Sorry - its not the hardest word to say.
Its goodbye - goodbye to people who you have lived with, peed with, eaten with, slept with and grown to care for - just a little bit, over seven short weeks.
First, Cameron and then Cindy was our home for a trip across thousands of kilometres and countless cities. The people who we travelled with shared danger and excitement, boredom and most importantly - chocolate biscuits.
We said goodbye and climbed into a taxi to the airport for a flight from Lima to Guayaquil in Ecuador, leaving the security blanket of the truck and all our friends, in exchange for the cold reality of independent travel. Ecuador is not Chechnya, but then again, its not Switzerland either.
The excitement began almost immediately. The taxi left the main road and the warning bells started to ring.
"Rogue taxi drivers will rob you" warned the signs at every corner.
We entered deeper into the favella and the locals looked hostile. Twenty minutes into our independent adventure and we were going to be stripped naked, relieved of all our possessions and, if we were lucky, dumped on the side of the road.
If not, we would be booking an appointment at the dialysis clinic very soon indeed.
Language failed to convey the concern mounting in the back seat. Hand signals did the job just fine and the driver, sensing the imminent release of two tightly coiled springs behind him, mustered just enough English to explain that the highway was blocked and that this was a shortcut.
He was right.
Under the main road we passed and nose to tail traffic inched overhead as we sped to the airport.
Sitting comfortably with a coffee, the right side of check-in, we laughed off the fear that had envelopped us just a few short minutes ago.
On the plane, the pre-flight safety briefing was silent as to what to do in the event of an unscheduled fat person in the seat next door.
The coiled spring, attached to the sharpened elbow, helped a little.
Its goodbye - goodbye to people who you have lived with, peed with, eaten with, slept with and grown to care for - just a little bit, over seven short weeks.
First, Cameron and then Cindy was our home for a trip across thousands of kilometres and countless cities. The people who we travelled with shared danger and excitement, boredom and most importantly - chocolate biscuits.
We said goodbye and climbed into a taxi to the airport for a flight from Lima to Guayaquil in Ecuador, leaving the security blanket of the truck and all our friends, in exchange for the cold reality of independent travel. Ecuador is not Chechnya, but then again, its not Switzerland either.
The excitement began almost immediately. The taxi left the main road and the warning bells started to ring.
"Rogue taxi drivers will rob you" warned the signs at every corner.
We entered deeper into the favella and the locals looked hostile. Twenty minutes into our independent adventure and we were going to be stripped naked, relieved of all our possessions and, if we were lucky, dumped on the side of the road.
If not, we would be booking an appointment at the dialysis clinic very soon indeed.
Language failed to convey the concern mounting in the back seat. Hand signals did the job just fine and the driver, sensing the imminent release of two tightly coiled springs behind him, mustered just enough English to explain that the highway was blocked and that this was a shortcut.
He was right.
Under the main road we passed and nose to tail traffic inched overhead as we sped to the airport.
Sitting comfortably with a coffee, the right side of check-in, we laughed off the fear that had envelopped us just a few short minutes ago.
On the plane, the pre-flight safety briefing was silent as to what to do in the event of an unscheduled fat person in the seat next door.
The coiled spring, attached to the sharpened elbow, helped a little.
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