Around the World in 80 Cocktails

31) Breathless in Bolivia...

                                                   We hit the Bolivia border mid-afternoon. The difference either side of the border is remarkable. Argentina is so tidy, we can see across to the Bolivian side – what a mess. There are dusty streets, unmade roads, mothers with kids just sitting around by the road – beggars, hawkers oh, and a distinct lack of oxygen!

We traipse into the shabby immigration office. There's no one behind the counters, they're still on siesta. It's a cramped building with just two counters – one for arrivals, one for departures out of Bolivia. No sign as to which is which though. So we just hang around – eventually an officer opens up, Nikki hands over all our passport details -I noticed she made photocopied lists of all our passport details at the start of the trip. This makes it easier for the officials to handle, and speeds our way through most checkpoints. Speeds? Well, we're done in about an hour.

“Pretty quick, that was” say Andy, could've been here hours. “Welcome to Bolivia” he says.

Around 100 meters across the border and we turn off towards Tupiza. There's no tarmac now, just dirt roads. I read somewhere that only around 20% of Bolivia's roads are paved. Now we have a rough ride the 100km or so to our stopover in Tupiza. Jo's still laid-out in the gangway of 'Peggy' – she's still nursing a wicked hangover after last night in Salta!

We get to our hotel, a small tidy place in amongst a small untidy town. I take my bags up to the room. I'm already out of breath. Tupiza is at an altitude of a bit over 3000m (9000 feet) and the lack of oxygen is already noticeable.

There's not much to the town, a few untidy restaurants, a small train station and a market. We go to bed early after a fairly safe pizza for dinner. Tupiza's only real 'claim to fame' is as the place where 'Butch Cassidy and The Sundance Kid' were finally cornered and shot by the Bolivian Army in around 1908. It's not easy to find out whether this is true or not – but it's the only thing the town has.

We head off sharp the next morning – climbing further up to Potosi. We're not far out of town, when we find the road blocked. Not open till maybe late morning, we're told. Not sure why – roadworks or bandits. No one knows and no one seems to care! So Andy has no choice but to return us back to Tupiza and wait while he susses the situation.

We're all a bit on edge, Marshall Law has recently been declared in parts of Bolivia, there's a curfew and most airlines have ceased flying to one of the main international airports at Santa Cruz. It's not supposed to affect the region we're travelling in. Andy had prior discussions with the Tucan Travel office before entering Bolivia.

Anyway, we find out it's just roadworks – and we can leave late morning. It gave me a good opportunity to walk some of the dusty streets and have a wander amongst the locals in the market.

I certainly attract some attention, and become conscious that I'm going to have to really watch myself – probably for the first time since Rio.

The Bolivian women have a particular style of dress – they're quite distinctive, wearing bowler hats with long 'pony tails' and long dresses. The men are just untidy. I don't fit in, and I don't really like it here.

We finally set off for Potosi – it's a long hard ride on unmade roads and we arrive during the late-afternoon 'rush hour'

First impressions are not good. Potosi is run-down, dirty and has crazy traffic. I don't say this lightly – drivers in Spain are a but mad, but these people take it to a whole new level. There are no road markings – no centre lines, no give-way or stop signs and anarchy ensues.

Admittedly we're not in the best part of town – Andy has to park out here in a truck park because Peggy is too big for Potosi's narrow streets in the town. Nikki arranges taxis to our hotel – man, they're shabby. Our cab has a windscreen with two separate areas of cracks where both passenger and driver have hit the inside of the windscreen with their heads. I go to buckle up my seat-belt, there's no where for it to clip in. So I just hang on for grim death while our maniac cabby hairs around the narrow streets.

There's still no road markings – at every cross-roads, approaching drivers just blast their horns and keep going – it's a battle of wits every couple of hundred metres. This is the sound of Potosi.

We get to our hotel – I'm glad, not only to get out of the cab, but also I'm really starting to feel the effects of altitude. Potosi claims to be the highest city in the world. At over 4000 metres (13,400 feet) – it's higher than La Paz and it certainly feels like it.

I really start to feel bad – and it's a strange feeling, this altitude sickness. Apart from being seriously out of breath at even the slightest exertion, I've a splitting headache and a general feeling of being unwell.

I was also limping – my right heel area was killing me – I'm not sure if it was a bite (I've had quite a few) or the realisation that my choice of footwear for this trip was not, on reflection, the best idea I've ever had.

I've been wandering around for 5 weeks now with just a pair of 'crocs', a pair of 'docksiders' and a pair of flip-flops. None of which really hack it in the Andes. I'm thinking of re-entitling my blog 'Around the world wearing the wrong shoes'

The only thing to do is to rest. I have no option, I feel lousy.

So, no pictures of Potosi I'm afraid – I hardly went out in the two days there. What I did see of the centre of town was quite interesting – it's better than my first impressions.

Potosi was a town of fabulous wealth. Since the 14^th century silver has been mined there and it pretty much funded the Spanish empire for a couple of centuries or so. Thousands upon thousands of men (if not millions according to some) died working at the mines. The main mine still operates today – it's known as 'Rich hill' and has underground tours to experience the poor conditions that still exist.

Mo and John take me out on the second day for a bite to eat. Mo knows of a particular tablet that's supposed to combat Altitude sickness. We go into a pharmacy to buy some. Oh, did I ever wish I had my camera – the lady pharmacist with a cigarette hanging out of her mouth would have been 'picture of the year'!

I rest up some more – I want to try and feel better in readiness for our trip to 'Salar de Uyuni' the worlds largest salt-flats. We've an early start, all I have to do first is nip down town to the ATM and get a bit of money out...

32) The hungry mugger...

We've an early start to get to Uyuyi – Andy has warned us there's a hard trip in store for us, so we've another fairly early departure.

I need to just nip to the ATM in town. I've waited until morning, it's not a great idea to be wandering around at night in Potosi – especially with a debit card and a hundred or so US dollars in my pocket.

I'm feeling a bit better after resting up, but still breathless and limping a but. It's actually a slight infection in my heel. So I head down to the ATM in town, it's easy to get to – downhill all the way, I'm not looking forward to heading back. Still if I take my time...

6.30 am – I'm walking through Potosi to the ATM. It's daylight already but there isn't a sole about. I think to my self 'shouldn't be doing this, Woz'. But I'm already here and I fancy the uphill slog even less, especially empty-handed.

I walk with a purpose – well, more of a limp with a purpose. The ATM duly hands me $100. Many ATM machines in Latin America dispense a choice of local currency or US$. As I turn to leave, my worst nightmare – one guy heading straight at me. I'm still by the ATM.

“hey Gringo” he shouts. I turn to limp away – he follows me, easily catching up. “Gringo, he says again”

“Amigo, que pasa” - mate, how's it going, says I. He looks a bit stunned that I've answered him in Spanish.

He says he wants money – for food. I'm making a quick calculation in my mind. Legging it isn't an option. If I reach for my pocket with my 100 bucks in it – he may just grab me, and the dosh. As usual, in times of threat, I attempt to diffuse the situation with some humour...

“Tengo todo la comida” (I have all the food) I say, pointing to my not insignificant stomach. He realises he's trying to mug someone nuttier than himself. He turns away laughing – it gives me a chance to get a 10 Boliviano note out of my pocket (about £2.00).

I say “para la comida”? (for food?) and hand him the note. He's genuinely grateful – I can't believe it. It's all he wants. He heads off – still laughing!

I'm a bit shaken, this could've gone a lot worse. But I hobble back to the hotel and decide that next time I go to an ATM, I'll make sure I have a sandwich in my pocket. Just in case.

33) Amazing photos and a brush with death...

I'm not sorry to be leaving Potosi. We're heading to Uyuni – it's the town nearest the the the worlds largest salt flats – Salar de Uyuni. The Salar is simply huge – 25 times the size of the 'Bonneville Salt Flats' in the USA, three times the size of the county of Kent or half the size of Wales – whichever impresses you most. It is big.

That's tomorrow's trip though, today we've just got to sit back and enjoy the short 200km drive...

Seven hours later we arrive into Uyuni. We must have travelled on the worlds worst road – if it isn't, it's a bloody good contender. 200km is 120 miles, say London to Bristol, a couple of hours or so on a decent road. In spite of Andy's herculean efforts, I feel as though I've been in the back of a cement-mixer for hours. It was a dreadful ride.

