Llama Drama

Well I promise that this is my final blog- of this trip anyway. I am currently back in La Paz for a night and have forced myself to leave my luxury suite at the Ritz and taken the lift 7 floors down and sat myself in the business centre in order to bring this blog up to date and to a close. What has been happening in the last 3 weeks in Sucre? Well, I am currently in the process of adopting a 4 year old orphan called Jesus and am engaged to a 23 year old medical student from the Bolivian jungle called Luis-Enrique and tomorrow I make my way to the UK from La Paz and will be carrying 50 grammes of cocaine up my jacksy. Only joking!

OK the truth now. I have been toiling away at the Sayariy kids centre in Sucre, where fortunately Lorna was kind enough to join me for her last week, which meant I could laugh until my stomach hurt as the littlies tackled her to the ground, combed her hair with lousey combs and wiped lechuga green snot on HER back. Jesus does exist!!!- as in a really cute Bolivian child with a large head, who impressed me by putting his chewing gum in the bin before going in for breakfast, only to retrieve it again on the way out and pop it back in his rotten tooth filled mouth! Que malo! Lorna and I gave the children affectionate nick-names such as "Mob Boss'' - Jauncito, who carries a plastic knife and randomly punches other children and would look so good in a junior production of "West Side Story", "Bitches 1 and 2", Rosmeri and Rilda- rather self-explanatory, who are a little more able than their companearos and who bully and are snidey with sweet smiles on their chops, "Individual Child''- a roly poly child with more going on in his stomach than head, who is either smiling or crying depending on whether he has been smacked, or had his bobble hat nicked by one of the others, ''Toilet Girl''- who wears a bright red sombrero and spends 20% of her day in or around the smelly ninas bano and Carlitos, who always gets his snotty way. Apart from being on call at play time to give piggy backs or hurl the children down the yard slope or swing them round etc we proved useful in class time by hand-tracing 45 copies of pictures of Pinnochio, a butterfly and Father Christmas - think they were making the most of us for the rest of the year. Another riveting task was sharpening pencils for the children whilst they coloured in Disney pictures. The little blighters I am quite sure deliberately broke the lead in order to make me sharpen it again and as a result I got a stonking great blister on my right thumb. I suffered for the little children.

Touristic wise, I took a few days off from the kids at the end of my stay because I was bored and at times being left to teach 15 of them when a teacher was absent, and paid a visit to the Casa del Libertad and the Cathedral ecclesiastical museum and got to wonder at the revered Virgen de Guadalupe, who I must say did not look that modest considering the amount of stones and general bling attached to her outfit. Once again there were enormous religious pieces made of silver that could do with a spot of polishing or returning to the poor congregation. I also made a trip out to Tarabuca for the impressive craft market with Lorna and Jess, a physio from Tasmania, from the adjoining flat and my new flatmate John, who by some fluke we managed to lose in the crowds, oops!- and that really tells you all you need to know about him apart from the fact that we all found him to be a slothful, repulsive and stupid person but who did initiate an amusing game amongst we chicas of "Would you rather..." , an example being "Would you rather spend 2 weeks in a Bolivian prison or lick the soles of John's feet?". I also went a couple of times to the Musef to look at the 30 weird and wonderful festival masks from around the country and an exhibition on the diferent peoples who make up the population. Jess and I tried a few times to get into the main museum complex which has 3 separate areas/galleries, but it was always closed for work. Regardless of this everything in Sucre closes down for 2 hours over lunch, which shouldn't be that surprising because of the pace of Bolivian service in most restaurants, and we made a fruitless trip out by taxi to Castella Glorieta, a rich woman's folly now in a military compound, even though the people in the tourist office had said it would be open in the middle part of the day. However Jess and I did wait by the flower sellers outside the gates of the main cemetry until it opened at 2pm. It was worth the wait as we were met with neo classical temples and small art deco houses, far nicer than the homes of the average live citizen, for the remains of prominent Sucre families. For the middle classes there were tens of thousands of microwave shaped boxes with windows stacked 10 high in walls and each had photos or offerings inside, including miniature bottles of beer and Singani for those who'd liked a tipple on earth. 95% of these memorials contained fresh flowers which is testament to the esteem that Bolivians hold for their ancestors and also to older pre-Christian traditions. It does make you think what you would you would leave for your nearest and dearest.... Sorry Mum and Dad, I wouldn't deliver a "Telegraph" each day! Obviously there have also been some "Sucre by Night" tours with local guides and so we have sipped cocktails at "Florin", boogied at "Joy Ride" and been taught the steps and whisked around the floor in traditional fashion at "Mitos" until 6am by the good citizens. In order to recover from these escapades Jess and I made a thorough study of the saltena - a pastie like pastry shell filled with chicken, beef or pork and little surprises like olive and egg and lashings of a hot thin gravy- by visiting the various outlets of Sucre. I have to say they put "Ginsters" to shame even if the crust is a little sweet for my tastes and it is an art form to eat them without the juices escaping down your chin and hand.

