The end is just the beginning, right?

Right?

We're sitting at Singapore's Changi Airport waiting to board our plane to Brisbane, but there's one big problem. For the first time in five years, we don't want to go home. We don't want our trip to end and we certainly don't want to face the harsh reality of work. Carl's trying to remain calm. I am trying not to hyperventilate. We've still got time, I tell him. We could still walk back to the airline and swap our tickets to, well, anywhere but home. Anywhere, I tell him, your choice. We eye the door out of the boarding lounge. We watch the passengers boarding the plane, happily handing over their boarding passes and heading down the gangway. We eye the door again. We hear the final boarding call. Carl stands up. He grips his boarding pass and grabs my hand tight. We march to the boarding gate.

That's it. It's all over. Finito.

Living the easy life

A temple in Little India

After so many months travelling around new places, it's nice to be somewhere familiar. We've been whiling away the days in Singapore doing exactly what we said we were going to do - actually probably less - and its just what the doctor ordered. No stress, no maps, no pressure to see the sights, no dodgy hostel beds ... (and breathe).

Just coffee at Great World City down the road, shopping along Orchard Road with its giant plazas and basement markets, monster-sized margaritas at Clarke Quay, an afternoon strolling through the bustling streets of Little India and into the chaos of the Mustafa Centre, and of course the obligatory cable car ride across the vast shipyards to Sentosa Island and the iconic Merlion.

The Satay Club - a new location but the satay stays the same

Sure things have changed, but not so much ... at least not for the average visitor. The Satay Club still delivers those little sticks of meaty goodness and you can still buy delicious roti at Newton Circus. It's just a more sanitised version than before. I mean there is even handwash in the toilets sometimes now. History buffs would be well advised to head to the National Museum of Singapore, with its new fangled exhibitions covering everything you could possibly imagine, from smell-a-vision displays on Singaporean food to harrowing stories of survival of prisoners at the brutal hands of the Japanese to the giant pink statue of David in the foyer.

There are also more European stores, like TopShop, and if you're not interested in riding the little trains at Sentosa you can kick back with a cocktail on a sunbed at Cafe Del Mar. Oh, and did I mention high tea and Singapore slings at Raffles?

Now that's what I'm talking about.

ERPs take their toll in Singapore

In the 10 years since our last visit, Singapore has embraced Electronic Road Pricing* like a long-lost chain store, with no motorway, inner-city street or hour of the day left untouched by its viciously priced tolls. At least, that's what our cab driver is telling us as we zoom into the city.

We'd brushed off the train in favour of an easy comfortable cab ride, indulging our laziness after the flight from Houston because that's what the stop in Singapore is all about: one last lazy stop to say hi to Em's parents, lay by their pool, eat our body weight in good Asian food and just chill out before we reached Australia and all the reality that comes with home. (Shudder)

But the cab driver is off on one and we can tell he is only just warming up. He wants to know if we've been to Singapore before - yes we have but a long time ago we tell him, hoping short answers will bring his rant to a premature end. Well, he tells us, things have gotten worse: the Government, the tolls, the cost ... on and on he goes.

We nod appropriately as the fare ticks over, throw in a polite comment here and there, but mostly we look out the window. Singapore has certainly bulged since our last visit. Apartment blocks now stretch all the way to the airport - actually maybe they always did and we just don't remember - and we're looking forward to seeing what else has changed.

We know that things are more expensive than they used to be - the cab driver isn't the only one making that observation. Emma's parents lived here 10 years ago in a large four-bedroom apartment. They now pay almost the same to live in a two-bedroom apartment in the same block. We know the famous Satay Club at Clark Quay has moved and Newton Circus, once a ramshackle outdoor food court with dubious hygiene standards but delicious food, has been cleaned up considerably. (Had it kept its ramshackle life and soul?)

As we near her parents apartment block, Emma also remembers the last time she arrived here. There was no welcome party. In fact, no-one answered when she rang the doorbell so she waited for an hour until a neighbour let her into the units to bang on the door to the apartment where her family lay comatose after a night of expat party fun.

