Granada

The next stop on our Spanish camina is the beautiful town of Granada, conveniently situated on the way to Costa Blanca where we plan to indulge in some well-deserved downtime and I'm going to sponge off (sorry, spend time with) my family for a couple of weeks.

Granada has a very Spanish (unsurprising really) feel to it, probably in part due to its wonderfully preserved physical history that spans two millennia and intertwines Islam and Christianity in its stunning architecture. The main reason most people visit is to explore the Alhambra, an exquisite palace that overlooks the town and is one of the finest examples of where east meets west in a melding of religious architecture and abundant historic wealth, and where opulence and grandeur charms its visitors in a romanticism that is usually reserved for sites such as the Sistine Chapel or the Taj Mahal. Skipping this spectacle was not an option.

This was not before, however, our most authentic Spanish night out to date - a trip to see flamenco in an underground bar, complete with singing and stomping, but no castanets (apparently they are not as authentic as one might think...). It was all very emotive stuff, with wailing and passion and slicked back hair, but try as I might, Spanish flamenco just isn't for me. All that over-exertion to express love and heartache just seems a little try-hard, but as we've already established, I'm pretty much dead inside, so I shouldn't be surprised at my lack of enthusiasm. Still, when in Spain...

The next day we wandered up to the old town where picture-postcard houses with white-washed walls, decorated with colorful Moroccan tiles overlook views of the Alhambra alongside quaint squares with looming cathedrals. The sparring between Islam and Christianity is reflected in every layer of architecture as religion replaced religion through warfare and domination. Beautiful it certainly was, but unfortunately the price of food was not, so we headed back down the hill to one of Granada's lane-way bars, where thankfully the traditional concept of free tapas with each drink purchased still reigns supreme.

A Lucy with an Alhambra behind her.

Our final day was reserved for the mighty Alhambra, a place steeped in so much history and so popular that your entry is timed by the hour. We had to queue up at 6 am in order to secure tickets for a 4 pm slot (unsurprisingly, I'm still not a morning person, and so was particularly grumpy). As we entered it's confines, however, we were met with an immense sense of calm and tranquility (apart from the hoards of Chinese tourists). Landscaped gardens, housed an area known as General Life, which was reserved as the playground for the ruling elite. Flowers of multiple shades and hues bordered shaded paths and trellised archways that overlooked the palace's summer house. Water bubbled from archaic fountains that were interconnected by the stone water channels that fed these immaculate gardens.

View from the gardens, looking towards the walls of the Alhambra.

As we wound our way around towards the palace, the buildings became larger and more intricate. Charles V famously destroyed some of the original structure built in the 11th century and replaced it with a renaissance-style coliseum, complete with colonnades, which now dominates the landscape, while other Christian influences come to life in the churches and monastery that served the royal Ferdinand family.

Possibly the only photo of the two of us from the whole trip!

 The palace itself, however, retains its Islamic architectural glory with room after room showcasing exquisitely intricate designs. Every surface, every wall, every ceiling is adorned in plaster bearing beautiful engravings, or colorful tiles, each hand painted with a delicate eye and a firm hand. You float through sun-drenched atriums filled with marble as narrow water channels guide you through to fountains and artificial ponds.

This is my summer residence...

Every wall was adorned with tiles of one design or another.

Architecture in the main atrium

 It really is hard to convey the wonder of it all and Alhambra must be Spain's most glorious piece of architectural history. It is one of the few places in the world I have visited where you can completely immerse yourself in the past and imagine what life would have been like 500, 700 or even 900 years ago. It's all there for the taking; walk through the Alhambra and your eyes will give you your very own time machine.

Madrid - let me tell you all a story about the joker and the thief in the night...

We have finally departed the great continents of the Americas and landed with two feet firmly in Europe. After being overly cautious for 3 months about losing our stuff we were looking forward to relaxing a little, kicking back and soaking up some European sun and culture. After all, mainland Europe is a place we rarely get to see, as time at home is strictly reserved for family and friends. Turns out the warm and safe embrace of Madrid wasn't quite what we expected.