It has been an incredible 16 weeks and I have visited some truly amazing places and met some wonderful people and I will return to South America one day and in the meantime I plan meet up again with some of the friends I have made along the way. For now my focus, after I have had a couple of rums, a hot bath and a few hours sleep in my luxury suite, is the long journey home to my family and friends there. I am also thinking a fair amount about mugs of tea, roast beef, curries, chesse, real ale and kippers and am scared of being strip searched en route in Miami!

Hasta la vista, chicos. I hope you have enjoyed the journey.

On Tuesday night, after a busy day at the office, I joined Wendy and Ilona and Lorna and Jess from the neighbouring apartment for a 2 course neo French meal at Origenes with ethnic dance show for the princely sum of 120BS or 12 pounds! To quote from their blurb:
"The folk Shows “Orígenes Bolivianos” and “Orígenes de la Libertad” are an extraordinary alternative to have a near contact to the bolivian culture and to enrich your stay in Sucre, the White City of Bolivia. Where tradition and culture are translated into rhythmical songs, colours and magical dances that make this country unique. Skilled dancers will take you to an imaginary dancing ride across the altiplano, the valleys and the flat lands of this country, through the masks and costumes to make you discover the knowledge of bolivian people."

Our table was smack bang in the middle so we had the best seats for this overly long show which fully demonstrated what would happen if morris dancers were given a mixture of hallucinagenic drugs and cocaine, some Blue Peter style homemade instruments and a fancy dress box to do with what they liked. The costumes and dances were remarkably diverse and I am pretty sure that back in the day some jungle Bolivianos had some really bad trips. Undoubtedly the highlight of my evening was when we lucky people sitting at the front were dragged- I mean invited- to join the dance troupe on stage and I, full of my dinner and several strong cuba libres, was whirled around by a guy in a giant Punch outfit, or rather I was treated to "SHARING WITH THE TOURIST: Origenes Bolivianos when concluding the show share directly with the tourists even bringing near them but to the culture and Bolivian tradition Making participates them of the musical style and the popular expression, where men and women demonstrate their beauty and strength with their contagious rhythm." Enough said.

On Wednesday I got a text from Ramani-mal of the "Other Group" to say that she was in town on her new tour and was going out later for dinner at "Joy Ride" with her new chums and would I care to join her. I did and was met with a table of 20 of her travelling comrades and was made with the rest of them to wear a party hat! In spite of a long wait for our food, in which time Ramani and I quaffed a fair amount of Bolivian red, it was a good night but because of school the next day I retired at 10 just as the tequilas were going round- Ramani later told me that their tour guide JJ downed 25 shots and had to go to hospital the next day. I imagine he passed on the hang-gliding.

