It is taking me a great deal of time to go through the pictures, I have to admit! And these are just the ones from my main camera, let alone the videos, go-pro, phone and the like. Looks like it'll take me as long as doing the trip itself!

I get a lot of curiosity in travelling the world and no more so than my most recent travels. Here's the most common questions I have been asked on this adventure:

1.So…South America, dodgy as hell? Get mugged? Amazingly no, and try not to sound so xenophobic, jeeeeezzz!! Despite previous encounters with any Latin countries usually resulting in a missing wallet or at least something being stolen (oh my aching heart, those wonderful Latino ladies!) in the entire trip nothing got stolen apart from where it shouldn’t have! In Guatemala they broke a headlight, my radiator and my handbrake and they stole some tools. Why shouldn’t it have got stolen and who ae ‘they’? Because I shipped the car in a shipping container which is more secure, but when the stevedores and shipping staff pulled the vehicle out of the container without me being present (something I wasn’t happy about) they then went to town. 

2.What about danger? Gun in the face? Lots and lots and lots of people have big guns. No, that's not a euphemism. Big ass shotguns slung over the shoulder is the way to go in South and Central America.  But every one of the carriers was extremely polite and none of them threatened to shoot me. I consider every day that I don’t get shot at or threatened to get shot at ‘a good day’

3.So you were never in danger? Well no, apart from when I locked myself out in Bolivia Salt Flats about 70km from civilisation . . . and having to stay in the drug-running border-region of Guatemala and Mexico where I was shitting myself with the prospect of being used as some kind of mule. And that time in Belize where I probably should have gone to hospital with food poisoning (from Guatemala), so literally shitting myself.

4.Bribery? Yeah it happens, it’s just something that occurs as part of the culture. But look at it this way – you have more money than they ever will have, and they do a job with very low income if any income at all. Of course they’re going to try and earn some dollars. $5 or $20 means nothing to you, but it can mean a huge amount to them. However, as soon as you do start paying them, they’ll continue to hit up foreigners every time they see them, making life more difficult, stressful and turning foreigners away. Not to mention that they may phone their friend 50km down the road who will stop you again for the same bribe. The best you can do is negotiate or not pay. In the entire trip, we paid 5 Bolivars, which is about $1 US. Despite travelling solo for most of the trip, my friend joining me for a few weeks relented to bribe a military checkpoint at some late-night Bolivian border crossing. I think in total there were about five times we were stopped and asked for cash by police or military, but have three things on your side which will do you well:

• The first and most important is to not have anything wrong with your vehicle. Learn the rules, know what you can have and know what you can’t. Simple as that. In Australia I would get pulled over for having a brake light out, expect the same thing wherever you go. And yes, despite what locals drive, you aren’t a local, so anything that attracts attention, for me anyway, is a recipe for bribery
• Speak Spanish when you need to, but don’t speak it too well. Learning the language enough that you understand the necessaries but when it comes to a case where you think you’re being asked for a bribe, feign complete ignorance. It worked for me!
• Remain calm and civil. Most people are there trying to do a job and not ask you for a bribe and not give you a hard time - they deal with people trying to bring drugs into their country to kill the people they love, and these people could be armed to the teeth, so if they seem on edge they have reason to be.  However, if you greet anyone with a smile and being polite they will generally be nice. Yes, at the Mexican Border I had my vehicle checked four times in the space of 3 miles, but each time just act like it's the first and get on with it. They usually only stop you for a few minutes to check paperwork. If they want to look around the response isn't a rolling of the eyes but an 'por supesto!' (of course!)

5.Best bits? I adore landscapes and animals, so if you like birds, guanacos, llamas, foxes, orcas, monkeys, seals, penguins, jackals and caiman, then you’ll love South America! As for the landscapes, I’ve generally not seen as many beautiful landscapes as that of Chile and Bolivia. Simply stunning. If you’ve ever been to New Zealand, one of the most incredibly pretty countries I’ve ever had the pleasure of visiting, then Chile is very similar: glaciers; snowy mountains; turquoise lakes.

6.Worst bits I meet so many people and read so many posts where people complain of being overcharged by a few dollars or hate that no one speaks English. When I’m travelling I realise that 99% of the world will never experience what I’m doing, so armed with that perspective it’s very hard to wish to be anywhere else. But in saying that, Guatemala and entering Mexico were a pain in the arse. Also, I had planned on shipping to Nicaragua and driving through there which would have avoided me a lot of the hassle of dealing with Guatemalans, and yet their country fell to shit as I was nearing. Am just thankful I wasn’t there at the time.
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I have a tonne of others, will post them as I collate them. Hope that helps! 