We flew over the pond with Swiss Air, an airline we have never flown with before but one I now wholeheartedly recommend. Nothing obvious made them brilliant, more their understated attitude and calm demeanour. 'Would you like an extra croissant?' Sure. 'And here's a spare pillow for you'. At one point Ais asked for another glass of wine, to which the air hostess responded, 'I'm sorry, we've run out of white, but here's two glasses of champagne - it's the good stuff'. Now, that is an airline after my own heart. Unlike Qantas, who on our way to Mexico told us to reign it in and drink water after three glasses of red. Really?!?

Anyway, back to Madrid. We found our way to our hostel, laid down our bags and went to check out the local scenery. All very beautiful as you can see.

Plaza de Armas, Madrid style

Boating at sunset

Big glass house

Rather fancy hotel (where we weren't staying)

After gawping at the price of tapas we chowed down on the cheapest eats we could find, accompanied by even cheaper beer (the price of alcohol in this country is crazy. How everyone isn't an alcoholic is beyond me. One slab = €8. Thats 8 euros people!). So, we accepted that Spain is not going to be the place where we cut back on our alcohol intake and ordered another beer. Sadly the same can not be said about the food. As I've mentioned, Madrid is exxy when it comes to tapas. On top of that there is practically NOTHING vegetarian. Spain makes Bolivia look like it has a positively thriving green food scene, which is definitely far from the truth. Every piece of bread served seems to be slathered in some sort of pig product. From chorizo to jamon to Iberian ham to pork crackling the pig reigns supreme in Spain and don't you forget it. It is not a good place if you're born a swine. Heaven for Ais. Hell for me. Partly because I'm gutted to miss out on the cuisines for which this country is famed, but mainly because I'll be bloody hungry! So, I've resided myself to a diet of cheese for the next 4 weeks. It could be worse.

After a well-deserved lie-in we planned a relaxing day strolling through the streets before visiting the Museo del Prado, Madrid's largest art gallery showcasing classical artists such as Caravaggio, Botticelli and Holbein along with a host of others I've promptly forgotten. As we stood outside the front of our hostel working out a route a guy approached us, flip-flops in hand and asking for water. He pointed towards Ais's water bottle and a split-second later was legging it down the street with her phone in his dirty paws. It all happened in a flash, but Ais was not to be deterred. Before I knew what was happening she'd hot-tailed after him shouting THIEF. They disappeared round a corner, while I looked on stupidly open-mouthed holding on to the rest of our valuables. I raced back inside to inform our hosts who of course could do nothing and got the address for the local cop shop. Ais was nowhere to be seen and my mind started to race - had she wrestled him to the ground, punched him in the junk and retrieved her phone? Was she lost or lying in a pool of blood somewhere after being attacked? I started to grow increasingly fearful - I had no idea where she was and I couldn't exactly phone her. Ten minutes later however, she returned triumphantly with her phone in her hand and an exhausted look on her face. The thief had not escaped. Two men, on hearing her plight, gave chase and pinned señor mugger to the floor and retrieved the phone. Minutes later police were on the scene (know what I mean?) and the guy was sat miserably handcuffed on the floor. When we returned to the scene of the crime, we were told we had to head 'downtown' to make a statement. What we (or I) didn't expect was to have to sit next to the guy in the police car with nothing but a small divide between me and Mr criminal and strict instructions 'not to look him in the eye'! Apparently this is perfectly normal. Normal? 

To my relief two hours later we were released and on our way. Unfortunately so was our new friend, as they don't hold people in custody for such minor offences, so we spent the rest of the day watching our backs and our belongings in case he wanted to enact sweet revenge. The morals of the story? Just because you're in Europe it doesn't mean you're any less likely to be mugged. The second moral is, don't mess with the Irish!

We finally made it to Museo del Prado, although I'm ashamed to admit I can't really remember what we saw apart from Carravaggio's David and Goliath and Velaquez's Las Meninas, along with 1000 of paintings of Jesus in various poses. Christ, did he get around... 

