The photo? NOT what Arica looks like. But it is what I wish it looked like...

From Cuzco we overnighted to Arequipa, which was a great little place to begin a bit of a recovery from Cuzco. Staying at Loki's "partner" hostel (actually far too sedate to be in anyway related to Loki, but we've been assured that's all to change), the couple of days there were spent wandering around, enjoying the feeling of plentiful oxygen again and a bit of warmth. But mostly we were a bit too knackered to do too much, and the evenings spent watching a DVD after a quiet supper were SO much appreciated. Cuzco is certainly catching up with Caroline, and a little bit with me...

I did manage to visit the Santa Catalina monastery in Arequipa, which was stunning architecturally, but some of the regimes and religious rituals of the nuns I found a little...um...creepy (without wanting to offend anyone). I'm clearly not quite spiritual enough to get on board with the nunnery lifestyle (there's a relief) but the building was gorgeous and the couple of hours I spent wandering around were very calming. All part of the detox you see.

Once the feeling of killing time encroached on us, we got moving to Arica, our departure point for our flight to Santiago. Again it was nice to be in the warm, and lovely to be by the sea, and we found a little beach bar that provided us with food, drinks and sun loungers (so I could spend a day getting nicely fried through my desperately suspect factor 30). Apart from that...well there's nothing to do in Arica. Or so we thought. We had a mad hostel owner who spent the first night trying so hard to get us plastered on red wine that we decided to spend the next night out...and what a night it was.

During a quiet supper in a pizza restaurant, we got chatting to a Chilean guy who told us about a big party happening in a club near the main beach, and presented us with free tickets. We thought it was worth a look, so after buying a present for a little chica (because every party here has a worthy motive behind it, and this one was presents for underprivileged kids) we caught a cab there. The party hadn't started, so we got a drink at a nearby bar and got chatting to 2 older Chilean guys...one of whom, it transpired, was our pilot for the flight to Santiago the following day. That inspired confidence...but not so much as the fact that, when we got into the party, THEY WOULDN'T LEAVE US ALONE. Eventually we just disappeared ourselves, only to head onto the dancefloor (where we were the youngest people by about 20 years), cheer the VERY camp cabaret/mime acts on strange, and promptly get Caroline involved with a young man called...wait for it...Horse. The strangest evening on record.

Returning back to the hostel at 4.30 wasn't the best plan since we had to be up at 6.30 to catch our flight. No worries though, good old Luis (the owner) generously let us sleep in until 7.45. Our flight was at 8.30. We made it with MINUTES to spare, only to find our pilot laughing at us and tapping his watch as we pegged it across the tarmac. But thank god we made it and are out of there.

Santiago awaits, with a few days of oddities - catching up with our beloved Wolfie and Tony, enjoying the luxuries of vino tinto and good food, and then bidding a sad farewell first to Caro as she heads back to London and then to S America as I cross the Pacific to a new chapter - Oz and NZ. Expect an emotional entry people.