Thursday I was delighted to be released early from my duties at the child day centre but on getting the bus into Sucre city centre had to bail out early because many of the streets had been blocked off for the Independence Day celebrations the next day and my way was obscured by 10s of Bolivian marching bands- who got right up my nose!! A kind elderly Sucre man, who was a passenger on the bus, took pity on me and showed me around the processions to the Plaza 25 Mayo and thought it hilarious when I said to him in Spanish that Bolivians are very patriotic. Mind you judging by the number of police with guns on the streets I don´t think they have much choice. Friday was Wendy and Gordon´s last night in Sucre and they were quite down after saying goodbye to the children and staff in the orphanage where they had worked for the last 4 weeks, so we went to "Amsterdam" for a pre-prandial drink and then "Napoli" their favourite pizzeria. After this we found a little place where it was happy hour so 2 Cuba libres could be had for a couple of quid. Bolivia sure can be value for money.

On Saturday Ilona and Lorna left early for their bus to Uyuni and I did a fry-up for those who craved fried bread and bacon. The cleaner came to prepare Ilona´s and Wendy and Gordon´s rooms for new incumbents and sadly she was forced to properly clean whilst she had the TV on as we were in the flat. Actually we didn´t mind the telly being on as it showed that president Evo Morales was in town and was already at 7am pressing flesh with the residents of the poorer of parts of Sucre. So Wendy, Gordon and I made our way down late morning to the Plaza where an enormous crowd had gathered outside La Casa de la Libertad inside of which was Morales meeting local dignatories in the Salón de la Independencia. Simon Bolivar founded the republic in this building and it houses the Bolivian Declaration of Independence. The square was chock full of members of the military-including all five members of the Bolivian Armada who patrol their end of Lake Titicaca- armed with banners, machine guns and great big white euphoniums which blocked my view of the casa door as did a bored and hungry child on his father´s shoulders. Morales´ long speech was broadcast to we hoards outside and he waffled on, bigging up the importance of the indigenous people, of which he is one and who are his main power base, as well as his continued support of the coca growers- he was once a coca grower and union leader and they don´t just make tea with it, sniff sniff - and decrying capitalism and North America - the USA have given aid in the past to Bolivia but in return insisted on destroying large swathes of the coca crop as part of the US´s "War on Drugs" and Americans are one of the few nationalities who have to apply for a Bolivian visa. Morales clearly portays himself as a man of the people and has come out with some George dub-ya style statements in the past, such that eating too much chicken makes you homosexual and that education is not important- after all look where he is today. One of his principal political allies is Hugo Chavez!

Still we waited in the square amongst the people for their leader to appear as countless flags were waved and the sun beat down on the expectant BO-livianos. Eventually Morales wound up his propoganda and we waited as other dignatories filed out of the doorway and security guards spoke on mobiles and generals twitched, for the great leader to emerge. Then the euphonium and child went up again and we caught a flash of the red, yellow and green sashed presidente before he was whisked into a black SUV which sped off around the block. A sense of diappointment pervaded the crowd as the red carpet was rolled up and the presedential "step" was bundled into the boot of another Jeep and also made off at speed. We ambled about a bit and walked across to the town hall on another side of the square, in the direction of which the cars had gone, which has a balcony which would be perfect for a presidential wave and waited some more, but to no avail. Then we realised that there was a procession in progress on the side of the Casa de la Libertad, where people had re-convened, at the head of which was El Presidente. The security plan had out Day-of-the-Jackal´d us! Then as if by magic Morales reappeared on one of the wooden balconies of the Casa and we got our pictures! Happy, we retired to Cafe Biblioteca for a cerveza only to be treated to more marching bands outside the window made up of Bolivianos wearing olive tassled lampshades and a whole "regiment" in canary yellow bell-boy outfits- could be a cunning disguise in the jungle.

That afternoon Wendy and Gordon showed me around the fantastic local market, where I stocked up on ingredients for a typical Bolivian ratatouille and they bought supplies for their 12 hour overnight bus ride to Cochabamba. As we made our way back to the flat we spotted motorbike outriders and stopped on the corner of Calvo and waved at the white stretch SUV as Morales´cavalcade drove past and got some toots of the horn back in response - guess that means we don´t look like yanks! Then we walked up beyond our street to the Mirador for a chilled lunch with fantastic views over the city before Wendy and Gordon grabbed their rucksacks and set off for the remainder of their year long odyssey around South America.

