4th January 2005 until 2nd July 2005

1. On the road again...

On the 4th January 2005, after a relaxing flight via Frankfurt, I arrive in the dazzling megapolis São Paulo in Brazil. I meet Eduardo, a young professor of theoretical computation science, who involves me in an interesting discussion about algorithms for information flux optimisation. Another short flight and half a dozen of fruit juices later, we land in Rio de Janeiro, where I discover with relief that my backpack (10,8 kg) has made it until here as well.

The cuidade maravilhosa is an exotic dream destination with lively historic quarters, enclaved between the world famous, sandy beaches such as Ipanema, and the prominent, cone-shaped hilltops, around which the infamous favelas (shanty towns) are crammed. The sensual beach- and body culture of the Cariocas is expressed at its best in samba, carnaval and caipirinha. Eduardo offers me a lift to Copacabana, where I check in for 38 Reais (1 EUR = 3,5 BRL) at the slightly chaotic hostel Chelegarto. I visit the Museu da Republica, where the fascist dictator Vargas shot himself in 1954 and watch a spectacular sunset from the Pao de Açúcar (396m by cable car, 30 BRL). Instead of offering peace to the crime ridden capital, the enigmatic Cristo Redentor, who guards with outstretched hands the top of the Corcovado (710m), contents himself to offer stunning panoramic views over both sides of the sprawling city to the endless stream of paying pilgrims (30 BRL by cable car). With Ollie, a young backpacker from England, I go for a dip on Copacabana beach, walk the Centro city tour, take the bondinho tram up to the artistic neighbourhood of Santa Teresa, feed on the best por kilo buffet, check out the local nightlife (Shananaghans) and attend a barbecue in our hostel where I meet Alain (Canada).

On my way south I break up the journey in Florianópolis (20 h, 119 BRL from Guanatur) on the pretty Ilha de Santa Catarina, a 50 km long stretch of beaches and tourism facilities. As the youth hostel is booked out I inaugurate my newly purchased Hostelling International Card (commonly called HIV pass) at the friendly HI in Canasvieiras (19 BRL) on the northern tip of the island. Together with Corinne, a telecom marketer from Switzerland, I check out the local beach scene: the water is warm, the shrimps are tasty and the huge Piña Coladas are a dream - it's a dog's life... At night the streets transform into a huge shopping mall and I almost explode inside a local "all-you-can-eat" Pizzeria (11 BRL), where the busy waiters pass every single minute with a new dish (impossible to refuse that mouth-watering pineapple-banana pizza for dessert). My exploration around the island on a crowded pirate boat (35 BRL, 5h) drowns in a heavy rain; a sign for me to hop on the next bus to Montevideo (20 h, 179 BRL with EGA).

2. Uruguay, my way!

The smallest Hispanic country on the subcontinent is charming, clean and well organised. Often referred to as Switzerland of South America, even the inherited financial skills of its Helvetic settlers could not avoid a slowdown of the economy in 2002, thus making it a bargain destination for everyone not impacted by the Argentinean crisis. (Big Mac index: 40 Uruguayan Peso, 1 EUR = 33 UYU).

Guarding the entrance to the Rio de la Plata, Montevideo is a tranquil and pleasant capital, reflecting the easygoing nature of the 3,5 million Uruguayans. Sights are within walking distance and the tourist office hands out a decent map. I stroll through the city centre (Mercado del Puerto, Avenida 18 de Julio), visit the free museums, fall in love with the chivitos (oversized club sandwiches holding an entire steak), and socialise with the travellers around the spacious patio of my friendly youth-hostel Albergue Juvenil (180 UYU) near Plaza Independencia. Together with black Star Alliance Gold member Ron(aldo) from the USA (Brasileiro in his heart and brilliant entertainer), Etti from Israel, Nate, Peter and Fabian I check out the nearby bars (Pony Pisador) to sample the excellent Patricia beer and the local specialities Medio y Medio and Grappa con miel.