 Here's a round up of the pictures from Chile with a bit of Tierra del Fuego chucked in. These are also available on my instagram @richardmreed

Pouring with sweat on the outskirts of Dallas, the late Friday afternoon heat utterly oppressive, I was astonished when the lovely lady at Customs & Importation got halfway through reading the lengthy Vehicle Identification Number from under the bonnet, and simply said “oh, that’ll do!”, ticked all the boxes and handed me the necessary forms. It was that easy. As too was registering the vehicle as a Classic Car in Texas, with barely an eyebrow raised. If this seems other worldly, it’s because it is. Not a single person I’d met achieved what I had: buy an Australian vehicle; ship it halfway across the world; drive across two continents; not be killed in the process; import and register in the USA. And yet there I was, passing the last milestone with the most minimal of fuss. It was stupefying.
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After resting for a few days with my friend in Tyler, Texas, I had planned to head Yellowstone, one of the most famous national parks in the world, 1000 miles north at the other side of the country. However, the ten additional days I lost when shipping Izzy in Guatemala meant something would have to give. Izzy and I would have to part company. My friend volunteered to sell her on my behalf: she would fetch a much better price down south than anywhere else in the country. Although it was always the aim to import and then sell her, it was no less heartbreaking to leave her behind.  

I hired a small car and with considerable melancholy drove through the rich centre of this staggering country. Yes, the little Hyundai had working air-con, cruise control and didn’t simply poop diesel, but as you can imagine, it just wasn’t the same. I was though excited to be travelling through states I’d heard about all my life – Oklahoma, Kansas, Missouri, Iowa, Minnesota and Illinois. I travelled the famous Route 66 and revelled in listening to that classic American drawl only found in diners. I whizzed by the horse-and-carts of the Amish and gaped as the weather turned nasty in what’s affectionally known as America’s Tornado Alley. I whizzed by the next horse-and-carts a wee bit faster! I marvelled at rusted-out Oldsmobiles left at the side of the road and chatted to Missionaries on their way to a convention over a lunch of burnt-ends in the jazz-mecca of Kansas City. Agog, my eyes were like marbles the entire time.
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The reason I’d come this way at all was to reunite with family in Eau Claire and Green Bay, Wisconsin, meeting cousins for the first time in twenty-seven years. Despite never meeting them as an adult, I loved every minute of it – Yellowstone would, and could, simply have to wait. Over the next seven days I would relish reconnecting with family and friends in America, Wales and London, and then finally making my way back home to my patiently waiting girlfriend. It was all over so quickly. 22,083kms, 13 countries, 4 months and 4 days had zoomed by.  It seemed like I only just left!

There’s a saying amongst bikers that motorcycling isn’t dangerous, it’s when you stop motorcycling that’s the problem, usually when, as the paradox goes, an unstoppable force collides with an immovable object. As too with adventuring across the globe. For four months I drove almost every day in my beloved Land Cruiser. I spent more time preparing her for the journey than actually travelling, but it was all time well spent and I loved it. Izzy was unstoppable. As for me, I had come to learn my limits, and that I was wholly stoppable. My future adventures would have to be a lot less taxing, like something involving a couch, some tea and a sunrise would do just fine. For now.
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I have met countless people on my journey and explained the reasons for my adventure in Spanish and in English many times. I don’t think a single person has baulked, more often than not people have opened up about mental health issues or domestic violence in their lives, the challenges they’ve faced in coming through it and sometimes still have. I’m continually honoured that they’ve confided in me.  As you may have guessed already, this journey wasn’t simply about completing a long-held dream, but about finding myself again: finding what made me tick; what made me happy; what I need to do to maintain that happiness. It’s a long-held joke amongst adventurers that you have to travel the world to find yourself. 

​Thank you everyone for your incredible support over the past few months: to friends and family that heard me bitch and complain when things weren’t going well; to work colleagues that read my adventures and posted enthusiastically willing me on; to those that I met in my journey that I know will become lifelong friends. For those that over the months of my trip have sat enviously behind a keyboard, iPad or phone wishing they could do something like that, I have some good news – you can! One thing that travelling affords is perspective: you never realise how lucky you are until your world changes. A dear friend’s mum wanted her whole life to travel to Machu Picchu, and a few months beforehand had a stoke and was never able to go. Don’t let this be you. As with the charities, if you ever need help, all you need to do is ask. There is a myriad of resources out there on domestic violence, mental health, adventuring, travelling, meditation and mindfulness, all at your fingertips. It may take a while to find what you’re looking for, but consider it an adventure. 

