Bogota (Colombia) - back for Xmas

In Colombia, the big Xmas event happens on Christmas Eve, where families get together to eat, drink and dance. I was lucky to spend the night with my friend's folks, all crammed into a small room in grandma's house. I was less lucky, or perhaps just stupid, to spend the night drinking a scary mix of beer, wine, rum, whisky and, of course, aguardiente. Before passing out, literally, I did show off my salsa skills, dancing with just about every female attendee, from a 2 year old to grannie herself. Who strangely was dressed as a man. Odd.

On my last day in Bogota, I did manage to tick off one attraction that had eluded me in my previous 3 months: the Biblioteca Luis Ángel Arango, a huge complex of libraries, theatres, museums and other cultural institutions and I do not know how I missed it first time around. Yet more fantastic works from Botero himself, along with a smattering of minor works from European masters, displays on the history of money in Colombia and a collection of Latin American contemperory works, make for a good few hours of wandering. More amazingly my Colombian girl had not even heard of it, after living in Bogota for 25 years.

Pereira (Colombia) - coffee zone

Nestled in the centre of Colombia is the zona cafetera, a rich landscape of rolling hills, green pastures and, of course, coffee plantations. I spent a couple of nights in Pereira, a city in the centre of this region, although it offered little more than another parque central and more riverside lights. That said, the streets themselves were entertainment. Being one day before Xmas, they were full of people, vendors, musicians, lights and frantic last minute present buyers, of which I was one.

As in Medellin, I found the people here remarkably friendly. The owner of the hotel where I was staying took me on an afternoon trip to his farm in the countryside, where we drank coffee, met the locals and enjoyed the view. On the way, we stopped off at his mum's house for a seasonal lunch with his family of 20 or more. After just two nights, it was time to take another long bus ride to Bogota for my own family Xmas.

Medellin (Colombia) - city of eternal spring

Famed during the 90's for drug trafficking (it was the centre of action for Pablo Escobar's crew), the kidnapping of foreigners and violent clashes between rebels and paramilitaries, I can't think of a global city less fitting its reputation. Then again, I have never visited Tehran which is supposed to be beautiful.

Medellin has a perfect climate (always around 27 degrees and sunny), is nestled in a beautiful green valley and is a bustling, cosmopolitan city with cultural institutions everywhere. It is served by an excellent metro and is surrounded by quaint villages and exquisite countryside. Yet, most people would think you are mad coming here for a holiday.

On the only day I have really explored extensively, I took a cable car ride up the side of the valley. The ride is part of the metro system - so only costs 70c - and the view is excellent. It culminates in a 'library park' (to translate it directly) which are all around the city. This one feature an intriguing looking building housing a great modern libary in the heart of a pretty poor neighbourhood. Worthy stuff. I also found time for the art-deco styled Museo de Antioquia, which devotes a whole floor the their local hero, Fernando Botero. At first I wasn't keen on his style (basically caricatures of people made to look chubby), but after viewing them close up, in their 12 or 14 foot glory, I came away quite impressed.

The local antioquians are proud of their region and are embarassingly friendly and helpful. I have been lucky enough to live with a paisa couple for a week, meet their friends and try the local dishes. Bandeja Paisa is arguably the least healthy plate of food I have ever seen, but the perfect hangover cure. An assortment of meats (including a rib of chicharron - pork crackling - as long as my arm), fried eggs, fried platano, fried rice and refried beans. A heart-attack on one plate.

Villa de Leyva (Colombia) - step back in time

Heading to Villa de Leyva soon became a 'must do' after being told by everyone in Bogota not to miss this nearby treasure. Indeed it is a beautiful place. Almost all the buildings in the old centre are 400 years old or more and are surrounded by rolling hills. The huge main plaza is difficult to appreciate in photos and is particularly exquisite, in a mysteriously dark way, at night. It defies belief why a village of this size has such a massive central square, easily the same size as its equivalent in Bogota. I guess 500 years ago no one knew that one would become a bustling capital of 10 million people and the other would be frozen in time - to the benefit of the weekenders like me. We also managed to fit in a trip to Raquira, a tiny local artesan and craft centre. Here, perhaps foolishly, I bought a set of traditional dessert bowls, in a classically Colombian yellow. How I will get them home, I do not know.

All in all, it is only a shame I did not have longer in this tranquil part Colombia. Promises of a journey time of two hours did not materialise. More like double that, each way, in the end. Will I ever return? Well, who knows.

Zipaquira (Colombia) - salt and the lord

In a small town, only 30 minutes north of Bogota, lies the self-proclaimed 'number one marvel' in Colombia: the salt cathedral of Zipaquira. Not wanting to miss out, I took a weekend trip there and stayed one night, although it could easily be done as a day trip.

The cathedral itself is built in the already worked section of a collosal salt mine, the fourth biggest in the world if my understanding of the Spanish speaking guide was correct. After an hour queue to get in and wait for the tour (it was Sunday afterall), we walked along a dark tunnel down into the depths of the old mine. Religious statues and sculptures adorned the walls and eventually you arrive at the bottom on the mine where there are a serious of huge cathedral style caverns and seating for religious services. It was all pretty impressive stuff and it is a revered site for locals. But overall I was more interested in the engineering feat than the catholic iconography.

What else is there to see in Zipaquira? Well, not a lot. The usual Parque Central complete with a regular cathedral - though not one of the best examples - and a string of little shops. Otherwise, the big successes of the weekend were finding an excellent bbq meat restaurant and managing to teach my totally non-English speaking companion to play canasta. Not an easy feat.

Bogota (Colombia) - halloween, tango and risk

Make no mistake, Halloween is huge in Colombia and 31st October means only one thing... 'disfraz' (costume) time! The streets are absolutely jam packed full of people dressed up, drinking, dancing and generally being nuts. Plenty of vampires, cheerleaders, brides, angels, witches and pirates... but that is just the tip of the iceberg. I went for the surgeon option, largely because scrubs are deliberately low maintenance and easy to move around in - not to mention the natural excuse to talk to the many 'nurses' around town.

It is also a long weekend - one of around 18 per year in this party country - so Sunday was another opportunity to have a beer or ten and explore. I visited a couple of towns to the north of Bogota amidst beautiful scenery, with one of my students (in his bullet proof car, with driver and bodyguard). In the small quaint village of Tabio, amongst the artesan stores and organic food shops, is a little gem of a bar/restaurant, built around the theme of tango dancing. The venue is even decorated to mimmick the dockland brothel district of Buenos Airies, the birthplace of tango, with various couples performing for the crowd. Apparently sailors who couldn't master the key moves were denied the chance to, ahem, use the services of the local ladies of the night.

To top off a great day, I went back to my student's family home for a lengthy game of Risk with his cousins, nephews and brothers. Beer and pizza was in good supply. By 3am I was pretty done for, but managed to lead the green armies to a triumphant victory. The British always had a knack for conquering the world.

Bogota (Colombia) - enterprise culture

After a few weeks wandering the streets of Bogota, you realise that enterprise culture is alive and well in this city, helped by a lack of overly-stringent rules and regulations.

