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