Am a little shy of my 5k target for the two charities , but still incredibly proud to have raised so much. A heartfelt thank you to everyone that contributed, you've made a huge difference. For those that still want to contribute, you still have time :-)

USA, USA, USA! Sigh . . . I embarrassed myself a bit at the border. Whether through pure zeal at leaving Latin America or just stupidity (no vote necessary), I couldn’t find my way out of Mexico. It fell to the ninth person I asked in the space of thirty minutes, all of them actual border-control staff, to prize-out this sacred information. Unfortunately for me there are several bridges from Mexico to America, only one accepting my foreign vehicle. Naturally, I wasn’t at that one and was in fact halfway across another bridge altogether with my passport already stamped to leave. U-turning across lanes of traffic and circumnavigating confused officialdom that thought I’d left, I eventually got all my documentation checked and was lining up at some kind of demented drive-thru: there were twenty drive-thru border-control checkpoints and about one hundred cars all darting for the smallest line. It sounds like hell but it was quite fun! Finally pulling up to one, I got out to talk and was subsequently yelled at to “stay in your car, sir!” I apologised in that very British way I’m accustomed and put on my super-polite-please-don’t-shoot-me-in-the-face face. 

The young border guard asked the usual questions, then summoned me over to customs for a vehicle inspection. Everyone was incredibly formal and shouty, as expected when having to deal with morons all day. I was tasked with dragging everything out of the vehicle for inspection and then dragging it all back again soon afterwards. To my surprise the whole thing went smoothly, with a few questions concerning the authenticity of my Incan relics. At $1.50 for two in Bolivia, they were quite satisfied! Since another inspection was being carried out behind me, boxing me in effectively, I was left to pass the time having a yarn with the customs team. They were genuinely lovely. Curious about the trip, we were chatted away amiably and I gave them some toy koalas for their kids.
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It was a surreal moment though. I mean, that was it. That was the entire thing. No more questions, forms, permits for the vehicle, no signing anything, nothing. I was free to just saunter into America driving my twenty-five-year-old Land Cruiser from Australia with the steering wheel on the wrong side. No one spoke of restrictions, of registrations, of regulations . . . just go ahead, son. I positively roared! I apologise to anyone passing me on that day, as you’d have most certainly seen a madman bouncing for joy in the seat of his jalopy. It was the one of the happiest moments in my entire trip. I’d made it, I’d actually bloody made it to North America!

​Having travelled the west and east coast before, Texas was entirely new to me, and completely not what Id’ imagined. For a start, it was green. And not just in patches, but along the highway verdance stretched for miles in every direction. This was summer, and I was in gawd-damn Texas, it was supposed to be like the films: beige and red desert landscape; tumbleweed and a scorching hot sun. In fairness, the latter still prevailed, but I was driving on silken smooth motorways roaring straight through a lavish state, every few miles passing screaming billboards of McDonalds, Wendy’s, Dennys, KFC and Burger King, tall poppies trying to outdo one another to garner attention. Pick me, pick me! As much as I despise fast food, after months of travelling in Latin America, anything that didn’t involve beans and corn-wraps sounded heavenly. In San Antonio, I entered a 24-hour Walmart, bought some fresh bread and cheese, and at almost midnight in the middle of a sweltering car lot where I would spend the night, I eat blissfully. And they say I don’t know how to celebrate!

Mexico had put the fear of God in me. A few months previous I met Nigel Brennan, a journalist kidnapped in Somalia for over a year, warning me “just stay clear of Mexico, it’s the kidnap capital of the world”. Great. Add to that the incredibly sad story of two experienced globetrotting-cyclists, a German and Pole, being found dead a few weeks ago at the bottom of a ravine on my intended route. With one of the poor fellows decapitated and minus a foot, you can start to see where my angst was coming from. Oh, and the police had initially claimed it looked like an accident, if you can fathom it.
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And so with a lot less euphoria than usual in tumbling into a new country, I set across the Guatemalan-Mexico border, rubber pants tied up to my nipples. I was then ejected and told to piss-off back to Guatemala. Border control didn’t cite the rubber pants as a factor, but clearly Mexico was going to be tough. 

