Almost 4 weeks before I started
kicked vending machines in Argentinean airports and went on shouting at
Brazilian security guards, I happily arrived in Buenos Aires. It was 2 days
before Christmas and Geri and I finally embarked on our journey to the
southernmost city of the world through the wilderness that is called Patagonia.
We put quite a lot of planning into this journey and I will dedicate a separate
post to that process because I believe many could profit from it. This post
however is about the frantic day of the arrival.
21 December 2013 was just
another awful winter Saturday in London (windy, rainy, dark and dreary) but I
was smiling the whole day as it was my departure day to Patagonia. I still
needed to make some last minute purchases and I had to find out how on earth I
would pack all my stuff into a 65-litre backpack for almost a month. After some
anger fits, hopeful repacking attempts and the realisation that I will wear the
same clothes over and over + I will not shave for a whole month, my stuff fit
into the bag nicely. I was on my way to Heathrow at 5pm, sent out some goodbye
emails to friends and family and I came to realise that next morning when I
wake up, I would be in South America. Yayyyyyyy!!