Perhaps the most marked example is when you take a local bus journey (cramped, little mini-buses with drivers who handle the fares and their mobiles, whilst navigating the crazy streets) and are confronted by a myriad of entrepreneurs - a half dozen per trip. First they board, find a good place to stand and then they start their pitch: selling pens, books, sweets, tissues, cakes, bread and just about anything else. A common trick is to hand out a sample of product - to try or just to hold - and then to return to make the sale. Another is to offer no price, but rather ask for whatever you think is right. Both are pretty clever strategies when you think about it.

Everpresent in the streets are vendors selling all the day's necessities from their laps, pockets and bags. It is not uncommon to see someone stroll up and have a coffee (from a large thermos flask), make a mobile call, buy and smoke one cigarette and finish off with a couple of sweets. These stalls are even present on random, residential walls in the poshest of suburbs. I would love to try setting one up in Hampstead or Point Piper and see what happens. The thing is, they are bloody useful and do no harm at all.

Further evidence in my case was provided when, on a first date with a local, she described herself quite passionately as a 'capitalista'. She has grown up in a very working-class suburb, now has her own little jewellery stall and works 12 hours a day, six days a week. Impressive stuff.

Finally, you would be hard pushed to find a fan of Hugo Chavez in Colombia. He is universally hated and especially so when he popped over the Russia to buy a stack of medium range missiles. Go Hugo.

(Dedicated to Adam Meltz, capitalist extraordinaire and one of only three readers of this blog)

Villavicencio (Colombia) - long weekend

Unlike Sydney, where people escape to the mountains to cool down for a long weekend, in Bogota the populace seek to drop a few thousand feet to warm up. So off to Villavicencio for the long weekend I went with my pals; a short bus trip of two hours (though getting back took more like six).

Classic bank-holiday activities were undertook and much enjoyed: a trip to the outdoor pool with water slides, dancing the night away in cheesy discoteques, strolls around the park, watching the footie in a bar (Colombia 2, Chile 4) and, erm, riding a mechanical bull.

More unorthodox and the highlight of the trip was a visit to the local cowboy fair: 'El Coleo'. The centrepiece of this gathering is a bizarre spectator sport certainly not for animal lovers and definitely not for cow lovers. First, a non-suspecting white bull with a long tail is sent running down a 300m long sand pit, to the cheers from thousands watching from the grandstands either side. Then two horse-mounted cowboys chase the poor thing, with the aim of grabbing it by the tail and flipping it on its back. Points are awarded for how quickly you down the beast and the style in which you do so. Very, very odd. Needless to say, beer, music, bbq'd meat, dancing and promo girls (woah) were in plentiful supply and the whole event was hilarious.

Bogota (Colombia) - working 9-5 or not

It's been three weeks now working in this gigantic city (which I really must write about one day) and it is amazing what you can do by just speaking the language of your birth. People are crying out here for Engish classes, although unfortunately a network of good, bad and damnright ugly outfits take the lion share of the work.

Fees for classes range from 80,000 pesos an hour ($40) per person to almost nothing, depending on the set-up. Either way, the teacher usually gets only a small percentage of this fee. I am happy with the $10 an hour my main college offers, but one place tried to lure me into working full-time for just $100 a week teaching large groups. God knows how much they must make out of that. Needless to say, I am actively looking for private students to cut out the middleman (disintermediation I believe) with a shabby marketing plan of classified ads, posters on lamp-posts and good old word-of-mouth.

My line of work largely comprises visiting people in their luxury appartments, being greeted by an army of maids, drivers, security guards and cleaners, then chatting to them for a few hours. I make up a few exercises and print a few stories from the web to liven things up. But it really is a mug's game and a great way for me to drag out this journey into 2010.

Bogota (Colombia) - a crazy place

The lack of a posting for two weeks is testament either to my laziness or the madness of this city. I would suggest both. It leaves the challenge of a thousand things to say and only a limited space in which to say it. Perhaps best then just to list a few odd or amazing things that have happened or I have seen.

1. Although everone has mobiles here, no-one uses them to make calls. Instead, on every street corner stands a person with five phones attached to them by wires, wearing a jacket saying 'llamadas'. People then pay to use them. What on earth is going on?

2. I started looking for work at 2pm on a Monday afternoon, a little weary from a hard weekend. By 6pm I had English classes booked for two days time, all with no experience nor qualifications. Next week I am even teaching an English teacher.

3. The city itself is gigantic and runs down the side of an imposing mountain range. It makes navigating a cinch. At the top of a cable car ride is a fantastic viewpoint and a 300 year old church that overlooks the whole city. On Sundays the fare is half-price. A bonus only soiled slightly by the morning service being blasted out over loudspeakers. Tranquil it is not.

4. In the more upmarket boroughs, where I work not live, the streets are full of professional dog workers at every hour of the day. They look a bit disheartened if they have less than ten dogs surrounding them and each specialise in a different dog type. Ten labradors, followed by a dozen lapdogs, right behind an army of terriers. A photo series beckons... surely?

5. Every night, outside the same two or three hostels in Candelaria, backpackers are mugged at knife (or machete) point. By the same gangs. Hello police and hostel owners, do something.

6. Staying in one of these cities for a while makes you realise the deep divide between rich and poor. Here it is a fairly straight north/south divide. The former looking like an average American downtown, even including Hooters. The latter being a pretty grim and dangerous collection of shanty towns.

And finally, moving into express mode: Gabriel Garcia Marquez lived here, a hangover is a guayaba, singing kareoke in Spanish is difficult, a three foot high beer communal serving is aptly called a 'jirafe', mixing tequila, rum and aguadiente is not clever, running down the middle of the road is a good way not to get mugged, Carlos Valderrama is the face of the no.1 crisp brand, never believe someone who says they will call tomorrow and comida corriente makes for a great value lunch.

San Gil (Colombia) - refreshment and rafting

After the tortuous heat of Cartegena, and general weariness of dormitory travelling life, San Gil was exactly what I needed. An immaculate hostel, run by a delightful local couple, a cooler climate and stunning countryside. It put a spring firmly back into my step.

The settlement itself, another misleadingly called a city given the lack of the word 'town' in Spanish, was a tranquil hillside spot. It came complete with a botanical garden, running along the river, and a particularly pleasant parque central.

San Gil positions itself as the adventure capital of Colombia and from a choice of rapelling, bungey jumping, kayaking and others, I chose to go rafting on the level 5 (whatever that means) Rio Fonce, with the super professional Rafting Colombia. Three hours of pretty full-on action followed, with myself taking a front row and being almost drowned several times. The guys running the show always had everything under control and, if anything, it went too smoothly. Lots of fun was had and they even surprised us by knocking up a decent lunch, from their water-proof containers, at a half-way break.

Cartegena (Colombia) - stunning, even if sweaty

Cartegena is one hell of a place to start a South American adventure. Three days became four and five, and then it was a week. If it wasn't for the blistering and sweaty heat, I might have stayed forever.