You can read more about that particular event here but eventually I made it. In fairness to those that claim Mexico is an outstandingly beautiful country worth visiting, I would absolutely concur – I visited years ago and loved it. However, there are areas that are unsafe no matter what people tell you, and particularly so at night. That last bit was a problem: on my first day I was stuck in a massive traffic jam in thirty-five-degree heat at almost midnight just outside of buttfu*k nowhere. I had been stuck for three hours. Beleaguered and pouring with sweat, I pulled over to the side of the road and passed out in a fog of truck fumes and cacophony of spluttering engines. Dying embers of brain activity left me with the thought ‘I hope that guy over there with the big gun is friendly”.
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Parking between trucks that had also pulled over for the night, it was paramount I kept a low-profile. Unfortunately Izzy mistook low-profile for the “hello everyone I’m parked over here!” profile, blurting her over-sensitive car-alarm every time a truck tumbled on passed. I would gauge that I amassed perhaps two hours sleep before five am. Creaking open my Troopy doors to the outside world, the man with the gun wandered over and I almost shut the doors again. A security guard for god knows what, he was about to end his shift and so chatted amiably about this and that, with my addled brain doing what it could to keep up in Spanish, my eyes marvelling at the pump-action shotgun slung around his neck that people seem to casually carry in this part of the world.

Feeling that I deserved a little respite, I headed straight to the beautiful Puebla for breakfast, a colonial city jewelled with narrow cobblestone streets of rainbow coloured houses and modern cafes. I can rarely remember a cup of tea in a Melbourne-type café ever tasting so wonderful. Whilst a good portion of my brain collectively sighed in relaxation, a nagging internal voice interrupted “you volunteered to do this shit!”. Quiet at the back!

Sticking to the highways with the countless trucks, I trundled along passed cities and wind farms and cathedrals, passing winding mountains and rivers, stopping for photos and the occasional break in the never ending oppressive heat. I would have to traverse 1600 miles in Mexico, and I felt every inch. Whether it was the knowledge of my trip coming to a natural end or the fact I was simply dog-tired, I was ready for a rest. I’d aged considerably in the last few weeks. 

It’s a truism of travelling this way that when you’re truly feeling it, when you can sense your soul being ground down a bit, there’s always something around the corner that can make you feel it some more. With that, the heavens opened and it rained ferociously for the next six hours. Then I hit a car. In my defence, am not sure what kind of lunatic drives in the pouring rain without lights and speeds up on the inside lane when someone is indicating to pull over, however I did hit him. Whilst Izzy had a minor barely noticeable scratch, their entire fender was completely ruined. I didn’t want the police, they really didn’t want the police as they’re scared of them (quite right, thinks I), and a little over $100 saw them skedaddle quickly the hell out of there, and I followed suit in the opposite direction. America was now only a few hundred miles away, and I almost screwed it completely.
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However, the US of A brought its own complications. In fact, a lot of the trip hinged on it. I had a 25-year-old unfamiliar Australian vehicle with the steering wheel on the wrong side that I wanted to import permanently and make exempt from all the usual environmental standards and checks. All that despite being a foreign national with no fixed abode or American driving license, and a voice which to them sounds like I should be a RAF pilot from 1940’s Britain. “Talley-ho, Tarquin! We’re off to bomb the Jerries!”. What could possibly go wrong?

Ohhhh . . . am a bit tired! The last three weeks have been immense. A cousin described me as a tornado, and I’d probably say that’s apt! I’ll try to summarise events:

• I tore through a sweltering Mexico as fast as Izzy could carry me
• I bumbled through border controls that were lovely yet exacting and rigorous
• I finally crossed into the United States of America and reached absolute euphoria – I’ve never been gladder to arrive in any country in my life!
• I imported my vehicle, registered it locally in the US and sorted out insurance
• I met a dear friend face to face that I’d been speaking to for months in Tyler, Texas, and was privileged to meet his family too – thank you, Daniel!
• I hired a car (will get to that) and travelled through the Americas heartland of Texas, Oklahoma, Kansas, Missouri, Iowa, Wisconsin and Illinois
• I met cousins in Wisconsin that I hadn’t seen in 27 years, and had actually never met as an adult human bean (big of BFG coming out in me there for some reason)
• I flew from Chicago to New York City, then onwards from New York City to Manchester, UK
• I caught up with my sister, her husband and my parents . . . and then I slept like the dead!
• I met school friends in Wales and enjoyed the World Cup at a reasonable hour
• I travelled to London to reacquaint myself with my old stomping ground, met more friends and stuffed myself like a pig with some beautiful Sri Lankan cuisine (didn't think i'd actually eat British food, did you? Jeezz)
• I escaped the gorgeous summer weather for a 28 hour flight to finally return to a dark and wintery Australia on Tuesday the 10th of July

