After everything finished, Howys and the others went for dinner, while I went off to get ready for my trip down to Ushuaia. The usual packing took place - just throw everything in a bag and see what happens to be left lying around that might be useful.

I hadnt booked a hostel so I went to the cybercafe to book one, but found the cafe closed. I wandered through the deserted main streets (well, it was Sunday lunchtime) before finding a Telefonica with internet that was open and popped in there.

Unfortunately, the portal that Ive been using to book hostels wouldnt book anything for tonight, only for tomorrow and the rest of the week and I only had a little change with me, so I kicked it in the head.

Then I went back home, felt hungry and realised that there was no food in the house, so I went back into town to Delikatesse, opposite the San David, and had a quick flick through the menu before getting a small Napolitana Special, the same as I had earlier in the week in Esquel.

I realised the problem when it arrived. Ham in the cheese. Yuck. I hadnt asked for pizza without the ham. I scooped it out and ate nearly half of it, but it just wasnt right. I felt like having a go at them, so I picked up the menu and looked at it again. Sure enough, doh, there was supposed to be ham in it - presumably that was what was making it "special".

Sigh! Cant complain if youre being stoopid, eh?

Having put everything together for the trip, I lugged my half full bag along the streets to the taxi rank, where I faced a twenty minute wait ("well, we only have two taxis on a Sunday") and then arrived at the airport an hour and a half before departure. I checked in and sat down to watch the football (Boca v San Lorenzo) and pulled out my Cortazar book to finish it.

I was interrupted just before half time by a guy asking me if I spoke English. I smiled and said that I could try :)

A barrister from London, apparently James was a Rotherham fan and was wondering if I knew any good hostels in Ushuaia. Nope, I said, just a few names off the internet, I was going to just find one when I get there. Cant be that busy in Winter!

So, we sat around and had a very expensive coffee in the airport (strange how people speaking in English bumps the price up so significantly!) and wandered through to the plane.

Two hours, and fifty pages of Cortazar, later we were in Ushuaia getting our bags and picking up info from the tourist brochures at arrivals.

As we already had the name of a cheap, central hostel from our guide books, James and I jumped in a taxi and went straight to Cruz del Sur, one block up from the main street, San Martin.

We shuffled in quietly, I asked for two beds for a couple of nights. The guy with long hair and a River Plate shirt grinned and took us downstairs where we chucked our bags in some lockers, made our beds in the dorm room and went out to see what Ushuaia on a Sunday night could offer.

Given that it was 9:30 at night it was remarkably warm, 7 degrees Celsius according to the thermometer in front of us on one of the buildings. Walking down to San Martin, we took a turn for the left, scoping out the restaurants on the couple of blocks until natural geography and a big prison got in the way, then taking an about turn and walking another ten blocks in the other direction.

James had a quick look at a couple of menus, I explained that I was a veggie and therefore cause problems, and after a hesitation which included wandering another block further down the street we picked a pizza place called Barcleit Faduls, which was utterly empty apart from a bored waitress counting her numbers on the telebingo.

We sat down with the menus for a good five minutes trying to work out what to eat and ended up with half a pizza each, his with spinach and mine with mushrooms, and, boy did he have some spinach on the pizza!

While we sat there waiting, a slightly tipsy girl walked into the restaurant and ordered a take-away, then saw our guidebook sitting on the table and started talking to us.

"Hi," she said, "Id just like to let you know that Im not American."

Which is possibly the strangest conversation opener that Ive ever heard.

We invited her over to join us and swapped names, thirty second life stories ("Youre a linguistics undergrad as well. Fantastic!") and sat there eating pizza and drinking wine for another hour and a half, until midnight hit us.

Still the only people in the restaurant, it would have been rude to have kept the family awake any longer, so we elected to find a pub somewhere.

The Canadian, Katie, knew just the place. "Theres this bar," she explained, "the Lenin bar. Its a few blocks down, on the seafront".

Not knowing any better, we followed her out into the street and down to the increasingly breezy and chilly seafront, walked a few blocks further down and then up into a house come pub which upon entry featured a big picture of the Beatles.

Aaah, the LENNON Bar.

We sat ourselves down and one of the barstuff came over with some menus. Uninspiringly, I bought a beer while James and Katie bought some strawberry daiquiri, although when they arrived they just tasted like sugar with sugar on top. I have never tried a drink so sweet in my life!

Katie found a fellow Canadian to talk to, except he wasnt Canadian, he was Quebecois ("damn separatists!") so James and I had a conversation alone until she returned. James went to bed early leaving me and Katie to sit there and talk increasing nonsense until about 2:30-3ish when we decided that it was probably bedtime if we were to see anything of the city tomorrow.