To get to my place of work I leave my apartment at 0800 and walk for 10 mins and then get either bus (15 seaters) 3 or A through the city and along a whole 3 mile stretch of car mechanics and services- one on which is called 'Laura Lubricantes' tee hee- until the bus terminates its journey in a "residential" dirt-roaded area on the outskirts overlooking the industrial edges of Sucre. The bus ride takes 30mins and costs the princely sum of 1.5 BS (about 15 pence). On my first chaperoned trip with Miriam the volunteer co-ordinator we took Bus 3 but on my first solo day I took A and got out as instructed, wthout having observed my surroundings, when the bus came to a final halt but on alighting could not find the road with the centre so I asked one of the A drivers whether they went past the terminus for the 3s and he agreed to take me for the flat fare of 1.5 BS and drove me 50 yards! You've been gringa'd!!!

The centre is on a steep dusty road with half finished houses in which families scratch about for a living and populated by dozens of 'wild' dogs- you can tell whether a dog has an owner in Bolivia because those that are wear clothes, poor things. The building has a blue metal gate which is guarded by a naked Bobby the dog who lies in a sunny patch outside and lets the children poke him beneath the gates in exchange for a large bowl of their leftovers after lunch. He keeps the other dogs at bay sustaining a limp on one occasion, when a pack attacked him and his grub. Inside is a yard with a circular slope for the kids to play on and 2 banos, one for the ninas and one for the ninos and a seperate one for the adultos. It is best not to get too close to the kids' toilets as they stink and there is clear evidence of wall decoration or 'picking' on the tiled walls- I am told by a traineee social worker that this is a sign unsurprisingly of abandonment. There is no running water so for flushing, cooking and cleaning water is extracted from a big dusty tank in the yard. Off the yard is a large dining area and kitchen with little tables and chairs for the children and charts detailing rules for the children, although they can't read, and the dates of the kids' and helpers' birthdays. There are 2 classrooms along the side of the yard and other 'rooms' on the ground floor and an entire first floor that are unfinished and are just breeze blocks with an un fenced off or ballastraded concrete staircase.

The children who are aged between 2 and 5 are dropped off between 8.45 and 9.30 by their mothers or a sibling and are given bread baked on site and jam to eat by Francisca the cook and a mug of camomile tea- not that this has any calming effect on them. Those that have finished their breakfast go into the yard to play and if I am there, ask me to swing them round - this makes me quite dizzy, I suppose it is my age- or they climb onto me and I feel a bit like Gulliver walking around with 5 children hanging off me. If I am sitting in the yard they will just come up to me and sit on my lap or hug me as I suppose that they are deprived often not just of material things but also of love and attention. It is hard to resist their cries of "Tia" -aunt- and I can understand why I was subject to a full Criminal Records Bureau check as it could be a Paedo's paradise. On the whole the children are filthy with thick green snot constantly oozing from their nostrils, which usually snail trails its way onto my clothes and horrible chesty coughs. They are layerd in dirty clothes as it is considered winter here but frankly it is like an early English May day and have scuffed ill-fitting shoes with soggy laces that I have to tie. One thing the children wear 95% of the time though is a gorgeous smile even if they do reveal appallingly rotten toothy pegs!