And that my friends, is the last three weeks! Well, Reed, what happened to Izzy? The old girl performed admirably, traversed countries and continents with ease and helped me achieve my dreams. Although it breaks my heart, Izzy is now up for sale in the US and ready to help others achieve their ambitions. I miss her immeasurably.
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When I’ve caught up more on sleep (jet-lag slaying me at present!) I will follow up with more photographs and stories of travelling through Mexico and the US. For now, I probably need to rest for a while. About a year will do it!

If you've enjoyed the posts and photos so far, please feel free to donate to the great causes of White Ribbon and beyond blue here. All monies go directly to the charities and we've reached an amazing $4090, only $910 to hit the 5k target! :-)

Sometimes things happen for a reason. Other times, they just happen out of pure spite.


Dios:                       Your face!
Richard:                 Well that’s a bit mean
Dios:                    I meant when the Mexican border bitch told you to piss off back to Guatemala. And then you said ‘what you going to do, call the police?” Brilliant. What was her reply again?
Richard:                 Urghh! I don’t know why we have to go through this. She said ‘yes I will call the police’
Dios:                       That’s right, wonderful! If I had eyes, they’d be welling up
Richard:                 Mine can do that for you. So what did I do to you, exactly?
Dios:                       Oh don’t be so melodramatic, I’m just messing. Your trip until Guatemala was fine, right?
Richard:                 Well Ecuador was a bit shit actually, and that motorbike incident in Paraguay
Dios:                       Ahh piffle. Anyway, your car arrived in Guatemala didn’t it?
Richard:                 Well, yes. The agencies lied to me and it cost me four times more than it should, it arrived five days late, took a week for documentation, and the shipyard broke the radiator, handbrake and stole a load of tools
Dios:                       Should have paid more money to put it in a shipping container
Richard:                 I did!
Dios:                      Yeah, I know! I am such a kidder! Anyway, got a surprise for you. You know that Mexican/Guatemalan border, the one you’re scared of because of the drug running and stuff?
Richard:                 Is the surprise that the border only opens from 9 to 5? Because I read that already
Dios:                     Well yes, 9 to 5, but on both sides. 5pm in Guatemala is 6pm in Mexico. Oh, and you’ll need a bank guarantee for the car, at an actual bank at the Mexican side, not just a credit card swipe
Richard:                 But surely if I enter at one side they’ll let me through on the other?
Dios:                       Ish. The passport office is open until 6pm. Guess when the bank closes?
Richard:                 Erm . . . same time as the border closes?
Dios:                       Ha! Good one. No, it closes at 5pm in Mexico, which in Guatemalan time is 4pm
Richard:                 But that would be ridiculous! If I just make the Guatemalan border before closing at 4.40pm then . . .
Dios:                     You’ll be stuffed because although Mexico will stamp your passport, they won’t let you come in with your vehicle. Hilarious! Haven’t told you the best bit yet - I’m going to take a photo of you on this one – guess when the bank will open?
Richard:                 Well it’s Sunday now, so Monday morning?
Dios:                   Tuesday! I know, right! Ha ha ha Your face!!! So with Mexico refusing you, you’ll have to stay in that dodgy Guatemala border-town. Course on your way back through from Mexico the Guatemalan border will be closed so they will be pissed off at giving you a re-entry, and won’t give you documentation for your car
Richard:                 Hang on, so if I do get back across the Guatemalan border and try go anywhere else . . ?
Dios:                      You’ll be arrested for flaunting the rules of not having the right paperwork. Oh, and guess where I’ve put the nearest bank? Half an hour drive away! I had a good chuckle at that
Richard:                 Jesus Christ! I mean, sorry . . .  but this is mental!
Dios:                      Did I tell you about the border town? It’s brilliant, you’ll hate it. No phone reception, electricity goes off at 10pm until 8am so no air-con and it gets absolutely steaming at night! Also, piss poor wifi, ants in the rooms, and remember you don’t have any money to pay for it anyway!
Richard:                 You’ve completely shagged me!
Dios:                   That bank bit was a stroke of genius. Anyway, got to dash, I have some puppies going to an orphanage on Christmas Day that I want to accidentally euthanize. Sleep well, fu**er!

