It seems a life time ago now that we left the sunny shores of Brazil for Chile. Three days in the capital, Santiago, provided us with much needed rest. We did not venture outside of the rather bohemian neighbourhood of Bellevista. From a travellers viewpoint, there is not a great deal to do in this clean, safe city. Still we amused ourselves each evening with grin enducing vino tinto. Two quid buys you extremely nice Merlot or Cabernet here. At four quid, they are security tagged! We flew south to Punta Arenas, with a touch down in Puerto Montt. Well, that after an aborted landing due to excessive wind sheer. Even the cabin attendant admitted he hadn't experienced that for a couple of years. It was truly white knuckles and brown seats all round. Punta Arenas is bleak. We arrived in our Havaiana flip flops and 3/4 lengths and damn nearly froze. On reflection 17 degrees isn't actually that cold. A three hour ride north to Puerto Natales provided the base for our 5 day 'W' hike of Torres Del Paine. On first inspection, the town appeared similar to a ski resort. Full of tourists preparing for their trek and dressed in the inevitable zip off combats, fleeces and sensible footwear. This became a bone of contention for Phill, who struggled to see the importance of such attire. 'Its not a sport,' exclaimed a puzzled Phill. 'Its just walking. Darts is a sport.' Mid way through the trek, blistered and limping, damp matches and back ache, our opinion softened! Jeans, hoodies, Nike's and a pac 'a' mac didn't cut it on the mountain. On leaving the catarmaran, Phill shuffled Sue to the gang plank and insisted we beat off the Germans to the first camp site, some 4 hours away. You know what is coming. Yep, 37 minutes into the unexpected hill climb, we were all out of puff. For the next 4 days, we were in an unspoken competition with 4 Germans. We reigned supreme in the end, though only after an ipod evening with 'The Great Escape' theme on repeat prior to the hardest stage on day four. It was tough. Up and down hills all day, hoping across stony rivers, boggy pastures, slippery trails. All this carrying our hired tent, sleeping bags and enough provisions to take us most of the way through. Hiker 'allsevenettes', we can hear you scoff. You know who you are and you were in our thoughts for the duration. The trails were busy. The campsites full. Continental Europeans and Israeli's vied for position as the most discourtious of hikers. The Chileans put the squeeze on our humour too. Three pounds fifty for a pint of milk at the camp shop. 'You're 'aving a giraffe' blasted Phill at a perplexed shop assistant. 'Cafe negro from here on Sue'. Looking back now and reviewing the pictures, we are both glad and in some small way proud that we completed the 48 mile trail. Now in Argentina awaiting the big one. The 7th Continent. We sail for Antarctica on Saturday. Our Fedex box from the UK containing suits, sequins and thermals, is stuck in Buenos Aires at customs. As luck would have it, Sue's kind parents are in BA on holiday and have spent no small amount of time and patience dealing with the authorities. We believe the box is moving south again. Its gonna go to the wire. PaS