On a day trip Ron and I drive to Pan de Azúcar (1,5 h, 81 UYU), where we accept the help of Esteban, a local boy, and scouting dog Topo (who thinks we take him for a walk) to guide us on top of the nearby hill (500 m). Armed with a machete we cut a path through the three kinds of spine bushes (the little spidery ones go for the clothes, the cross-shaped cruces cut like razors and the stingy ones are poisonous and hurt like hell). Ron, who is wishing he had something else than Flip-flops for shoes, overcomes his vertigo and carefully climbs the oversized boulders during many hours, until we reach the erected cross on the volcanic top, from where we are rewarded with stunning views as far as Punta del Este.

My well deserved Saturday rest on the beach in Pacitos (15 UYU) the next day ends up being a beach party and I find myself back that night with Sabrina, Stephania, Guillermina from Argentina and a bunch of crazy Brazilian musicians turning a little bar into a frenzy live concert, featuring two challenging bands, followed by disco dancing in Mitre until 5 a.m.

Ron and I take a bus to upmarket Punta del Este (2 h, 117 UYU) where I check in at crammed El Hostel (10 USD). You know that you are in a resort town when the pedestrians disgracefully stare at your backpack and frown upon any outburst of laughter in public places (Ron: "It shows you're too easily amused"). While walking along expensive weekend houses, designer shops, Naomi Campbell and restaurants, quoting 3 digit prices ("Imagine, they use tablecloth!"), we discuss the advantages of first class travel and we finally lounge at the prestigious, fashionable playa Bikini to enjoy cold cerveza, professionally served in a chilled glass and coming with an ice bucket.

Two bus rides (Montevideo, 2 h, 117 UYU and Colonia, 3 h, 140 UYU) and a day later I check in at the lovely Hotel Colonial (100 UYU) in historical Colonia del Sacramento, strategically established in 1680 on the Rio de la Plata to defend the Portuguese interests. I take in the laid-back atmosphere along the cobblestone streets, visit the many museums (UNESCO World Heritage Site) and climb the lighthouse for a bird's eyes view on the scenic riverfront. In the company of Julieta, a producer of TV commercials from Buenos Aires, I enjoy a tasty fish dinner at the terrace of the Yacht Club in the ancient contraband port, until we are chased by the strong Pampero winds. The next day we catch the sun on idyllic Playa Ferrando and swim in the dark waters of the river, before sipping yerba maté on the rooftop terrace of Pousada Los Flores. The bitter, strong brew is prepared like tea and is sucked through an ornate filtering straw from a round bowl - a social ritual.

Together with my travel mates Epiphania (CH), Al (Tasmania) and our expert Argentine asadero (grill-master) Leo, I organise a barbecue for 16 people at the guest-house: 7 kg of meat plus salads, 6 l of wine and watermelon for only 55 UYU per person - a perfect example of successful international co-operation. A day trip leads me to Colonia Suiza (1h, 47 UYU), where the most exciting thing to do is watch the pigeons in the marketplace fight for a piece of cheese. Do yourself a favour: skip it. A better option is a ride with the free bikes from the guesthouse along the coast to Real de San Carlos. Time for a last Chivito at Colonia Rock and off goes my bus to Carmelo (1h, 53 UYU), another sleepy colonial town with an impressive yacht pier, from where I embark for a very scenic Ferry ride (3 h, 271 UYU) along dozens of pristine islands until Tigre, a recreational suburb of Buenos Aires in Argentina.

3. Don't cry for me, Argentina

Although Argentina starts to see a light at the end of the tunnel, the disastrous economic collapse in 2001 has unexpectedly turned one of the wealthiest nations into a bankrupt country with an official unemployment rate of 13 percent and a foreign debt of 100 billion USD (President Kirchner has generously offered to actually pay back a third of it). Meanwhile the 39 millions proud Argentineans, who still cry for the abandoned Argentine Peso (ARS) parity with the US dollar, legendary Evita and the lost Falkland Islands (1982), try to console themselves with never ending strikes, tasty wine and probably the best steaks in the world.

