I arrive in a small town on the shores of Lake Titicaca in Bolivia. I have an hour-and-a-half wait for the fourth and final leg of my journey from Cuzco, Peru to La Paz.
So, after strolling down to the shores of the lake and taking a few snaps, what else is there to do other than have a quick look at my email, check a cricket score from Sydney and an FA Cup result from Gillingham? In the process I learn that Man Utd have just kicked off against Southampton. With 45 minutes still to kill, I decide to stroll down the road to see if I can't find a bar that's showing the match.
Twenty metres away I find a bar where the following exchange takes place: [transcribed in full and translated]
-Hi. Do you have ESPN?
-Oh, the English Cup?
-I'll put it on.
Sitting with a Coca-Cola I watch as United besiege the Southampton defence. AFter one critical tackle by Chris Perry on Micheal Carrick, the commentator runs through 35-year-old Perry's career, including a mention of... [drumroll]... WIM-BLEH-DON!
So far away from home and yet - in the new global village - so close.
Of course, a part of me thinks this is pathetic. I'm sure it would have been far more interesting and rewarding to travel Bolivia back in the days when ESPN was only available a few thousand miles to the north; an order of "coca" could only be made on dodgy street corners; and only the soccer anoraks of the country had ever heard of Man Utd, let alone Chris Perry.
But then, after a 14-hour, stop-start bus journey from Peru, it is nice to find a home away from home.