As we arrive into Uyuni, it's not a welcoming place. It's dry, dusty, windswept – hardly anyone about. It was just missing some tumble-weed. This feels like the end of the world. Mind you, I suppose it is on the top of the world in terms of habitable towns. I use the word 'habitable' loosely.

Toucan Travel have us booked into Hotel Tonito. This place is like an oasis in a desert. Run by it's friendly and affable American owner and his Peruvian wife, it has the world famous 'Minuteman Pizza Restaurant' – well famous around these parts. The make all their own breads, cakes, desserts and amazing Pizza. We all tuck-in, our roadside lunch today was a short-lived affair, due to trying to prepare and eat it at the side of the dirt road, in high winds. Not fun.

Next morning we pile into our tour vehicle for the day trip out to the Salar. Andy has done the trip a few times so he stays back at the hotel. Nikki, the six of us, the local driver and his wife set off in a rather old Toyota Landcruiser for the day excursion.

 We make a stop a few kilometres out of town at the 'Cementario de trenes' – the Train Cemetery. It sits on the line to Chile and for some reason, became a place where the Bolivian railway company just leave their old trains to rot! I took a few pictures, but not wanting to appear too much of an 'anorak' to the others – I've put a link here to a real anoraks blog (sorry mate – whoever you are, only kidding).

http://www.derbysulzers.com/uyuni.html

We load up again and then head out to the flats. Nikki tells us we'll have some great photo opportunities out there, because there's no perspective, just unremitting flat salt and sky. It's so flat and such clear air (what little there is!), that many scientists – including NASA use the area for calibrating GPS and other instruments.

We arrive around lunchtime. The driver and his wife unload all the kit off the roofrack – and prepare and amazing cooked lunch, tablecloth and all!

Then we head off out for our photo-shoot. The pictures I've posted have not been re-touched in any way. Because there's no perspective, our eyes become fooled by distance – we can't judge it. Anyway, we had loads of fun, thinking up crazy shots. They're all in the 'Picasa' albums.

On the way back we stop at a small hotel, well more of a bar really. It's constructed entirely of salt – the walls, tables, seats and even the bar. We sink a few beers, it's been thirsty out on the flats – the salt and wind have combined to dehydrate us. Not that we need much excuse. We decide to hang around for the sunset. Great idea, but when it's cold and windy – it can take a long time coming! A small price to pay to bring you the very best in travel photos though!!

It's dark when we leave – our driver isn't best pleased to be leaving late. But a bit more 'dinero' in the form of some Bolivianos did the trick. I immediately saw why he didn't want to leave late. It is pitch dark and there's just nothing around for miles – just endless salt flat. I mean nothing – not a building, a light, a tree – nada. How he found his way off the salt was incredible.

We're about 30km from Uyuni – riding on one of the farm tracks that the Bolivians call a main road. Some of us are dozing, we're cold and tired. The landcruiser makes a sudden lurch to the right – the driver is grappling with the steering-wheel, suddenly we're all awake.

Miraculously the driver halts the vehicle on the edge of the road we're not sure what's happened. We get out, a bit shaken – and then we can see the problem The front right-hand wheel has sheered off completely. The wheel has disappeared somewhere in the land off the road. It's completely dark – we only have the headlights to illuminate the area around us. There's no mobile phone signal, it's getting colder and no one around. Not a good feeling.

The initial shock is over, although the 'what if' feeling is still with us. We were just inches from certain disaster – if our man hadn't held the car on the road, we'd have rolled goodness knows how many times. Another regular headline – “Tourists killed in Bolivia road accident” - all too common. And all too close!

Then after a few minutes the most amazing thing – another landcruiser had developed a puncture earlier out on the flats. A rescue vehicle had attended to fix it – and here they were both coming along the road in our direction! We really thought we were the last to leave. So, we squeezed into both other vehicles and not believing our luck, continued into Uyuni. Even that was not without incident – the car I was (the rescue car) itself developed a puncture just as we were getting into town! We can't believe it.

Anyway, some three hours later then expected, cold, tired and still in a bit of shock, we finally get back to our hotel. Stiff drinks, a bite to eat and then bed. No one is in the mood for frivolity tonight. That's as close I've ever been...

The remoteness is quite unnerving – especially to a city boy like me. Still, we're heading to La Paz soon, the capital of Bolivia. I'll feel more at home there.

Won't I?

34) Andy has a surprise in store – high in the Andes...

It's great to be back on a tarmac road. We're heading to Bolivia's capital city – La Paz. Driving through the outskirts there's a local 'fiesta' - people dancing on the road in the most colourful costumes. We arrive late Saturday afternoon to what I can only describe as the most manic, diverse, different and crazy place I've ever been to. Maybe after fiveweeks since being in a big city like Rio de Janeiro, I had become a bit complacent - but La Paz was just mad!

It took all Andy's skill and patience just to get us into the city. The traffic is manic. There is no conception of road use – everyone just drives anywhere they can. The cacophony of car horns and faulty exhaust silencers adds to the mayhem most wonderfully!

This city has all types of buses, but the small 'micro buses' take the biscuit when it comes to causing chaos. They just stop anywhere – not at the kerb, but just in the middle of the main road. The 'conductor' just jumps out – and screams his destination to passers-by who then take life in their hands just to get across the road!

One micro bus stops right near us – I managed three photos in a few seconds just to show the 'gridlock' that develops.

Andy parks Peggy and arranges taxis to take us to the hotel – there's no way he can drive there – the traffic is gridlocked – quite literally. Our taxi takes maybe 40 minutes to make the normal 5 minute drive.

We arrive into the hotel, it's the last 'official' night of my trip. Some more people are joining in La Paz, and Jo, Nuala and Andrew carry on into Peru with Tucan. Maureen and John are staying a few extra days in La Paz before flying back to London. I decide to have a few days here myself – to see more of La Paz and also to enjoy a bit more of their lovely company.

As it's the last night – we've been planning our 'farewell' dinner – but after the drive and the taxi, we're all quite tired - it's also getting a bit late. So we just check-in and then meet in reception. Nikki has suggested we have our farewell dinner on the next evening with the new arrivals. A sort of 'farewell' and 'welcome' dinner combined.

Andy says he knows a place just down the road that's 'alright'. He's never failed to impress us so far with his recommendations – but even he reached new heights!

It's a ten minute walk to the place – it's our first time on the streets of La Paz. The pavement is just a manic as the road. There are people selling everything from old car hub-caps to watches to clothes to electrical goods. Then there are the hawkers hassling us every step of the way. It's busy with people, lots of shoving and jostling. This is a haven for pickpockets and bag snatchers. There's no point in stepping out of their way either – to step off the pavement onto the road is just inviting to be run over!

This place makes Rio de Janeiro seem as tame say Canterbury or Morecombe!

Andy leads us to 'Olivers Pub' – it's an English pub, right in the middle of La Paz. Well, it's just amazing that after just three weeks of travelling together – and expert travellers at that, and doing all the 'local' food and wine – we're all drooling over a pub menu that has Cottage Pie, Fish & Chips , Sausage 'n mash and delights such as spotted dick and custard. Oh, proper beer as well.

Only Andy could know such a place up here in the Andes!

35) Woz goes it alone – again...

Well, it's time to leave La Paz. The tour left yesterday bound for Peru. I'd made tentative arrangements to meet up with the gang in Puno or Cusco. It was big hugs all around. We swap email addresses and say to keep in touch.

I enjoy my stay in La Paz with Maureen and John. I spend some time wandering around locally. I'm still suffering a bit with the altitude, but it's getting a bit easier now. I still have almost two weeks planned at high altitude in Peru, so I stay on the coca tea.

I spend some time researching what / where / how I travel next. I've become a bit accustomed to having everything organised by Tucan Travel. I decide to take a bus from La Paz to Puno. I'll spend a few days there, by Lake Titicaca and then take the train to Cusco.

I can't decide how long to stay – I feel like shortening my time in Peru because of the altitude – I'll have to see how I feel. The only definite date is 18^th October, I must leave Santiago, Chile to fly to New Zealand on that date. My Oneworld Alliance air ticket is fully flexible, but they did advise me that the Chile – NZ route is always full and it's unlikely I could change the date.