I’ve always loved the rain, especially when some kind of schadenfreude is involved. And lo, as I happily trudged through the Mayan ruins at Copan amidst a belting storm and looked across to a Park Ranger being paid to make sure I didn’t try to wrestle a two-tonne stone tablet into my knapsack, I enjoyed myself very much.
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I’d come to Western Honduras from El Salvador via local ‘chicken-buses’, tiny hi-ace type mini-vans weaving through the countryside crammed with people – mine at its peak packed in 22 adults and 4 children. They are, to put it rather mildly, extremely cosy. My route took me through San Pedro Sula, 2016 Murder Capital of the World it says here, like they won it in a pageant. I confess I saw nothing to necessitate clapping on my rubber underpants, and yet was saddened to hear that friends recently living in Copan on a coffee farm had their lives threatened and subsequently left pretty quickly. Incidentally, soon my travels take me to Mexico, Kidnap Capital of the World – 2013, if you were wondering. Continually I read on forums the same wonderful lines: “It’s perfectly safe! I’ve driven it lots of times, they’re very friendly . . . don’t drive at night” I love that addendum, like it’s the most perfectly normal thing in the world. “The air is perfectly safe, just don’t breathe it in!” said no one. Yet this part of the world has a historical whiff of danger about it, so back to school I go.

The Mayan, Aztec and Incan civilisations have been interesting to see, although often what differentiates them escapes me. The spelling helps, admittedly. The Aztecs came to the fore about the time when Asia was battling the Mongols and Europe was burning Joan of Arc, whereupon the Mayans existed for almost three millennia until the Spanish arrived in the 1500s. I say existed, the Mayans, as far as I can tell, still exist – they were simply assimilated into society, there are still plenty of Mayans about (or Indians as I heard one refer to herself). The Mayans were philosophers, architects, traders, scientists, mathematicians, astronomers and builders of cities. They also developed the solar calendar and advanced written languages, with over twenty different dialects that are still spoken today. The Aztecs on the other hand loved a human sacrifice, most notably of their conquered enemies they would take to task with the war-like invention of the atlatl. Yet they weren’t just butchers (bakers and candlestick makers), they were craftsman, sculptors and aqueduct builders too, which does get lost a bit amongst the blood thirsty bastardsness - the Aztec Priests would cut their prisoners of war from stomach to the throat and rip out their still beating hearts. They only survived about 100 years until Spain’s Cortes invaded, which to me sounds like a welcome invasion considering the alternative. 

Whilst the Mayans and Aztecs inhabited Central America and Mexico respectively, the Incas covered vast swatches of western South America about in about 1200, collectively an area several times larger than both the Mayans and Aztecs territory put together. Human sacrifice seems to have been pivotal to the Incas too to quieten the odd blaring volcano, but the Incas also had quite ridiculous traditions of skull-drilling and skull-shaping too to produce cone-heads used to differentiate those of noble stature. Could have just worn a hat. They could build though, with their walls still standing today in many cities. They were expert irrigators and assimilated tribes rather than wiping them out entirely - the skull-shaping originally came from another tribe, the Tiwannaku). Yet the Incans were especially advanced: there was a government, nobility and social classes; human rights; no slave system; raised taxes; had metallurgy and sanitation; constructed temples out of granite which must have taken bloody ages; and yet achieved all that without the wheel or pack animals (llamas and alpacas don’t heave ploughs or 30 tonne stones). Everything was pure man-power.
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Whilst the Spanish invasion saw off much of the civilisations, the Incan one is particularly interesting, primarily because Macchu Picchu was never found by the Spanish during their conquest, and yet was completely abandoned mid-build. There are granite blocks still being carved. And yet I have to say, it is quite refreshing coming to a continent and the British not being the bad guys. This is nice. In fact, in some countries like Chile we’re the venerated heroes helping countries claim their independence from the oppressors. Go Britain, it’s not often I get to say that! Apropos of my British roots . . . two tonne stone tablet, going cheap, would look nice in a museum or rockery. Offers?

