One of the books that has stayed with me the most is ‘Patagonia’ by Bruce Chatwin. I read it over 20 years ago when I had little idea where Patagonia or Argentina were. The book describes a hostile land where immigrants from Wales, Germany and Scandinavia settled. I was fascinated by the stories of immigrants trying to create new lives in the harsh conditions of South America.

Now we were visiting Patagonia ourselves. Our first stop was Ushuaia, the last green city before the white continent of Antarctica.

We had a beautiful hotel with views of the beagle channel and the natural harbour where two boats lay, nestled in snow spangled mountains. Beauty with a tinge of sadness.

Day 1: We had an organised hike to Lake Esmeralda. A nice walk through forests to a green lake tucked inside the Andes. We were with a group of Argentinians and once we had broken the ice we chatted and laughed with the group.

One lady in her late 60s was walking with her grandson. She takes all her grandchildren on 10 day trips on their 15th birthday.

Day 2: We endured the worst day of tourism ever!

We don’t normally sign up for tours but for various reasons this day we had two tours booked . The first one was a train journey at the end of the world. When we had booked the tour in Buenos Aires I had visions of a Paul Theroux book that transpired to be very different to the reality .

After two bus journeys and 45 minutes on the road we were dropped off at the fake railway station where 100s of other tourists were waiting. We had to wait 60 minutes before we could get on the fake train not before having our photo taken with fake railway people ( which we – well I- refused to do) . The train was not a real train and we sat like kids on a fairground ride pretending that we hadn’t been conned. The first stop was at a fake station where there was nothing to see except the fake shop that sold the photos that cost real US dollars.

By this stage I was unable to speak and Sylvie was trying to avoid me. The train only lasted 30 minutes and then we were trundled into coaches.

I don’t like loosing agency over my life and asked the tour guide, what we were doing next. I don’t think she understood me but in any case all she told me was that I should use the toilets here as there wouldn’t be any more for 45 minutes!

It was here that I officially opted out, whilst the other 60 odd people and Sylvie walked around a lake for 20 mins I stayed on the bus like a sulky schoolboy . I went with the bus to the destination where there was a café. I drank coffee, ate empanadas and sat very close to the toilets!

We had a 6 hour boat trip organised in the afternoon along the beagle channel, a chance of seeing penguins etc but I needed to take back my freedom and let Sylvie head out on her own.

I headed back to our fabulously luxurious hotel , sat in a heated jacuzzi outside overlooking the beagle channel and contemplated exactly who I had become.

On the flight to El Calafate we sat next to a young Australian. We chatted and he told us he was a high level poker player making money from poker and travelling principally around the US. At the time we accepted his story as true but since then we have been wondering . What if he made it up? What if he works for ANZ in Hobart and just wanted to have a better story? The cool thing about travelling is we can be whoever we want to be. Sylvie is a high flying lawyer and I , well I am still a bloke from England who works in shipping.