I go to the bus station in La Paz – there's a direct bus to Puno which is across the border into Peru. I book a ticket in advance, it's the only direct bus – I need to be on it tomorrow at 7am.

Maureen, John and I have a very pleasant last evening together. I have a nice room at the hotel – I'm on a high floor with a nice view of the city. We get a take-away and the three of us settle into my room for the evening with the food and the last of our wine from Cafayate. Then it's time for the goodbyes – I'm away sharp in the morning. I'm really sorry to leave them – we've had such fun over the past three weeks. I promise to meet them at their home in London when I return next April or May.

It is a bit of a strange feeling – heading out on my own again. Maybe more so than when I left London. The first two weeks travelling in Rio and Buenos Aires were quite easy really – in terms of company. I'd stayed with or met hosts from 'Couchsurfing'. Now, I'm truly on my own – and in Peru of all places.

Still, I'm really looking forward to it....

36) Carlsberg don't do Overland Tours - but if they did...

...they still wouldn't be as good as this!

I really feel I have to write a separate article here about Toucan Travel. I've mentioned bits and pieces about them in other sections on my blog, but I'd really like to give them an unashamed 'plug'.

While I was researching ways to travel in South America, I started looking at specialised tour companies. It was my original intention to travel independently – using trains / buses etc. It's quite possible to do that, but I also had to consider the amount of organisation, distance and safety involved.

I'd looked at a few companies – Intrepid are one company that came well recommended. Toucan Travel had what appeared to be the perfect route – I did need to travel from Buenos Aires to either La Paz or Peru. The 'Gaucho 1' tour had an interesting route. It visited all the places I wanted to experience and the leaving date for the tour fit well with my plans.

I had to consider the cost, against a 'DIY' route. The tour came to around £900 in total. That included transportation (obviously), accommodation for 22 nights, most breakfasts and lunches and a few evening meals. Also there were a good number of tours and entrance fees included. At that time I didn't realise the value of a good 'tour leader'!

So at around £40.00 per night for all the above it didn't seem like a bad deal. To be honest – that is an understatement. In my opinion, if there's ever a company that undersells itself and then over-deliver it's Toucan Travel.

I had no idea really as to what to expect. For a start our 'Overland Expedition Vehicle' (Peggy) was just an extraordinary way to travel – as I've alluded to previously. Nikki, our tour leader is just fantastic. She's well experienced as a tour leader worldwide, a qualified ski-instructor, an 'all-action girl' and totally professional. Nikki always but always explained everything we needed to know – each morning, each time we arrived somewhere new and whenever needed on the journey.

The standard of hotels was much better than I expected for the price of the trip. We always had an en-suite room, even when staying in the most 'basic' towns in Bolivia.

 

                                                                                                                                                            As for Andy, our driver – well, we all held him in such high regard. For me, he personifies everything that a tour driver should be – not too fast, a comfortable ride (roads permitting), always accurate with timings. He has a great demeanour and personality – we became pretty good mates on the trip.

This is possibly in part because in a previous life (well, three lives ago actually), I had worked as a tours driver for a coach company, touring both in the UK and mainland Europe. So, I know what it's like understanding that passengers (customers) have paid good money for their trip – and they have high expectations. Both Nikki and Andy really exceeded mine. I feel quite safe in speaking for the others on this trip as well.

The group dynamics were interesting. We were only six, so I guess that could go both-ways in terms of how we interacted. I have no previous experience of this kind of trip – and being together for three weeks, I like to think we all did pretty well together – I was impossible to write about all the 'funny moments' and there were plenty! We enjoyed each other's company and also had our space when needed. There was never any 'peer pressure' to undertake any activity.

So, I really wanted to write this to a) get my thoughts and thanks written down; b) to recognise the Toucan Tours Team; and c) that it may assist anyone reading this as research for a trip of this type.

Nikki, Andy – great meeting you both and heartfelt thanks. The pleasure was all mine!

37) Bolivia to Peru; As easy as getting on a bus?...

It's a bright but chilly morning as I pay my cab driver 8 Bolivianos for the ride from my hotel to the rather grand looking bus station in La Paz. I'm there in good time for my pre-booked bus to take me straight through to Puno in Peru.

I go to the ticket counter – having to dodge the hoards of 'tout's willing me to take their bus to wherever - “you go Santa Cruz, Lima?” screams one of them at me. I just have to keep walking – it could be quite intimidating to some people, you have to learn to not make eye-contact. Just keep walking and they'll find the next punter to scream at.

I arrive at the 'Ormeno' bus waiting area – there ain't many people here, not a good sign. I find the ticket seller to find out where the bus is. “No bus today - border closed” she says. “Why?” I ask, already feeling this isn't going to be a great day. “Peoples demonstration – road to Puno closed” I'm not sure what the Spanish is for “oh bollocks”, but she gets my drift. “You come back tomorrow – maybe we go then”

I'm in a quandary – I'm gonna start losing time – I'm not sure what to do. I wander to a couple of other bus counters, one says they have a bus leaving in an hour. “Direct?” I ask, “Of course” they say. “The border, it's closed?” ask I. “Border open – 70 Bolivianos for ticket, only have one seat left” Nothing like a bit of 'pressure selling first thing in the morning.

I phone my hostel in Puno - “Is the border open” I ask, “maybe, maybe not – who knows” they answer unhelpfully, but truthfully.

So, one bus line says closed, another says open and the hostel says maybe. I decide to take a chance – may as well keep moving. This could go on for ages otherwise. The Ormeno refunds me most of my ticket money, “you don't go with other bus company, they all shit” she advises helpfully. I buy the other ticket and wait...

She's not wrong! I'm crammed into a small bus – around 30 seats on it. Not that you can see them though, they're that small and piled with bags, boxes, loose clothing – whatever. I'm sure I've got on to a removal van by mistake.

Around three hectic driven hours later we turn off the main road and head town an unmade track – into a very grotty township. “All off” shouts the driver “Border”

“Er excuse me, where will you be parked on the other side of the border?” I ask – he looks at me like I'm some sort of idiot - “I go back La Paz. You go Puno? You find black bus over border, that take you Puno” He's right, I do feel an idiot.

So drag my stuff to Bolivian customs post to get an exit stamp. That's easy. Then walk the 200 metre gauntlet of all kinds of people selling whatever, moneychangers, taxi drivers, pickpockets – everyone imaginable that wants something.

Into Peru, the immigration guy is friendly enough – and I'm in Peru.

Amazingly there is a black bus waiting the other side – it says Puno on a board in the window – so I just get on, sit down and hope for the best.

We're heading alongside Lake Titicaca, so I now feel confident I'll end up in Puno – because it sits on the lake.

We stop at a Police checkpoint – the side lockers are opened and my bag is taken off. I've been given a tip – to try and sit above the locker where my bag is placed, so I can keep an eye on it when stopped.

So, my bag is on the ground at the police checkpoint – they start prodding around with long and thin steel needles, maybe 5mm diameter. I find out they're hollow and they use them to search for cocaine – they just insert them straight through the luggage and then withdraw it. If there's white powder in the tube, you are not going to see daylight again for ten years.

They start shouting – the driver (who is with them) points up at one of the windows – three armed police get on and literally pull a teenaged lad from his seat a couple of rows in front of me.

He and his bag stay at the checkpoint, mine is thrown back on and the bus leaves without him. If he is carrying coke, he's not in for a good time.

I obviously don't condone drugs or drug transportation – and I guess the lad will get what he deserves, but it's a strange feeling to be close-up to someone just being hauled away like that at gunpoint.

We pull into the bus station in Puno around ten minutes later. I see Andy is there giving Peggy a clean. We natter for a few minutes – arrange to meet for a pint later. He changes me a few dollars for some Peru 'Soles' and sorts me a taxi for my hostel. What a guy.

My hostel, the Don Julio is down in the town. It's a quiet but tidy and clean place. Puno is small - with a reasonable town centre and a number of nice looking restaurants and bars  I've two nights here before leaving on the train for Cusco. I check what to do. Must have a trip out onto Lake Titicaca. Must also meet up with Andy and the gang.

38) Puno, a lake and a lot of Pisco...

