For years on end, I had vehemently declared that Colombia was by far my favourite country. Not only was my trip there my first time outside of Europe, but it was also a trip of many other firsts – landscapes I never thought I’d actually visit, food I never thought I’d actually taste, a culture I never thought I’d experience, and, most of all, a passion I never thought I’d be able to feel. Everything about that country left me in awe. 

Yeah, yeah, that’s all cute and romantic, but I have something else to say now. Move over, Colombia, you’ve been replaced. Much like the first leg of my journey in Argentina, this one felt like it marked another crossroads in my trip:

• • • Living in the present: Oh Argentina, my Argentina… you have truly stolen my heart. Whatever I said about Colombia undoubtedly applies here too, but what makes this place stand out for me is something else entirely – Patagonia. There’s just something about Patagonia that I can’t quite put into words. The very same thing Jennie had tried to explain to me back in Costa Rica. She struggled to find words that would do this region justice, and now that I was here, I finally understood why. Maybe I felt this way cause I’d seen so many incredible vistas in such a short span of time – views I only got to witness after putting in real effort. Here, it was my first time setting off completely on my own to climb a mountain – something that would’ve seemed utterly insane to pre-trip me. Trekking solo had been a blessing, really. First of all, I got to spend a lot of time with myself – someone I’m extremely fond of (someone has to be, right?). Revelling in my solitude, I could appreciate silence and nature to their fullest instead of making idle chit-chat. Second, I could hike at my own pace, allowing me to push myself as hard as I wanted. That, without a doubt, made me realise I could do far more than I ever thought I could. Third, reaching the goal without any help is so much more satisfying and freeing. Being able to go wherever you want, whenever you want, without anyone telling you to stick close or not to wander off, is priceless. Sure, I got lost a couple of times, but that taught me not to get too cocky or overconfident. And fourth? It’s just so damn fun!

• • • Reconciling with the past:  I missed the crap out of the Caribbean. Spending most of your day half-naked, lying in a hammock under a palm tree with the sound of waves in the background. Seriously, by this point, looking back at photos from just a few weeks earlier would have me tearing up and wishing I could watch another glorious Caribbean sunset. I’d speak to Amelia almost daily and she’d tell me all about the amazing time she was having there, and I’d feel a little envious – despite how deeply I was loving Argentina. And diving! I spent twenty-seven years without so much as a single dive, but suddenly, two months without plunging into the abyss of the ocean felt longer than a lifetime. I needed to dive. Guess that’s one incentive to look forward to heading back to Malta. I could just imagine my retirement: summers spent diving and chilling in the Caribbean, winters spent trekking in the Patagonia. The dream!

• • • Forgetting about the future: Quite understandably, my medicine versus travelling crisis took a back seat during my time in Argentina – owing to the fact that I now had something else that weighed on me. When I first arrived, I had around a month and a half left on my trip. By the time I had to leave, only two weeks remained. Two weeks. How does that even make sense? I’d find myself on a bus, staring wistfully out the window, or sitting on a bench in front of some magnificent vista, suddenly flooded with intrusive thoughts. How do I go back to normal life after this? How will I cope without seeing things like this every day? Do I even want to go back? The fewer days that remained, the more restless I grew. And the second I allowed myself to sit with those thoughts, I’d feel this unbearable heartache start to eat away at me. This is usually my forte. This is where I excel – processing negative thoughts and feelings. Years and years of Grey’s Anatomy have turned me into an emotional-processing machine. But at that point? I wouldn’t even allow myself the time to tap into those emotions or dwell on what came next. I’m not usually one to sweep things under the rug or hide how I feel. Hell, I usually write the hell out of my emotions and come out stronger after a few paragraphs. This time round? No chance. I couldn’t afford to break down and waste the precious little time I had left. Like hell I was gonna do that. For the first time in my life, I found myself actively repressing my thoughts. After all, I’d have plenty of time to process them once I was back.

• Distance:

• • • Total walked: 157km
    • Total travelled: 4033km

• Books: 
  • • The Knife’s Edge, Stephen Westaby