From a distance, the tall pinky-coloured buildings still looked the same. We pulled into the complex, where we were waved through by the guard, drove around the small circular driveway and ... there were two familiar smiling faces standing at the kerb. So, Emma smiled, some things in Singapore had changed for the better then.

*ERPs to them, plain old tolls to us

Texan Bar-B-Q: git 'er done

Buzzie's Bar-B-Q

It was time. We'd done all we could to prepare for this moment. We knew we were ready but doubts still lingered in our minds. Would we be able to do our Texan hosts proud? Would we walk away with our bellies full and our heads held high? Could we recover quickly enough to enjoy apple pie tomorrow? Would we ever be able to fit our clothes again? What if we had to book extra seats on the plane?

As the 4WD pulled up in the parking lot, our apprehension grew. Sure, Buzzie's Bar-B-Q looked innocent enough but we knew that behind the corrugated iron facade lurked some of the largest servings of meat we'd ever see. It was no laughing matter. Buzzie's is one of the top 50 Bar-B-Q restaurants in Texas, which doesn't sound impressive until you realise that there are literally thousands of Bar-B-Q joints vying for a spot in that list. Competition is fierce. We looked at each other. It was now or never.

We stepped out of the car and walked across the near empty parking lot. It was late afternoon. The sun beat down on us. Mike went first. He knew what perils lay ahead. He'd faced his fears long ago. We followed.

Mike and Em tuck in

Inside Buzzie's was little more than a shed. At one end was a serving counter. At the other a drink machine, piles of bread and a salad bar. A sea of picnic tables spread in the middle. The head of a longhorn mocked us from the back wall. I took a deep breath and ordered. Half a chicken, a pile of coleslaw, a mountain of potato salad, a giant tub of Buzzie's special Bar-B-Q sauce and all the bread you can eat. I gathered my tray, watched as it buckled under the weight of my meal and struggled back to the table. Carl stepped forward. He looked the lady behind the counter in the eye and ordered. One large rack of pork ribs, lashings of coleslaw and potato salad, a giant tub of Buzzie's special Bar-B-Q sauce and all the bread you can eat. Weren't no-one gonna tell him he couldn't do it. Hell no.

We ate. Sauce slopped on our clothes and smeared across our faces. Still we ate. The longhorn glared down at us. Still we ate. And ate. And ate. Until we could eat no more. We were beaten. A quarter of a chicken sat dejected on my plate. Bernie had struggled through even less. Even Mike fell a few ribs short of the rack. But Carl didn't falter. He finished the ribs, scoffed the potato salad and coleslaw, licked his fingers and wiped his mouth. He had beaten the Bar-B-Q. He could undo the top button on his pants proudly.

Carl earns his Texan stripes

This is real cowboy country

The OST - pull up a chair or sit on a saddle, whatever works for ya

On the main street of Bandera Texas, there's space for the cowboys to tie up their horses next to massive 4wds. The old men in town meet at the OST (Old Spanish Trail) everyday for coffee, biscuits and gravy, and to just 'shoot the shit'.

This place is hot, dry and harsh. Land is bought by the five-acre. Some people buy to keep the developers out, others to breed exotic animals that they can shoot. But most people just like the quiet, the solitude, and the spectacular sunsets. They also love George Dubya.

We're visiting old family friends, who have their own little five-acre plot with horses, pygmy goats, cats and dogs. There's even a couple of hummingbirds that come to visit each morning. They're not born and bred Texans, but they've got the cowboy spirit in their blood. And we get it. We're completely hooked.

Sunny, the pygmy goat

We've gorged on fajitas, had our first taste of grits, biscuits, and gravy and learned a little about Tex Mex history. We never knew that this part of the US was once Mexico. In fact, a whole lot of the area along the border was once Mexico. But the Mexicans couldn't convince anyone to move here - there were better places in Mexico to live. So the Mexicans advertised in Spain - they gave away land or almost gave it away, and eventually people came. They were happy living as Mexicans. They elected General Santa Ana as their new President and all seemed just fine until Santa Ana got a little overexcited. He trashed their constitution and set about establishing a his own little dictatorship, but the 'Texans' wouldn't buy it. They declared their independence and vowed to fight Santa Ana to the the death. In response, Santa Ana sent in 6000 troops. They didn't just defeat the 200 men defending the Alamo in San Antonio, they decimated them, killing everyone including Davy Crocket and the handful of men who responded to their call for back up.