In Buenos Aires I am invited to stay at Julieta's apartment near subte (underground) station Carlos Gardel (one of the fathers of Tango) and three blocks away from the burnt down Cromanon nightclub (triggering the closing of the most popular dancing spots that did not comply with safety regulations). While recovering from a cold I take care of the funny cats Romeo and Amiris, plan my route, help out as secretary/receptionist and scouting assistant for Julieta's advertising and catering company "Las Betty's", do some research on Internet, buy an ISIC card at ASATEJ (30 ARS, 1 EUR = 3,9 ARS), prepare a draft for a modular standardized service contract, watch Argentinean movies and organize a rescue mission to save the suicidal cat from the roof. Finally I feel well enough to explore the distinctive barrios (districts) of the capital. On Plaza de Mayo, in the centre of town, I visit the Casa Rosada palace, from where a series of presidents directed the masses (the most famous being Juan and Eva Peron). During my stay I witness a whole selection of demonstrations, all suspiciously supervised by heavily armed intervention forces. Every Thursday the Madres de la Plaza de Mayo mourn their sons, who disappeared until the early eighties during the brutal "Proceso". Disillusioned clients, who lost most of their savings during the peso crash, are still banging with hammers on the barricaded doors of the banks. One of the pamphlets reads: "Bring your money to Luxembourg, Argentina robs". On Sunday I tango-dance my way through the parades of bargain seekers on the Defensa Antiques feria in artistic San Telmo. Even more artistic, though more rundown and crime ridden, is La Boca, with its colorful houses along El Caminito (take the bus). You can skip the disappointing Museo de la Ciudad, but the History Museum (2 ARS) in the Parque Lezama is an educative way point. Not to be missed is the cemetery in La Recoleta, where the late rich and famous ultimately reside in their pretentious memorials. Endless shopping streets (Florida, Corrientes), huge boulevards (9 de Julio, Mayo), the restored Puerto Madero harbor or the extensive parks of upmarket Palermo provide excellent digestion walks, that you will certainly need after feasting through piles of huge bife de chorizo, asado, empanadas, pizza (El Cuartito), and home delivery pasta and ice cream, most of it consumed around midnight. The asquerosas chinchulines (disgusting intestines) should be washed down with a schopp of Quilmes.

On the 1st February, after an overnight journey with a luxurious Paradiso Class cama bus (110 ARS, 18 h, Condor Estrella) with incredible reclining seats, I check in at the friendly El Gualicho (20 ARS) in the Welsh settlement Puerto Madryn. Early the next morning I start my tour to windy Peninsula Valdes, a protected, barren national park on the flat Patagonian coast that reaches far into the Atlantic Ocean and that is popular for whale-watching (only June to December). Between the low growing bushes you can spot some curious foxes, affectionate armadillos (kind of hairy turtle), shy guanacos (small llama) and suspiciously staring rheas (ostrich-like bird). Other regular, seasonal tourists are the sea lions and the fat elephant seals that obviously enjoy their siestas along the shore. Inexperienced Magellan penguins sometimes end their beauty sleep between the sharp teeth of a hungry Orca, which, after gliding like a torpedo through the turquoise water, suddenly breaks the surface of an incoming wave to project its massive black body far out on the beach. At relaxed Lobo Larsen dive shop I meet Evelyn - I encountered her friend Alexandro, a marine biology student in Uruguay - and sign up for an interesting wreck dive with Maxi (90 ARS, discounted). Afterward I receive detailed information about the local marine ecosystem at the educative Ecocentro (15 ARS).