References:
https://www.ducksters.com/history/aztec_maya_inca.php
https://www.sutori.com/story/aztec-inca-maya
http://www.mexicolore.co.uk/aztecs/home/aztecs-and-the-atlatl
https://www.quora.com/The-Aztecs-were-the-dominant-empire-in-Mesoamerica-and-the-Incas-dominated-the-Andes-but-between-the-two-empires-which-was-more-powerful-and-advanced
https://www.quora.com/Did-the-Aztecs-ever-meet-the-Mayans
http://www.differencebetween.net/miscellaneous/difference-between-aztecs-and-mayans/
https://www.tes.com/lessons/PDH5ySlno57fBQ/maya-inca
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A new low. It’s rare I’ve been so depressed that I’ve had to eat at McDonalds, but there it is. I have a knack, apparently, for always finding the odd silver lining despite wading knee deep in a fountain of faeces and foregone failure, and so I will put a brave face on the last week of turmoil. ‘Turn that frown upside down!’ they said. All right, let’s do it!
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Belize, packed with white silken beaches and breathtaking coral reefs, welcomed a Reed eager to traverse the length of this Caribbean paradise. A holiday from a holiday. Well, that was Plan A. Plan B or F was gaining intimate knowledge of a toilet and a sink, which I’d pendulum between with severe food poisoning. I like the colour green as much as the next man, but it is quite astonishing just how much green can discharge from the human body, and at such velocity! No wonder why The Hulk is so angry. But it’s all positives: ripped abs from the constant retching; impressive weight loss; and when I finally lumbered out of bed on a Wednesday, five days had zoomed by – hullooooo, time saver! There I was, burdened by choice of how to spend my week when the hard work was already done. Huzzahh! 

With Izzy’s imminent arrival on the good ship Winner (yup, that’s her name) in three days’ time, I abandoned Belize the next day with a heavy heart, and a light belly. A nice hotel with a pool on the Guatemalan coast seemed just the tonic to further my recuperation, which was ironic considering tonic was probably the one drink not consumed at a reggae party held outside my own private villa until the wee hours. Reggae being my 153rd favourite type of music, sandwiched behind Chinese Opera and mating badgers, I considered this a lucky omen: the following days would surely be better. I mean, they had to be. I had three companies to pay lots of money to and needed to do it in a single working day. Oh, and in cash. That sounds like a foolishly hard task, Reed, how did that happen? Well . . .
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I ended up in this sodding nightmare chance to expand my learning horizons because my Australian bank, over a two-week period, consistently confused two business days of effort with TEN business days. They confirmed this to me on the on the fifteenth phone call – yes, really - just before the reggae started.  Still, an easy mistake to make (again and again and again) and far from being a burden, gave me a chance to test my temperance and new ways of linking swear words to form one profoundly long insult like some kind of Tourette’s ridden filthmonger caught in a timeloop. I have become quite adept. 

Blessed at spending a long weekend in the most inconsequential port town I’ve ever encountered has its advantages, namely no obstacles of distraction such as joy and merriment. With fun being expunged from the calendar, Guatemala’s Puerto Barrios had some surprises up her sleeve as I harried from one bank to another to finalise payments. And I like surprises so it was like a mini birthday in a way. Unbeknownst to me and my shipping agent that has lived here all his 42 years: not all ATM machines are able to process bank cards with microchips (introduced in Europe in the mid 1990’s and present on all of my bank cards); ATM withdrawals are limited to $250 per day per card; banks don’t let you withdraw money directly from the teller; and most banks can only receive Western Union transfers, not send them. Oh and apropos, Western Union chose today of all days, the one day in my life I tried using them, to close their on-line systems worldwide . . . surprise! If my resolve was slipping, at every cross roads I appreciated encouragement from the shipping agencies informing me that Izzy would be impounded and fines accumulated for any further delay to payments. By the way, said my shipping agent casually, here’s another bill for an amount you hadn’t forecasted for, can you pay that now?

With new-found depths of gratitude, and first-borns promised to be bequeathed as slaves, an angel of a friend rallied to settle the last payment of the day when disaster loomed with avarice. All bills finalised, shipping unaffected, a triumph achieved through sheer bloody mindedness and a lot of fossicking. The day was saved!
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I then receive a text message on my phone: “Boat still in Honduras, will arrive a day later”. Sonofamo&*er#@%king^*@tbagsh$*forbrains!$#%tard! I wonder if McDonalds is still open?