ARICA to CALAMA, CHILE - 11 March, 2003
I cannot stand the last days in a country when you want to have enough money to last until you are REALLY out of the country but do not want to have TOO MUCH left. And if you have a little extra and you decide to stay one day longer or visit yet another sight during the last day, you just might run out and then, you have to withdraw MORE.

So, I was struggling with counting my Chilean pesos all the time today. Do I do some more shopping to get rid of these pesos? Or do I change them back to dollars? Do I have enough money for an ice-cream now? I wonder what's for dinner?

I decided to restrict myself to an X-amount and change 12,000 pesos back. To my surprise, the Chilean pesos had slid down against the US Dollar by quite a bit since my withdrawal and I was left with a pathetic amount of dollars.

Coming into Chile, from Peru, the first question the Customs Officer had asked me was if I had fruits with me. Now, leaving Arica, at the bus terminal, inexplicably, I also had to go through Customs. Again, the Officer asked if I had any fruits with me. They checked my big backpack thoroughly but left my hand-luggage alone.

I was comfortably asleep on the bus when at around midnight or so, in the middle of nowhere, we were hauled out of the bus... this time, to have our hand-luggage X-rayed. Now, why couldn't the Customs Officer have checked them back at Arica bus terminal?

CALAMA, CHILE to SAN SALVADOR DE JUJUY, ARGENTINA - 12 March, 2003
Again, I was comfortably asleep on the bus (which was rather rare) when at around 5am or so, in the middle of another nowhere, we were hauled out of the bus... this time, to have our hand-luggage manually checked. What the...???? Three times?? Just for leaving Arica?

It reminded me of the time when I was returning from a business trip in Manila, Philippines. Only ticket-holders could enter the Manila airport. Then, our hand-luggage had to go through FIVE X-ray machines and finally, manually checked before boarding the plane.

OK, that was Manila. When my Manila colleagues took me to the shopping centre, as a form of 'tour', they had gone, "Over here, there was a bomb attack in May last year. And there... at the cinema, there was another bomb explosion just in December... And..."

But what were the Chilean Customs looking for here? Fruits???? Did the Customs Officer hope to find the one grape missed out by the X-ray machine? Here, you can have my banana... go ahead, take it.

At Calama, we stopped to change buses. I managed to finish up all my Chilean pesos on breakfast and toilet and boarded another bus to Argentina at 11am.

This was the same altiplano route coming into Chile, about three weeks ago. Well, Bolivia was right smack in the middle of South America and since I could not cut across it, I had to double-back the same way, around Bolivia.

Strangely, this time, I found it terribly difficult to cope with the altitude. I suffered a bad headache from the Argentinian border onwards. I could not sleep. I could not get comfortable in any position. I felt marginally better after they stopped at that same restuarant-in-the-middle-of-nowhere and fed us some bread and tea. Then, I started to smell the horrible odour of exposed shoes. Oh, I thought it was just me and my super-sensitive nose and tried to tolerate it as best as I could. I was ready to puke any moment.

Then, the bus driver stopped and he stood up and announced something about 'zapatos' (shoes). Oh no, he had smelled it too and actually refused to drive on until the person who took off his shoes put them on again. Well, this is the altiplano. Fresh air is rare.

The driver assistant then walked down the aisle to check who was the culprit. Several snapped open their Rexona and sprayed the disgusting air around them. He stopped in front of the Japanese tourist and spoke to him sternly.

Shoeless Ninja, however, could not understand the driver assistant. He looked a little puzzled, reached down, picked up his shoe and held it in front of the driver assistant. "Zapatos?" he queried. The driver assistant was not amused. We were.

Finally, another tourist half-yelled, half-giggled in English, "Put them on!!" Shoeless Ninja never struck again. And so, we breathed.

I was tremendously glad to arrive in Jujuy after the tortuous 24-hour bus-journey. During my near-midnight dinner of a 'SuperPancho' (fancy name for long hot-dog), the lady rejected my 1 Argentinian peso as 'falso'. Oh, here in Argentina too? I was here three months and did not notice anything.

Now, I studied all my pesos and indeed, trained from Peru, I spotted two types of 'falsos'. One had the wrong font for 'UN PESO' (I told you) and the smiley sun had an outline around its face. The other, the fraudster did a better job, was the same in every sense, except the colour of the 'gold' centre was a bit more 'yellow'.