I just have to go out onto Lake Titicaca (Lago Titikaka). At just over 3800 metres (12,500 feet) above sea-level, it's the highest navigable lake in the world – oh, and the largest at around 3,200 sq miles, which makes it around 5 times the size of Greater London.

It's breathtaking – in both it's beauty and my lung capacity!

There are around 20 of us on a half-day tour to the lake and one of it's floating islands – Uros. These are quite amazing - as we step from our boat – we're literally standing on a bed of reeds. It's quite squishy underfoot – and I'm wondering how well they've been load-tested for Woz size people. It would be highly embarrassing, if not deadly to fall through. Anyway, I put my faith in Peruvian craftsmanship and have a good wander around.

Well, I'm pleasantly surprised – it all looks 'tourist tacky', but it's actually quite informative. We given a demonstration of how they make the floating islands using alternative layers of reeds. Our guide keeps looking over at me. He turns to his assistant and says something that I can't quite hear. I think it's something like' “Jeez, Juan – look at that gringo – how many layers did you use on this island”

We're split into small groups and visit a family in their small reed huts. Yes they live, sleep, cook all in something around 15 x 10 feet. The University of Lima is conducting an experiment supplying them with Solar Power for the only electricity that they have.

Then it's time to buy some products that the families make. They mostly craft embroidered products – cushion covers, shawls, blankets – blankets – that kind of stuff. Of course, things have to be bought – I only I wish I was smart enough to realise that I was supposed to buy from the family who showed me around. Of course me being me, I buy from someone else. My 'host' gives me a bit of a look – so I end up buying from them as well.

A few of us decide to travel back to Puno on one of the Reed Water Taxis. Am I mad? Still, it's quite a thing – sort of double-deck canoe, with two guys at the front rowing. Blimey they earn their money.

On the way back – I see an old steamship moored on the shoreline near Puno. It's a big ship and I ask what it is doing there. Well – it's quite a story. The 'Yavari' was built in London in the 1860's for the Peruvian Government. BUT, it was built in pieces – nearly 3000 of them, shipped to South America and then carried by mules across the Andes becaues Peru is landlocked and has no shoreline.

Each piece had to weigh no more than a mule could carry. It was then assembled in Peru. It took six years to transport all the bits. The 'Yavari' worked on Titicaca for over a hundred years. She's now been restored as a museum.

All in all a fascinating morning out – well recommended! I'll put a a couple of links here for more info:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lake_Titicaca

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yavari

I enjoyed Puno – and was actually enjoying travelling on my own again. I must admit to consuming a rather large amount of 'Pisco Sours' This is the Peruvian national cocktail – made from Pisco (a local brandy spirit), lime, bitters and egg whites' I must say they taste much nicer than the ingredients suggest. Goodness knows how many I had, but I know I lost most of the next day. Which was a pity really – because that left me without any more time.

I had a train to catch...

39) Woz the explorer rides the 'Andean Explorer'...

I wasn't sure whether to take the train from Puno to Cusco. It's US$ 140 for the ten hours trip. Buses do the trip a bit quicker and cost around $20, even $10 for a shabby bus. But – and it's a big but, I've been on road transport on and off for the last four weeks – and anyway, I think a train ride through the Andes sounds pretty good.

Another early start for Woz, and he's still not quite over the 'Pisco party' 36 hours ago. I have to check my bag in at the station in Puno – I'm a bit reticent to let it out of my sight in Peru, as much in case anyone turns me into an unwitting coke transporter. I think I'd have a slightly more difficult time here with the police than I did in Malaga.

On the platform and here it is – The Andean Explorer. It's much more than I expected, all first-class at-seat service on Victorian style carriages reminiscent of the 'Orient Express'. I find out later that it's owned by the Orient Express company. A smart hostess welcomes me on board and shows me to my reserved seat. Seat? It's an armchair – quite literally. The tablecloth is immaculate – as is all the silverware. I immediately think that I must not write about this on my blog – whatever will my friends think of me supposedly roughing it in Peru?

We depart on the minute at 8am – the train track runs through the streets of Puno, people watch a wave. They must do this every time the train runs – they're all very friendly. We seem to amble along at around 40kph, out of Puno and alongside Titicaca – passing closer to the Yavari.

I take a while to survey my surroundings. The carriage is all Mahogany and Brass. My carriage is full – there's a young couple from London on the seat across from me – they're on honeymoon, and he's suffering from altitude sickness. He's already asking our stewardess for oxygen. At least I think that's why he needed the oxygen – it may have just been all that honeymoon stuff...

The carriage behind me is the rear – it's an 'observation car' – complete with large windows sone the sides and the roof. It's also completely open at the back – giving an uninterrupted view from the train.

I settle back down into my seat – breakfast is being served – we're passing through the town of Juliaca – it's incredibly poor and very shabby. I have a moment of guilt as I consider my splendid surroundings , but it passes as I bite into the bacon though.

I repair to the observation car – it's quite busy. All of a sudden a Peruvian music band and a singer appear – as if from nowhere. This is becoming quite a trip. The train is still ambling along, climbing higher into the Andes. We have a stop scheduled at La Roya – the highest point on the line – in three hours time, just after lunch. So just time to sit back and relax, watching the magnificent scenery pass by.

Lunch is served, the food is well presented on the plate- but even more impressive is the carefully co-ordinated way that the staff each serve a table and place the plate down at exactly the same time. Very, very impressive.

After lunch and it's time for a stop to get off the train at La Roya, over 4,300 metres(14,000 feet) up. I guess they time it to facilitate a post-lunch stroll, we have around twenty minutes here. There is the unusual sight of 'hawkers' coming along the tracks offering wares of everything from fake watches, to chocolate and drinks. They seem a pain, but you can't fault their enterprise.

We set off, now it's downhill all the way to Cusco where we'll arrive in in around another three hours. We pass by 'Nevado Ausangate' mountain – at almost 6,400 metres (20,700 feet). It's the tallest mountain I've ever seen.

We continue our downward journey – the landscape is changing to something much more lush – well lush by Andean standards. The railway follows along the course of a river – it's a dream. It's becoming dark – we've maybe an hour or so to Cusco. Afternoon tea is served – the same immaculate service, sandwiches with the crusts cut off and proper tea.

Heading into Cusco, it's dark and difficult to see much of the sprawl of the Cusco outskirts. It's larger than I imagine – a large urban sprawl. This isn't what I expected. The diesel locomotive wheezes to a halt in Cusco station. There's a mad scramble to collect bags - and a long queue at the taxi rank. I drag my gear up to the main road – I'm there around three nanoseconds when taxis are coming at me from all directions!

It's a flat fare to travel in a taxi in Cusco – it appears to be based on the state and size of the cab. Mine was a beaten up old model that I didn't recognise – but it made a Fiat Panda appear like a stretch limo!

It's a fifteen minute ride to my hostel – the driver is obviously manic, but also friendly. It's 3 Soles ( /s) (around 60p) for the trip. I give him s/5 and he nearly hugs me.

I check into my hostal – El Triunfo. Reception is upstairs – only around 12 steps with my bags, but altitude has the effect of magnifying this into something like 50 flights of stairs. I'm really panting as I get to reception and can hardly say 'buenos tardes...' The receptionist tell me to sit and brings me 'matte de coco' (coca tea). “Drink this” she says – you can check in after. She obviously doesn't want a dead traveller on her shift.

I lie down for 10 minutes and start feeling better, the coca tea does wonders.

But, I'm ready for a pint...

40) An Englishman, a Spaniard, a Mexican and a Columbian walk into a bar...

I've recovered with the help of some coca tea and the effects of the 'Pisco party' from the other day have worn off. Andy told me he'd be in Cusco and that I'd more than likely find him in 'Paddy O'Flaherty's Irish Pub'. Sounds good to me – after all those exotic Latino cocktails, a decent pint of Guinness sounds good to me.

Paddy's Pub is just down the street from my hostel – that's handy, Andy – thought Woz. It calls itself the highest Irish pub in the world and at 3300m – nearly 11,000 feet, I don't have the breath to argue.

It's on the corner of my street and 'Plaza de Armas' which is the main – and incredibly beautiful main square in Cusco. As Irish pubs go, this is pretty good, in fact very good. Even better, they have Kilkenny and 'Old Speckled Hen'. Blimey, this is going to be a good stay.