In Bariloche (73 ARS, 15h, Mar y Valle, with complimentary Motorcycle Diaries movie), a friendly Andean mountain settlement overlooking the Lago Nahuel Huapi in the popular Lake District, I finally check in at the overbooked Periko´s (20 ARS). Deep marks in the rock, left by receding glaciers, have filled up with icy water of different shades of blue and have transformed this region into a stunning postcard-picture scenery. On our tour of the beautiful Circuito Chico, David, a German travel writer (Iraq) and myself make a chilly swimming break in Colonia Suiza (there I go again) and visit the prestigious Lhao Lhao hotel. After a nightly pit stop with Neil at Wilkenny´s, I need a full day to count the lakes while roller-coasting over the gravel roads along the scenic Siete Lagos circuit between Villa la Angostura and San Martin de los Andes (why trek, if you can take a bus, right). Time for a short visit to the Museo Paleontologico (3 ARS) and I continue to Esquel (23 ARS, 4h), the entrance point to the idyllic Los Alerces national park (12 ARS). After a scenic bus ride (22h, 11ARS) through the forest-covered mountains and along extensive, calm lakes with small, pristine islands I start the interpretative trail from Pasarela, where visitors can teach themselves "how to recognize trees from quite a long distance" (No, it´s not a larch!). From Puerto Chucao a ferry boat (60 ARS, 5h) sails across the crystal-clear water towards the glacier. The tour includes a guided hike to the enormous Alerzal Abuelo, a 2600 year old tree. For a panoramic view of Esquel I board the little 0,75 m narrow-gauge train La Tronchita (20 ARS, 3 h) that takes an eternity to pull the cute cafeteria wagon (where the friendly waitress offers self-made apple pie and coffee) to its destination Nahuel Pan. In my guest house Batxoky (13 ARS) two fishermen and I are invited by a resident family to a singing dinner, Argentinean style.

After a few hours of waiting I am finally picked up at the bus terminal by a white Iveca minivan to cruise down the notorious Ruta 40 that cuts straight through the vastness of the southern Patagonian no mans land (270 ARS, 24 H). Although hundreds of kilometres of low gear driving over a bumpy gravel road does not inspire much hilarity, our two excellent drivers and the company of Margaretha, a nurse from Switzerland, Carlsten and the two adventurous Australians Pete (Greek-Argentinean) and Radek (Poland), turn the ride into a pleasant and memorable experience. We spot many rheas, guanacos (even an eagle chasing a rabbit), swim in a shallow river in the middle of nowhere and admire the most incredible dark-orange sunset. The next day, the extraordinary skyline of slowly rising snow-covered mountains behind a majestic, sunlit glacier, whose reflections are sparkling in a vast blue ice lake, becomes more and more spectacular as we approach the peaceful village El Chalten from the flat Patagonian steppe. We book a dorm at the basic Lago del Desierto (22 ARS) and immediately follow our restless expedition leader Margaretha up the mountain trail to the pristine Lago Capri, where I dip in the potable ice water before waiting for sunset on the newly discovered mirador Australia. Early the next morning, I hike to the base camp on the Cerro Torre to improve my ice climbing skills with Fitz Roy Expeditions (145 ARS, 12 h). Our two friendly guides Charly and Rico gear us up with harness and crampons (ice sandals are not suitable) and slowly lead us around the dramatic Laguna Torre from where there are fantastic views on the glacier and the steep, threatening towers of the famous Fitz Roy mountain range. After a few tentative steps on the mixture of rocks and frozen water I actually start to enjoy walking on the glacier with the sharp-edged crampons on my feet. Our path leads us through an uneven landscape, formed by a multitude of different kinds of ice. We balance around the edges of deep crevasses and march along little, blue rivers, that are seeking their ever changing beds until disappearing inside an underground tunnel. During the ice climbing I am hanging in classic spider man style on the slippery surface of a frozen wall and, armed with two pikes, I painfully try to follow the securing rope to the top.

The bus to El Calafate (45 ARS, 5 h) leaves at 6.30 the next morning. The touristy, little town counts more travel agencies than houses, which all try to sell overpriced "adventure tours" to the nearby Perito Moreno (just buy a ticket for the 7 o'clock bus at the terminal, 40 ARS, 1,5 h, + 30 ARS entrance fee). The exceptional glacier - the colors of its marble texture range from blue to green - can be viewed from different platforms and the show is truly breathtaking. The 60 m high flow of "rising, toppling and exploding ice" regularly calves huge blocks of glacier into the placid Canal de los Tempanos. After moving from America del Sur (30 ARS) to the unpretentious Carretas hostel (15 ARS) I follow the live speech of Jean-Claude Junker during the EU summit with W. Bush in Brussels.