Bandera, the home of the cowboy

Roadkill of a different kind

Since leaving New Orleans, we've seen dead alligators and raccoons on the side of the road. Carl even made his own little contribution, accidentally driving right over a snake on the outskirts of Houston. I gotta say it's nice to see some different roadkill - it's certainly less intimidating to cross paths with a raccoon than to see a big red kangaroo flying through your windscreen.

We ain't got the blues

I suppose it's only appropriate that I should be slightly hungover after a Friday night in New Orleans. I mean, you can buy giant strawberry daiquiris to go. You can take them sightseeing with you and that, of course, is exactly what we did.

Em sucks back a lunchtime daiquiri-to-go

We strolled through the French Quarter, past the Bourbon St bars and sex shows, and in and out of souvenir shops packed with voodoo dolls and lewd t-shirts, the whole time happily sipping daiquiris and wondering how life got to be so good.

Happy hour cosmos and purple haze beer at the House of Blues snapped us out of our daiquiri daze. Then after a feast of popcorn shrimp, marinated gator, gumbo and jambalaya, we thought we were ready for some Bourbon Street madness, but we thought wrong. The street was a heaving mess of hens parties and cover bands, and the smell of vomit and stale booze stuck to the air.

Inside the House of Blues

We'd read about Frenchman Street, just outside the French Quarter, and thought we'd risk a mugging if it got us some decent blues and fresh air. It worked. We got a table, smooth live music, and I got wine in a whiskey glass, which seemed funny at the time but not this morning, when I had to drag my hungover butt out of bed and back into the car. When will I learn.

Mrs M, Mrs I, Mrs SSI, Mrs SSI, Mrs PPI

We've just crossed into Mississippi. New Orleans is about 100 miles from here. There's a wall of rain just up ahead and we've just realised that we haven't checked the weather report for a couple of days. Not a smart move in hurricane season.

Mmmm, I wonder what happened to the hurricane that was just off the coast of Florida a few days ago???

Cruising the Panhandle

Seaside, the set of the Truman show

This is where The Truman Show was filmed. It's picture perfect Seaside, on the Gulf coast of Florida, just down the road from Panama City in all its Americana kitsch glory. You just couldn't get two more different towns.

Seaside is all white picket fences, thick lush lawns and smiling Gap-wearing families. Panama City, five minutes away, is trying desperately to shake of its Redneck Riviera reputation. Developers are moving in, but tackiness prevails: garish adult stores, fun parks, go-kart tracks and seedy motels still outnumber the super resorts, and you get the feeling that's the way it will always be.

High-end eating in Panama City

But there is one thing Seaside and Panama city have in common: the coast. The beaches along this coast are considered among the best in America, if not the world. We're talking powder-white sand and crystal clear turquoise water. Okay, so there are no waves ... but there are sea turtles.

The Florida coast

Road trippin': from Miami to Houston

Carl behind the wheel of our hardcore Toyota Camry, grrrrrr

The open road stretches before us. It's big and American, and we are loving everything from the giant billboards that scream sexual innuendo to the tacky roadside motels, the drive-thru Dunkin' Donuts, and everything in between. The glitz and glamour of Miami is behind us. Alabama, Louisiana and Texas lie ahead. Yeeehaaa!

Going to Miami

Oi Carl, ya pervert

... welcome to Miami (there's a Will Smith song reference there, did you get it?), where the boobs are big and fake, the beach is beautiful and it's damn hot. Too hot to do anything but get your gear off at South Beach, so that's what we did. A big shout out to Jess and Jessica for showing us around and feeding us Steve's Pizza. Hands down the best pizza we've eaten in the States.

Carl hanging out on South Beach

A box o' Joe

Those Americans really do think of everything. A cask of coffee after a big night. I mean, does life get any better than that?

The fireworks are over

Fourth of July fireworks in DC

The fourth of July fireworks are over for another year, and so is our trip to Washington DC. Well, almost. We're hoping desperately that there's still time to bump into Georgie down at the local and give him a piece of our minds. We're a little miffed that he didn't have the bollocks to face us on Capitol Hill yesterday, but he was probably intimidated. I mean we are pretty tough. Maybe he should send in Barbara. I think behind those pearls is a force to be reckoned with.

