As a wedding present, Ingrid’s Mum Maria kindly took us for a trip along The Great Ocean Road, the longest war memorial in the world. Stretching 151 miles from Torquay (not that one!) to Allansford, the road was deliberately built as a tourist attraction as a means of providing meaningful work for troops returning home from the First World War. Regarded as one of the world’s greatest scenic roads, it certainly holds it own against things like the roads I experienced in Chile and Bolivia when I travelled over the Andes.

On our second full day in Australia we went shopping in central Melbourne, before Ingrid’s mum Maria picked us up ahead of our trip along the Great Ocean Road. We took the metro into the city. I always love watching the fabric of cities knit itself together around train lines and Melbourne is no exception. Along the way, Ingrid had plenty of stories to tell about the various places she had lived.

For new year Ingrid and I met up with Ingrid’s friend Ros at Barcelona airport. We went from there to Cadaqués on the Costa Brava. A winding drive over steep hills leads you down to a cute bay with the typical white houses and terracotta roofs. All the window frames were painted just the right shade of blue. The surrealist artist Salvador Dalí lived and worked in the area. This meant a trip to Figueres to see his Theatre-Museum and on new year’s eve a walk over the hill to Port Lligat to visit his house.

We left Gulfoss and drove through the countryside to Fluðir where our next hotel stay would be. The hotel had cute little cabins arranged around a central square and the room itself was comfy and warm. Our dinner was nice enough, although we had a bit of a Fawlty Towers moment with Ingrid’s chicken salad. First it went back because they didn’t leave the BBQ sauce off. Then it came back with tomatoes.

After a day on foot in Reykjavík, and with some trepidation, we returned to the car for our drive through Iceland’s countryside. We started by heading out on route 1, which is like Iceland’s M25 except that it encircles an entire country and about thirty times fewer people. We went to house of Nobel Prize winner Halldór Laxness, only to be turned away because it was being renovated and wouldn’t open for another month.

We arrived in Reykjavík a few days after a monumental snowstorm. As such the city was still under at least six inches of snow. We collected the hire car from the airport and drove out of Keflavik. The scenery normally looks like a moonscape, but for us it was a frosty white wonderland. After about an hour’s drive, we arrived at the Hotel Nattura. From the outside it looks like a huge secondary school but as soon as you step inside it’s warm and comfortable.

Ingrid and I got married a month ago. It was a lovely day. We had a simple ceremony with two witnesses, our friends Sue and Andrew. We kept it quiet and small, as we just wanted to be married without too much fuss. A month on, we’re happy to report that we are glad we did it. We’d like to thank everyone who nonetheless sent cards and gifts, and to all of those who wished us well on Facebook.

We bought a cheap package holiday in the British Airways Black Friday sale. The weekend spanned Ingrid’s birthday, so it was ideal. £99 each for flights and a hotel, and we bagged a hire car quite cheaply too. Because our flight was from Heathrow and the trains from Chichester are both expensive and inconvenient for early flights, we spoiled ourselves with a taxi to the airport. It felt very strange to be whisked through the Sussex and Surrey countryside at six am on a Friday morning!

Mira Schendel was a Brazilian artist who was active throughout the middle to late twentieth century. She is considered to be one of South America’s best artists. Known mostly for her abstract paintings, she also experimented with sculptures and installations. Many of her works use text and semiotics to explore and define possible meanings for more abstract works. I saw this exhibition during its run in the Tate Modern in the Autumn of 2013.

Uyuni to Tupiza We left Uyuni the night after the big storm, having stopped just a day or so to visit the salt flats. Our next stop was a strategic stay in Tupiza, a large town encircled with red hills. It resembled many towns that I visited in South America: low buildings arranged in a grid pattern. Not much greenery and plenty of dust billowing about. The reason for our stay was strategic, it’s only a short distance to the notoriously fussy border between Bolivia and Argentina.

Envelopes containing swaps that have arrived in the post in recent days. It is nice to get letters from all over the country, even if they do just contain a selection of panini stickers. As I mentioned in a previous post, I have used the sticker swapping website to share my swaps with people all over the UK. I have sent swaps off to London, Bristol, Cornwall, Lancashire, Wales, and Gloucester.

2016 marks the centenary of the birth of Werner Bischof, the talented Magnum photojournalist who died in Peru in 1954, aged 38. He travelled widely, making the most of an incredible talent for photography. After the second world war, this led him all over Europe to document its aftermath. As the cold war began, Bischof found himself documenting events further afield. We saw two exhibitions of his photography at the Musée de l’Elysée in Lausanne.

Just before Easter Ingrid and I went to Lausanne in Switzerland for a few days. It was a much-needed break and my first trip out of the UK since I got back from South America. We caught an early train to Gatwick. It took a strange route along the coast via Worthing and Hove, which was annoying because we could have left later if a more direct train were available at that time of day.

La Paz to Potosi We left La Paz, this time ascending the rim of steep hills around the city in a slightly less clunky “Death Bus”. Perhaps it was because we were travelling uphill or because it was daylight, but it didn’t seem so bad. We set off to Potosi through strange towns with weird monuments (see the pictures) and Oruro where great festivals happen around Ash Wednesday each year that are famous throughout the continent.

More books to add to the “University of life” course list. From top to bottom: I picked up “Generation X” for 50p in a charity shop in Tintagel. “Everything Is Going To Be OK” is a picture book full of inspirational mottos. “The Happiness Hypothesis” is the most useful and interesting book that I have read in a long while. I decided to read “How To Write A Sentence” as an alternative to Strunk and White’s “The Elements Of Style” which, while useful, can be a little stuffy!

A hefty reading list that should keep me occupied into the summer. A friend on facebook asked “What course is that for?”, to which I replied “It’s for one of the modules I am doing at the university of life.” This response was quite popular.

A question of identity Three letters for Dad in the mail today, three variations on our surname including the aquatic Dory version and the lesser-spotted Dorny. It is perhaps best not to go back to the time he was accidentally listed in the Thompson directory as Mr. Dopey, bringing forth prank calls from all teenagers within a ten mile radius. Fortunately, Dr. Dorey doesn’t have this problem with his mail: he doesn’t get any.

So, Saturday. Finally. The big day. Would I a) be able to get to Greenwich in time for the registration? and b) be able to make it all the way around the course without collapsing and crying? Happily the answer to both questions was a resounding “Yes!” and I really enjoyed it. The weather was really good, especially compared to the two days before hand, and Marc came along to take some brilliant photos.