SAN SALVADOR DE JUJUY to HUMAHUACA, ARGENTINA - 13 March, 2003
I was awakened by a morning-call knock on a neighbouring door. "Son las 8," the receptionist had announced. I glanced at my clock, it read '7:00am'.

Hmmm.... I opened my door to confirm if it was really 8am, shocking the receptionist with my hair in the meantime.

Oh, I guess, life was fair. The two-hours I had earned in Peru, I had given one back in Chile a few days ago and apparently, I had to give back the remaining one to Argentina now. Chile changed their time but Argentina did not.

Good thing to find out about it now, for I had a morning bus to catch to Humahuaca.

Humahuaca was an Andean town, full of Bolivian flavour, further north of Jujuy. The route to get here was along another amazing Quebrada de la Humahuaca. Argentina can only outdo itself in amazing 'quebradas' (canyons).

I spent the day, relaxing around the charming little town and buying souvenirs. I was feeling a tinge of sadness now. I had been in South America for nearly six months and it was coming to an end soon.

South America is truly at the other end of the world from my country. It is extremely expensive to fly here. And perhaps, it might be a long time before I can afford another visit here. To my friends and family, South America is like MAGIC, impossible to imagine. And so, I was now buying up souvenirs as if I was not returning in a long time.

Way back in June, when Pablo and I had gone shopping for souvenirs in China, I had only bought three snuff bottles for my friends and he had gone crazy snapping up the Oriental souvenirs, the more Oriental-looking, the better. Several looked really kitsch to me, although I had helped him pick the least kitsch-looking of them all. I snickered at some of them and had gone 'eewww' secretly.

Now, when I show Pablo my Latino souvenirs when I reach Buenos Aires, I suspect he would also be snickering at them and going 'eewww' secretly.

Ah, cultural differences. How wonderful they exist!

HUMAHUACA, IRUYA to TILCARA ARGENTINA - 14 March, 2003
I took the only daily bus to another tiny town, called Iruya, three hours away from Humahuaca. I had not known what to expect in Iruya. I heard it was really pretty but I was not sure what I could do there. I decided to check out of my hostel, leave my backpack there, catch the bus to Iruya, stay a few hours and catch the same bus back to Humahuaca later.

The road to Iruya was paved for about one hour before turning into dirt tracks that rounded mountains after mountains and crossed river beds occasionally. While the road was not that great, it was WONDERFUL compared to Peru and I suspect, Bolivia, and so one knew that one was still in Argentina.

We stopped at a huge Pachamama shrine of rocks, with abandoned bottles of alcohol and tetra-packs of wine, a scattering of coca-leaves. I learnt later this was at 4000+m.

Later, we headed downhill for 1220m in about 20km. There were many hair-pin turns and the view was terrific! The gorges, the river-bed, the sheer drops, the hidden valleys, the slopes spotted with rocks... Sometimes, one could spot a few horses or even a few children walking on the huge river-bed, seemingly in the middle of nowhere. Naturally, there would be peasants who could get on or off the bus, leaving you to wonder... Where did they come from? Where in the world are they going?

From this point onwards, my eyes were glued to the window to absorb the fantastic scenery and so I could not understand why Elena, from Belguim, sitting next to me, fell asleep on the bus.

Finally, Iruya came into view and the best view of Iruya was actually quite a distance from it. It looked like a magical tiny town set amongst brilliantly-coloured towering triangular mountains, perched at a cliff, above the river-bed. My jaws remained open for a good minute.

Elena and I walked around the hilly little town and stopped for a bit of food to fill our stomach. I really liked it here. It was so tranquil, so hidden. It really felt like a town at the end of the road. For the road ended in front of the church and beyond that, around the town, one could only walk. So, I suspect, there were really no roads BEHIND or AROUND Iruya. I regretted my decision to take the same bus out today but it was already made.

Elena had travelled from Tilcara, about 1 hour south of Humahuaca. I was heading there later today.

When we arrived back at Humahuaca, we tried to find out the next bus to Tilcara and just then, a bus with 'TILCARA' written in front arrived. It looked like a hop-on-and-pay-later bus but my backpack was still back at the hostel. I left my stuff with Elena and ran back to grab my backpack.

Running at 3000m altitude, on wet cobbled-stoned streets (it had rained in Humahuaca) is never a good idea but thankfully, I returned without a broken bone and not that out-of-breath to a bus that was very kind to wait for me.

