To all and sundry. Occy currently has food poisoning after I tried to kill her with a leg of chicken which she then ate raw and vommed. Fear not Al Cobb, she is bedridden but its a mild case of self pity and general woe at not being able to scoff. To get back in the game, Ocs and I would like to apologise on behalf of the poor wifi recently as we have been jumbled around in the Atacama desert for the past week. We would both like to commence with a huge shout out to the one and only gingernut Squeezle Bullard and congratulate her on 19th birthday, we were thinking of you on April 16th my friend. 
So this time last week or so Captain and I headed northbound to Salta in Argentina, excited and intrepid. Total ghost town. So Rosie and I fled to hills, thinking it wise to test out our limited quadbiking skills. Again, utter disaster. I have never seen so much poo than on the bottom of Rosie Whitcombe´s flip flop (a poor choice of footwear I might add) and I almost drowned us in a nearby river after taking a corner a little too over enthusiastically. Yes it is true Octavia´s driving skills were quite something. Several wheel spins later and we managed to head through the mountain ranges of Salta, following our lovely motorbike guide who wasn´t particularly impressed with our lack of social skills. We stopped for a nice view on a hilltop. It was a very tranquil scene, birds singing, sun shining, utter silence when suddenly Octavia decides to release a build up of wind at the most peaceful moment of the day. The poor guide turns a horrified expression on us and swiftly starts up the quads to relieve Occy of the shame. I must say, I was not the only red faced wonder in the area, shortly after Rosie took the most inconvenient wrong turn on the way bound, resulting in me expelling her from the bike and zooming off until she was a dot on the horizon. Luckily, she was saved by Mr Man on motorbike. Young love. Shortly after, we headed to San Pedro, home to one of the most inhospitable deserts on planet earth. Especially as it is also the residence of one, Victor, who hands down in the most vile hostel owner on earth. As an indication, he dumped his girlfriend on the grounds that she didn´t cook for him after a hard days work, picking his bum and eyeing up all the tourists. Being on a tight budget, we opted for the cheapest hostel in San Pedro, that goes by the name of Sol Atacama, a name that haunts Occys dreams. Little did we know that, the owner happened to be Victors arch enemy, the one and only Andres. More on that story later...
Opting for a chill day, Rosie and I were decidely unimpressed with the days activity. Hence, we decided to chop off my hair. That´s right, everyone, I look like my brother, or, as is more affectionate, Gerard Depardieu. A new me. The following day was epic, allbeit bald. Rosie and I found ourselves experiencing a rare feeling of weightlessness in one of the desert´s saltiest lagoons, plunged ourself into the "ojos cejar", two freezing fresh water pools, and watched the sun come down over a further lagoon, where we appeared to be walking on water. We might just be Jesus.
We spent a lot of our time being tied down with Andres, having to play endless ping pong and laugh at his dreadful jokes as well as listen to him bitching about Victor, we sensed a severe hostel rivalry within San Pedro. Wanting to relieve ourselves, we hit the town for a mojito or two. Who did we run into, the ultimate chauvinist himself- Victor, beanie complete. We had no escape, he dragged us off to an éxclusive´party which consisted of no more than four people, therefore we had to endure a solid 2 hours talking about himself. We did another runner, only to be met by a worse feat back at our hostel....adieu for now the best is yet to come....