After this rather stressful day for poor Ais it was time for a well-deserved cervesa or three. We finished off the evening at Madrid's most famous churros bar. Deliciously warm doughnut sticks served with thick hot chocolate that wasn't too dissimilar to the texture of San Pedro, but tasted a hell of a lot nicer. We began to meander back to our hostel when we heard a tremendous commotion coming from the next street. As we turned the corner we were greeted by the biggest street party we have ever seen. At least 100,000 people were lining the road dancing, drinking, chatting, peeing, kissing or hurling. Huge bars were set up in the middle of each street selling pints of vodka and gin. Sound systems vied for audio space as music came at you from all directions. Portaloos overflowed with the excesses of party. And we had just walked right into the middle of it all. Without a clue as to the reason for this massive celebration that seemed to have every citizen of Madrid beside themselves with drunken splendour (turns out the next day was a public holiday, which means the people of Madrid get off chops the night before in celebration. Makes perfect sense!), we entered the foray and settled ourselves in for the night. To say the rest of the evening was a blur would be a huge understatement, although we vaguely remember following the masses home, walking round and round in circles, aimlessly looking for our hostel. We eventually stumbled into bed at about 6 am.

And boy did we feel bad the next day. I'm guessing the vodka is not of top-notch quality when it's sold by the pint. I woke up wearing a hat, which I have no memory of procuring and a thumping head that was not dissimilar to someone drilling a jackhammer through my left ear, out the other side and into the ground below. Ais was fairing no better and I'm ashamed to say we didn't emerge from our cage until 5 pm in the afternoon (the only consolation being that Spanish cities don't really get going until the evening anyway, so actually we were just doing what the locals do). We planned to visit Madrid's MOMA, which was free after 7 pm. Perfect timing. As we departed our hostel, Madrid pulled out its next treat for us. We walked up the road and were greeted by a man coming towards us. We instantly knew something wasn't right, but our eyes and our brains were clearly off the eight ball and it took us some time to realise that señor chappy was playing with his chappy as he approached us. The trousers were open, the flies were down and he was merrily banging one out to the beat of his drum, while gesturing wildly to all and sundry, who happened to be a very hungover Lucy and Ais. WTF! After he'd walked past I think it took Ais and I a full 30 seconds of dumbfounded silence before one of us gingerly said, 'did you just see the same thing as me?', for fear that one of us was hallucinating. Now, my understanding of flashers is that they stand in dark corners wearing big overcoats, which they open up to unsuspecting passers by. Not walking down the street in broad daylight juggling their balls and inviting people to join in. In hindsight our 'cock and ball' experience was mightily funny, and has ensured the memories of Madrid will be firmly planted in my brain forever. I can't unsee what these eyes have seen!

MOMA was great of course. We have now seen more Picassos than I can shake a stick at and Guernica was particularly impressive. But sadly, instead, my lasting impression of our time in Madrid will be of a thief and a joker who couldn't keep their hands to themselves.

Next stop Granada. Surely the walls of the Alhambra won't harbour such degenerates!?!

Ah, New York...

How I have missed thee. Let me count the ways along your frenetic Manhattan streets, in your shaded Central Park, over your bridges and down into leafy Brooklyn, bathed in Bohemia, in your gluttony of eateries that pop up out of nowhere in the most obvious yet least likely locations.

It is hard to reconcile with only spending a few days in New York; a city in which you could spend a lifetime and never completely fulfill your mind or your stomach. And we were a day down after our (un)fortunate stop in the Bahamas. Our suburb of choice for accommodation was Brooklyn, where we stayed in a converted warehouse at the Williamsburg end of town, between the breweries, coffee shops and food trucks that have trajectoried this suburb's popularity into a whole new level of space and time. We could have very easily spent our whole time in this proverbial neck of the NYC 'hood', but we had a whole city to consume, absorb and digest in only 4 days.