Outside the White House - ain't nobody home

Actually, the little pearl-wearing intern who took us on our tour through the tunnels underneath the Capitol building and into the heart of US politics was pretty darn Republican-tough. She was not on the Obama-wagon. In fact, she was not even standing on the platform when that train zoomed past, but she did have an interesting perspective.

That's definitely one of the best things about being in ol' DC: everyone's got an opinion here, even if they didn't have one before they arrived. Politics is everywhere - in the bars, in the monuments, in the parks, and in the museums. It's almost tangible and it's hard to not get into the buzz a little, particularly when you're scarfing down some beer, some chicken tenders or some damn good sushi.

Aims gets into the spirit

"See you when I get home from Baghdad."

That's what it says on the rock placed on this headstone. It's a haunting message hidden among the 30,000 veterans from all of America's wars buried in Arlington National Cemetery. It's meaning sits heavy over the empty fields at the bottom of the cemetery, which will also one day be filled with rows of white headstones.

It's impossible not to be moved by a visit to Arlington National Cemetery, regardless of your views of war. Look past the famous headstones and memorials and you see that throughout the course of history, people from all walks of life have given their lives for something that they once believed in, among them more than 3800 former slaves who fought in the Civil War.

The Tomb of the Unknowns, at the top of the cemetery, is guarded by the U.S. Army 24 hours a day, 365 days a year. The 3rd U.S. Infantry (The Old Guard) began guarding the Tomb on April 6, 1948 and not a single day has passed unguarded since then.

Every half an hour in summer (and every hour in winter) you can watch the changing of the guards at the Tomb of the Unkowns

It could have been the perfect catch :(

Pitcher steps up the plate. Batter gets ready. A silence falls over the crowd. We wait. Matt and Carl pick up their beers. It's tense. It's time for refreshment. Pitcher throws. Batter swings.

The ball hits the edge of the bat, flies high up, up, up, over the foul net, up, up, up, down, down, down. The crowd looks up. Carl and Matt look up. The ball is coming toward them. They put their beers down. Carl moves into position. The ball is coming directly at him. He steadies himself and moves his hands in front of him ready for the catch. Here it comes, here it comes ... hang on, a fat hand reaches out from the row in front. Here it comes ... a chubby finger stretches in front of Carl's hands. Here it comes ... BOOM.

The Baltimore Orioles mascot goes crazy!

The ball hits the chubby finger and ricochets off. It bounces forward and ends up in the hands of a guy a couple of rows down. Carl stares at his empty hands, a look of bewilderment on his face. Then recognition, then anger. He glowers at the man with the chubby fingers. And then it starts.

"Get a glove, get a glove, get a glove," they chant. Oh yes, it could have been the perfect catch.

Don't worry Carl, I'll get him

How many people does it take to eat one sandwich and a slice of cheesecake?

A sandwich too big for four people!

At Harold's Diner, it takes more than four to even come close to finishing this feast. This place is famous for it's sandwiches - they're enormous. In fact, everything is enormous at Harold's. Giant sandwiches, giant onion rings, giant drinks, giant cakes and, unsurprisingly, some giant customers. It's in Jersey, between New York and Washington DC. It's the perfect treat after two nights boozing in the big apple with our mates, Amy and Matt. Dinner at the meat packing district, drinks in the shade of the Empire State Building, tequila at Hogs Heffers (the original coyote ugly bar), buffalo wings and beer in the East Village, and now Harold's. No complaints from this side of the bar ...

Mmmmm, we are a little drunk I suspect??

More New York photos

The land of the free?

Taking a break in Central Park

We don't think so. Everything costs you money in ol' New York. Everything, that is, except Central Park. We're now staying on the upper west side, just a couple of blocks from this giant green oasis in the middle of the city. It's the perfect antidote to big city madness. After a couple of hours of 'green' time, we're ready and raring to go. Tonight we're going in search of soul food in Harlem: catfish, mac and cheese, cornbread and some sweet soul music. Oh yeah.