Elena took me to Malka Hostel which was quite a hike away from the centre of Tilcara. I made friends with the rest of my house-mates, Gilles from France, Olga, Sebastian and Javier from Buenos Aires and we had dinner together.

Gilles was a very interesting person. For the past four years, he had come to Tilcara and stayed here for one month each time. He would spend his days, walking around the mountains, visiting schools in the tiniest village bringing along chalks, pens and talking to the locals in other obscure valleys... To him, Tilcara was the most perfect place in the world.

TILCARA, ARGENTINA - 15 March, 2003
Elena was sitting near the window of the dining room, having breakfast, when I walked over to chat with her. I had barely completed my first line when I stopped suddenly and stared at the window. I staggered a little too.

"Oh my god.. Oh my god..." I uttered absent-mindedly. The view was INCREDIBLE! Malka Hostel, being such a hike away, was sitting at the top of a hill and from here, one could see right across Tilcara to the range of colourful mountains with its swirls of paints and now, basking in the morning sun.

"Now, I understand why Gilles stay here for one month every year. Oh, I want to get married here in Tilcara." I had said.

Later, at the centre, Olga, Sebastian and I were looking for a guide to take us hiking and we passed by cafe after cafe, playing Cumbia, and I changed my mind then. "No, I do not want to get married here."

We were unable to find the guide. He was probably drunk from last night's party of Carnaval. Apparently, Carnaval had not really ended in Tilcara.

We decided to head out hiking by ourselves. There appeared to be yet another 'La Garganta del Diablo' (The Devil's Throat) to check out. If we find it, we find it. If not, we would still have a nice day hiking in the mountains.

We asked several locals along the way and soon, had to start climbing up the side of a mountain. The view behind us was truly fantastic. We could see the meandering river in the wide river valley, with the red, ochre, purplish mountains by the side.

A few German tourists passed by and two explained in English how exactly to get to the 'Garganta', which I translated for Olga and Sebastian. It was a waterfall, as it turned out. We had not been sure. Could be a cave, could be whatever. And I realised, hmmm... if my Spanish would get better, with English, Mandarin and Spanish, I could potentially talk to quite a lot of people around the world. Cool...

We walked along the canyon for a while, hopping across the tiny river here and there and finally, arrived at the waterfall. No one else was here. It was great.

TILCARA to SALTA, ARGENTINA - 16 March, 2003
Today, the weather was cloudy and rainy which left me really appreciating the excellent weather we had yesterday for hiking.

I walked out to Pukara, a pre-Inca fortress on top of a hill not far from Tilcara. Although it was a fortress, being on an inaccessible hill, it actually had no high walls around it. Several stone-houses had been reconstructed, with the mud-and-straw roofs too. However, stupidly, they had gone and constructed a 'monument' to pay tribute to the archaeologists at the top of the hill. Gosh, this 'monument' had absolutely no relation to the ruins around it. It was an ugly pyramid. But some tourists asked me to take a picture of them in front of this stupid 'monument'. Argh....

I headed to Salta that afternoon. Well, I had to go to a bigger town to catch a good bus to Buenos Aires. I did not know Jujuy at all but I had stayed in Salta for a few days and had liked my hostel. So, I decided to go there.

Great to be in a city where you know exactly where to walk to your hostel.

SALTA, ARGENTINA - 17 March, 2003
Nothing earth-shattering happened. Just another day to do nothing. Poked my nose into furniture stores, browsed through trashy discount shops, checked out the geese swimming at the lake, observed some plants in the plaza, listened to CDs without buying, you know, the usual suspects.

SALTA to BUENOS AIRES, ARGENTINA - 18 March, 2003
Gilles had asked me the other day, if I was flying from Salta to Buenos Aires. "Fly??? No, I am going by bus, of course. It's _only_ 20, 22 hours... Flying is too fast."

Besides the toddler who wailed and screamed as if there was no tomorrow, every two hours or so, it was a pleasant ride, through very flat grounds, with the full moon in the sky. Beyond the Andes, Argentina is just flat all the way to the coastline.

BUENOS AIRES, ARGENTINA - 19 March, 2003
The movie-selector actually did not do a bad job, choosing movies with recognisable actors and coincidentally, all had a word beginning with the letter 'P': Payback, Patroit Games, Clear and Present Danger, The Perfect Storm. And so, the 22-hour bus-ride did not appear to pass by that slowly.