This town of islands and beaches is built around a beautiful colonial centre, even for a person jaded of such sights. Cobbled streets, lined with food vendors and imposing churches and plazas with musicians and dancers. All surrounded by 17th century battlements and the water. Sadly, a lot of the time I was merely hiding from the heat. Yet the things I did do were world-class. Bathing in a volcano of bubbling mud, taking an open-air party bus around town at dusk (complete with a live band, bottles of rum and dancing games), an outdoor concert by Placido Domingo no less, salsa dancing in Fidels (a legendary bar in the historic centre that I visited every night) and the imposing Castillo de San Felipe de Barajas, with its scary underground cells and escape tunnels.

Overall, Colombia seems to really put the Latin into Latin America, with bustling street stalls, an obsession (rather than just passion) for football and a party spirit to envy. Which begs the question: why did I take so long to get here?

Panama City (Panama) - more then just a canal

Panama is basically a country created by the US in order to build a canal. So, naturally it is the first thing I went to check out, from the less touristy Gatun Locks - near the scary-sounding town of Colon. The view is incredible as huge cargo ships squeeze through a system of 3 locks, which lift boats to the level of the lake. This man-made body of water comprises the majority of the canal and requires another system of locks on the pacific side, to lower the boats back to sea level. Ships have basically been built since the inception of the canal to be as wide as possible, yet still fit through. Only a two foot gap seperates the ships from the lock walls. A seriously snug margin. I was lucky enough to tag onto a couple from Colombia on holiday and we set off, in their hire car, to also check out the Gatun dam, San Lorenzo Fort (in a driving tropical thunderstorm) and the Sheltered Cove Marina, where I had a half-arsed attempt to hitch a ride to Cartegena, Colombia. I failed.

Elsewhere, Panama City is a curious mix of a fully developed world trading city (as much like a Hong Kong or Singapore, as anywhere else in Central America) and a run-down colonial old town, with signs of renewal that could make it spectacular. All in all, an odd place to end one part of my travels and build up excitement for a continental shift. South American here I come.

San Jose (Costa Rica) - stopover

In a country famed for its pristine natural environment and idyllic beaches, not to mention coffee, it's a shame I only set foot in the capital of Costa Rica. Though inoffensive, the city of San Jose (another one) offers little for the casual day-tripper. The centre is neither colonially elegant nor thrillingly modern and so even the locals struggle to recommend an itinerary. Once into the outskirts, it is impossible to distinguish it from suburban California... malls, fast food chains, freeways and a 50:50 mix of signs in English and Spanish. Certainly a notch ahead of the rest of Central America in terms of economic development. But in a good way? I am not sure.

Luckily, I was hosted by a great fella from Equador, who wasted little time plying me with great roast pork, ensuring I was sipping guero, the local firewater tipple, and hanging with the locals. Having said that, in one bar (El Rey), the crowd comprised a regional convention of Latin American escorts and overweight, sweaty US businessmen. We didn't stay long.

Isla de Ometepe (Nicaragua) - lush landscape

The western side of Nicaragua is dominated by a huge lake, which provides a home for an enchanting island, named after the local word for 'two peaks'. Hot, wet and built on volcanic soil, Ometepe is a verdant land, with a strong farming culture and a growing tourism angle, although largely rural and untouched - except by a host of cows, horses, chickens and dogs.

Getting around is difficult, to say the least. The 30 km trip from the port in the north-west, to Merida in the south, takes a laughable 3 hours due to the mud and rock road that plies the route. Making it there, though, is thoroughly worthwhile in order to stay at the hacienda, perched on the lakeside, complete with kayaks, hammacks, giant chess sets and other tools of the idler.

To be honest, my memories of this retreat focus more on England's incredible win in the Ashes - which I listened to almost in its entirety via the bbc live webcast. I did also have a few good swims, once at sunset which was amazing, and visit the 'oro de agua' to sample its mineral enriched waters. Although I didn't shed 10 years, as promised by the doorman, my skin did feel surprisingly soft after an hour floating around. Worth doing for a few bucks.

Leon (Nicaragua) - stinking hot

Leon is another of those easy-going colonial towns, with its parque central and cobbled streets, that pull in the tourists. In this case, the oppressive heat and humidity, plus a feeling I had seen it all before, meant I wasn't keen to stay around for too long. However, a crippling rum induced hangover, on the day I intended to leave, brought an extra day for this town.

The big 'must do' activity in town is sandboarding - more like gravelboarding - on the nearby volcano Cerro Negro. I had an attempt, but it was bloody hard work. Hot, dusty, difficult to control and a bit frustrating for a snowboarder. Still, the walk up was fantastic, with a landscape of contrasting volcanic cones, and the whole escapade sounds pretty cool.

I also managed to visit the impressive art gallery, with its peculiar mix of contemporary art and 15th century European masters, check out a hilarious live music act and do the customary tour of the cathedral. A bit of culture to balance out the liquor and it was time to head to the next stop - via 3 taxis, 3 buses, a boat and a pick-up truck. All in one day.

San Salvador (El Salvador) - malls, merriment and misery

Central American capitals offer few compelling reasons to visit and many to stay away - unless squalor and street crime are up there on your interest list. So hitting San Salvador was always a question mark, until I received an invitation to stay with a couple of locals. Well, a guy from Portugal and his Chilean missus. Arguably two of the nicest people I have ever met.

On Friday night, we stayed in for food and drinks with a handful of genuine locals, including Pamela a genuine resident rock star. Then we hit a few clubs in the bohemian part of town, where I attempted to rekindle my memories of salsa dancing - not a good idea. Despite the bars all shutting at 2am, we managed to find a few 'after parties' (lock-ins in English terms) and keep going until 5am. The following night, despite big ideas of visiting the top end of town nightclubs, we all crashed ridiculously early, although I did manage to cook up a storm first. It's a good sign if a diner begs for a recipe.

Out of guilt on my third day, we got out there and drove around for the afternoon. A visit to the anthropology musuem (not a big highlight), customary trip to the mall (which characterise this city) and dinner in the best pupusas joint in town. Like many of these cities, the stark contrast between western-style wealth and abject poverty is chilling.

The most thought-provoking sight though, was the Monumento a la Memoria y la Verdad in the otherwise drab Cuscatlan Park. This monument records the names of known victims (there are plenty more besides) of the 80's civil war. Around 30,000 people are listed, killed by the Reagan supported contra forces. Worrying stuff, especially as it happened in my lifetime.

El Tunco (El Salvador) - focused laziness

The pacific coast of El Salvador has a vibrant surf scene and makes for a very chilled spot, for even a non-surfer to spend a few days. Nine in fact.

Complete with a hollywood style collection of stars, each naming a famous axeman (Mark Knopfer, please?), La Guitarra is one of those places it is difficult to leave. Forget the surf break - a pool table, free internet, swimming pool, exquisite chess set, dvd room and ping pong table, made it easy to fill in the days.