There are 2 teachers, Leonor and Rosmeri, who take the older and younger children respectively and I alternate days with each of them. Leonor prepares her class for when they leave and go to school and they learn the days of the week, months, numbers, parts of the body and important dates- including ironically Fathers Day. One of my first tasks was to trace by hand, using the light of a window, 15 copies - no photocopiers here- a picture of a flag next to which was a little girl standing upright with her right hand saluting her heart and a little boy slouching with his back to it. This was an exercise in preparation for the upcoming 6th August, or Dia Independencia Bolivia, so the children were instructed to scrawl a cross over the outline of the unpatriotic boy and to neatly colour in the girl with crayons and then they got to paint in the red, yellow and verde de lechuga-lettuce green- of the Bandana Boliviana. Quite a clear message being being taught there. The younger children's lessons are more about play with musical instruments and playing shop. I am teaching the wee ones 'Head, shoulders, knees and toes', which they already know in Spanish, as they already can sing in Japanese thanks to Nobo, who worked there immediately before me and who also occupied my room in the volunteer apartment. Late morning it is play time again- oh my muscles - and the children are all given a piece of fruit. Then there is time for some more lessons before lunch. I was shocked on day 3 to see Leonor and her charges troop up the dangerous staircase, each carrying a chair, to the unwalled first floor for classes in the sunshine. Health and safety does not figure highly in Bolivia.

Before lunch 2 plastic bowls are filled with cold water from the butt and the kids wash their hands with 'Liz' brand liquid soap, leaving behind a brown soup in the sudds. The kids are joined at lunch by about 10 older children and siblings who come from their schools or home and they each get 2 hot courses, usually a cabbage soup with lumps of unidentified meat followed by a carbohydrate with more carne. One of the carbs I helped Francisca prepare were 'tunes', which look like chestnuts but are dried blackened potatoes, which are broken up into pieces and boiled with ground up peanuts. They were fairly tasty but I have taken the decision to decline the lunches eaten by the children and helpers for fear of upsetting my western stomach, which is already at serious danger from hygiene at the centre, so I take a packed lunch with me. Thank you, Jane, for the anti-bacterial paper soap- this has been indispensible! After lunch the kids have another play to try to exhaust their dauntless energy and then it is time to have their hair washed by Rosmeri with another bowl of cold water and combs. On the first day I foolishly let some of the girls run a filthy wet comb through my hair and feared that I would get lice but the good thing is that nits would show up against their jet black hair. This is also the time that Leonor hoses down and cleans the toilets and yard and Francisca cleans the dining area before afternoon lessons and storytelling.

Wednesday was a big day at the school as there was to be a fiesta grande to celebrate the birthdays of 3 of the ninas. On my arrival Francisca, Leonor, Rosmeri and Romita the administrator were putting the finishing touches to 2 enormous cakes so I helped with the breakfasts and veg prep for lunch. Then the children began to arrive in their best bib and tucker, which consisted of white and pale mauve dresses for the girls- their first communion dresses I presume- and black trousers, shirts and ties on elastics for the boys. Jesus-he lives- was a sight in a little black bow tie and trousers that he had outgrown at mid-calf. The children were robed in yellow and blue house coats to protect their finery and spent the morning dancing in the yard to Bolivain folk tunes and popular hits. Then it was party time and Ailen, whose mum had provided the Ben 10 and princess party bags, deigned to show up at school in a long lacey yellow dress with matching sparkly knitted bolero cardie and hat, with a regal air, every inch the superior Leo princess- and I should know because I was one. Pretty linen tablecloths had been put out and there were party cups and bowls with jelly for the guests and a tape playing feliz cumpleanos and each of the birthday girls- Gilda, Maria and Ailen- took it in turns to blow out the four candles on the cakes. Then there was a peculiar tradition of each of the girls taking the first bite of the cake by actually burying their faces in the icing which I thought a good one even if it did offend Princess Ailen's dignity.

Working at the centre is absolutely knackering but incredibly rewarding and I have checked my American Airlines baggage allowance and reckon I could take Carlitos and his little brother home with me! Most days I finish at 4pm but was I must say quite delighted on Thursday when Rosmeri told me that it was a half day and that the centre was closed the next day as it was a public holiday in honour of Saturday's independence day celebrations and the arrival in Sucre of Evo Morales, El Presidente.