In some ways I don't think there is anything I can write here that can do this city justice. Most of us are familiar with its ways and vistas, its people and its wares, and images alone will conjure up the feelings and emotions that only this great city can give. You don't need me to labour on about how wonderful New York is, so I will settle for a brief description on the things we saw, the food we ate, and let your minds do the rest.

As with any city tour the best way to take in the sites is to pound the pavements, and in New York's case, look up. We alighted in downtown Manhattan and headed north. With the Flatiron building behind us, and the Empire State in front, we weaved our way between Broadway, 5th and 6th, stopping off for the occasional iced coffee and popping our heads into various stores along the way. By mid-afternoon we had stumbled through to Times Square and wandered east to the Rockefeller and MOMA, where entry is free on Friday afternoons and the queue snakes all the way back to 54th street. 

We tried to recreate a photo I have of me taken in this spot exactly eight years ago. I think it's pretty spot on. Shame I'm not the same age..!

After craning our necks and fighting with the crowds to view Picassos, Rousseaus, Warhols and Lichensteins it was time for a drink, so we caught the metro down to the East Village and spent the evening with the locals.

One of my favourite artworks at MOMA

On day two we joined the joggers (not literally, that would be stupid) and crossed Brooklyn Bridge before nosying around Greenwich Village, dreaming about which house we would live in, while also being on constant celebrity watch. We then walked north to the Chelsea Markets where we severely damaged our wallets and waistlines before hitting the High Line, a disused rail track transformed into a beautiful walkway that winds between the high rises and skyscrapers. We ended the day back in Greenwich for lobster rolls and wine (see below).

View from the High Line

Day three and we decide to spend the morning east side and check out our local hood. After a deliciously boozy brunch we sauntered down to the Brooklyn flea markets that overlook Manhattan on the water's edge. 

After a morning of eating and shopping, a bit of relaxation was in order so it was back over to Manhattan for an afternoon in Central Park watching the world go by (and bumping in to an old friend. Hi Tom Ryan...), while devouring a picnic and beers. By nightfall it was time for a cocktail and we scaled the heights of a rooftop bar with twilight views of the Manhattan skyline. We finished off the night with several gin and tonics in one of Williamsburg's neighborhood bars.

Our last day was (typically, it seems for us) hugely hungover and reliant on the ability of strong coffee and cream cheese bagels to get us through the morning. With delicate stomachs duly filled we took the metro down to the financial district and checked out the 9/11 memorial. We then hung with the suits on Wall Street before ducking into anthropologie - just to look, of course - and making our way out to Newark airport.

Of course no trip to New York would be complete without gorging oneself on its numerous and wondrous culinary options. From food trucks to diners to fine dining to markets we endeavored to put as much food in our stomachs as possible. On our first day we ate... 

1 waffle with syrup

1 banana

4 x coffees

1 iced coffee

Mac and 4 cheese x 2 from Smack - surely the best name for a restaurant, statistic.

1 chili dog

1 Reuben with pickles

1 portion Katz fries with pickles 

Homemade tofu salad

Spicy corn

Ais chows down on a Reuben from Katz's diner

Starting as we meant to continue, other culinary highlights included the Chelsea Markets where there are multiple eateries including a lobster bar where you can stand, order oysters by the dozen and lobster by the kilo while quaffing champagne in between buying your weekly groceries and shopping for beautiful clothes (which I duly did). We opted for some specialty banh mi - pulled pork for Ais with a taco on the side (for comparison's sake of course) and peppercorn catfish for me. Meaty, and with just the right amount of spice...

In the evening we ventured into Greenwich Village and stopped off at a small bar known for its seafood. We dined on the finest lobster rolls we have ever tasted (Golden Fields... Soo yesterday!) washed down with a fresh Viognier while the fairy lights of Greenwich twinkled outside. How very SATC.