In a bid to do something local, I did seek out the sensational dish 'mariscada', which comprised a huge, creamy seafood soup featuring just about every creature that swims in the ocean. Otherwise, I cooked a lot with the dinner club of Stav, Toby, Austin and Kathleen. My contributions included an English style curry, Thai stir fry of sorts and Spanish tapas spread. Rustled up in the hottest kitchen known to man. Never have I been somewhere where the rain was greeted so welcomingly, since it knocked a few degrees off the searing temperature. All in all, an easy and extremely lazy return. Now, really must start clocking up some km's.

Antigua (Guatemala) - back for the lava

The Rough Guide describes Guatemala City, Zona Uno in particular, with a host of seemingly off-putting adjectives (dangerous, decrepit, run-down, sleazy and crumbling to name but a few). Ignoring this not very subtle hint, I thought I could hang there for a few days whilst awaiting a connection. I was wrong and, after walking just a few blocks on a Saturday night, I ran for the hills of Antigua, which I never really gave a good chance.

Here there was one thing I really regretted missing. A hike up Volcan Pacaya. Shorter and supposedly easier than some of the big volcanoe treks, it nevertheless promises a close-up view of live, flowing lava. Then I made two dumb decisions. Firstly to do the walk at night. Secondly to set off at 1am direct from the pub, after 6 hours of drinking. Climbing up a path of fragmented lava (crumbly, slippy and sharp as a razor blade) is not a rewarding experience and I have the cuts and grazes to prove this point. Climbing down is even harder, but at least that was after the incredible feeling of standing about 1 metre from a river of lava. Imposible to describe, apart from obviously 'hot', yet amazing. Once the sun rose, the views into the valleys were equally stunning. A day of sleep followed, happy in the knowledge that I had seen something unique.

The only other thing I did in Antigua of note, was to take a cooking course (kindly bought for me by pals in Sydney as a leaving present) where I learnt to cook frjoles, tamaritos, and platanos frito. All the things I never really liked! Yumminess.

Siguatepeque & Santa Rosa (Honduras) - time alone

The unremarkabe town of Siguatepeque was where I decided to hang for a few days, basically trying to kill time, after saying adios to Heidi in Comayagua (somewhere that really doesn't merit an entry). A sad but inevitable farewell.

Back on my own again was time to crank up my Spanish and rediscover my masculinity. Off to a pool hall then, for a few rounds of the strange Honduran game. The balls are placed around the cushions and then you pot them in order, receiving the points on each ball. So, pot the last 3 or 4 high scorers, which I did once, and you are likely to win.

After leaving for a dinner break, I bizarrely landed an invite to the mayor´s house to watch USA vs Honduras (who lost 2-0 sadly) and drink beer. About ten guys sat in the lounge room (doctors, architects, businessmen), chatting about football and politics (I kept quiet then), whilst the women of the house trooped in periodically with plates of greasy, meaty food. Otherwise, they were quite correctly banished to the kitchen. Highly amusing.

Two days of doing nothing here, and off I went again in the direction of Guatemala city. Lots of time spent on local buses followed, listening to an assortement of intestinal pill spruikers and evangelical preachers who take position at the front of the bus and rant. An uneventful night in Santa Rosa de Copan and, behold, I was back in Guatemala.

Peña Blanca (Honduras) - passing through

The Lago Yojoa area seemed to promise a decent place to chill out after a long journey from Trujillo. A journey extended by roadblocks set up by those protesting at the recent annexing of the leftist president. But that's another story. Part of the allure was talk of lakeside hotel which was also a micro brewery. Arriving there at dusk with rain setting in, to find the brewery part had closed down, no lake in sight and disgusting rooms, was disappointing to say the least. Bloody guide books.

That said, we found somewhere else to stay which was tolerable, if expensive, and the food in the area was cracking. Fresh fish from the lake with, wait for it, green vegetables. A rare treat and I don't know why as the markets are full of them. In the morning, we checked out a 43m waterfall called Cascada de Pulhapanzak before, once again, hopping on a chicken bus and hitting the road.

Las Marias (Honduras) - truly the middle of nowhere

Our next step on the journey into the wilderness was as incredible six hour journey up the Rio Platano. Incredible because of the scenery passing by, birds sweeping overhead, people by the riverbanks and the absolute lack of any trappings of the western world. Also incredibly hot, uncomfortable and sweaty. Once in Las Marias - a collection of isolated homesteads spread around a curve in the river - we chilled for the day and planned our trips into the interior.

Myself and Heidi chose a two day trek deep into the jungle, culminating in a hike up a mountaina and staying in a cabana overnight. This was not a trek for the faint-hearted. Mud like I´ve never seen before, bugs that defied belief and trecherous ground. A sprained ankle was seriously on the cards and I´ve no idea what our one guide would have done about it. Phew. It was the real thing and so we weren't too disappointed when at the summit of Pico Baltimore, the tree shrouded view was practically non-existent.

Following a night in the cabana - thanking god for mosquito nets and coils - we trekked the long way back to the village. On return I was shagged and leapt into the muddy waters of Rio Platano. Aaaaaa.....

Raista (Honduras) - start of the end of the world

Once I found out the name La Mosquitia has nothing to do with mosquitos - rather from the word 'musket' used by British pirates back in the day - I was sold. Using a collection of anecdotal emails, various guide books and the fantastic website La Ruta Mosquitia, we hatched a plan.

A group of four set off from Trujillo at 6am and, after a few hours on local buses, we had made our way to Tocoa where the real fun started, sitting on the back of pickup truck, in the full heat of the sun, on a plank of wood strapped to the sides. Roads turned into dirt tracks and then, after a trip on a rickety barge, the road becase the beach. Though, given it was high tide, the road was actually the ocean. Five butt-killing magical hours later and we had made it to Batalla. From here, and in the rest of La Mosquitia, there are no roads of any description and so the last two hours were spent on a lancha.

Finally we arrived in Raista as the sun went down over the water. Rarely has a shower and basic meal of rice and eggs been so welcome. It was only day one.

Trujillo (Honduras) - last outpost of the kiwi empire

After too many days on the orthodox backpacker trail, my travels with lovely Heidi took me to the far eastern outpost of Honduran civilisation. Funnily enough, what greated me in Trujillo (well, a few km's outside) was a hostel of sorts, run by two ladies from New Zealand: Casa Kiwi.

This retreat had everything going for it on paper: a completely untouched beach and a lively bar, with free pool. Yet, there it was tinged with melancoly for some reason. The sense of an idyllic dream that never quite made it. Principally because beach itself, riddled with merciless sandflies, didn't quite justify making the considerably trek required.

One purpose that was definitely served, was meeting up with a couple of guys planning to take on La Mosquitia, the real wild west of Honduras (except it's in the east). Otherwise, a few games of chess, scrabble, cards and pool passed the hours agreeably as we prepared for our assault on the wilderness, mainly stocking up on chocolate biscuits and bags of peanuts, instead of sunscreen and mosquito repellent.

Utila (Honduras) - divers' delight

Conveniently the three Bay Islands, off the north coast of Honduras, are tiered into three categories: super luxury resort, package holiday and backpacker retreat. Needless to say, the latter option, Utilia, was taken by me.