So tucking into a decent pint of Kilkenny bitter and having the 'craic' with Andy – I notice someone who was on the 'Titicaca' trip the other day. Well, Judith recognises me straight away. She's on holiday, lives in Barcelona. She introduces her friend Sergio, he's from Mexico. Her English is very limited – Sergio is fluent – they're both very good company. Andy thinks he's my brother – I have to say, I don't disagree that we have similar looks – and build.

We head out into the main Plaza – it's quite late now. As I mentioned, the plaza is lovely – the buildings and cathedral are stunning. Being illuminated at night gives it even more effect. We meet up with another of their friends – Juan. He's Columbian, excellent English and a personality to match. We've seen a poster for a bar with live music – this'll do me!

We're upstairs in this really quite weird bar – low seats, a few people hanging out. It's a locals bar, not many tourists here. No sign of a band either. “Band be on soon” says our young waitress - “you can have two for one happy hour all night”. Maybe not a bad place after all.

Well, that's an understatement – all of a sudden the place just sort of fills up, the band get ready. There's like seven or eight of them with all sorts of instruments, they start playing – local folk / rock / ragaton, just about everything they play is amazing. The also have a guy dancing – he lights a small fire and creates all sorts of coloured smoke. What an amazing place – it's packed now, and everyone's rocking.

So my two for one cocktails are going down very well, can't hear myself think for the band, can't always see because of the smoke and darkness – we're on the top floor and it's a tiny stairway. I can feel another newspaper headline appearing “British tourist among hundreds dead in Cusco club fire”. Actually, it doesn't seem a bad way to go, certainly warmer than freezing to death on the Salt Flats! And being just about full of all sorts of 'two for ones' – I don't have the sense to stand nearer the doorway!

We get out of there alive, and end up making a complete nuisance of ourselves back in the main square. Even the police in Cusco are very restrained – still, I don't think us four cared really. Nor did the copper.

Time to head back – I have an early start again. I'm off to visit Maccu Piccu – 'The Lost City of the Incas'

It can't be that hard to find – can it?

41) Woz almost loses the 'Lost City of The Incas'...

Macchu Piccu – I'm finally going there today. Like most people, I've always wondered how the Incas settled there – high up in the Andes. Well today I'm finally going to see it. It's one of the main highlights of my whole trip.

My scabby little cab is coughing it's way through the dawn-lit streets of Cusco towards the railway station. I'm taking the train up to Macchu Piccu. I've a four-hours journey on the train – not too bad. Especially when considering the alternative is a four-days trek on the 'Inca Trail', No thanks!

The Perurail Viewdome train is quite smart with windows in the roof of the carriages. It's a very slow and complex route the train takes to negotiate the steep climb out of Cusco. It sort of zig-zags it's way, first going forwards, then backwards, then forwards and so on for around an hour. It's a kind of massive 'three point turn' - bizarre!

The streets of Cusco are quiet. It really is a charming town – or city really. Founded around 900 years ago it was the capital city of the Inca Empire – which controlled land all down the west-side of South America, down as far a Chile. The Inca nation were great innovators – especially in terms of construction – far in advance of any other in those times. Better than a lot of Spanish builders that are around now.

The Incas ruled until defeated by the Spanish during the late 1500's. Amazingly, the Spanish never found the Inca settlement way up in the Andes named 'Macchu Piccu', even though is only around 50 miles away from Cusco. It was only in 1911 the the American historian Hiram Bingham 'discovered' the Inca settlement – and even this was only by accident, when a farm labourer reputedly mentioned 'some ruins in the mountains'. Hiram wrote a book entitled 'The Lost City of The Incas' and this is the monika still used to describe Macchu Piccu.

It was as recent as late 2008 when the international traveller, frequently known as 'Woz the Explorer' almost lost the 'Lost City'.

Well honestly – what a disaster, almost. I ride the very pleasant train up to the small town charmingly named 'Aguas Calientes' (warm water – or springs). At the booking office to buy a ticket for the ruins – I can't believe it – they don't take credit cards. I mean – the most popular tourist destination in Latin America – and probably in the world Top 10 – and it's cash only. Which is fine – only I don't have any. Even worse the town's only ATM doesn't have any either!

This is not good. I've come all this way to see one of the worlds most amazing places -and I can't get a ticket. I don't feel good and don't have a ready solution. I decide for some strange and inexplicable reason to have a rummage through the pockets of my backpack. This is a sort of panic measure.

Amazingly, and I have no idea whatsoever how it was there, but staring me from the inside of my little first-aid kit is a US$50 bill. I have a quick calculation – it's s/122 for the entrance ticket about USD41 and another $7 for the return bus that transfers visitors between the train station and the base of Macchu Piccu. So I just make it with two bucks to spare.

I still can't explain where the 50 dollars came from, it was almost as though the Inca ghosts were willing Wozzer to be there. Just so they can say that they've met me, I suppose.

So finally – through the checkpoint into the ruins and then a steady 15 minute uphill slog on a stone path and all of a sudden, turn a corner – and there it is, The Lost City.

I don't know which one superlative to use that conveys the view: Amazing, Awe-inspiring, Magnificent – so I'll use them all. It is the most amazing, magnificent and awe-inspiring view. There, unfolding below me is ancient settlement. No one is really sure what the actual purpose of Macchu Piccu really was. Some say it was a rest or retirement village for the Inca rulers, other's say it was used as a prison. Others still suggest a fortress. What is certain that this as a place that has withstood maybe 800 years of weather, battles and at least two major earthquakes. Granted, some of the ruins are now just outlines of their former selves, there are other structures with walls just as complete as the day they were constructed.

I have around five hours to spend up here – I just walk around, just marveling at the place and taking pictures.

Back down in Aguas Calientes, I meet a couple from the Toucan Tour that joined in La Paz. They did the four-day trek. We arrange to meet in Cusco the next evening. It'll be my last there before I fly to Santiago, Chile and then onwards to New Zealand.

I can't believe my South America adventure is now rapidly drawing to a close.

42) Adios, mi amigos...

Cusco has been a splendid place to spend almost a week. I've had Andy for company on some of the days. Judith, Sergio and Juan on others. It's an easy place to just chill – sit around the plaza at one of the many cafes and watch the world go by. Nestled as it is in the Andes, it has a beautiful backdrop of mountains.

The nightlife is brilliant too. It always feels safe – well, certainly around the Plaza. The only 'hassle' is from the 'street kids'. I get to know a few of them – they're always at the street by my hostel. They 'work' at night – selling whatever they can to make some money. They're around 8 years old, the three of them that I get to know are true salesmen. They know how to 'overcome customers objections' having a ready answer for no matter how many times one says 'no gracias'.

There's a girl that hangs out with them – she's a 'tout' – handing out vouchers for admission to some of the nightclubs in town. We all talk each evening – and it's pretty cold out there. They have loads of questions for me: Where am I from, what do I work at, how long in Cusco – it's incessant and tempting to ignore them.

 But I don't – I stay and talk to them a while. I end up buying some of their stuff each evening, finger puppets and gum mainly. I sell it back to them the next evening for half of what I paid. The tout – Vikki, tells me she's studying English, but can't afford to keep going to classes. I decide that it's time to practice my 'teaching' – we meet at 11am most mornings for two hours. She's determined to improve her English, which in turn will lead to a higher paid job. It can't be easy being out in the cold till 4am handing out vouchers.

She always turns up on time – with all her study books. We spend time going through her coursework and also practicing 'conversational' English. It's only a few sessions, because I leave soon – but I hope it made a slight difference to her.

Slowly but surely, Juan, Judith and Sergio also depart for their homelands – again with the promises to keep in touch. I have a last catch-up with Andy, he's been a good mate all the way from Buenos Aires. That seems so far away now.

I have a lunchtime flight to Santiago, via Lima. Again, I'm feeling a bit sad – it's becoming a regular thing – hooking up with people for a few days, then having to say goodbye. I've had good times with them. It's one of the consequences of solo travel I suppose.

Cusco Airport is small with just a few check-in desks. There's a flight seemingly every hour to Lima and literally hundreds of people trying to check in. It takes forever, but eventually I get away – on time and looking forward to finally being back at sea-level and being able to breathe normally again.

