Frías, Santiago del Estero, Argentina.

"¡Atrápalo, atrápalo!" (catch it, catch it) shouted the chap on a bicycle as he pedalled breathlessly after the horse galloping at high speed, with tether flailing, through the railway station.

Ayacucho, Peru

Aoulouz, Morocco

Working hard to add Arabic to my vocabulary while scraping the rust off my French, it was a bit confusing to find myself having a lengthy conversation in Spanish with a chap selling apples at the market in Aoulouz… messed me up properly, or as the locals say “filled my head with couscous”.

Uyuni, Bolivia

Uyuni, Bolivia

Blockaded by a general strike, nothing motorised moved for several days. I passed through the barriers of burning tyres and abandoned trucks on my bicycle to nothing more sinister than smiles and waves.

Córdoba capital, Argentina

Dean Funes, Córdoba Province, Argentina

Cafayate, Argentina

Susques, Jujuy, Argentina

A small mud brick village the colour of the surrounding mountains. I found fresh bread and a shower, my first in a while.

Tomerapi, Bolivia

New Delhi, India

Kullu, Himachel Pradesh

As I slowly gained altitude lush, tropical India began to morph into a more arid, barren, rugged landscape, the road became rough, dusty dirt and Hinduism slowly gave way to the Buddhism of the mountains.

Buenos Aires, Argentina

Villa Mercedes, Argentina

"esto es como la nafta!" (this stuff is like petrol). Full of interesting stories, my companion that afternoon had freelanced in Nicaragua during the '80s'; we finished the bottle of local whisky despite its somewhat rough palette.

Dean Funes, Cordoba, Argentina

Copacabana, Bolivia

Losar, Spiti, Himachel Pradesh

Snow flurries began; temperatures had been dropping steadily over the last few days with the approach of winter and I began to think of getting over the high Kunzum La pass at 4590m before the first of the early winter storms.

Kaza, Himachel Pradesh

Córdoba capital, Argentina

Panguipulli, Chile

My host forgot my name so at dinner time it took a while to dawn that the “hey, gringo..” coming from the kitchen was intended for me. I didn’t mind, I forgot his name too.

Baralacha La, Himachel Pradesh

Chilled and exhausted from a difficult crossing of the high Baracha La pass, 4,890m, in a snowstorm, I parked my bike by the stove at a roadside tent-restaurant for the remainder of the day.

Return to top