This island is ALL about diving, to the extent that I wouldn't recommend visiting unless you plan on sinking into the depths. The social life and even the accomodation is all tied up with various dive schools. And the monopoly ferry there is pretty pricey - in the context of Central America.

I spent one day diving with Creekside Diving which was 'nice' (interesting coral and a few fish), but not world-class. Good to keep up your skills if nothing else and those taking courses benefit from incredibly low prices. Otherwise, a few trips to the beaches, if you can call them beaches, were the only other daytime activities for me.

Two evening highlights were the 'aquarium bar', for moonlight drinks sat around a floodlit patch of sea, complete with stringrays, octupi and fishes, and 'dave's place' for dinner. King-size pork chops in a jalepeno sauce, jacket spuds and veggies. Yumminess. Another amusing thing to listen for is the creole language spoke by the carribean locals. It's kind of English, but certainly not the queen's. I understood hardly anything.

Copan Ruinas (Honduras) - lazy times

Finally, after setting out in February to take on Central America, I have made it to my second country in the region - albeit only 10 minutes from the Guatemalan border. A very simple stroll between two gates took care of immigration. Though at least they looked at my passport, unlike the Mexicans.

Copan is one of those delightful colonial towns, with cobbled streets, set in the hills at a pleasant altitude. It is pretty touristy, but charming never-the-less. We were lucky enough to stay in cracking hostel, in a room with luxury treats rare in the low end of the market. Piping hot water, a ceiling fan and, wait for it, a reading lamp. Days were spent lounging around, learning if not really practicing Spanish. In the evenings we drank a few bottles of Imperial (the local beer with actual taste) and wandered the streets. Honduras certainly has a different feel to Guatemala, although I need to get into a real town to pick what it is.

I almost forgot the reason everyone ostensibly visits this town. The Mayan ruins. Old and resplendent in the jungle, as always. And of course I went to see them. To be honest though, the incredible macaws, that circle the crumbling temples and ancient stairways, interested me more.

Tikal (Guatemala) - mayan marvel

Deep in the jungle of Northern Guatemala lies the definitive Mayan site of Tikal. Dozens of temples, many of which you can actually climb, are nestled amongst the canopies and amongst the very appropriately named howler monkeys. I certainly enjoyed wandering around the massive site and appreciating this engineering feat. But, it was a hell of a hike to get there from Semuc Champey and, in truth, it didn't overwhelm me. Perhaps I am a little travel weary when even a world class experience is struggling to move my world.

Nearby Florest, the base camp for Tikal expeditions, is a quaint little island town on the banks of a lake. Restaurants along the water provide nice views and the cobbled streets add to the ambience. That said, it was with no regret that I hit the road again, for another mammoth bus ride. At least I always had Nuestro Diario under my arm. A local tabloid divided into three thirds: horrific tales of murder, road accidents and muggings (complete with photos of the dead bodies lying in the road and their families standing around grieving), photos of catwalk models and beauty pagent winners from around the world and sport (entirely football, of course). Plus horoscopes and agony aunts. All-in-all, a terrific read.

Semuc Champey (Guatemala) - unbelievable

The journey to Semuc Champey is not easy. A bus ride from Antigua, via the capital, takes you to Coban. Here an overnight stay is pretty much necessary, with little to do except gaze at a very odd piece of 60's style run-down public art. From there, a 3 hour mini-bus ride takes you to Lanquin. And from there, it's a crazy 40 min pick up ride to the oasis. But once you make it... wow! Arguably the most idyllic places to take a dip in the world. In the freshest, clearest water - surrounded by jungle and waterfalls. Absolutely top class.

Right next door you can partake in one of the oddest experiences the world has to offer, in the Grutas de Lanquin. This comprised a fairly hardcore 2 hour caving experience, involving squeezing, swimming, climbing and jumping, two kilometres underground in serious bat land, undertaken with nothing more than a cheap candle for light and in board-shorts or a bikini (I chose the former). Ridiculous and all the more sensational because of it.

Both activities are bundled in a one-day package from the fantastic El Retiro lodge near Lanqin - described by one Aussie guest as a backpacker resort (with big communal buffets, little mix with the outside world, wooden cabins and a riverside setting, the description is fitting). Rather than pay a 125Q for the convenience of the tour, we decided to DIY. Saving a massive 15Q seemed pretty smart early in the day. But that was before missing the last pick-up and being forced to walk all the way home along an unimaginably hilly dirt road, in the dark and a tropical downpour. In thongs and those chaffing boardies. Not the best three hours of my trip.

Antigua (Guatemala) - post farewell wind-down

The manificent colonial town of Antigua is the tourist honey-pot of Guatemala, complete with cobbled streets, magnificent architecture and artisan markets. I spent two nights there but, to be honest, did very little. Hoards of gringos of all ages - high school kids and pensioners included - cram the streets, bars and shops. It wasn't my cup of tea and left me with no regrets in selecting Xela as my place of study. Perhaps the highlight was a visit to the supermarket, afterwhich I cooked the very Latin American dish of sausage, mash, peas and ketchup. Still, it was washed down with Chilean wine.

Prior to setting off on the road again, with the delightful Heidi, the week was about farewells. The goodbyes started on my last day at school; with a lunch, a speech and a few little presents for my teachers. Then I had to leave my family - although I am practised at that - with a last meal and a couple more gifts. Finally, the adios for amigos, held in our favourite curry house. Boy it was good. Oh, in between we climbed Volcan Santa Maria, in the middle of the night. Hard work, but it delivered the 'above the clouds, sunrise view' to make it all worthwhile. Time to hit the road.

Quetzaltenango (Guatemala) - university

It is amusing how I have raced through locations much more picturesque, and with more obvious attractions, than Xela. Why this cold and wet city has justified six weeks is a mystery, but perhaps the clue comes from the guidebook that likened it to a town in Northern England.

Studying at El Portal has been great and, although I am not as fluent as would have been nice, I have everything I need to get around the region and more. Big thanks to Gloria, Mariela and even Josue for the rude words.

The scene here is pretty small, but has everything you need. Budda Bar and El Cuartito for live music. La Rumba and La Paranda for salsa dancing. Salon Tecun and Oala for a beer. Pool y Beers and Blue Angel for movies. El Sabor de India and Cafe Paris to escape from the local cuisine. Not to mention a 1980's style gym, ridiculous museum featuring a goat with two heads, nasty American style shopping mall and a million internet cafes. Plenty to keep you occupied before and after homework time.

Quetzaltenango (Guatemala) - high school

Another week in Xela, another 100 verbs and a couple of tenses. Is it still travelling, yet alone a holiday, when you are in one place for months on end?

The big highlight of the week, one for which I turned down a world-class hiking opportunity, was the last match of the season for the SuperChivos (super, erm, goats). With a handful of students and three family members, we braved 'la curva' - the home of the hardest, loudest and craziest loyal supporters. I have never been in crowd like it. A ten piece band, non-stop dancing, a suite of songs with familar tunes and obnoxious, indecipherable words and use of the word 'puta' pretty much every second. Hilarious and with a win for the home team against the arch-rivals from the capital, it was 40 quetzals ($7) well spent.

