My amazing, jovial, excitable and most wonderful father John Goldsmith passed away several years ago.

He died from cancer, a terrible disease that affects many thousands of families, The Garvan Institute of Medical Research is a world leader in biomedical research, pioneering study in the areas of cancer, diabetes and obesity, Alzheimer’s and Parkinson’s disease, osteoporosis, arthritis, asthma, rheumatoid arthritis and other immune disorders.

This August, Nico and I are taking part in the Sydney City2Surf a 15 kilometer run from the centre of Sydney to glorious Bondi Beach. We have a fundraising page and hope to raise (more than!!) $1200 to donate to the Garvan Institute so they can continue working towards their goal of prevention and cure of these major diseases.

WE NEED YOUR HELP! Please click here to donate online to our fundraising for the Garvan Institute.

We miss you John ♡

Ahh El Bolson — we were so sad to leave you — but the deluxe coach whisked us away leaving no time for regrets.

Eighteen short hours later, we had arrived in Mendoza, Argentinas largest wine producing region well known for its excellent Malbecs. At the first opportunity we were on the bus to Maipu to go and see Mr Hugo about a bicycle to ride around the vines. With our pop-up cycling group made up of us and two Spanish guys who rode on the bus with us, we made our way to Familia Di Tommaso, the oldest vineyard in the area. After a few glasses of red we made our slighly wobly way to the next stop on the tour, Tempus Alba where we shared a bottle of most excellent Rose. We finished the day with a glass or two of Absinthe which was akin to drinking windowcleaner and seemed to sear off our nasal hairs.

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We hope you enjoy these photos of Argentina while we are gone.

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After some gloriously lazy weeks in Punta del Este and a whirlwind tour of Bueno Aires with Elizabeth, Carlos and Delia, the desire to move became overwhelming. We were off – sans bikes and highly mobile.

First stop, Barbie’s apartment in Buenos Aires, we commandeered the house and stormed around the city in order to purchase all items necessary to become smelly backpackers; and so it was with thermal long johns in hand that we ran to the airport — destination Bariloche in the northern region of Patagonia.

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Clearly I did not live up to my wide eyed and optimistic enthusiasm of earlier this year, this post comes to you from glorious and sunny Punta Del Este in Uruguay.

But back to India…

On the overnight bus from Bangalore to Hampi, we finally got a ‘convenience stop’ (in the bushes by the side of the road) at around 3:30am, being long over my fear of peeing in nature and not to mention busting, I ran headlong into a patch of very vicious thorns. When I eventually found a place with no thorns and suitable cover, Nic, concerned for my welfare (rather than calling into the dark) shined his very bright torch on me, so everyone on the bus who cared to see my shiny white bottom could do so without having to strain their eyes. So when we decided to more on from Hampi rather than go through such a long bus ride (with no toilet) again, we instead made some pretty bad logistical decisions.

We decided to take an overnight train to Goa.

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The ninth of February marks our first anniversary of travelling together. In twelve months we have had some great adventures, laughs and most certainly tears. We have slept in some questionable lodgings, met some amazing, funny and downright strange people and of course experienced things that will remain with us forever.

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Obviously we have been in India for ages. Sorry for that but we have been busy, super busy in fact. Nic and I are now officially yogis in training and have been bending ourselves in unnatural ways once a day (almost) every day for the past two months.

We arrived in Bangalore from Morocco (straight from the frying-pan into the fire), after bribing the customs official to avoid (possibly, probably not) paying larger import fees on the bikes we made our merry way to Mysore – the birthplace of Ashtanga Vinyasa Yoga and our home for the next little while.

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Okay so we have been here in India for quite some time and it is glaringly obvious that I have become the worlds laziest blogger — well, one of them anyway — so glaring in fact, that being a better blogger has just become one of my New Year’s Resolutions.

So lets begin with that, shall we? They say that if you write something down you are much more likely to actually do it, so lets see about writing something down for all (of my family) to see.

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After a few days in Rabat we left the bicycles behind and boarded the 1:30pm train to Marrakesh, marvelling at how simple it is to catch a train without two fully loaded touring bicycles.

Our taxi dropped us off at Djema El Fna Square, and with the help of several shopkeepers and our trusty iPhone we made it to Riad Layla Rouge without too many problems, no mean feat in Marrakesh which, similar to Fes, is a myriad of criss-crossing alleyways and dead-end streets. And of course Layla Rouge doesn’t have a sign.

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