Death by Peanut Butter

Peanut Butter & Co: for hardcore peanut butter lovers

We've taken refuge from the rain in Peanut Butter & Co and we've destroyed ourselves by gorging on a peanut brownie with whipped cream and chocolate sauce. In our defense though, the Brownie was the most conservative choice on the menu. At Peanut Butter & Co, you can get a Death by Peanut Butter sundae made of peanut butter, peanut butter crunch ice-cream, Reeses pieces, peanut butter chips, whipped cream and peanut butter sauce. Or perhaps you'd prefer the Fluffernutter, a peanut butter and marshmallow sandwich, or Ants on a Log, which is celery sticks topped with peanut butter and raisins.

None of it's good for you, but we've been walking the streets of Chelsea, Soho, and downtown all day, and we're walking to Brooklyn tonight, so we're telling ourselves that we've earned it. Not sure what the parents next to us are thinking though: their kids have smeared marshmallow fluff onto peanut butter and nutella sandwiches, which they are now stuffing down their gobs and smearing all over their faces. There's no way that's not going to come back and bite them in the arse later ...

Brooklyn: how sweet it is ...

Brooklyn Bridge at dusk

The view of Manhattan from Brooklyn

The big apple

Downtown New York

We had a feeling we'd like this city ... but we don't. We love it! Perhaps we're not destined to live in Australia? Maybe a little stint in the big apple is just what we need? We've pounded the pavement here for two days and we just can't get enough of this crazy city: Manhattan, Staten Island ferry, Fifth Avenue, Wall Street, and the Statue of Liberty are already checked off the list. So much still to come, including a few little glasses of pink goodness. Mmmm, cosmopolitans!

Manhattan skyscrapers

Lady Liberty

Last drinks

London liver wars

London's South Bank in summer - in fact, at any time of the year - is one of my favourite places, and today is no exception. It's blowing a bloody gale and is only warm when you're standing in direct sunlight, but no-one here cares. Behind me, the outdoor bar at festival hall is packed with post-work winos. Every inch of park bench is occupied with people soaking up whatever sun they can, listening to a trombone player to the left and the accordion player to the right. The walkway is heaving with a steady parade of walkers, joggers, cyclists and skateboarders. Even the boats on the Thames are packed inside and out.

We've been back in Stinktown for a week now. It's been a whirl of catch-ups and last hurrahs, with the ubiquitous 'London Pub' featuring far too regularly on our itinerary to be healthy. Today I am waiting to meet Sarah-Jane. She was possibly the first friend I made in London five years ago and she has been my pub companion on too many evenings to mention. It's easy to see how tonight is going to pan out - dinner and a bottle of wine, a cheeky drink on the way to the station, then another ... next thing you know it's morning, I'm trying not to be sick on the tube and swearing that next time I'll stick to one small glass of wine (none at all is too much to hope for!).

There's no doubt I'll miss SJ and all of our London mates, but we've got to get out. Apart from the irreversible damage we're doing to our livers, we're hemorrhaging cash. We spent five days budget on our second day here and it's only gotten worse. Lucky we love this city. We love it's vibe, the buzz, the history, the buildings, and the grit and grime. We're certainly glad we came back for one final farewell, but we're also a little relieved it's for a good time not a long time.

Going out with a bang!

• A car crash
• A shoot out
• A big greasy parrilla (grill)
  

Now that's a real South American ending. Everyone who travels around this continent should tick off at least one of these things, and Lima is as good a place as any to get your fill.

We got our car crash when our cabbie cut off another cabbie just before lunch today. No major damage, but it was enough to make our cabbie get out and give the other driver a mouthful, even though he caused it. We, meanwhile, sat in the car and cheered, ecstatic to have finally been involved in a little bingle.

We got our shoot out later in the afternoon - well, not exactly a shoot out. But there were gunshot holes, lots of police and a media frenzy, so I'm going to say it was a shoot out.

Now, we're lying down in the hostel and our bellies are chock full of our last parrilla feast: half a chicken, a giant steak, a mound of soggy chips, a mountain of lettuce coated in dressing, and red wine that tastes like Ribena but must be wine because it comes out of box with 'Wine' on the side. All this goodness for less than $10 (for both of us). Now that's what I call going out on a high ...