When the bus pulled into the bus terminal in Retiro, it crawled so slowly around it as if it was an air-plane cruising slowly on the taxi-way, waiting for instructions on which platform to pull in. Wait, I believed they were indeed waiting for instructions for there was a tiny phone which the driver had to pick up, before he could drive to the platform. Gosh, the bus terminal was THAT big.

Hola, Retiro. Hola, English clock tower. Hola, Buenos Aires.

Oh.... really great to arrive at a city and know exactly where to go to take a bus to my hostel, how much to pay, where to get off, etc... all without a glance at any map or looking sky-wards for street-signs. I just walked there from pure memory. It feels just like coming home, my second home. I would be staying in a hostel this time because Pablo's cousin had moved in with him in his apartment and there was not enough room for me.

I eagerly headed out to town after I got settled. Oh, Buenos Aires... I had really missed you. What were different? What were the same? There were many new graffiti on the ground and on the doors of banks, in English too, BANKS + GOVERNMENT MURDERERS, THIEVES. There were many new posters for President Candidates for the Argentinian election would be in April. Later, I saw a guy walking up to MENEM's posters and ripping them off one by one. The street-vendors on Calle Florida were gone again. There were also posters against the upcoming Iraqi war, QUE HIJO DE BUSH! (instead of 'son-of-a-bitch', it was son-of-Bush) and NO SANGRE POR PETROLEO (No blood for oil).

The past few months, my entire world had consisted of canyons, mountains, altiplano, ruins, museums, mummies, muddy roads... and frankly, I was a little taken aback when I met up with Pablo later that evening and he told me the war might start tonight.

Great to see Pablo again. He had gone skinnier and fairer. Sigh, he had lost the traveller's tan. I guess I would too, soon... He wanted to know every single thing that happened to me during my three-month trip around South America. He refused to look at my Latino souvenirs. He was afraid he might die laughing.

BUENOS AIRES, ARGENTINA - 20 March, 2003
I was told that the price of my hostel included breakfast. I found nothing in the kitchen and made inquires at the Reception. I was given an triple-layered, dunk in white chocolate, spread with dulce de leche 'alfajor'. What the??? I recalled my days in Brazil where for breakfast, I had a whole basket of fruits, a buffet selection of cakes, tarts and pies and three flasks - one for coffee, one for milk, one for hot water for tea. Heaven on Earth. Those were the days. Here in Buenos Aires... one alfajor. I would be staying eight nights here. I wonder if I would be alfajored to death.

The main reason for returning to Buenos Aires was to catch up with my friends, of course. The other was to try and apply for my visa to Guatemala, my next destination.

When I arrived at the Embassy of Guatemala, the lady gave me a list of items I needed to produce and they must all be present before they would consider my application. Three photos, photocopy of DNI (Argentina's Identity Card), photocopy of every page of the passport, air-tickets in and out of Guatemala and employment documentation. I pointed out that I do not have a DNI and employment documentation for I am not from Argentina, I am a tourist and I am not working here in Argentina. My air-tickets are in and out of Mexico, not Guatemala. She stopped short but said, I would produce whatever I could and she would check with the Ambassador later.

I photocopied every page of my passport, gosh... and returned to the Embassy. She made me wait for one hour before asking me to fill out the form. Just then, the Ambassador passed by and she explained to him my situation. To my utter surprise, the Ambassador said, without the DNI and the employment documentation, he could not process for me. What? I politely inquired didn't they have another set of requirements for tourists? No.

Argh. Now I had to go to Mexico City to get my visa done there. But the problem was I fly to Cancun but transit in Mexico City, I do not have a few days there in Mexico City. There is no Guatemala Embassy in Cancun, they told me.

I headed to Mexicana and explained my situation. Could I change my transit in Mexico City, into two separate flights... Buenos Aires to Mexico City, stay a few days in Mexico City and then, Mexico City to Cancun, please? Sergio said maybe not, but he needed to check with his boss and his boss was not around. I would return tomorrow to get my answer.

I dislike administration days.

BUENOS AIRES, ARGENTINA - 21 March, 2003
Guess what I had for breakfast... alfajor.

I returned to Mexicana and to my surprise, my dear Sergio had consulted his boss and they could make my tickets separate at no extra charges. He added, "Argentina bueno, huh? (Argentina good, huh?" I totally agreed.

