t find yourself in a dodgy neighbourhood at 5am (don’t ask how and why I got there)
2) an angry kiwi with a beard is an intimidating item for two Bolivian lads (for all those who criticized the man rug take note, it not only scares children but also criminals).
My first point of call in Peru was a town called Cusco which is a very touristy but beautiful town full of ancient Inca ruins and plenty of colonial churches. I had the well meaning intentions of taking it very easy in this town, however, some problems got in the way of my brilliantly devised plans to visit all the historical ‘gold’ contained in Cusco. Problem 1: After 5 months in South America, churches and museums are now about as unique and exciting as a Britney Spears political satire. Problem 2: Luke, Sarah, Phil, Alex and finger puppets. The next five days are a bit of a blur, but I do know that wade (my condor finger puppet) is an absolute booze hag, Alex is too tall to be a bar dancer (roof head problem), and a hostel common room is not an appropriate place to make sweet love, especially if a security guard is on duty, aye Luke (should point out that Luke is not the name of the security guard, and during all this dipravety I was in my own bed dreaming of reading the news paper over Scones and Tea). After 4 overly pleasurable and educational nights I decided that it was time to get to Lima before both my liver and wallet walked out on me in disgust of the abuse they had to put up with. So in the evening I jumped on a 24hr bus ride, destination, Lima and my in bound big brother aka Tits. Around half an hour into the journey I learned my last “Cusco” lesson. Tequila consumed the night before does not like to sit in ones stomach during a long windy bus trip, it prefers to ride the journey out in the toilets.After a few days of much needed rest and clean living my big brother arrived in town and thus kicked off the “tourist” travel section of my trip, having only 3 weeks to see what would normally take me 6, speed was the key. We managed to fly through Ica (Sand Oasis for sand boarding) and Nazca (big lines), like a 747 through a world trade tower. Arequipa took a little more time as we decided to do a two day trek through the worlds second largest canyon called Colca (the grand canyon isn’t the deepest in case you were wondering). Not wanting to get behind we decided (possible for the worse) to leave for our hike into the canyon at 1am. Problem being, we were still enjoying Sangrias at 12:30am. After much to the contrary complaining from my big brother we survived our hung-over hike and headed off to Puno (lake Titicaca, where people live on floating islands of reeds). As I had been warned (and fittingly so) that Puno was a shamelessly commercialised tourist trap and S@#T Whole (I should point out though that Titicaca is awesome none the less) we skipped through with as much pace as possible and headed back (much to the complaint of my liver and wallet) to the beloved ‘Cusco-topia’. After ‘ticking’ off many of the ’things to do’ such as ruins, churches and white water rafting we were all set for the big ’thing’ in Peru, Machu Pichu and the Inca trail. Over the next four day Tits, myself and nine others huffed and puffed our way up to 4200m above sea level (remembering again that Mt Cook is 3750m) and back down to 2400m where awaited us Machu Pichu, the famous ruins of the Incas. The trek was amazing, especially because of the staggering scenery, all the ancient ruins along the way and the fact that the Peruvian porters (who out numbered us) would race past us loaded with all the goods they would need to set up camp and cook us meals fit for kings (yes while camping we did enjoy pancakes for breakfast). As I am sure many of you are now thinking of Tits and I as a bunch of pussy’s I will point out that we had no choice as to weather we wanted this service or not, it is all part of the unnegotiable (extortionist) package of the Inca trail… ah what a bugger. I will point out as well that I had to share a tent with Tits who I swear has an inhumane bowl passage and should seek a transplant on his return if those of you at home who may be exposed to such rancid fumes wish to maintain the integrity of both the paint on your walls and the sensory organ known as the nose.
Any way, my boozing on the gringo trail along with Tits time here has now come to an end and I am happy to say that I will be leaving behind the many obnoxious, loud complaining gits who treat this part of the world as a Disney world ride and seem to be ignorant of the fact that the term stupid, loud American tourists (be they from America or not) who get ripped off is the term being directed at them by all around who have enough of a brain to realise that they are not actually at home, and yes people do do things differently here. Any way, I will be leaving tits soon and heading off for some more of my kind of travel, i.e. cheap and uncomfortable but full of what could be characterised as adventures for the idiotic. Columbia, here I come!

Well off the Tourist Map

Well.... Over the last month I have managed to: Hitch, bus, walk and float well over 4000km while along the way experiencing some crazy shit, including, a jovial meeting with a friendly wild, killer Jaguar, talking revolution with a protestant coca chewing Bolivian, eating a turtle egg, and being dripped on by fish juice for 16hours not to mention many other things which will largely remain undisclosed.