Tomorrow we're jumping a plane back to London. That means it's adios to the death-defying bus rides, the crazy cabbies, the incomprehensible conversations, the lovable juice ladies, the 10 stores selling the same item on the one street, Shakira, the non-descript meat dishes, the cold 'hot' water showers, the hazardous electric showers, and the amazing South American people with their permanent smiles and never-ending hospitality.

To London we go.

More football, more beach time and two happy campers

Carl the beach bum

We're watching football again - this time, it's Italy v Netherlands in the Euro. We've just worked out that Carl has watched at least one game of football in almost every country we've visited over the past eight months. The only exceptions have been:

• Auckland (we were only there for one nights)
• Chile (we were only there for four nights)

It's an impressive tally even for Carl, and in three days we'll be back in London with all the pubs, pints and football he can handle. Still, I suppose everyone needs a vice. My endless quest for sunshine has been well and truly sated over the past three weeks, so I am happy. First the Galapagos, then Montanita, and now three days in Mancora, where there is little more to do than sit on the beach and wonder which seafood restaurant you're going to choose for dinner.

We've almost survived!

We have just two more bus journeys left in South America: tonight's overnight bus ride to Mancora in northern Peru and, in two days, an overnight bus to Lima. We've been reminiscing, trying to decide which bus ride has been the most dangerous over the past six months but there are too many. Too many nights spent clinging desperately to our chairs as the bus speeds around mountain roads, nothing but cliff below. Too many moments we've held our breath as the bus driver overtakes on a blind corner, unable to see what dangers lurk on the other side. Too many times we've stared into the headlights of an oncoming truck and thought 'this is it', before the driver zips back to the right side of the double yellow lines. Too many time we've wondered how someone so reckless behind the wheel can be given responsibility for the lives of 40 passengers.

In light of this, we've simply decided to rank the countries we've been to in order of risk - number one being the most dangerous country to take a bus, number six the least:

1. Columbia
2. Ecuador
3. Bolivia
4. Peru
5. Uruguay
6. Argentina

Surfs up!

The main street in Montanita

If you were a surfer, you'd never want to leave Montanita. It's a town on the Ecuadorian coast that grew up around a wave. Once a little fishing village, now a bustling beach resort with hostels made from bamboo, hammocks, juice bars, and pancakes.

Today, Montanita feels like a good little place to kick back for a couple of days. It's amazing the difference the sun makes. Yesterday the sky was grey, the wind was cold and the beach looked far from inviting. The dirty-looking sand was scattered with litter and dogs roamed the shore, digging holes. But the waves were big and that's what Montanita is all about. It's the reason surfers come for a day and stay for a month.

Montanita's beach

Tourist hell

We're waiting for our plane and eavesdropping to pass the time. The airport is full of people from large tour groups - some are getting ready to head on a Galapagos cruise, others are heading home. It's steaming hot and the airport here is like a large shelter, with park benches and a handful of overpriced and extremely tacky shops.

An older American couple has sat down next to us. They're talking to an Australian couple on the bench opposite. The Australian couple are on a three month trip, thanks to the husband's long service leave. The American couple have been living in Quito for two years and, by their own admission, speak only survival Spanish. They are in Quito helping to coordinate work teams for their church. Figures. They're complaining because, as of today, the Ecuadorian Government has stopped fuel subsidies for ships in the Galapagos that use more than 4000 tonnes of fuel each week. The cost has been transferred to the people who choose these boats instead of smaller vessels like the one we were on. It means they have had to pay an extra $100, and so they should.

Their boat sleeps about 90 people. Ours slept 16. Theirs will be first class, no doubt. Hot water, bars, and every other amenity we didn't have ... I am getting annoyed. I can't believe their complaining. Waz calls them 'shotgun tourists' and he's right. These cruise boats should be banned in the Galapagos and so should these people. Never become one. Support the local captains and the local crew. Ours cared deeply about the environment, taking care to leave as small an environmental footprint as possible.