It's a short one hour flight to Lima, then a couple of hours layover before boarding my 'LAN Chile' flight to Santiago. I have to say, LAN are very slick. Their cabin service is first rate. Proper knives and forks – no plastic here. A real wine glass and Chilean wine served from the bottle. It's as good as most other carriers 'business class'. Very impressive indeed.

A bit over three hours later we beginning our decent into Santiago – the aerial view of the city at night is impressive. It's a big place. I'm on my last two nights in Latin America – really hoping they're good ones...

43) Leaving South America - with a hug or two...

It's fairly late by the time I arrive into Santiago and clear immigration and the most cursory of customs inspections – 11pm. The airport is a good way out of the city. I was advised to take the 'TransVIP' airport shuttle. Good advice – 5000 Chilean Pesos, around US$7 – they run me to the door of what must rate as Latin America's shabbiest hostel – Hostal de Sammy.

Now I'm not comparing hostels with hotels, but if ever there was a place that needs a good renovation, it's here. From the crumbling and peeling decoration, to the dreadful bathrooms, to the awful rooms – this place takes some beating. At US$18 / night, it's not even cheap by Chilean standards – I should've rented the TransVIP minibus for the night and stayed in that.

Still, like most hostels – the backpacking guests are good company. I meet up with a young British girl, Nia and a German lad – Marcus. Nia is 18, a Londoner and has been travelling South America solo for two months. Now, one or two people think I'm brave for wandering around South America alone – but here's a girl – around 5 feet tall and weighing maybe 7 stones max who's done it all – Volunteering, hiking, long, long bus rides. She's the brave one.

Marcus is good fun, for a German. I've met a few along the way, but not for long. That's no accident! But he's got a really good sense of humour and can give as good as he gets – so he's a top guy in my book. Early 20's, he's been in Chile for some months now, working on some sort of Agri-bio project, I think that means genetically modified foods, so I decline the half a banana he offers me. I'm tempted to give him a list of things about me that I could do with having modified.

Only have one full day in Santiago, my flight to New Zealand leaves late at night. I find out that Nia is on the same flight as me. The three of us decide to head downtown. Santiago is quite a smart city. It has modern commercial buildings and a fine Spanish-influenced central area. Smog is an issue – there's a haze all over the city – it obscures the view of the Andes that rise to the north.

It's a fine sunny lunchtime though and Woz shows Nia and Marcus how to sightsee. Just find a decent cafe bar with outside tables, order a beer and watch the world go by. Get the right table, and you can even get some good photo's without having to move!

There's something like university 'rag' week going on in the town – and the students passing by us are made-up to look like something from a horror movie. I cast my way across the square and see some other students holding signs 'Abrazos gratis' – free hugs. Well, it's been a while since I've had one – and as they're free, well it's sort of rude not to really.

Of course – receiving a couple of hugs was pretty good. But, Woz reckons he should try his luck at giving them. So, sweet talking some signs from the students – Woz, Nia and Marcus head off around the street.

What a great hour or so! It's amazing how many people wanted to have a hug from me. Well, on reflection – not amazing, quite understandable really. Well it was until I pushed my luck with a very attractive policewoman. As we all know by now, Woz and Spanish-speaking police don't mix. It took Marcus (who's Spanish is excellent) to explain to her that I wasn't trying to attack her – just in time too. She was just reaching for the handcuffs. Pity he stopped her really, but that's another story...

Well, time to start thinking about leaving the country! Just as well I'm on a flight in a few hours.

Nia and I are on the shuttle bus out to the airport.

“Well, it looks like we got out of South America with everything we came in with” I say

“We're not at the airport yet” she answers pessimistically

“Does check-in qualify”?

“Only when we're taking off, will I believe it” she says.

Well we did take off with everything we came in with almost two months earlier. I was leaving with a lot more though.

I was leaving with the thoughts, sights, sounds and experiences that I could not imagine two months earlier. Peru has been enlightening – Titicaca, Cusco and seeing the extraordinary Macchu Piccu have been a life-long objective of mine. Words cannot do it justice, it has to be seen and experienced to believe it.

I've still got mixed feelings about Rio – great to go there, not sure I'd need go go back. I could probably say the same for Paraguay and Bolivia. I have to say that Bolivia opened my eyes to another world though. Amazing scenery, abject poverty and a constant feeling of unease whenever I was on the streets of any of the towns and cities I visited.

I wouldn't dissuade anyone from going there – I really needs to be seen to even start to understand it.

At the other end of my 'experience scale' is Argentina. I just have the warmest feelings for the country and it's people. Buenos Aires was wonderful. It just has such an air about it – the 'tiredness' of the city in general imparts a particular charm. The streets of San Telmo and La Boca have a stunning vibrancy, be it architecture, music or colour. I can say the same for Cafayate and Salta. Many other places too. I want to go back.

But right now, I'm going forward. Settled in my seat on the LAN Chile Airbus A340 awaiting departure for a 14 hours trans-Pacific flight to New Zealand.

It's 11pm Saturday 18^th October as we head off into the night skies. I'm scheduled to arrive into Auckland 5am Monday 20^th . Because of crossing the international dateline – I don't see Sunday 19^th. It doesn't happen for me at all. It's bizarre really, I lose a day out of my life – well, I suppose I've already lost one or two over the years, mainly due to Gin or Vodka, but this is different. It doesn't exist – and at my time of life I can ill-afford to lose a day!

I console myself with the thought that I may have lost a day – but I've already gained what seems a lifetime of experiences.

And I'm only a quarter-way around the world. So farewell Latin America and hello to New Zealand...

44) New Zealand – a surly immigration geezer and a few hot geysers...

  The four-engined Airbus (just enough engines I always think), is decreasing altitude and we're starting our descent into Auckland. There's nothing to see out the window, we've followed the night sky continuously from Chile. I've slept maybe six of the fourteen hours flight. That's pretty good for me.

I'm reading the landing card and customs declaration forms for arrival into New Zealand. The Kiwis have very strict 'Bio-security' laws. There are instant – and quite heavy fines for not declaring foodstuffs – there's a rule of thumb – if it can be eaten, declare it. Or else!

The immigration officer is a surly chap. He wants chapter and verse. How long am I staying? Where am I going? Why? What do I do in Spain for a living? (good question, that one – I thought). Do I have a ticket out of NZ? Show it.

Blimey – I'm only here for three days, at this rate I'll spend them all answering his questions. Finally he stamps my passport with a six-months visa. Still no 'welcome to New Zealand'. Miserable git.

Bio-security want to know about the packet of peanuts that I declared. They're sealed, so I'm ok to keep them. They ARE serious.

I have a long day ahead – it's only 5.30am. I'm couchsurfing in Rotarua tonight, but can't arrive at my host before 5pm. I have a rental car booked. It's the first time I've driven in nearly two months – since I had the mad crazy dash to make my plane from Malaga, which seems ages ago.

The car rental girl is very pleasant and gives me a choice of car – a Nissan thingamy. “Thought I have a choice” say I. “You do - a white one or a blue one” she says smiling. I like this – a droll sense of humour. We chit-chat for a while, she gives me a few ideas about where to see on North Island, hands me the keys and a map – and off I go.

Dawn is breaking as I head away from the Airport heading south. Almost immediately I pass those great American institutions - KFC and a McDonalds. There isn't much traffic about, apart from huge trucks – American built Kenworths and Macks. I momentarily wonder if I got on the wrong flight from Santiago and ended up in Los Angeles rather than Auckland. But I'm driving on the left – and so is everyone else, so I must be in the right country.

I decide to head for Raglan for no other reason that it's a couple of hours away, it's on the coast and I can't think of a better way to enjoy my first breakfast in NZ.

 The dawn mist gives way to sunshine as I'm cruising down Highway 1 towards Hamilton, where I'll turn east towards Raglan and the coast of the Tasman Sea. The scenery is not outstanding in a dramatic way, but comprises rolling green hills and small towns. It all looks very familiar – very 'English' and it's how I imagine England was in say the 1950's – clean, tidy, empty roads, considerate drivers. If it wasn't for the Maori town names – like Pukekohe and Ngaruawahia for instance – I could be driving through Sussex or Dorset.

