Ham-berg-guesa

Maracojar-Brazilian style whopping giant passion fruit heaven!


Where in the world? We got some armarillo, verde, azul, and cocos....it must be BRAZIL!!


Abrigado a los hombres. Two days driving with these awesome Brazilianos to Florenopolis and their little amount of Ingles made for one entertaining ride. We stopped for burgers somewhere, in the middle of exactly nowhere, I think.



Montevideo Sunday market had everything and nothing at all, twenty blocks of this and that, but made a great morning for gawking at weird, feathery and wonderful stuff and things.


One amazingly long dusk between Patagonian Chile and Argentina. An incredible work out for my rods and cones.


Huge burgs slough off from Glacier Moreno every few minutes, and make enormous thundering sounds followed by epic waves. This monster is 60m high above water, and 100m below.



Moreno Glacier. Tourists come enmass to entertain themselves by watching global warming in action. Perhaps a little beautiful as well? Check them nubes out.



The last two weeks are escaping me too too fast. I dont want to stop, even to blink.

Episodes I-VI

After four days of complete solitude, I hope I may be forgiven for the following episodes. Younger viewers may require parental guidance.


I-Agua sin gas


II


III


IV


V


VI


Maybe it can pass as art, or an experiment, or perhaps a means to channel ones frustration at one incredibly soaking wet night stuck in a leaky one man tent.

Torres Del Paine-Patagonia

For the Labyrinth lovers -- The Bog of Eternal Stench, or was is my hiking boots??





Oh the joys of a dry peanut butter sandwich, lunch each day on the ´W´ circuit hike. I actually seriously contemplated leaving this one in the rain to lubricate the four day old bread, it was that good! Yummmmmm. Jos, for the record it was smooth PB.


There is something seriously cool about ice burgs.


Greys Glacier


For Amy New, some native Chilean geese for you. And for the Goose, I thought of you and Derek when I spotted these guys (not the gooslings!). Hope Sydney is treating the pair of you awesomely.


Torres del Paine, the hike to the look out quickly revealed itself as the ´towers of pain´. I met with a band of ol´ British oil company CEO retirees living in Costa Rica. They offered me a swig of their finest single malt at the summit, and then dinner at the five star refugio after the decent. It would have been rude not to accept (on account of global warming).

Patagonia Prelude

Argh the agony of torture. So close to Antarctica, and yet so far. I could almost taste it, and I could certainly smell it on the Patagonian breeze. I longed to share a whisky on the rocks, made with million year old ice cubes with a Russian scientist on an ice burg. But this was as far south as I got. Of course, I am a sucker for a good mo´, especially one in a naval uniform, but somehow, it didn't quite cut the mustard. This time, Antarctica was a Mo go.



I went to town on the scroggin at the local Tiende de fruta seca, dried fruit store. Needed to stock up well for the next epic days trekking in the remote Torres Del Paine National Park, Chile.

There was definitely not a local butcher across the street, who did not make the worlds best salami, from which I definitely did not buy a huge wad of salami with the intention of taking it camping with me, and definitely did not scoff it all before I even made it back to the hostel. Those who know me the vegetarian in me well, can attest to my pure and utter self control when it comes to such things as a fine salami. Its all true, it never happened! So far I have a tent, mat, food, sleeping bag....Er what else....A full belly....Anyway if you dont hear from me in more than a week, send the search party.....




Ok, so its another classic ´Alex takes a million shots of herself until she gets a nice one and then publishes it on her blog with the exact same smile you have seen in every entry´ shot. You know it.... and you love it. (I hope)

But this one is extra choice. I´m far south, at the bare bones of the end of the world and it is 10.30 evening time. With days this long, you would think you have enough hours in the day to do everything you ever wanted. Not this chica. I lay in bed, thick with feather duvets, devouring Oscar Wilde. Then at 10.30 ventured all of fifteen metres to delight in more of the good stuff, a local Patagonian cheese platter and Chilean cabernet. Tough gig

What one doze in the ´Doze´ (Mendoza, Arg)

Bailar de Salar Salsa

Bolivia Bonanza

Lake Titicaca Peru/Bolovia

Five star, five foot.


Los Hombres. Part of the ramdon crowd that stayed on Isla Aramarti with locals Sarafina and her hubby Alberto. Doors were a little short


SJ this one is for you. On this island in the middle of the worlds highest lake, the women wander spinning brightly coloured alpaca wool on spindles, and the men shuffle along cobble stoned farm tracks knitting woollen hats, occasionally looking up to check the herd and admire the ancient Inca ruins.

Isla Taquile




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Martin Pescador, one of the sprats that lives on the floating Euros reed islands.


Sinking ships