Arriving in La Paz courtesy of the 11 hour night bus from Uyuni at 0700 on my ??th birthday we headed for the 60s time warp that is Hotel Eldorada, where I had booked a room for the night, and pleaded for them to allow me an early check-in so that Cath and I could each shower and change our filthy salt-encrusted clothes. They were merciful and it was my third best ever shower after Glastonbury '99 and Jatun Sacha (Galapagos jungle prison camp). We then bagged up our filthy clothes and took a taxi (my day - not puffing up hills at altitude) to Oliver's Pub via the laundry for a full English fry-up with pint of Tetley's (tea not bitter). The pub is now run by Cass from Birmingham (Villa fan) who used to drink in Worcester with the rugby team and who charged me half a Boliviano for brown sauce with the proud boast that he owns every bottle of HP in South America.

The remainder of the day was spent relaxing but in the evening we were able to catch up over a Thai meal with the "Other Group" (minus Ramani who had started another tour) and were pleased to see that Andy, Kristy, Fi and Nic had survived the death road. Cath went at 0500 the next morning for her day of flights to Buenos Aires and I spent a morning watching third rate films before transferring to the Hotel Ritz where I was shown to an enormous suite with 3 sofas, dining area, kitchenette/bar, bathroom and bedroom with twin double beds- all for little ol' me and my first night in a bedroom on my own for 12 weeks! So I donned the towelling robe, foregoing the $4.50 slippers) and zoned out in front of a John Lennon biopic (with Christopher Eccleston), attacked the Bolivian priced mini bar and snacks and made use of every one of the ten ashtrays dotted about the suite. The chap on reception rang up to say that Ximena from the project in Sucre (next stop) had rung to say that there would be no one to collect me from my flight and to give the address to which I needed to get a taxi, so I kindly asked him to write down the address and I would pick it up from reception when passing as at that time I was unable to move from the sofa. Much as I was enjoying this decadence I had arranged to meet up with Lauren who was back from her tour of Uyuni, Potosi and Sucre, so I swigged my free Singani cocktail welcome drink in the hotel bar and took a taxi up to Oliver's and had a very pleasant typical Bolivian meal of roast chicken with stuffing and a few pints of bitter. Then it was back in a taxi to my suite for a couple of rum and cokes from the fridge and a marathon "House" session.

Sunday morning it was time to walk a couple of miles and gather my belongings together from where they had been scattered on the plushly carpeted floor and re-pack for my flight to Sucre. Arriving there in good time in my courtesy taxi I was really not very surprised to hear that my travel company "Real Crap" had misinformed me that my flight had been brought forward and I therefore had to pay 30BS (£3) to transfer to the earlier flight which was anyway delayed to the time of the original flight! I also was not confident when I touched down at Sucre (rather bumpy over the mountains) that I had the right address to go to as when I had asked a female receptionist (who seemed to be on a 20 hour shift) for the address left by her male colleague she was unable to find it but could give me that of the organisation's office (on a Sunday). Sure enough when I got there driven by a chap accompanied by his lady wife, in cab which had no functioning dials whatsoever, the place was locked up. The cabbie's wife kindly (well I did tip well) let her mobile be utilised and I was able to contact Ximena and get to my apartment for the next 4 weeks on Calle Padilla.

It was good to see Lorna again and she welcomed me selflessly by giving me some of her chocolate cake and some chocolate milk and I met the other volunteers: Gordon and Wendy (from Poole), Ilona (from the Netherlands) and Jess (fom Oz). Having properly unpacked and hung my clothes in my single room (what bliss), Lorna and I made our way 3 blocks away to the lovely Plaza 25 de Mayo to meet up with Wendy and Dave (from the "Other Group") and went to Florin where I had a lovely proper European cheese platter and red wine. Life was good in the beautiful Ciudad Blanca (the centre has white Spanish colonial buildings) but I still didn't know what voluntary work I would be doing there for the next 4 weeks.