I decided to head to the cafeteria to get a drink and get away from them. Another two Americans in the line before me tell the guy behind the counter that they want two cokes. No please, no thank you, no Spanish. He turns to get the cokes and they walk away. Perhaps they think it's table service, who knows. When he returns to the counter and sees that they've gone, he looks perplexed. I point to the table where they are sitting. He shakes his head and asks what I would like. Una coke por favor, I say. He smiles and hands me one of the cokes in his hands. I pay and we laugh. Get me out of this tourist hell.

A lesson in conservation by Luis the taxi driver

Luis is driving us to the airport in a big hilux. He's in his 20s, wears aviator glasses, and is dressed smartly in a coloured shirt and khaki pants. He loves Columbian salsa, supports Barcelona in the football, and seems to know everyone and everything that happens in the Galapagos.

We're driving down a long straight road that cuts through the middle of island, from Puerto Ayora to the airport. He's driving slowly and beeping constantly at the Darwin finches on the road in front of him. We ask him why. Conservation, he says. There's a police checkpoint at the start of the road and one at the end to monitor your speed. Get to the checkpoint too earlier and you're in trouble. Hit a finch, you get an $850 fine. Hit an iguana, you get a $6500 fine. Hit a turtle, you get 15 years in jail. Hit a cat or a rabbit and no-one in the Galapagos cares. They're pests that eat the iguanas. In fact, the Police can often be spotted hovering in a helicopter, shotguns poised and ready to shoot should a cat or rabbit show itself.

I've got my sea legs but they're no use to me now

If I stand still long enough, the world sways gently. If I close my eyes, I could be back on the deck of the Yolita with the turquoise sea stretching for miles in every direction. But I'm not. Our tour of the Galapagos is over and I am back on dry land. We've got one more night in the main town, Puerto Ayora. Tomorrow I fly to Guayquil to be reunited with Don Carlos, and Waz heads to Quito then onto Caracas. It's been emotional, and I am not sure who I'll miss more: the sea lions or my brother. Check out all of our photos from the Galapagos and you'll see why. Click here

The end is nigh ...

Volcanoes dot the landscape

There's no escaping Van Damme in South America. It's on downstairs in the main cabin of the boat, so I figured its a good time to head upstairs. Plus it's well past my Galapagos bedtime - its hard to stay up past 8:30 out here when you spend most of the day in the sun. Even an afternoon nap doesn't help, although it is essential for getting through the day.

We started early again today to beat the crowds to the top of volcano on Isla Bartolome. This is Frankie's favourite island and it's easy to see why. From the top, you get the most amazing views in every direction. A beautiful reef hugs the beach below, offering another chance to snorkel with sea lions, penguins, sharks and sea turtles.

You have to watch your step with these little buggers - they blend into the volcanic rock

This afternoon we lumbered to North Seymor, our final destination and mangroves teeming with more turtles. As the sun went down on our final night, we enjoyed a cervesa and plotted ways in which we could stay on board. To no avail.

Beware the crazy penguin

A crazy Galapagos penguin

My bird phobia extends to penguins, and Warwick has video proof. In my defense though, these little Galapagos penguins are not afraid of humans. They were well within pecking distance, and you could tell they were thinking about going on the offensive, weighing up the pros and cons of taking on an animal 20 times their size. They have to be the most inquisitive animals we've come across so far on the Galapagos. And we've come across a lot an animals.

In one afternoon, we've ticked off penguins, octopus, eels, oyster catcher birds, and nesting pelicans. I couldn't even begin to count the number and type of fish we've seen. All this on top of hundreds of sea lions, iguanas, crabs and boobies (the feathered kind, of course). We've moved north where the island terrain is pure volcanic. It's a dramatic setting and just as beautiful as the south, with its white sandy beaches and green foliage.

Hello, Mr Iguana

Frankie goes to Hollywood

Our guide Frankie is on a bender. We left him at a bar in Puerto Ayora at one o'clock this morning and when he met us at the dock at 7am, cloaked in dark glasses and exposed chest hair, he clearly hadn't slept. His tour to the Charles Darwin Research Station, home of the most famous Galapagos giant turtle Lonesome George, was his most inspired yet - "These are very interesting facts," he told us pointing to the information boards, "read them". Then he toddled off for another breakfast beer, leaving us to read about the conservation efforts that have protected the Galapagos animals for years.

