N.B. For NSFW Section, See: How To Talk Like A Colombian (coming next week!)
The hard blue skies of Colima were fading into distant memory when I finally unpacked my old rucksack. Eight months, three countries, and several thousands of miles later; since my last day in Mexico I had been through candy-land Los Angeles, pine-dusted Vancouver, and London, with its slate-grey skies and discarded papers scuttling through the streets. Now I sat in Edinburgh. Through my bedroom window, green Blackford Hill blustered against the prevailing wind, just the same as last September. Had I really left here? I was down to the last dregs of the rucksack when out they came: one, two, six sketchbooks. Batik print - hardcover black - bound in cloth. When closed, and stacked high, they amounted to a satisfying stack. Open, I left my room behind, and there I was again - Latin America.