For breakfasts we sought out eggs and French toast, Brooklyn-style, and indulged in the great New York tradition of the alcoholic brunch, where the first, and often only meal of the day on Sunday is a humongous plate of food accompanied by either bottomless bloody Mary's or prosecco. Can you imagine! How no one in Melbourne has cottoned on to this glorious revelation is way way beyond me. I mean, we love our brunch, we love our booze. Why the hell has no one thought to put the two together and turn us into alcoholics at breakfast?

For market fare we visited the weekly Brooklyn flea markets where there were just as many food stalls as bohemian fare. Sushi, ice creams, lobsters, sliders, fish, tacos and doughnuts were just some of the offerings displayed courtesy of brightly coloured trucks, stalls and BBQ stands. Fresh lemonade and artisan beers flowed from kegs, while hungry hipsters struggled to find the best way to hold their single origin lattes, bloody Mary's, banh mi and recently purchased 70s apparel all with two hands. Ais settled for a salted caramel and chocolate doughnut, while I plumped for a tataki tuna crisp taco with radish and black sesame, all consumed about 30 minutes after brunch.

On our final day we opted for a boozy picnic in Central Park with goods purchased from Whole Foods Market, the most ridiculously elaborate and gluttonous organic supermarket I have ever laid eyes on. You want sushi made in front of you to take away? Sure. How about a choice of over 100 salads topped up every hour in the salad bar to go on the side? Would you like a freshly bbq'd chicken to go with that? Or maybe you'd like to choose one of the 50 curries from around the world that our team of chefs are putting together? And don't forget to check out the cheese counter where I'm sure we stock every European cheese for you to choose from. And don't even get me started on the sweet treats. Hasten to say, a feast was had and we whiled away the afternoon stuffing our faces while listening to a nearby roller disco filled with the coolest people I HAVE EVER SEEN.

So, that pretty much sums up our New York adventure. When Frank Sinatra sang, 'I want to be a part of it', he really wasn't lying, and on more than one occasion Ais caught me saying I wouldn't mind 'being American' and living in New York. This, coming from someone who in the past has been rather disparaging of Americans. Not in a mean way, just in a 'you can always tell who American tourists are' kind of way, but in America, I found myself revelling in all things, well, American - the excess and the access, the big and the even bigger and the understanding that everything and anything is achievable.

Farewell New York. I miss you before I even know you...

A word on photos...

After 3 months of travelling I finally got to see our blog on a computer and was absolutely mortified to realise all our pictures are pixelated and grainy. Shame on me for not better understanding the Internet and its machinations. I have since read up on the matter and will wear a horse shirt as punishment for the remainder of our trip.

Shame on me...

An unexpected journey, or layover...

If you are ever going to miss a connecting flight en route to New York and have to wait 24 hours for your next plane, it might as well be somewhere nice like, the Bahamas for instance. Such a shame that we landed in Nassau five minutes before our next flight was due to depart, and with US customer service being what it is (even though the Bahamas isn't technically America), we were put up in a hotel for the night right on the beach with free transfers to and from the airport. This was the view from my (my! We didn't even have to share a room; the first time in the whole trip. Such opulence!) hotel room. There was also a pool with a swim-up bar and a casino (yee-hah!).

Um, waiter....

Now, if only we can find someone to pay for our drinks and food while we're here. Ah, two private plane pilots over for the night from Miami ought to do it. Nice!

San Pedro to Santiago, a brief ola to Chile

We have finally reached the final leg of our South American tour. So much these eyes have seen, yet so many wonders we have missed, so many places still to be discovered and so many cuisines that have sadly skipped our lips. The list for the next trip grows and grows. Our tour through Chile was no exception, a whirlwind visit that lasted only 6 days, took in only two destinations, yet covered nearly half the length of the longest country in the world.

We descended from the top of the Bolivian Andes, at the end of our journey through Salar de Uyuni (guest blog report due any day now!). We exited Bolivia through a small hut perched on a deserted lunar landscape at 4,500 metres. Other than a few straggling tourists passing through, it was just us, the Andes, two disgruntled immigration officers and a few circling vultures for company.