I went to my language centre to collect my long overdue certificate for completing my Spanish Level 3 and chatted with my teachers. There, I also ran into one of my ex-classmate, Per, from Denmark, now in Level 4. We caught up with each other and he invited me to visit the new house he and his girlfriend were living now. His girlfriend Maria had just inherited it. Great idea! I would go there tomorrow.

BUENOS AIRES, ARGENTINA - 22 March, 2003
I refused to eat the alfajor today and bought some other lovely pastries.

During my two months here in Buenos Aires, I had visited the weekend fair at Plaza Francia, near Recoleta, and had spotted some things that I might like to get for my friends. I was there rather early and the stall-owners had not arrived yet. I waited and waited for that particular stall-owner to come but by 1pm, I still could not find it.

Oh, forget it... I took a bus to Per's house at Villa Elisa, in a southern suburb of Buenos Aires. It had a very nice, tranquil small-town feel to it. The inherited property was huge and lovely. There was underground water beneath us and they could just draw water from there to drink! I lived in an apartment all my life. To me, water means coming from the tap. Drinking from the ground and right at your house too, was excellent. Spent a wonderful afternoon with them, asado included, of course.

BUENOS AIRES, ARGENTINA - 23 March, 2003
I had taken some black-and-white photographs at San Telmo with my Australian friends Caryolyn and Lydia, way back on a December Sunday before my camera was stolen from me that fateful day. So, with it, gone too were the captured images.

Today was my last Sunday in Buenos Aires. Pablo and I returned to San Telmo for a second chance at it. We continued to be thoroughly amazed by the kitsch antiques, ancient toys, ridiculous wares up for sale. We were giggling and giggling non-stop. Who would buy this? Oh, look at that, look at that... My goodness! My incredulous facial expression, according to him, was priceless. San Telmo was kitsch wonderland.

The funny thing was, in Chile, I had spotted a common practice of putting little things, grossly kitsch stuff, on their window panes... things like little plastic tiger or dinosaur, porcelain dolls holding parasols, mass-produced figurines holding signs saying 'TE AMO', souvenirs from sea-side resorts made from tiny shells, faded plush toys, ARGH... I told Pablo, maybe he could buy them from San Telmo and export them to Chile.

That evening, I had an appointment with Claudio, whom I met in Mendoza. Yes, Claudio of the 1938 Chevrolet fame. I told him I would give him a call around 9pm and we would arrange where to meet. But I tried and tried and tried his cell phone and I kept getting no reception.

Frankly, I got a little frustrated. Disappointed, I plodded back to my hostel. To my surprise, I spied a 1938 Chevrolet sitting in front of my hostel. I felt the boot, still warm. Claudio was coming down the hostel just as I was hurrying up to look for him. Oh, it was also great to meet up with him again.

BUENOS AIRES, ARGENTINA - 24 March, 2003
I was really sewing up all my loose ends here in Buenos Aires. The other friend I had to meet... Francisca, yes, la chica loca.

She was now learning circus acrobats, juggling and stuff, so that she could go and perform them in front of stopped traffic, she explained. Yeah, that sort of busking was rather common here in South America. She was also making candles and tie-dye skirts to sell.

She would dye one skirt for me today. Great, I get to choose the colour too. The skirt had to be worn from head-down. The skirt she selected for me was a little small. No Argentinians would be able to fit into it, she told me. Maybe I could. Well, it got stuck at my breast level and I had to deflate them slightly to yank them down. I must never put on any weight in the future. But, it was really nice, especially as it was made by a wonderful friend. How I would miss her when I am gone.

When we parted ways late that night, she said she still could not believe that I would really really be gone from Buenos Aires soon. Somehow, we had the feeling that we might see each other again. Yeah, I felt that way too.

I would have to return to Argentina one day. The warm affection not just from her, but from her friends... and from Pablo and his family members were uncomparable. I tried to imagine introducing them to my family and friends if they ever come to Singapore. And I seriously doubt my family and friends would be able to give them the same level of affection and hospitality I got from them. It is not that my family and friends are not nice. It is just a different culture. Asians are really a lot more distant, restrained and they tend to keep a respectful distance until some time later. Here, Argentinians are just overflowing with warmth and affection.

BUENOS AIRES, ARGENTINA - 25 March, 2003
As I barely ate anything yesterday at Francisca's house, I was really hungry this morning. OK, alfajor please.

Gosh, my last few days in Argentina... I counted my remaining pesos and my Argentinian assets stood at 40 pesos.

