After six wonderful months in Colombia, I find myself once again driven to the road. Having ridden my motorcycle through the Andes; from Manizales to Ibague, through Pereira and Armenia, Cajamarca and San Luis, I find myself needing to turn my handlebars for new horizons.

Leaving somewhat involuntarily, as per a denied visa and a woman I loved once, I have opted to try my fortune rolling tourists in poker elsewhere, until my visa clock resets.

I've had the chance to try coconut bolis in small pueblos, play pool in Manizales, learn tejo in San Luis, deal with esmeralderos from Bogota, to make 250 friends, and to teach Colombian teenagers Russian-style combat riding. One day, I'll come back.

Even briefly opened a martial arts school, but that's a story for another Log entry, dear reader. Having survived four fevers, a concussion, gastritis, and food poisoning, I need a little rest somewhere on the sea.

My rucksack is fully packed; some minor repairs are needed for the ancient Honda Eco, a 100cc thumper, which I am confident I'll be able to do over a weekend. The fountain pen has a steady supply of ink, and my guitar is pending repairs at the luthiers.