 

Immigration, Bolivia style

After boarding a rather forlorn-looking bus, we began our descent down the mountain to our destination San Pedro, and immediately noticed the sudden change and increase in economic wealth that is so often only observed at border crossings. Within 5 minutes of leaving Bolivia, the roads became paved, speed limits were introduced, passing trucks had all their parts intact and road signs listed distances and destinations. Our journey down to San Pedro consisted of one straight road that descended 2000 metres in 30 minutes; a drop so steep that our driver was limited to a speed of 40 km-an-hour so as not make us all sick from the increase in air pressure. With the Andes to our right and the Atacama desert to our left we entered the small desert town of San Pedro complete with security scanners (no coca leaves welcome here...), cash machines, pubs and a very alive and kicking tourist scene, which wouldn't look out of place in Australia. We had re-entered the first world in less than an hour, making the juxtaposition between the poverty of Bolivia and the richness of Chile seem even more distinct. Of course I understand the economics of differentiated wealth between nations, but when you observe such a gaping economical and cultural divide over such a short distance, its difficult to understand how money, wealth, food and education could not be better shared between countries and people.

Over-bearing tourism and overt wealth aside, San Pedro is a beautiful small town in the north of Chile at the southern end of the Atacama desert. Complete with adobe brick mud houses, a beautiful sunny Plaza de Armas and heaving nightlife, its easy to see why hoards of tourists, both Chilean and travellers alike (we have never seen so many never-go-homes in one concentrated area*) swarm to San Pedro to feel its desert-like temperatures.

'I just want four walls and an adobe house for my girl...'

San Pedro's attractions are varied and numerous, adding to its charm and popularity. It has its own salt flats, a lunar valley complete with Dali-esque rock formations, large dunes for sand-boarding, lakes of varying colours and the clearest night sky for miles around. Well, this was the desert after all. My interests were firmly rooted on the last of these options, having already experienced all of the former in some capacity or another, and being the space geek that I am. San Pedro is home to some of the largest telescopes in the world and will soon be the proud owner of the planet's largest radio telescope. This made me feel like a kid in a candy store and I eagerly signed up for the best space tour the town had to offer. Ais even signed up too, such was my enthusiasm to put a crick in my neck in the hope of seeing a few distant galaxies and star systems.

That evening we were trundled off to a small observatory just outside San Pedro to meet a Canadian astronomer who was the proud owner of eight telescopes and an enthusiasm for his subject matter that is usually reserved for brain surgeons and avian vets. After pointing out some commonly known nearby constellations with a bright green laser that seemed to stretch far beyond the star matter he was trying to show and on into the depths of space (I want one. I mean really, really want one), he moved on to demonstrate how to spot the difference between stars and planets. He also provided a rough history of humans' understanding of the night sky and how astronomy became so ingrained in civilizations the world over, from the Mayans to the Khmers to Aborigines (it is no coincidence that recurrent astronomical themes, ideas and stories appear in cultures that were completely isolated from each other). Finally we were shown where each of the zodiac constellations are positioned in the night sky. As we stood in the darkness, gazing up and open-mouthed, we witnessed more shooting stars than I have ever seen in any meteor shower - over 30 in two hours. We were watching our own personal light show. In addition, each telescope pointed to a different point and time in space, ranging from nearby and distant galaxies, to a star recently gone supernova, two nebulas, or star nurseries, and our personal highlight - a close-up view of Saturn with its glorious halo of rings reflecting brilliantly off the light of the sun. We finished the evening with a Q and A in our host's house, complete with the biggest personal skylight in the southern hemisphere. I, being completely awestruck, blurbled a totally dumb question that I can't even remember, but which I know made me feel particularly stupid about a subject I like to think I know a tiny bit about. Maybe I should stick to horoscopes...

