Shivering, huddling in the tent as the nylon fabric buffets aggressively in the wind. Nibbling on a slice of cold, plastic-tasting faux cheese. Waiting for the icy rain to subside. Not exactly how I envisaged passing my birthday.
There we were in San Ignacio, Belize, on the border with Guatemala. “You know, I’m really looking forward to going to Guatemala…”
It turns out the fabled Yucatán Peninsula is mostly just a mosquito infested swamp.
There comes a time in two perfectly reasonable people’s lives when they decide that driving cross-country to New York is a sensible thing to do. “Now wait a minute” I hear you exclaim “Aren’t you driving to Argentina? That is quite a lot further away from Alaska than New York and therefore a slightly madder thing to do!” I’ll grant you that the plan of driving to Argentina does sound a little crazy, but ultimately it comes down to a question of timeframes.