Monday morning and Wendy and Gordon from my apartment kindly walked me to the office and I met with Miriam the volunteer co-ordinator who explained that I would be the sole gringo working at a centre for 2-5 year old fatherless street children, a 30 min bus ride from the city centre and that it would be preferable if I worked there all day. This was a bit of a shock as the other volunteers all worked together within walking distance at schools and orphanages and finished at 1pm. I arranged to return at 2.30pm to visit the centre with Miriam and in the meantime went to the local supermarket (SAS) and shopped with abandon in the knowledge that I had access to a fridge/freezer. Having hauled my bounteous bags back to the apartment I then took enormous pleasure in cooking a pasta sauce from scratch (I hadn't cooked for almost 3 months!) to have with meatballs for my flatmates later that night. I also hid 2 bottles of red in my room as alcohol is prohibited in the volunteer apartments but obviously this is a rule to be broken (we work with children!) and Wendy had already shown me one of 2 bins in the city where they surreptitiously drop their empties like the tunnelled out dirt in "The Great Escape". I was soon to realise that I would need a few to chill out with after a day "at the office".

Our journey across the border into Bolivia was stress free and even Lorna was allowed over without having to do a bit extra. We stopped at Copacabana for lunch and my first taste of Bolivian beer, Huari in this case. What was obvious was quite how much cheaper things are. Then we had to hop on another bus for La Paz which had to cross Lake Titicaca and we were placed in a diesel filled launch on the choppy waters and on getting to the other side had to watch our coach containing all our belongings wobble precariously on a barge. Jhonn our guide travelled separately from us behind his shades as he didn´t want the Bolivian authorities to suspect that he was with us and therefore working in the country. Very 'poncho and dagger'. Having driven through El Alto, the highest city in the world, we arrived in the still pretty high La Paz and hotel Eldorado. Eldorado is an absolute delight as the decor is straight out of 'Mad Men´and wouldn´t look out of place in an interiors magazine but is 100 percent original in shades of brown and pistachio. I took great pleasure in smoking a cigarette in reception and then putting it out in the ashtray by the lift. Thre is also a ´sky bar´where I can see Stirling and Draper having a couple on the rocks before having a couple of would-be models on the brown leatherette sofas.

Friday was our last night with Jhonn the guide and he took us to the top floor glass restaurant of a swanky hotel for dinner which had fabulous views of the lights of La Paz ascending on all sides. Kate and I tried some Bolivian white wine with our first course but did not continue this into our main meals as it was a touch acidic and water was for once the better option. I got carried away with the whole retro feel of La Paz and ordered a seafood vol au vent for my starter which I regretted at midnight when the prawns got to swim again in my hotel toilet and I remembered that thanks to Chile Bolivia is a land-locked country. It was strange to hear, when we had made our main course selections and the waiter came back to tell us that the ¨Llama was off the menu¨- we were all quite disappointed as we wanted to compare it with the Peruvian alpaca we had enjoyed. Anyway the food was passable - or was it for me- and It came to about 14 quid in one of the most exclusive restaurants in the city.

Saturday was a very early start because somehow the reduced oxgen to our brains had persuaded us to book through Freddy, Jhonn's Bolivian counterpart who was continuing Swiss Rolans and Lauren´s tour, a day's mountain biking down the ¨Death Road¨- that road that was featured in the Top Gear Bolivia Special when sadly in overtaking Jeremy Clakson did not fall 600 metres to his death. This entailed a 43 mile ride descending from 4650m in the freezing cold at La Cumbre, through a Coca-Cocaine checkpoint to 1200m and the jungles of Coroico with associated biting bugs. I have to say that I was quite glad that the clouds were low that day and in most places we could not see how far the road dropped away to our left. One rider in another group did slip on the wet gravel and go over his handlebars and the side of the road but was at a less dangerous point and able to hang onto some foliage before being dragged up to safety - silly yank showing-off! The Yungas Road did not earn it´s sobriquet for nothing. I can honestly say that I only participated for the Survivor T-shirt.