Those songs in full...!

Vamos Xela, hoy te venido a vez
Pongan huevos, no logro entender
Que te amo, con todo el corazon
Y que juntos, vamas a salie campeon
(the classic)

Mira, mira, tomale la foto
Se va para su casa con el culo roto
(for the end of a game)

Hueeeeeeeeeeeeeco
El hijo de la gran puta
Puta puta puta
Reputa la vieja cerota
(sung as the goalie take a kick)

Para ser superchivo
Para ser superchivo se necesita un chingo de locura
Un chingo de locura y descontrol y del descontrol
Vamos Xela
Vamos Xel
(to the tune of La Bamba)

Venados y chantes, la misma mierda
(especially for Suchi)

Lago Atitlan (Guatemala) - summer break

Perhaps it is a little rude to take a long weekend as part of a holiday spanning several months, but I needed a break. So, off to Lago Atitlan a beautiful lakeside region, for some recuperation.

The main base for this excursion was San Pedro de la Laguna, a hippy style traveller centre with little to make it different from peers anywhere across the world: internet cafes, hash brownies, dreadlocks, ethnic jewellery stalls, massages, Bob Frickin Marley and video nights in every restaurant. That said, I did appreciate eating a mix of Asian and Italian food after three weeks of Guatemalan fair.

Days were spent taking a launch to other spots around the lake. As much for the ride as anything in the destinations. San Marcos gave new meaning to the phrase "nothing to do". Unless you fancied a week long course in karmic alignment or such like. Panajachel was basically San Pedro with a couple of extra years development and, consequently, for a fractionally richer crew. On one journey, a couple of guys last seen in the Baja California were sighted. A standard travelling incident, but always amusing. I did manage a couple of swims too and, despite being hard to actually access, the water was perfect. Who designs a lakeside holiday destination with almost zero water views or access? I guess no-one is the answer.

Evenings were occupied eating, playing cards and ping poing, dancing, watching films and listening to live music. Including a human beatbox that actually had people dancing to him. Odd. Pals from Xela were there for a few nights and that made for a few fun trips out.

Quetzaltenango (Guatemala) - primary school

Three weeks since the last post and I am still in the same place, making slow progress in learning Spanish - the law of diminishing marginal returns plays strongly in this endeavour. Right now, I understand six tenses and have around 200 verbs up my sleeves, but I barely feel like I speak any better then when I started. Time to get out there and use it perhaps.

Xela has proved a lively place to spend some time, with a good mix of late drinking nights (in old fashioned 'locks-ins' since the bars all shut at 1am), cultural activities, trips into the country and salsa lessons - speaking of things I don't yet master. All with an odd friendship group of a Kiwi, Israeli, Swede, two South Africans and a marine. Good bunch.

Around forty minutes away is Laguna Chicabal, set in the crater of an old volcano and requiring a two hour trek. Normally the views both arond the lake and on approach are supposed to be magnificent, but the rainy season offers a different experience. Around the lake, mist prevented more then a couple of metres of vision. This, with the weird burning Mayan tributes, made for a mysterious setting. Fortunately, the clouds lifted for a few brief minutes whilst on the rim, to allow the full view to be experienced. A little closer, and far less hard work, are the boiling hot thermal pools of Fuentes Georginas. A beer and a steaming dip made for a recuperating Sunday arvo.

Between study and mucking around, I've kept my culinary skills up to speed by cooking a traditional English Sunday roast for my family - twelve people in total. Followed by preparing dinner for the entire Spanish school, teachers included. An odd Asian creation which seemed pretty popular with the 20 who cleaned their plates. Next stop, Italiano.

Quetzaltenango (Guatemala) - kindergarten

Entering Guatemala from Mexico and you are greeted with a confronting change: from the Western world to the developing world. Most noticeable is the change from luxury coaches to local buses reminiscent of Asia, complete with the cliched ingredients of overcramming, blaring music, baskets of vegetables and, or course, the odd feathered bird. Locally this form of transport is known, affectionately, as a chicken bus. In my case, my neighbour was a huge turkey. My ultimate destination was Quetzaltenango - mercifully referred to as Xela - a place to base myself and study the Spanish I would need for the rest of my journey.

Once I had chosen my school, which was difficult because there are many all offering almost identical packages, it was time for an early night. Having your first day at school, at the age of 36, is an odd experience. Five hours of one-on-one language tuition, plus homework, can be pretty grueling. There's nowhere to hide.

I chose to live with a local family for the full immersion treatment and have been extremely lucky. A fantastic collection of Guatemalans of various ages - I'm still not sure of the exact relationships or all their names - who have made me incredibly welcome. Sharing three meals a day with non-English speakers certainly cranks up your learning.

The experience overall can be mentally and physically challenging; yet all the more rewarding as a result. I'll leave lying on beaches to those with the skin and figures to do it well.

San Cristobal de las Casas (Mexico) - de ja vu

Only once on this trip will I pass through somewhere I've been before and this enigmatic town receives, and greatly deserves, the honour.

Five nights in total were spent in San Cristobal - watching movies about local revolutionaries, studying Spanish, visiting a crazy fair and checking out few bands - but this time I set out to do a couple of new things.

Only a ten minute collectivo ride away is the rural village of San Juan Chamula. It's only real attraction is a church and, given how many of those there are around here, it might not generate much enthusiasm. But this place was different. Spooky, ethereal, haunting, mysterious. It's hard to find the word for a barren building, filled with efigies of countless saints, coated with pine leaves and laden with tens of thousands of candles, lit by pilgrims in ornate shapes on the ground. Religion continues to lose me completely. Yet, whatever it is these people have been made to believe, someone did a bloody good job on them.

The other, longer, day trip that must be done is the canyon sumidero, a collosal fissure in the ground with cliffs almost 1km high. A high speed tourist boat can be taken down the river which runs through the canyon, complete with croccodile sightings (I reckon they were stuffed). Just take sunscreen, a tonne of water and a wide brimmed hat.

So, after a few bottles of Bohemia, my favourite Mexican beer, it was time to finally add a new country to the roster. Guatemala here I come.

Zacatecas (Mexico) - wonderous easter gem

The city of Zacatecas is a magical place and one I am sure would capture the heart at any time of year. It becomes really special by adding a major arts festival, coinciding with holy week, and one of the best views in town on the roof of a 100 peso budget hotel. A vista only bettered by riding the Swiss built teleferico - and that took a 1 hour wait.

Stone paved streets, surrounded by large, amazing buildings - built on silver money in the 17th century - are brought to life by music, dance and theatre on every corner. Artists and craft stalls pepper the paths, with huge crowds everywhere. The blessing is that the tourists are largely Mexican families, from cities across the country, not gringos with flashing cameras. A curious cultural mix has been put together. I saw a mariachi band, the Mexican Muse (or so I thought), experimental Quebecois jazz and A Clockwork Orange - as part of a Stanley Kubrick series.

