La Fin

I stopped writing for a while. I realised that the impact of the things I was seeing and doing was not something I felt I could sit down and express in the freshest way possible any more. I was with people nearly the whole of my trip, so my experiences were often shared ones, but in South America it was somehow different. I mean I was almost never on my own. It's difficult to explain. There's a hosteling culture which allows for travellers to jump from town to town, city to city, following the same path as each other, ending up in the same big mass well organised hostels, going to the same bars, the same sites, on the same tours; it's a tight circle. It's extremely irritating at times. The problem is, it's also seriously good fun. In any case, it meant I often got caught up in the swirls of the hostel hopping and my experiences felt completely normal and in a way, unexciting, because everyone who I was with was going through the same things too.

And now I look back on it, I'm amazed at some of the things I did and saw. One of the best I feel compelled to mention was a three day motorbike tour to Machu Pichu in Peru. Without consciously realising it, I put my life fully into someone else's hands without a smidgen of doubt of my trust in him, as we drove the most dangerous and exhilarating ride of my life, through some of the most dramatic, romantic and beautiful scenery I have ever been witness to. Ever.

I didn't have enough time. I didn't plan much time because for some idiotic reason I thought I wouldn't want it – I thought 7 months would be plenty. In fact, I was still under this misguided impression when I landed in Chile, as my heart was very much still in the madness of Asia, and with the people I'd left behind there and in New Zealand, and I began to feel vaguely ready for home. South America stood apart from any of this sentimentality for a good while. But in the end it won me over, and to my surprise I found all of a sudden, on reflection, it had begun to take over the previous places, and I longed to stay and do more, see more, to stop and take the time to explore properly. I didn't even see any jungle. I have to go back and see the jungle. I didn't see any exotic wildlife (in the wild, anyway). I didn't get to any tropical beaches. I have to go back and get to know some of those.

The end of my trip was a week spent in Brazil. The Iguazu Falls were mesmerizing. Mesmerizing! I found myself utterly captivated by the masses upon masses upon masses of unfolding sheaths of pounding water. It was truly Mother Nature at her most awesome (in the actual sense of the word) and fascinating to see. For a short time anyway, and not particularly all that enjoyable while freezing cold and soaking wet. Then Rio, with the most astoundingly beautiful city views I've ever seen and I'm pretty sure that have ever existed, where the vast Christ statue stands as a new Wonder of the World and looks out on the twinkling sea and rolling hills with open arms. Actually, the Christ is a dull, grey, simple and in my opinion pretty unattractive statue, certainly not worth even a nomination into being a Wonder of the World. But the views are enchanting; the city is vast, all ups and downs and greens and blues, and the buildings are so varied – around the stunning beaches lie the wealthy apartments, sidled right up against the tumbling slums run by drug gangs and dotted haphazardly all over the place. By all standards it's perfectly unique.

When I had just arrived in Brazil, alone for the first time in months, I wrote some pretty miserable thoughts down:

"I'm lying on the top of a bunk bed in an empty dorm listening to Coldplay, wallowing in the emotional melodies, embracing the loneliness of my surroundings. It doesn't get much more feeble than this. I'm not ready to go back. I thought I would be – I thought I'd tire of this travelling business, the endless nothingness, the routine of no routine. At times I did, and there were days when I just wanted to go home. But these always rapidly faded, replaced by amazing places, good people, fond memories.
It's the same old story: I've just left behind people I've let myself become attached to, and feel an emptiness in my stomach which won't go away."

I wrote once before that it was possible to isolate the effect a place has on me from the effect of the people there, and while I still believe this is true, it's also true that a place can't evoke nearly as much positive emotion as people. I suppose that's obvious, it's just strange to experience, and to have the maturity to observe yourself experiencing. So while looking at something amazing can still have a poignantly powerful impact on the brain, if there's something holding you back, a worry or a loneliness there, in that moment that you're seeing it the enjoyment is withdrawn and it can just become another ticked box on the List of Things to See.

So the things I saw in Brazil, I regret to say, had an element of that throughout. The feeling of being left behind combined with the impending doom of returning to England grew overhead like a dark rain cloud I couldn't shake off. And yet everything was still beautiful, amazing and all the rest. So many things were. God knows how many times I've said those words - beautiful, amazing, incredible.. ever in my whole life..

I suppose the point is, it has been great.

And now I'm back. And it really isn't so bad. I'm having strange vivid dreams about being back travelling, and wake up depressed that I'm not, but these will fade with time. And my friends are here, and Mum and Dad and 2 of my brothers, and I can't value that enough. And a wonderful new house for me to live in and a new job with great prospects, and I simply haven't a spec of justification for complaint. The more I say I'm miserable to be back, the more I know it hurts those who have been waiting for me to return, but I can't have it both ways, and while I'm young, I want to explore as much as is humanely possible. Or is it just that I want to run away again?

I think the latter. For now though, I'm going to try to be here, all here.