As all the buses are booked out, Margaretha and I decide to cross Tierra del Fuego on a scenic flight from Rio Gallego (30 ARS, 5 h, bus) to Ushuaia (160 ARS, 1 h, Aerolineas Argentinas), from where we get a perfect overview of the Straight of Magellan and the Cordillera Darwin. In Ushuaia, the southernmost city of the world, I find the excellent hostel Cruz del Sur (20 ARS) that is managed by the Italian owner Lucas who likes food and travelling. I spend a few days in frustrating attempts to get the necessary cash together for my expedition to Antarctica (discounted prices start at 2500 USD) as credit cards are penalized with outrageous fees (up to 7%). Meanwhile I visit the town, buy some equipment, get cooking lessons in the hostel kitchen, attend the local carnival parade, sample the excellent Beagle beer at Dublin´s, go dancing at Nautico, eat a lot of steaks, sample King Crab, ride on the overpriced Train "Fin del Mundo" (47 ARS, 1 h) and hike along the coast of the excellent Tierra del Fuego National Park (12 ARS), where I play hide and seek with the woodpeckers.

4. Expedition Antarctica

At the end of the 19th century the whole world was known to mankind. The whole world? No, one single continent still stubbornly kept offering resistance: Antarctica. Only a mere handful of people had set foot on the continent and the interior was still terra incognita. To the surprise of the members of the International Geographical Congress, the challenge of organising the first scientific expedition to Antarctica was accepted by a most unlikely country: without a maritime tradition and despite of being busy plundering the Congo, it was Belgium that produced an appropriate naval officer named Adrien de Gerlache de Gommery. On 16 August 1897, at the age of thirty-one, he left Antwerp on board of his newly acquired three-master "Belgica". The multidisciplinary research team consisted of nineteen staff members, two of whom should become world-famous: the Norwegian sub lieutenant Roald Amundsen (expedition to the South Pole) and the doctor-photographer Frederick Cook (expedition to the North Pole).

Nowadays the difficulties met by intrepid travellers to stand on Antarctic territory are mainly financial ones. An average physical condition, a two weeks time commitment, resistance to seasick tablets and a minimum of 2.500 USD are all you need to begin the adventure. On the 1st March the 2936 tonnes passenger vessel M/V "Ushuaia" starts its eleven-day cruise to Antarctica. While navigating through the Beagle Channel the sixty-six passengers on board are welcomed by Captain Carlos Pigni and expedition leader Monika Schillat, who presents her expert staff, composed of enthusiastic biologists and specialized crew members. After the safety briefing I meet my eccentric Irish roommate Ray. Most of the passengers are long-term travellers such as Django, a Spanish drummer who speaks twelve languages and lives in Bali, Pip, an Australian tour operator, Edwin, a Swedish dive master, a bizarre Polish photographer, journalists, the veteran naval aviator Halfdan Hanssen, who piloted the first Antarctic scouting planes for the Argentinean army in 1951, etc. After Cape Horn, a major obstacle to reach Antarctica is the extremely rough and windy Drake Passage. Although Neptune has blessed us with exceptionally good weather, our ship is dancing enough for any hazardous food (such as soup or beverages in glasses) to be cancelled from the outstanding dinner menu for the next few days - all to the amusement of my Swedish shipmates Erik and Edwin from the "breakfast table". We are prepared for our expedition with daily lectures and documentaries in the conference room: Seabirds, History of Antarctic Exploration, Ice, Life in the Freezer, Antarctic Marine Ecosystem, History of Whaling, etc. I spend most of my leisure time on the bridge looking out for whales, sea birds and icebergs. Eventually we sight the South Shetland Islands and we make our first landing on the barren, industrial-looking shore of King George Island, where we are greeted by one single penguin. After visiting the comfortable Russian Bellinghausen station and its nearby church, I stroll along the snow-covered hangars of the nearby Chilean outpost (which even has a post office). The next day we organise wet landings on Half Moon Island and the protected Whaler's Bay on Deception Island. Our first immersion into the local fauna leaves us spoilt with hundreds of excited Chinstrap penguins that loudly claim their presence, many sea birds in search of food and several aggressive seals, ferociously guarding small patches of rocky ground. The scattered remains of a British Antarctic Survey base and the rusting boilers from a Norwegian whaling operation remind us that the ring-shaped island is an active volcano that has shown its destructive powers more than once. The sulphurous hot springs on the shore can therefore be used as a shallow bathing pool, if you dare to strip off the multiple layers of your clothing in the intense cold. I use the occasion to jump into the icy sea for a short swim, but the extremely low temperatures rapidly cut my breath and chase me out of the water.