Remember the bunch of souvenirs I bought and which Pablo refused to look at? I had to send those back. I feared the worst, heading to the Post Office. To my supreme astonishment, it was a breeze. The Customs Officer barely glanced at my souvenirs and gave it an OK at once. I brought along brown paper and tape, but those were not required. The guy who did the weighing, taped up my box without fuss. Now, this is what I call, happy postal workers. It was grossly expensive but I had no choice, I could not carry everything. Surprisingly, I could pay with MasterCard too.

So, now, without withdrawing any more pesos, I really only had 40 pesos for the next three days. I wanted to go to Tigre tomorrow and I needed to save some pesos for my taxi ride to the airport the day after. I deducted those from my 40 pesos, and budgeted some for my trip to Tigre tomorrow and realised I would be left with 3 pesos today.

3 pesos??? That's US$1. I was still hungry now. I had rice in my bag. Alright, I decided to cook rice and eat it plain for sustenance. After the first plate, I was still hungry and weak. So, I cooked another plate later that afternoon. Plain rice was usually disgusting to Latin Americans. Well, I survived them. What can I say? I am Chinese.

BUENOS AIRES, ARGENTINA - 26 March, 2003
Tigre was in the northern end of Buenos Aires. It felt a little strange to leave the bustling, polluted Buenos Aires centre and arrive at the clean, tranquil, modern suburb of Tigre.

Tigre was a delta region and was criss-crossed by rivers and made up of islands everywhere. Some called it the Venice of South America. No, it did not feel quite like that to me. I took a boat-ride and we passed by houses with, instead of garages, their personal docks, for here, the only means of transportation was by boats. It was a lovely place and a lovely day. I spent a lovely day on one of those islands, reading, taking in the sun and supply blood to the mosquitoes.

I was to meet Pablo today at Plaza de Mayo... my final farewell to my favourite Argentinian, my wonderful, best friend from my trip. He really made a difference to how I saw things and how I travelled.

I had met his niece and nephews for a few days around Christmas last year, just before I left Buenos Aires. I had thought they would not remember much about me but Pablo had told me that they asked about me often and even invented a song for me, something like 'Trisha Trisha...'. My jaws had dropped when I heard this. I had never, never, never ever been so honoured and touched in my entire life! Such angels!! I really did not understand how I deserved this.

Well, Pablo did not remember the lyrics. He had said he would ask his nephews to write to me. How sweet they are all to me.

I made them a present. I used the photographs I took of them during the Christmas celebration and made a montage on a poster. The montage had the shape of Argentina. Nicolas is at Iguassu. Pablo's parents are at Missiones. Natalia is at Salta, Jujuy. Matias is at Mendoza. Emiliano is at Cordoba. Pablo's sister, brother and in-laws are at Bariloche. Little Tomas is at Puerto Madryn. Pablo is at Calafate, Chalten. Santiago is at the other side of the wind-swept southern Patagonia. A group photo at Ushuaia and Tierra del Fuego and a picture of Pablo and I at Islas Malvinas (or Falkland Islands, the Argentinians still maintain they are theirs, I agree with them).

I asked Pablo how he felt when his 8-month trip was coming to an end and how he felt right after it ended, and how he felt now. He tried to share as much as possible. He said I might plunge into a state of depression one day, just as he had. He said I should write to him when I felt that way and he promised to try and console and help me to get over it. I really had cold feet now. My 1-year trip... now, just 1 month left. I can't believe it!

Parting with Pablo was a little difficult. But, somehow, we also had the feelings that we would see each other again. Such is life. Everything is a cycle. Something must end, in order for something else to begin. Sometimes, certain thing comes back in a circle. Other times, they branch off into infinite paths.

Returning to Buenos Aires was a very personal thing to me. (I am sorry if I had bored readers with these last days in Buenos Aires.) Returning to Buenos Aires was like completing a smaller circle, inside my wider circle of my round-the-world trip. What would returning home be like? Gosh, what is home?

I had seen and done so many things, I had previously thought not possible. The Iguassu Falls, trekking on the Perito Moreno glacier, naively doing the Torres del Paine hike by myself, hiking up that volcano in horrible weather, twisting my way in and out of altiplanos and seeing vicunas, visiting the sarcophagi in Chachapoyas... I recall the words a friend once told me, "You can do anything you want as long as you set your mind to it." There.

Questions?
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