One of my lasting memories of year 7 geography was being told that the world was not in fact round. Far from being some reactionary Anglican school doctrine, it was based on the sound science that due to the Earth's rotation, the centrifugal force causes the planet to bulge on its lateral axis, and therefore it is wider at the equator than around the poles.

The peak of Volcano Chimborazo, being Ecuador's highest at 6,310m (or just over 20,000 feet in the old speak) and being only a few degrees south of the equator, therefore has the honour of being the point furthest from the Earth's centre and closest to the sun (the equatorial bulge gives it a few kilometres advantage over Everest). So, having reached the summit a week ago, through snow, ice and steep night time ascent, I now feel I've squared the ledger with the Andes, with a few successful recent ascents of volcanoes in Chile, Peru and Ecuador, following the disappointment of Aconcagua.

And so, with the South American mountains behind me, an imminent 'Brideshead Revisited' return to Oxford, and having found an English language copy of Walt Whitman's 'Leaves of Grass,' here's 'A Backward Glance o'er Travel'd Roads' since Santiago, and a few brief episodes which were 'Lost in Translation.'

On an overnight bus north from Santiago, I sat down next to an overly friendly local bloke, and whether it was something I said unwittingly, I'll never know, but he proceeded with some fairly forward remarks, including a complement about my 'bear suit' and chest hair in particular. Perhaps I should have realised sooner that his constant touching of my leg was more than inadvertent, but when he finally took the 'Yellow Pages approach' (let your fingers do the walking), Australian ' Chilean relations soured considerably, my assailant cowered in his seat fearing further violence and remained that way for the rest of a tense 10 hour bus trip.

As if local dialects weren't going to be difficult enough and prone to misunderstanding, by far the greatest single group of travellers that I have encountered, particularly in the south, have been Israeli. It seems that after their compulsory military service, there is an equally compulsory trip to Patagonia for the restless Zionist youth. And much as my Jewish sensibilities were awoken last year when catching the Rose Bay ferry (Sydney allusion ' the Rose Bay ferry is renowned for those good 'South African Jewish banking' folk), I often found I could understand more of the Spanish language that flowed outside of the South American youth hostels, than the Hebrew that resonated within their 'walls.'

And just a few days ago, while innocently searching for an ice cream one night in Ecuador's capital, Quitos, I was swept up in a crowd of over one hundred thousand protesters, marching on parliament to overthrow the president, Lucio Gutierrez, who had dismissed the Supreme Court and declared a state of emergency the previous week.

A lack of understanding of Spanish may have restricted my ability to understand and join in the chorus of disapproval as I marched with the masses, however nothing was lost in translation when the authorities responded with tear gas and riot police. As the noxious fumes of burning effigies and tear gas canisters became overpowering and fellow protestors started to fall around me, this 'would'be war correspondent' decided to return to the original brief of seeking out an ice'cream, rather than overthrowing South American presidents.

As the tear gas cleared from the hostilities the following morning 
(Wednesday 20 April), I flew to Venezuela (for a Carribean wedding) with a patriotic Ecuadorian flag in hand as a reminder of my vigilante involvement in South American democracy, the president had been toppled, one Chilean journalist had been killed and over 200 protestors had been treated for asphyxiation following the clashes with police.

So now in Venezuela, famous for its oil and enhanced beauty queens (another great set of 'rigs' you might say) and leaving for Europe shortly after Anzac Day, hopefully my paths will roll through the Pyrenees and the Alps in the months ahead.

Therefore, a final offering of Spanish language tips from Latin America ... 
CAFE CON PIERNAS (coffee with legs). In the otherwise austere business centre of Santiago, there are a number of coffee shops that are hosted by scantily clad women (think Kalgoorlie 'Skimpy Bars'). These fine establishments seem to be popularly frequented by respectable well'dressed businessmen for their morning break and this traveller, intrigued about being served caffeine by an attractive woman in her underwear.

So to complete the 'Lost in Translation' theme, a warning of literal translations ... you may receive more than expected in Santiago cafes when ordering 'a skinny flat white' or more so, a 'short black.'