It all started in a very civilised part of Bolivia with the formulation of a plan whilst over a beer or two with a mad English chap by the name of Ross. The mission, to brave new lands and find our way into some of Bolivia's most remote spots. Our first goal was to reach the very isolated National Park, Noel Kempff, which according to our information received from the tourist office is only accessibly via modes of transport well out of the reach of our tight fisted budgets. We decided that surely this was rubbish and so set off via bus to what was a marked town on a map near our destination with plans to hitch from there to a community at the entry of the park. Well...... the marked town turned out to be a house (and not a very big one at that) which was used by the local amazon forestry teams. Unfortunately for us the traffic density in that part of the world is rather low. Two days latter, a sleep on the side of the road and a growing dislike for heat (an easy 40 degrees) and insects, we found a ride on the back of a Ute with some forestry workers (some being 14 in total) into a community by the name of La Florida. A few days of organisation with the lovely but overly related locals and we were off into the park for 5 days. We managed to fit in over 100km of walking, more insect bites and stings than I could count and some of the most staggering scenery and wildlife I have seen.

Highlights my little wilderness adventure:

• Seeing the sights (Jungle, Savannah and Big cliffs) and animals (monkeys (see also lowlights), a Jaguar, a Savannah fox, a monkey eating bird (feeking massive) and lots of big parrots).
• Hearing Ross exclaim while taking a pee "you cheeky bastard, there is a fecking tick feasting on my todger!"
• Killing insects (I am currently planning genocide!)
• Swimming in a local river and having small fish nibble / clean my feet (poor little buggers)
• Hearing the Jungle at night
• Dreaming about taking the person who claimed my insect repellent "wards off all biting insects" and leaving them in the jungle naked with nothing but a can of repellent.
• Getting out and having a beer with the locals!

Lowlights

• Insects (including itching bits like I have never know and a nasty bite of some kind)
• Monkeys throwing sticks at us
• Walking through a termite Savannah at mid day (40 - 50 degrees for Pete's sake!!!)
• Taking a jungle poo (warding off insects and worrying about large birds above you who maybe thinking of doing the same as you while concentrating on the job at hand is no easy task). Baring the distractions this could have easily been a highlight.
• Ross asking if he can borrow a pair of undies, and me reluctantly agreeing.
  

After our little foray into the Jungle and celebratory drink, it was time to get out and begin phase two of our operation, so, we waved goodbye to the town where teeth and the unrelated are a rare commodity. Getting out however turned out to be just as difficult as getting in. We picked up a ride easy enough back to the "town" / house where we had spent a few miserable days previously and were none to happy to return (I did try to sell Ross to a Truckee for a ride out but his large, white English physic just wasn't up to scratch)! After what seemed an eternity of being preached to by a deranged Protestant Bolivian about the evils of the Roman Catholic Church a ride finally came past. The ride I speak of was a section of the isle on an extremely run down small Bus which was being used to transport a combination of people and fish to the next major town. 16 Hours of sitting on my pack in a very narrow isle with fish juice from the cargo above dripping on me through the broken roof and we pulled into the city of Santa Cruz for a day of refreshment (much needed after spending 2 weeks without a shower combined with a coating of fish juice... mingin). After our day of cleaning we headed off to a port town to find a ride on a cargo ship up one of the Amazonian tributaries to the Brazilian boarder. We managed to find a fine vessel willing to take on board a pair of whities. Over the following 8 days we spent our time lazying in hammocks (aka our beds), having family time with the crew or well not much else really, apart from the odd adventure into very isolated towns which we pulled up to (I did feel some what the celebrity when pulling into a town that hasn't seen "gringos" before although the hysterical laughter my Spanish accent drew - I'm sure it wasn't that funny). During our eight days we learnt some very valuable lessons:

1. Ask before you eat, it may be a turtle egg!
2. River dolphins are everywhere
3. Catfish head stew and rice is not the most appetising breakfast (yes I did finish it)
4. The combination of Mosquito net and hammock makes for a crap night sleep
5. 8 days is long enough on a boat floating up the amazon
   

After a few days hanging around the boarder towns we decided a month was long enough to have not see another westerner, so we headed our way down to a town called Rurrenabaque, which is a big draw card for tourists due to the wild life viewing. With another shock to the system we jumped back into the drunken trail known as the gringo trail, where life is easy, people speak slowly and clearly and things don't smell like fish. I will use this time to plan the next of my stupidly crazy but stupendous adventures.

On an administrative front. For those of you who are wondering why I haven't started work yet, well ah, funnily enough, travelling has turned out to be rather enjoyable, and so I have decided to extend my trip a little / till January and head up as far as Columbia and possibly Cuba. The second point of note is the new and improved (you know you love the beard girls) hair style. I would like to dedicate this to Aido, Kyle and Pim who have always stood by my desire to fit in with the homeless.

