Before leaving Valdivia, I am able to take a final walk down to the river, where the pleasure boat Neptuno is tied up to the dock, guarded by a pair of old dogs who bark selectively at passers-by. The light is magical after a cold, sunny day. 

The overnight bus from Valdivia to Santiago covers 850 kilometres and, including a couple of unexplained stops, lasts 11 hours. On the plus side, the seats convert into quite comfortable beds, and with a warm blanket, a blindfold, noise cancelling headphones and a little white pill, the night can pass in a perfectly pleasant manner. 

We are a gang of Argentine (4), Mexican (2) and Welsh (1) writers, and I can only imagine that we present something of a spectacle. 

We pose outside the publishing house where there is anteresting example of literary graffiti that says 2666 huevos (eggs), which might be a commendation, of sorts. 

Without the time to commit to a serious excursion before our flight back to Buenos Aires, we drop off our bags at the LOM publishers office and meander – a posse of poets – without aim or purpose, around the streets of the city. 

As so often occurs when you enter flaneur mode, the world opens up to you. A few pictures describe, after a fashion, our circuitous path to the Sur Patagonico, our eventual destination.