I like it immediately – I'm already realising that I have made a mistake in my planning. To be honest, I wasn't going to NZ at all – just Australia. But the flight from Santiago to Sydney calls at Auckland and I thought it a bit stupid not to at least have a look. I'm already thinking three days isn't enough.

Raglan is a pretty town, nestled in a wide sweeping sandy bay with rolling surf coming in from the Tasman Sea. I have a wander around on the deserted beach, a few surfers are preparing their boards. I go prepare myself for a decent brekkie.

Heading out of Raglan I pick up a hitchhiker – that's something else that don't happen in England anymore. He's a Maori Sax player – heading down to Napier for a gig. I drop him in Hamilton, wishing I could spend more time with him.

I have a stop in the pretty town of Cambridge and then carry on down Hwy 1, eventually turning towards Rotorua on Route 5, which has the delightful designation of 'The Thermal Explorer Highway'.

A few stops here and there along the way and I eventually arrive into Rotorua late afternoon. It's a tourist destination alright – hot springs, geysers, bubbling mud pools. Oh and Maori souvenir shops and backpackers hostels everywhere.

No hostel for me though – I'm staying with a Couchsurfing host for one night. Now, I'm a great supporter of the Couchsurfing project and principle of sharing experiences, stories and hospitality. Unfortunately it didn't happen here. Remember – I've not been in a bed since I got up Saturday morning in Santiago and it's now Monday evening in NZ. That's a lot of hours and a whole lot of travelling.

I turn up as arranged – bearing a little gift of some chocolates from Chile. Well, what a strange family I'm with. No one really speaks, I don't feel very welcome and I'm not even offered a cup of tea! Honestly...

I decide that I'll make the most of a strange evening by going out. I can't sit around in almost silence all evening and I can't get away soon enough the next morning.

I'm glad I have prior experience of Couchsurfing – if this was my first time, I'm not sure I'd have done it again. Their references on the website are fine – so maybe it was a personality thing. I have no idea.

Oh well never mind, I'm heading to a Maori village and going to experience some 'Thermal Wonders'...

45) An authentic Maori feast? Yeah, right...

I have an early wander around Rotorua and I mean early. I left my hosts before 7am. I need to get into the tourist information centre 'i-site' as the NZ tourist offices are known. So I while away the time in a small parkland which is a haven of Geothermal activity. It really is fantastic to see steam rising from the ground, ponds of water bubbling away and mud-pools doing the same.

It's because I'm standing by one of Earths great wonders – a Geothermal System. These Geothermal systems involve natural heat found within the Earth. A geothermal field is created when cool ground water from rain, snowmelt, rivers or lakes comes into contact with hot rocks underground. As the water is heated, it becomes less dense than the colder surface water and then rises to the surface via faults in the Earths Crust to discharge as geysers, hot springs and other thermal nicities. I'm in the area that's most associated with New Zealand's gerthermals.

I head to the 'i-site'. The staff are very good. I explain whet I want to see, where I want to go and where I want to stay. In just a few minutes they have me booked in for a Maori tour, given me a route to my next destination and made reservations in two hostels for my remaining nights in NZ. Very slick indeed.

I head to the Maori Village on the outskirts of Rotorua. I have a read of the brochure they've given me at the 'i-site'. It's a 'Living Thermal Village' and I'm entering a 'Land of Wonders'. My ticket says 'Cultural Tour' and 'Hangi experience'.
The entrance to the village is inscribed with it's Maori name – Whakarewarewa, unfortunately pronounced Fucka-wara. And believe me – it sure is!

Now, I know the 'i-site' has big glass doors, and did they see me coming – or what?? Fifty-five NZ dollars for a ticket to wander around looking at... Well, I'm not sure what. I suppose if the 'authentic village' wasn't full of 'Authentic Maori Souvenirs' and the 'village theatre' didn't show the saddest group of Maori 'warriors' strutting their stuff – Haka war dance included.

Still I've got the 'Hangi experience' to come. Now a Hangi is a type of steam 'oven', set into the ground and the food is cooked by natural steam from the geothermals below.

Call me naive, but I was expecting my Hangi meal to be set ouside – maybe sitting down around a campfire, a few Maoris dancing around, maybe a Maori woman or two mopping my brow – or feeding me...

It's amazing how expectations can come crashing down! My Hangi experience is in a self-service cafe, where I'm given a pre-prepared plate of some steamed chicken, veggies and a couple of spuds. I look around at the other diners. They all look miserable, clearly wandering where the camp fire is....

I tried to look up the translation of ' Whakarewarewa' I think it's Maori for 'The cheesiest experience in the southern hemisphere'

Oh well – It was an experience alright, can't argue with that.

46) Goodbye NZ, G'day OZ

I escape the Maori's and head for Tauranga over on the Pacific coast. It's still a pleasure driving, light traffic and a pleasing two or so hours ride listening to an 'oldies' radio station. Music that is, not SAGA radio.

It's a small and very smart clean town. I find my hostel – Loft 109 and check-in early afternoon. Everyone is friendly. Get nattering with a couple of lads from Yorkshire – brothers, they've both left their respective partners and have a one-year working visa for NZ. Listening to their tales of sleeping their way around NZ, they haven't managed to find much time for work. My kinda guys!

We head out into town for a few beers – these are my first in NZ, and it's noticeable how much more expensive this is than anywhere in S. America. Get used to it Woz.

I like to think otherwise, but they don't 'pull' for the first time in ages – and it's been mentioned that hanging out with me may well be the problem. Well really...

I've a couple hours spare next morning – I have a wander around Taraunga, then take a drive over the harbour to the beach. This is a very nice place – wish I had longer to stay. It's a rush, trying to see what I can in the three days – but I have to head back to Auckland Airport, to a motel for an early night and a very early flight to Australia. I really need to come back here sometime.

No real formalities at the airport and I'm soon aboard a 747 bound for Melbourne where I clear formalities easily – I hand my passport over to the immigration lady, she flips through the pages “G'day Warren” she says with a smile “How was South America?” - “Demanding, but great” I reply. “Well, you won't have any trouble here, well except from us Shelia's” - another smile. “OK, I'll be careful then”!, I say hopefully. That's it – I'm in and within thirty seconds I know I'm just gonna love OZ.

I have an easy transfer for my short flight to Adelaide. I'm being met my my mate and former partner from our software business in UK and USA. I haven't seen Andy in a couple of years and last June he and his lady Nikki, emigrated to Australia. I've been looking forward to meeting up again.

Andy's in the arrivals hall – he's a bit amazed at how little stuff I have – just my holdall and small backpack. “Blimey Woz – you have changed” he says. Of course, he remembers me from a previous life -suits, loads of luggage and smart hotels, even for a short trip!

We've loads to talk about while he's driving me out to the coast in his smart Jeep Cherokee. He also looks different – much more relaxed. We're both literally a world away from the high-pressure business we were operating back in the UK and USA.

It's the little things in life that are sometimes just so good – we're sat out by a deserted beach with fish 'n chips – and going through our own bits of nostalgia. From the coast we head up to Mount Lofty (the Aussies have such literal names) and get some great views of Adelaide from on high.

Regrettably it's only one night with Andy and Nikki – they're heading off to Queensland early next morning. I was so glad to catch up with him – never seemed to manage it when he was in the UK and I was in Spain, so it was ironic that Adelaide was our meet-up!!

I sleep most of the next day – the time change from Santiago, to Auckland and now Adelaide is around thirteen hours and my body-clock is more than a bit confused. I've arranged to meet my Couchsurf host - Don, in the centre of Adelaide. We haven't spoken before, just swapped a couple of emails through the Couchsurf website. We're meeting at 5pm, I just manage to wake in time to get the bus from Andy's for the short ride to the city.

We meet as arranged at the corner of Currie and King William Streets. “Don?” I say. We shake hands - “Just got here, a moment ago – good timing” I add. He looks at me intensely - “Your English is very good for a Spaniard” he says. I laugh – he's not read through my whole profile on the Couchsurf website. He saw that I'm based in Fuengirola and assumed I'm Spanish. Of course my dark complexion and sultry look adds to the illusion. “Sorry mate, you're stuck with a pom”. We laugh – I can see we'll get on just fine.