On return to our hostel our delightful evening was somewhat marred by the arrival of four Chileans in our dorm who were on a short vacation from wherever they belonged (you can always pick out the people who aren't travelling; the size of their luggage is a dead giveaway - ie, they usually carry more than people who are on the road for six months, and they have no understanding of dorm etiquette). At 2 am our room-mates came crashing in, turned the lights on, proceeded to play drinking games and sing songs for the next hour. Neither of us was impressed, so unfortunately for them, after they'd gone on an excursion the next day, we relieved them of several personal items that would be really frustrating to lose. You know, nothing serious, just inconvenient: one flip-flop for example, disappeared into the ether, a hand towel became an excellent mop for the floor and a few pieces of clothing made their way under mattresses and underneath each bed. Basically, don't mess with a tired Lucy and Ais.

The next morning we hastily departed our hostel and headed to the bus station for a 24-hour journey that would take us to Chile's capital, Santiago. We have grown accustomed to rather luxurious buses in South America, it being the main mode of transport for most people, but this bus took the whole experience to another level. Leather seats that reclined to horizontal that could have fitted two of us in, constant movies, although sadly in Spanish plus dinner and breakfast. I now feel like I finally know what flying business class must be like, yet without leaving the ground and without the free booze...

In what seemed like only a few hours and not the laborious 24 we were dreading, we had arrived in Santiago, navigated the metro system, and found our way to our rather plush hostel in the suburb of Bella Vista, the Fitzroy of Santiago. 

Hipster graffiti in Santiago

Santiago has a distinctly European feel to it. Its architecture is rooted in Spanish colonialism, coffee shops line its leafy boulevards, while a rather large population of better-than-average-looking middle-aged men wander the streets in smart suits with Marlboroughs at their fingertips. There aren't any obvious tourist attractions (other than the aforementioned), so its beauty is found in wandering the streets, soaking up the atmosphere, drinking coffee, watching the beautiful people walk by, eating copious amounts of food and hanging with the students pretending we're younger than we are and reaping the benefits from cheap beer. 

Our first stop was the mercado de pescado, a large indoor fish market where stalls and restaurants jostle for space and your custom. Here, you really can try before you buy. The atmosphere was electric and we savoured chowing down on fried fresh fish and traditional clam chowder, washed down with a Chilean white while congratulating ourselves on dishes that would make Antony Bourdain proud. 

The next day we boarded the local funicular and pullied ourselves up for spectacular views over the immense, if somewhat smoggy skyline and a close-up view of one of the many over-sized Catholic monuments that seem to overlook all South American cities with 'loving grace'. South Americans certainly love their grandiose Christian paraphernalia.

We descended the mountain in time for happy hour micheladas and the last ceviche we were likely eat for some time (turns out the Spanish don't eat the stuff; I discovered this after making a tit of myself in a supermarket in Torrevieja the other day and doing the age-old trick of repeating myself louder and more slowly when they didn't understand me). Our last evening was a lovely end to what has surely been the most exciting, breath-taking, jaw-dropping, tiring and perhaps weight-gaining 3 months of my life. 

I can't lie. I'm incredibly sad to be leaving South America, not only because I know there is so much we haven't seen, but also because I've discovered in myself just how much I love the adventure of the unknown, experiencing cultures so different to my own small existence, and being surprised and amazed at what we've seen day to day. No matter how much I'm looking forward to the rest of our trip, our onward journey is familiar to me, and I know the extent of what it will be through the places and people I have encountered in years gone by. Of course I will love it, it just won't have the unique other-worldly feel of adventure that only comes with newly discovered places. Something that I have come to relish and pursue on this glorious continent.

Adios South America. We will be back.

But, hang on. What am I saying. We're about to get on to plane to NYC, quite possibly the world's greatest city. Hello shopping, hello food, hello dreams... Oh, how fickle I am!

*never-go-home - a traveller who makes it his or her career objective to never return to their place of origin; instead choosing to travel indefinitely selling hippy jewellery on the side of the road, singing in bars, or even worse, juggling on street corners for cash. Such beings can usually be identified by an aromatic clump of dreads that descend down their backs, tie-dye clothing and an animal, usually of the canine variety attached to a piece of string that lags along behind them.