Don’t Cry for Me...

Day 1: Travelling. “We do have a week in Cancun. It’s all inclusive”, the assistant from Lunn Poly said enthusiastically, but from the look on my face, she could see that it wasn’t quite what I was looking for. 


South America has always had a special attraction to me since Ally MacLeod took the Tartan Army to "The Argentine" in 1978. A dreadful showing by England during the qualifying stages of that competition had meant that my first real memorable World Cup as a 12 year old boy would be spent supporting the Home Nation’s only representative. A disappointing campaign though saw defeats by Peru, a shock draw with Iran and the disgraceful expulsion of Willie Johnson from the competition after a failed dope test. But despite the results, my own fire for this far off continent had been well and truly lit. The passion, the people, the music, the scenery – this was a place that I had just had to go and see for myself. 


And over the ensuing decades my fire continued to burn: Maradona’s Hand of God in ’86, Beckham’s red card kick against Simeone in ’98, Ronaldinho’s speculative fee kick that caught David Seaman so flat footed and broke a million English hearts back in 2002. 


And it wasn’t just the football: The Falklands conflict of ’82, the 1996 release of the film adaptation of Tim Rice and Andrew Lloyd Webber's musical Evita based on the life of Eva Perón, the destruction of the rain forests, the rise of Brazil as one of the foremost trading nations of the world, the drugs cartels, the carnivals… the list goes on and on. 


My first failed attempt to visit the world’s 4th largest continent was back in 1994. Karen and I had just got our first place together in South Yorkshire and having graduated from Birmingham Polytechnic a couple of years previously, we were making the first steps to getting our finances in order which meant we might just be able to afford our first holiday together. And so, as an incredibly naïve twenty something traveller, I walking into a high street travel agent in Doncaster and enquired as to the availability of an all-inclusive package tour that would allow us to travel from Rio de Janeiro in Brazil to Lima in Peru. The bemused shop assistant could only offer me Mexican beach option (which we politely declined!) and my dream was to be put on hold for a further 18 years. 


This year though my dreams of South America will come true. In this year that has such special meaning to the ancient religions of South America Karen and I will travel from Rio to Lima; but this time there will be no package tours, no travel agents and no tour guides. Building on from our epic trip three years ago travelling overland from the sleepy village of Steeple Morden in Cambridgeshire to the metropolis of Bangkok (http://roadtobangkok.blogspot.com/) we will use these learning’s and experiences to facilitate our navigation of this vast southern continent. 


What lies ahead, neither of us really know: We dream of lost cities, pristine lakes and rivers, glaciers, waterfalls, high mountain passes, pan pipes, tropical beaches, samba, rain forests, wildlife, tango, gauchos and succulent steaks slowly sizzling on the asado under the infinitive star lit heavens that envelop the Patagonian Steppes. But of the reality? We will just have to wait and see. For the next three to four months it’s just Karen and me; a whole new adventure in an unexplored world.

For the next 12 hours though, our destination will be a cooped up steel tube, seven miles high as we wing ourselves to the start of our fantastic journey:  We’re On the Road Again! 


Oh, and by the way Diego, I haven’t forgotten: That definitely was hand ball!