Booo Lovia - I Love you

I arrived at the freezing and dishevelled Bolivian border in the early hours of the morning confused, sleepless and in a generally sorry state. Luckily for me I managed to avoid any questions relating to where my Argentina entry pass had gone, why I had no onward ticket and why I was travelling with such suspicious company (yes more Irish bastards). We stepped into Bolivia in everything but a "ready to go mood", which was not very much helped by the general oader of burning coca leaves and urine. Before the story continues, I need to highlight the difference in buses between Argentina and Bolivia. Argentina's buses can only be described as awesome, with booze, food, a semi-bed for a seat, a movie to watch and most importantly a TOILET! Bolivian buses are usually glorified metal boxes with wheels, no suspension, they are often over booked, the seats resemble hay bails. To top things off they have the pleasant distinction to be driven on the worlds dodgiest roads which are typically gravel, very rutted and are just wide enough to fit the bus (best not to think of oncoming traffic), with a shear drop on one side and a cliff on the other (I should point out hear that I have grown to love these buses like a man loves his piece of shit car which has plenty of "character" (with the exception of Dan and his now dead bike)). Any way, back to things. I jumped on a bus we had discovered through a bizarre display of sign language, was headed in our direction. What I didn't think of was that my bladder (which I now know is similar in characteristics to that of a 10 year old school girl) was nearing the need for evacuation. Jumping onto a three hour bus journey which resembled a a three hour ride on top of a rather frisky jack hammer was not the wisest of ideas.......
We arrived in the next town, and I managed to push the women and children aside and dive off the bus to find a secluded spot behind some poor blokes house to relieve the pressure which was nearing breaking point. One thing I didn't think of was that mud brick construction materials don't react to well to the extensive flow of fluid that was coming from my direction.... hmmmm. Lucky for me, fresh construction materials were near at hand, and just like that, the damage was repaired. I hopped onto the second of the days four buses, a much relieved Kiwi and ready for some stimulating conversation now that I could actually sit still. As the Irish had miraculously discovered a way to sleep my conversation partner came in the form of a bag which was across the central isle. The bag turned out to be a rather little too pensive for my likings, but luckily for me a head soon popped out of the bag and after a quick survey of the surroundings, the head was followed by a monkey. A delightful chap with some incredible insights on how to effectively peal a banana.
After what can only be described as an entertaining day on some less than comfortable tin tombs (aka buses) myself and the Irish arrived in Uyuni; a very touristy shite hole of a town which is populated by rabies infected dogs and Americans on lots of charlie. Uyuni is however near the Salt flats which is one of the big things to see in South America. The slat flats were very very cool, and after two days of tripping round a glorified giant salt shaker and making countless jokes about needing salt to go with our llama we were back in Char-bies town and trying to get to our next destination as soon as possible. Another delightful series of bus rides latter I found myself in a town called Sucre, a delightful place where I have spent the last two weeks, much of which has been spent attempting to learn how to not butcher the fine local language (any day now I am sure to get it) , and trying to stay alive even when confronted with a Kiwi girl (the first I have seen in two months) who has a liking for tequila (hope you arnt pining for me too much V).

What was I thinking...... Oh yeah.

Mendoza is the red wine centre of Argentina and a place where I again found myself on a bicycle. Although this time I had a different incentive than one seal, the vineyards were, I have to say a whole lot more of an effective motivator. Right next door to Mendoza is a town called Uspallata (apparently it resembles Tibet because this is where the movie was filmed), which was were I decided to set up base camp for some more Andes snow adventure. This time the adventure came in the form of ice climbing. After a hard day of climbing up a frozen waterfall I retreated to the pint sized town to have a pint, find myself a place to stay and a place to watch the rugby. After a hard search which came to nothing, I decided to follow a lead given me by a drunken local that I might be able to find what I was looking for about 8km out of town. In desperation I followed the lead and found myself checking into a hostel which seemed to also double as a barn. I introduced myself to the owner as Liam a kiwi in search of the Rugby. A reply came with a large Argentinean man hoisting up his sweater and presenting with pride an All Blacks Jersey underneath and the words "Bledisloe cup, manana noches (tomorrow night)" After watching the game (which I was so happy to see we won, especially as I may not have left the place alive had the alternative been faced), my travel compatriots and I decided it was time to scarper. We did however manage to miss our bus which had an interesting off set involving town exit via the back of a Ute. Packed in like sardines and hoping that a police stop wouldn't uncover the three of us (especially in the tight conditions which required man spooning), we headed off to find a town with a sizable bus station. Eventually we found our way back to Mendoza and the much needed bus station. I did, unfortunately leave minus one camera (if the syphilis ridden swine who stole it is seen please report him to me for testicle removal) and four hours of my life, which were spent in the local police station trying to tell the story of my camera theft via very broken Spanish. On the plus side, I had a blast in the police station and everyone was very friendly, especially the kind man who was affronted that someone should steal my camera, and so kindly offered to steal me a replacement in no time, hmmm not the most balanced of logic. I eventually managed to continued my way north and found myself in a town called Salta, which has been both the high and low of the trip thus far.
The low point involved waking up, sporting a rather large hangover and feeling a little naked. This was a curious feeling as I was still fully clothed. Stumbling over to the mirror I found to my horror, a cleanly shaven face staring back at me. Taking a moment to review my evening, I realised that whilst under the influences of both booze and the wily charms of a Belgian girl I made the worst decision of my trip thus far.... I shaved off the man rug.
Feeling naked, hungover and used, I managed to find my way into the hills around Salta for a well needed distraction from the horrendous loss I had suffered. There I managed to find the most staggeringly crazy landscape I have ever seen. I was also greatly consoled by the acceptance a local llama showed me and my newly forming stubble. On the plus, a new beard is already on the cards and in no time at all I am sure I will be at one again with the woolly llamas.