Once the culture ends, the serious business of drinking tequila starts. A myriad of odd bars are tucked away in the narrow streets. At Huracan, all the staff are all dressed as professional wrestlers, yet the interior design features religious inconography. In a more traditional mould, Las Quince Letras is the oldest bar in town and crams enough people in to make health and safety professionals drop dead. The night has to end in what is only known as 'la discoteque en la mina', because that's what it is... a nightclub at the bottom of disused silver mine.

Chihuahua (Mexico) - give it a miss

Firstly, the answer to the obvious question: no there wasn't one single Paris Hilton style dog sighting over two days. Secondly, apart from the good company of some hilarious Mexicans, two days was about 47 hours too long.

There are nice enough, old style buildings in the centre and there is good street food - like plastic cups of sweetcorn, mayo, cheese, lime and chilli. But nothing in either department to match some of this country's other cities. I did make the effort and visit the old pad of Pancho Villa - bandit turned revolutionary - who was murdered Kennedy style in the back of a motorcadce. Perhaps the most interesting display was a glut of weapons used in the uprisings.

Other highlights were a strange cultural mix of watching baseball (like every team I support, the Dorados were murdered, 11-2), a visit to a bar with a museum glued to its roof (La Rocca) and playing guitar hero on the Wii with the guys I stayed with.

Probably not enough to justify the stay, although I did take on the challenge of cooking an Indian chicken curry. Well, they asked for a traditional English meal and I couldn't see Yorkshire puddings really working.

Creel (Mexico) - remarkable landscape and cheap hangout

Creel proved to be a visually stimulating and relaxing place to hang out for a few days. Even better it was laughably good value: 100 pesos for bed, breakfast and a communal dinner with other travellers. Bargain.

Exploring the local scenery, by foot and mountain bike, delivered the treasures of the Valleys of the Mushrooms, Monks and Frogs - amazing rock formations that dominate the vista. I could sort of see the first two. But the froggies, not sure.

The town itself it small and charming, if a bit touristy. A trip to the musuem can occupy, erm, fifteen minutes or so. I was intrigued by a famed indigenous game, called Rarajipari, where players have to run 100 miles with a ball balanced on their foot. According to the signs, it is very similar to the English game of cricket. In the evening, dinner usually turned into drinks with a crew of people from around the world, all who could speak pretty good Spanish. One evening a small gang ended up watching a sensational guitar player and lady singer, playing in a coffee shop. Why can't I play guitar like that guy? Beautiful stuff.

Future thought to end: could I have time on return to simultaneously study Spanish, guitar, yoga, cooking and my MBA?

Barranca Del Cobre (Mexico) - amazing, yet over-hyped

Mexico's copper canyon, and the train ride through it, are billed as wonders of the world and must do's. They are both certainly pretty impressive. However, the higher your expectations, the greater the chances of feeling just a little let down.

The start of the journey was, unfortunately, the grim town of Los Mochis where the early departure meant staying the night. Perhaps I should have taken Lonely Planets warning about the hotel I chose more seriously. How bad can dirty, rat infested, loud music and prostitutes really be?

It didn't get much better when I arrived at the station to discover the cheapo train didn't run that day and the expensive one left in just five minutes. A choice between paying over the odds, or staying another night in seedy hotel, had to be made quickly. So speedily in fact, that once I did board the premium train, I was without basic essentials for a 12 hour trips, like water and food. At the mercy of horrendous on-board prices I was.

Still, in hindsight, a few days after being raped to the tune of $20 for breakfast, the view from the train was pretty impressive for large parts of the journey. It climbs over 2000m, so the route winds and twists continuously, through steep valleys, across wide rivers, past forests and through farms. Certainly not a train journey to fall asleep on. As I did.

Baja California Sur (Mexico) - detox and dialogue

In fairness to a place of great natural beauty, I didn't really do justice to the Baja Sur, spending most of my time there on buses, or asleep. Yet, after almost 6 weeks of over-doing it, a wind-down was much needed. Hard work this travelling.

A long (18 hour), expensive (1000 peso) and ridiculously cold bus trip took me to the small town of Loreto. The town is super sleepy, except for a scary five or six hours during the day when the cruise ship gets into town. Mucho americanos. Time to hide. Otherwise, I did absolutely nothing for two days, apart from wander aimlessly around the harbour and 17th century mission. But having my own room for the first time in ages was a rare treat - even though it was average at best.

Next stop was La Paz for a couple of nights where at least I saw a few beaches, took a swim and watched the sunset every night. The highlight though was a night watching Mexico vs Honduras in a locals bar, learning - and forgeting - Mexican slang. At least I remember 'chiquita mama'. A classic, not that you see many of them around these parts.

Getting off the Baja required an expensive ferry trip. Still, a few beers and a game of cards later, in the laughable 80's style on-board bar, and I was on the mainland and ready to hit the road.

Future thought to end... in what ways can I keep my Spanish going in Australia?

Ensenada (Mexico) - welcome to Latin America

Getting into Mexico from the USA was the easiest entry into a country I've even known. Take a tram from downtown San Diego, right to the border (for $2) and then, erm, just walk in. Passport checks, immigration, customs? Nope.

Then a simple bus ride to Ensenada, a pretty port town about 2 hours away. By the way, the flag on the photo might look photoshopped, but it's not. It's bloody massive and so makes navigating pretty easy.

On the first night, after an afternoon wandering (with Darrell), a game of Pictionary was held in the suburbs. A really fun way to bond with some locals, over tequila of course. Amazingly, despite this being played in Spanish, my team won. After that, we played a weird game called werewolf which really needs to be tried to be understood. I'm taking this one back home though, it's hilarious. Interestingly, whilst the Mexicans were hugely friendly and hospitable, they weren't in any way overwhelmed by having two gringos in their company. I didn't feel special at all - in a good way - just one of the gang.

The following day, we hired motorbikes and went to the Bufadora out of town. Great ride there, although the blowhole (like many around the world) didn't feel like blowing that day. In the evening, I cooked rissotto for nine, as you do, before heading to see a couple of bands. The first was a classic mariachi act in a scruffy saloon, followed by a cover band in a so-called indie club. Bad dancing and tequila, they go well together.

San Diego (USA) - a happening city

Supporting a theory that the best places in California start with 'San', the city of San Diego proved a good home for a few days. At least it's just about possible to get around by public transport.

A base in Mission Beach provided the chance to watch the sun set over the water, a treat missed by East coast dwellers, as well as have a few runs on the sand and ride an old-school roller coaster. Although it's intrinsically touristy, like Bondi I guess, there was a good vibe in this laid back Californian beach suburb.

The highlight of trip, unexpectedly, was a 3 or 4 hour exploration of the US Midway - a full service aircraft carrier only decommissioned in 1992. Truly fascinating, especially the sleeping quarters and bridge, but a frightening example of the money and effort that goes into war. Still, not a comment to make in SD where a massive proportion of the people are linked to the military.

Another supposed highlight was a trip to Bilbao Park, but the place incensed me. A green space with a six lane freeway running through it, and countless other big roads, is not a park. Full stop. Still, I did have a good meal there and happy hour margeritas.