The Charles Darwin Research Station is very impressive. Thousands of tiny tortoises have been repatriated to their home islands from the station' s baby tortoise house, and at least one subspecies of iguana and tortoise has been brought back from the brink of extinction thanks to its successful protection and breeding programme. Despite their best attempts, however, the future looks bleak for Lonesome George.

Lonesome George's butt

George is the only surviving member of the Isla Pinta subspecies. Attempts to find a mate for George have so far failed. He takes no interest in the two females tortoises who share his enclosure, and who can blame him. He's more than 80 years old and they're only distant relations, not his own species. Perhaps he doesn't realise that his species depends on it, or perhaps he doesn't care. He's not alone.

Frankie doesn't care, at least not today. He went in search of ceviche as soon as he could get away. He emerged again at 2pm for our visit to El Chato Tortoise Reserve. This time, however, he brought his "wife" and palmed us off to one of the workers before settling in for afternoon beers. The reserve itself is pretty self explanatory. It's a chance to see a giant tortoise in the wild. The biggest one there weighs about 200 kilograms and could be found happily chomping away on guava and passionfruit.

A big bugger

We're moving out ...

We've decided we can't live in this little wooden box in the bottom of the boat any longer and have negotiated an upgrade with Frankie for the final three nights of our journey. Waz has taken up this task wholeheartedly, inspecting the other cabins and comparing the positives against the negatives. His method is sure to yield results. My contribution, I have to admit, is minimal but I'm finding it hard to get motivated.

A lagoon flamingo

This morning, before breakfast, we visited Floreana to see the lagoon flamingos and the nesting sea turtles. An hour or so later, we were snorkeling the 'Devil's Crown', a rocky outpost just off the coast of Our timetable each day makes me weary. Floreana which is blessed with sparkling clear water, coral and a host of watery friends, including our very first white tip shark.

Waz hangs out with some sea lions

This afternoon, we are rocking our way to Santa Cruz. The boat is lurching from side to side on the open sea, making another bout of seasickness imminent and an afternoon nap unavoidable. By my calculations, I've got enough energy left to find a cool shady spot to sleep. Anything more taxing would finish me.

Galapagos trip: day three

A big male sea lion lets us know who's the boss on this beach

We're settling into life on the boat: early starts, afternoon naps, early bedtimes, wet landings, dry landings. If I'm honest, it's exhausting stuff. The sun here is hot, and the swimming and snorkeling wears you out quickly. It's a tough life ... really it is.

This is the final voyage of the Yolita. After 30 years on the high seas, the boat will be retiring, replaced by a newer and better model. Things are a little worse for wear on board. Our windows don't shut properly, which is not good when you're below deck. There's a slight leak from one of them above my bed and a steady stream of spray into the bathroom. At night, our cabin is like a little sauna. And the engine fumes do not mix well with the open sea.

Sante Fe Land Iguana

Last night, we were travelling to Isla Espanola, one of the most southerly in the Galapagos archipelago. It was a long trip - about five hours - in our small rocky boat, so I went down to our cabin to lie down. But the fumes, the heat and the lurching of the boat got the better of me. Within seconds, I was back on the deck puking over the side of the boat. Thankfully, the wind drowned out the sound and the sea washed away any evidence I may or may not have left on the boat.

Really, it was only a minor hiccup at the end of a fantastic day. We've already been lucky enough to see the Santa Fe Land Iguana, found nowhere else in the world. In fact, our wildlife tally is looking pretty good:

• swimming with sea lions
• swimming alongside giant sea turtles
• hundreds of marine and land iguanas, and a couple of hybrids
• the dance of the blue footed boobies
• the waved albatross, the only colony in the world, during breeding season (even saw one of their eggs)
• the Nazca or masked boobies
• mockingbirds
• Galapagos eagle
• crabs
• a pod of dolphins swimming alongside a nearby boat
  

You name it, we've seen it. And it's only day three. We're now anchored just off Isla Santa Maria (also known as Floreana), the sixth largest island in the Galapagos with about 100 human inhabitants. We're heading there tomorrow morning at 6:30am, so it's time to hit the hay.

Blue-footed boobie