47) Woz on wine – No worries mate, you can't help being a POM...

  Indeed we do get on fine. Don and his lovely wife Rae are excellent hosts. We chat over dinner about life, travels and experiences. I head out into Adelaide the next morning by bus. I'm out early – I have only one full day here and I want to get the feel of the city.

I alight on Melbourne St. It's a smart street with many cafe bars and shops. I walk the mile or so towards the centre of Adelaide. It's a bright, sunny and warm morning. The air is clear and traffic volume isn't what I'd expect – quite light really.

I could almost describe Adelaide as a large collection of well maintained parkland that someone decided to plant a small city into. It's a pleasing stroll – people make eye-contact easily and always find time to say 'G'day'. I head along the riverside for a while, crossing it on King William Bridge and end up in Rundle Mall shopping centre. I buy myself a mobile phone sim card from the main telecomms company - Telstra. I have around seven weeks to travel Australia – having a local phone is much cheaper than using my Spanish Vodafone service.

I wander around the centre taking it all in – not like me to be spending a Saturday morning in a shopping centre, especially coming all this way to do it. I head down to the indoor market in Gouger Street

Known as 'Central Market' it's a large and very busy place. I come across a shop in there with some familiar looking stuff...

How amazing to find an Andean shop with authentic Peruvian goods on sale – in the middle of Adelaide of all places. I wander in - “Hola amigo, buenos dias” I say to the guy behind the counter. Well, it turns out that the owner is from Cusco, but has been in Oz for more than ten years now. He hasn't been back in all that time. I show him some photos that I have on my camera – he's really interested to see them. We chit-chat in Spanish and English – well, more English really.

As nice as it it here, I'm missing S America – can't put my finger on it as to why, though.

I take the Tram to Glenaig – a seaside resort just to the south of Adelaide. It's a tidy suburb (or resort), I'm not sure which. I go sit on a wall by the beach and just watch the world go by. It's Saturday afternoon and the beach is full of teenagers. How lucky to be able to live in a place like this and just happen along to the beach for a few hours. No wonder everyone's so chilled here.

Tram and bus back to Don and Rae. He's been preparing some curry and accompaniments for a dinner party with some friends. I'm invited along – everyone has made a dish or two. I buy some wine to take along – can't go empty handed now, can I?

Well, only Woz can decide to buy wine from Western Australia and take it to a dinner-party in South Australia – home of the famous 'Barossa Valley' wine region – reputed to be the finest and oldest in all of Australia!! Of course they gave me some serious well-humored stick for that. I haven't done much for the reputation of POM's here!!

Don decides to show me how it really is – he takes me on a tour of the Barossa Reigon. We can't do it all – it's quite an area and I only have a few hours on this Sunday morning. Still – I get to see the original 'creek' where Jacobs Creek Wine – the one that put Aussie wine on the map – comes from.

He takes to to a small winery for a tasting session. They're very sophisticated and have a recommended tasting list – and the order in which to sample them. There must be thirty or so wines on the list. I haven't had breakfast yet – so I limit myself to just ten or so. Feeling pretty good – I buy a fabulous dessert wine to take with me to my next Couchsurf hosts in Tasmania. I hope they don't mind Barossa Valley wine in 'Tassy'.

Don has a magnificent knowledge of the Barossa, it's history and the towns and villages there. He and Rae both grew up in the 'Valley' – I couldn't have had a better tour if I'd tried. He drops me at the Airport exactly on time for me to check-in for the couple hours flight to Hobart in Tasmania. We've only known each other for less than a couple of days. It's like saying goodbye to an old friend. What a great guy – Rae too!

I'm concerned about taking the wine with me in my hand luggage. “Do I need to check this in”? I ask the check-in clerk. “Aussie wine”? He questions. “No worries, mate, take as much as you like”

No 100ml limits on liquids and stupid little plastic bags here.

How come the Aussies can make life so easy for domestic travellers? You know something.... When the Aussies say 'No worries, mate' They really mean it.

I board the Virgin Blue flight – oh so friendly crew. I'm still waiting for the 'liquids police' to arrest me. It doesn't happen and just ninety minutes later we're descending into the small island of Tasmania...

48) Just nipping through Tasmania...

Did I say 'small island of Tasmania'?

When I was planning this sector, I checked on a map where Lyn – my next Couchsurfing host lives. It's just north of Launceston, which in turn is just north of Hobart. This is where I'm at right now – Hobart Airport, perusing a roadmap courtesy of the rental car company and wondering why I have a 250km or so drive north – and won't drive off the edge of Tassy's north coast.

Looking at Tasmania on 'googlemaps' – sitting in the comfort of my apartment back in Spain months ago, Tasmania is a little island south of Australia. A bit like looking at a map of Britain and knowing that the Isle of Wight is that little island off the south coast – right?

Wrong! This is my first real experience of distance here in Australia. The flying between Melbourne, Adelaide and Tassy doesn't really allow a sense of distance. Tasmania alone is 26,400 sq miles, that's not much less than the whole of Scotland.

So, I have best part of a four hours drive up the 'Midland Highway' – not a highway in the sense of being a dual-carriageway or anything like that. Just a main road with overtaking lanes every four of five miles.

Lyn has given me precise directions to her house. From the main road it's nearly 10km up a mountain track, then I have to watch for a tiny driveway on the left. It's pitch dark now, it's a dirt track road, all forms of wildlife are running around – including suicidal Wallaby's.

I really need a 4x4 car rather than my little Suzuki Swift. I'm worried about hitting any of the animals – not that I care about their wish to prematurely 'end it all' – but I have a $AU1000 excess on my rental car and I can see some serious damage and cost occurring if I hit something.

A few three-point turns later (really not funny in the pitch dark on a narrow track), I find the house. I make my introductions to Lyn and Sirus and ask if they're offended by me bringing Barossa wine to Tassy?

“Oooh, a nice 'sticky'” says Lyn, “better try it and see” she adds. It is an impressive wine and they don't appear offended at all. We save some for tomorrow. Out comes a bottle of vodka – and orange juice – how did they guess?

Oh man -what an evening. What great company they are. I'm really starting to love the Aussie sharp wit – it suits my style. This is going to be yet another great destination...

In daylight I can see where I'm at. Halfway or so up a mountain, in an amazing house in a rainforest. Beautiful views all around. The water in the taps comes direct from a mountain stream, there's a big 'Rayburn' log-fired range cooker in the kitchen, the sun is out – life is good.

We're sat in the garden chit chatting. I feel something by my foot. It's a leech, just trying to slither between my shoe and sockless foot. I'm hopping around like a right idiot. Lyn is in stitches. “Don't get many of them here – a bird must've dropped it” she says between chuckles. I'm struggling to see what's funny – although I must admit, seeing me hopping around like a man possessed is possibly quite an event.

Still I shook it off, grabbed it and sucked the blood out of it. Well, I didn't really – I was just glad to see Lyn carry it away and carefully place it in the bush. That's because I wouldn't pick the little bugger up.

We're off on a road-trip the next day. Up around Scottsdale and over to the north east coast to visit a couple that Lyn is good friends with. Tasmania is a beautiful place. Lyn tells me quite a bit about the geography of the island. The differences on opposite sides of Tassy sound impressive. It's another place I should have spent more time exploring.

That evening, more vodka – Lyn grabs a guitar. She's a music teacher and a very good musician – and singer. The four of us sing along – well, she sings – we make a noise. A sort of 'live karoke'.

It's an overcast morning – we're heading back towards Launceston for a look around. We're there all day – meeting another Couchsurfer who's also going to staying at the house.

I'm leaving the next morning – I have that long drive back to Hobart to catch my next flight to Sydney. Lyn still finds time to write down some music theory notes to help me with my Sax practice. I'm finally starting to understand keys, scales, arpeggios and the 'circle of 5ths now! What an amazing person she is.

I make it in good time back to Hobart, although I didn't have time to see much there. I'm excited about going to Sydney – easy through check-in, Virgin are on time and it's another short not two hours flight across the Tasman sea.

What an entrance! Our flight path into Sydney is over Botany Bay. It's dusk as we're descending into Kingsford-Smith airport and the twilight just adds another dimension to the overall experience of arriving in one of the worlds great cities.

I'm going to really enjoy this...