After a terrible storm, during which the Norwegian sailor Wiencke was washed overboard and drowned, de Gerlache managed to reach the Antarctic Peninsula in February 1989. He discovered the passage now known as Gerlache Strait, and mapped the whole region, all while discovering many new plant and animal species. The expedition got trapped in the pack ice however and had to endure a long, dark winter during the polar night. To survive, the crew had to feed on raw penguin and seal meat, and although elaborate games where organised to prevent mental depression as a result of the unbearable conditions, the scientist Emile Danco died after much agony. We sail along the huge glaciers and towering, immobile icebergs of the Gerlache Strait, aiming for a landing at Danco Island. I am greeted by dozens of curious Gentoo penguins while I climb to the top of the dome-shaped island, from where there are stunning panoramic views on the unique beauty of the Errera Channel. To reach the shore I use the same technique as the penguins: a spectacular slide several hundred meters down the compacted snow of the eastern slope. From the relative safety of our Zodiac we approach a Leopard Seal dozing on the ice, surprised to be suddenly the centre of so much interest. From the bridge deck I observe the ice-captain expertly pilot our ship through a narrow passage between two floating icebergs. The oily, motionless sea is like a semi-transparent mirror, perfectly reflecting the frozen landscape that surrounds us and revealing the artistic shapes of the blue icebergs underwater. Minky and humpback whales regularly break through the rippling surface to blow a white spray of water into the clean air. A fearless humpback female with its calf rests during twenty minutes just next to our ship. Feeling the icy wind deep-freezing my dripping nose and stiff hands, with fingers too numb to take a picture, I finally realise that I am in Antarctica. After another Zodiac cruise through this surreal natural environment of bizarre sculptures and transparent blue colours, we make a continent landing at Paradise Bay (Almirante Brown Station), where I eventually leave my first footprints in the hard snow of the Antarctic Peninsula. Our next destination is Cuverville Island, a nesting site for Gentoo penguins, largely dominated by brave, but vicious skuas, vigorously defending their nests. While approaching a rocky hill I am the stunned victim of a Skua attack. From the steep snow-covered slope of Neko Harbour we observe in silence how the enormous adjoining glaciers calve into the bay producing a thundering distant noise and rising high waves on the rock-strewn beach, all to the entertainment of the playing penguin offspring. Gradually the sky is closing and the temperatures are dropping. With a cruise speed of only a few knots the strengthened steel hull of our ship timidly breaks through the forming ice until the Ice captain decides to abort our attempt to cross the narrow Lemaire Channel due to the increasing frequency and size of growlers in the water.

By January 1899 the situation was desperate. A shift in temperature suddenly froze the nearly finished channel that during one month de Gerlache's crew had painstakingly cut into the pack ice using saws and dynamite. Miraculously the channel reopened a few weeks later and on 14th March, after 377 days of imprisonment, the "Belgica" reached open sea again.

We head back north to Orne Island for a general snowball battle on top of the immaculate 75-meter-high dome and a group picture with the beautiful Gerlache Strait under a clear, blue sky as a background. The next day we land on Wiencke Island (Jougla Point) to visit the Penguin Rookery, where the curious chicks, attracted by the colour, follow me to nibble on the yellow, fluorescent strap on my camera. Nearby, on Goudier Island, the British Base Port Lockroy is a restored Antarctic research facility from the sixties and operates as a living museum. To celebrate our last landing we sample some "Old Smuggler" whisky on black ice, highly compressed during at least one thousand years (plus one day, as I fished it out of the water the day before) and thus hard to melt. That night the Drake Passage hits us with all its might: fifty knots winds generate gut wrenching, eight-meter-high waves that rock our ship almost until our return to Ushuaia on 11th March.

5. Chile

To be published!

6. Northern Argentina

To be published!

7. Bolivia

To be published!

8. Peru

To be published!

9. Down the Amazon

To be published!

10. Venezuela to BA

To be published!