Someone once said that a lively, strong gay community is a good indicator of a happening city. With that in mind, a trip to Hillcrest complete with a drag show, made for good night. On the opposite end of the scale, testosterone of another type, an evening in the nightlife capital of Gaslamp Quarter ended with riding a mechanical bull. Naturally I was useless, although the amount of time you got to ride seemed to depend on gender and amount of clothing worn. Fun, fun, fun.

Future thought to end... how little I know about the history and current situation of Australia's aborigines, as illustrated when asked on the road.

Orange County (USA) - not much beyond the beaches

Only a visit to an old friend brought me to this most famous of counties, not the allure of glamour promised by TV. Indeed, it took a while to find this glamour, as it lives only in narrow beach strips and behind the walls of gated communities. Scary stuff and I don't mean the people on the outside of the wire fences, who seemed fine to me. Otherwise, the power of car culture, and hence freeways, dominates everything. Public transport is a foreign word with a big thanks to the gas and auto lobbyists. Great work fellas.

Nevertheless, it was a pleasure to see my pal - after a gap of years in double figures - and hang out with his missus and little ones. Trips to BMX parks are not part of my usual routine and that's what travel is all about. Even less part of my routine is visiting off-road enthusiast fairs. Still unsure how these guys can keep going in the face of global warming and economic doom, even with the gratuitous use of porn star stand dollies. After this sojourn, I continued my cooking themed travels by knocking up spicy lamb chops and oven roasted veggies - served with an excellent Oregon Pinot Noir. Further evidence it's the Victoria of the Pacific Northwest.

Our attempt to capture the more debauched days of our university life took us to the beaches. A fifty minute drive was required to get us to the nearest bar: Sharkies Bar in Newport Beach. A fun night was just getting going here - beers, dancing, girls, the usual stuff - when everything ground to a halt at the alarmingly early 1am. Pretty standard by all accounts and so off to the ham & cheese croissant stall we went. An odd doner kebab substitute, but it did the job. At the more up-market Laguna Beach late afternoon hangovers were still present and so a spicy Bloody Mary, drunk as the sun set over the water, was just the order of the day.

Santa Cruz (USA) - sleep, serenity and sealions

A journey from the Northwest to Southern California required at least one break - and Santa Cruz served this purpose well.

The Amtrak journey to this seaside town, via San Jose, was a pleasure, including a long sleep in the spacious chairs. On board there was an observation lounge and even a games arcade. Definitel the way to travel, especially with the views offered by Southern Oregon.

Once in Santa Cruz, I was pretty soon greeted by 20 to 30 locals. A gang of huge sealions lying around and warming their flippers in the winter sun, only metres from the end of the pier. An absolute treat and certainly something I've never seen before. Coupled with a visit to the Henry Cowell state park, and a big hike through the redwoods, this stopover was a refreshing natural sojourn.

Otherwise, Santa Cruz was a sleepy Californian town - with a nice vibe, but not much happening. The famous boardwalk funfair certainly looked a bit depressing at this time of the year. For evening entertainment, after a rare visit to a great vego restaurant, I visited a free comedy night. Just how poor this was, is hard to describe. Perhaps an example joke does it best. Why waste all this time on formulas to enlarge the size of men's bits.... can't they do something about shrinking women's?

The hostel in this town is the polar opposite of the fun packed Portland offering, with an 11pm curfew and a total alcohol ban. B-o-r-i-n-g. Though sometimes you need someone else to enforce an alcohol free day or two.

Portland (USA) - grim yet great

A city famous for very little, and with no tourist landmarks, seems an odd place to spend four days. Yet, fond memories have been left by this Oregon treasure. Like its Northwest counterpart, Seattle, it certainly does cool bookshops, real ales, funky clothes shops and live music way better than most cities. Though again, the volume of the homeless was scary.

Having been there only one hour, a random stroll past an art-house cinema revealed that Steven Soderbergh's film 'Che' was showing that night - with the director himself in attendance. A must see, so I bought one of the last tickets and headed back at 7pm. Little did I know that it would be 1am before my cinematic experience ended. Grueling and fascinating, both the film and q&a session. The former purely due to length and the latter thanks to the film student wankers, with their technical questions. Aspect ratio and post production, please?

Three nights of drinking then followed, coupled with attempts to get to the Mount Hood snow area - all of which failed. Highlights included: being pulled over by the cops, pints of Guiness on St. Paddy's night, lesbian anarchic punk rock, drunken boardgames, free stuff courtesy of JD and a flame-juggler stripper night. Seriously. Strippereoke was only missed by one night.

In the midst of all this mayhem, I did cook a feast of Hungarian Goulash for the gang, earning the title: hostel chef. Intellectual rigour was provided by a visit to Powell's city of books. It claims to be the biggest in the world and, whilst I'm not sure about that, it's certainly gigantic and has character which puts Borders et al to shame. Natural stimulation came from a muddy hike around the massive Washington Park. If only I hadn't taken along an annoying yank (most aren't, by the way) who refused to eat off the hostel crockery, as he feared picking up a foreign disease. Ridiculous.

Seattle (USA) - much more than just Frasier

This city is loaded with cultural and corporate references. And wandering around somehow gives you a sense of the creative and intellectual power of the place. But, it's the natural setting that overwhelms once you are there. Surrounded by waterways and collosal snow capped mountains, you seem only minutes away from the wilderness. A walk along the waterfront on a glorious sunny winter day, with tunes pumping through the ipod, brings a big smile the face.

Art institutions abound and with just one day, the Seattle Art Musuem and Sculpture Park are the order of the day. In the latter, beware trying the old dad gag (ie. pointing to a bench or fire extinguisher and commenting on it's artistic merit) as it might backfire. Pike Market is also a good way of getting lost for a few hours. Although, the fantastic oyster bar might remind you that entering the backpacker mindset takes some time. Yumminess. On that subject, another in the series of budget travel tips, why pay for an internet cafe when libraries are free? And why pay $25 to visit the top of the Space Needle, when the taller Columbia Centre is free? Well, if you're sneaky.

On a completely different note, it was in Seattle that I heard about the technique of 'sous vide' style cooking - which basically seems to mean posh boil-in-the-bag - as exemplified by Thomas Keller at French Laundry. Just a reminder note to investigate this another time.

Victoria (Canada) - more British than Britain

Here is a city awash with shops, squares and streets featuring London, England and Royal in their name. Union Jacks are pretty prevalent too. Yet it's the capital of a state in Canada. Weird.

With not a huge amount else to do, except the tourist heights of Miniature World, a trip the Royal (thanks maam) BC Museum is a must - especially when it's freezing. Here you can learn all about aboriginal abuse and raping resources from early settlers. Good to hear the Brits are nothing if not consistent. Whilst various athletes, politicians and business people are celebrated, they seem less keen on mentioning Pamela Andersen nor Michael J Fox.

The city's massive Chinese population (it was the first jumping off point for migrant, union breaking, miners) has created a cool little Chinatown. And it brought about the discovery of eggs, chips and soy sauce as a winning breakfast. Coupled with a tea, made from a Cuppa Joes big napkin teabag, it's a top start to the day.