Day 1. Santiago, Chile
This story really begins on day zero, when I got on the LAN Chile plane at Auckland airport and a flight attendant said "Hola". At this point the realization hit me that the 20 Spanish words I knew was only going to get me as far as saying "Hola" back. I used the 12 hour flight time to contemplate the ramifications of embarking on a solo adventure around a continent where this might just pose a problem.

Landing in Santiago, language barriers proved to be just the beginning of my woes as I proceeded to make the following errors in judgement:

a) no local currency
b) no accommodation booked
c) no map of the city
d) trusting the first friendly looking taxi driver
e) no idea of the exchange rate

In retrospect, it was really only (d) and (e) that would prove to be a problem. But all of these were intentional as I was here for an experience and this is exactly what I got when three men with minimal English bundled me into the back of a minivan after helping me to extract cash out of an ATM. I probably wouldn't recommend letting the locals help you get money out of the ATM, especially when you don't know the exchange rate, so let's call this mistake (f).

So there I am in the back of a van being escorted by three men ... ummm ... destination unknown, with a pocket full of a large quantity cash (I didn't take a wallet because I figured if I didn't have one, it wouldn't get stolen. Smart thinking huh?). I gathered my senses and took control of the situation by handing one of the men an address on a piece of paper that had a hostel I had heard about. He looked at it dismissively and suggested we all go back to his mother's house for lunch. It was really only at this point that I contemplated this might be the start of one of those violent abductions like I had read about and been warned of in numerous travel forums. But they were all very friendly chaps and after I insisted they take me to the address, we drove for about half an hour and they let me out in a dusty side street where none of the buildings had names and only the occasional faint house number through aged and peeling signs. They pointed to an entrance that had a buzzer and after each of them shook my hand for a tip, they drove off seemingly pleased with the transaction.

I did a quick pad down and inventory - all my possessions, limbs and organs were intact, so it turned out this was just a friendly lesson in customer service (It wasn't until later that night that I actually calculated the cost of that lesson. Don't ask). But they had in fact taken me where I asked, and although there was no room in the inn, I was directed to a nearby cheap hotel that would serve as my base for the next couple of days.

I didn't believe it at the time, but things would get better.