Our ride back to La Paz in the Madness mini-bus was on the ¨new road¨ though this actually is not properly paved and has been hit by landslides so was not really much of an improvent. We went with Freddy to Mongo´s bar for some food and celebratory drinks and for once I ducked out early after the adrenaline come-down and aching forearms got he better of me. Classic Michael quote as we sat in a bar at Coroico whinging about the muscular pain in our arms and hands from gripping the brakes on the juddery surface- ¨I feel like I´ve w****d off a horse¨. Even better was him asking Lauren whether Kiwi was her official nationality and her replying that she was pretty sure it said New Zealand in her passport.

On Sunday morning Bee and I were the only ones up early enough to take up Freddy´s offer to show us around La Paz and he was able to explain the political turbulence of Bolivia´s history and show off the associated buildings with bullet holes. We also went to the Witches Market and although I didn´t shell out Bolivianos on a dried llama foetus I did buy some ceramic charms as gifts and learnt of their meaning such as a condor for good travel, a frog for money and a llama for friendship. A more obvious object being sold was a 12¨ candle in the shape of a couple embracing around an erect penis- I think if you invited someone round for dinner and lit that they may pick up on the nuances of the symbolism. Swiss Roland and Lauren left at lunchtime for their tour to Uyuni, Potosi and Sucre. In the afternoon Cath - known as 'stralia, Michael and myself, tried to get ourselves into the infamous San Pedro prison, where we had heard that for a big enough bribe to the guards you could get a tour inside where the inmates have to buy their own cells, run shops and the top drug dealers live in luxury with their families. Alas the police were having none of it and I instead picked up a copy of ¨Marching Powder¨ by Rusty Young an account of the experiences of a British inmate Thomas McFadden who was jailed there for drug trafficking and used to give tours inside. Many of theese tours would end up with gringo tourists sampling the wares of the cocaine labs, which the prison authorities allow in the prisoners' cells- provided of course they get a cut of the profits and products. I since learned that these unofficial tours were stopped on January 1st 2011 as the building is unsafe and it was feared that a visitor might get injured!

On Sunday evening a group of us took a 10min cab ride to the Mega Centre, an enormous mall and multiplex where the rich Pacenos like to flash the cash´, to see a film which turned out to be the last Harry Potter as no others were in English - que malo! We found the ending a little trite and were still laughing about it in the cab on the way back when suddenly the driver stopped on a dual carriageway and without saying a word reached across to the glove compartment by Laura and pulled out a wheelnut jack. We all held our breath as he got out of the car and lifted the bonnet and we half expected some accomplices to suddenly appear from the verge and beat and rob us blind. As it turned out he used the tool to loosen something in the engine and some steam came out and he got back in and we drove back with very pale faces.

Michael disappeared back to blighty overnight and so to cheer ourselves up Kate, Laura, 'stralia and myself indulged in some retail therapy in the shops and crafts markets and then met up later with Australian Roland and Lisa, who had done the Inca Trail with us and who Laura had bumped into at her hostal, for some curry, pie and beers at Oliver´s Travels Pub. Then it was goodbye to Laura as ´stralia and I were off to Uyuni the next day and Nuestra was heading back to Quito on Thu and also farewell to Kate who was making her way to LA to start a 3 week trip camping with Americans every night!!! Kate, Laura and Michael had clubbed together to buy me a beautiful silver and stone bracelet with llamas for my upcoming birthday. Good shopping, Laura - I love it.

On Tuesday 'stralia and I made our way to El Alto airport for our 45 minute flight to Uyuni in a 20 seater plane. It was rather like flying in the inside of a kitchen roll tube and on landing ´stralia said that it actually hadn´t been too bad just a bit of turbulence - I had to correct her as the disturbance in the smoothness of the flight had actually been caused by the pilot eating a sandwich- there was no door into the cockpit and any hungry or angry terrorist could have stormed in there and whipped the controls and cheese and ham off him. Uyuni is essentially a one horse desert town and first stop on our trip, driven and guided in Spanish by Dionysio in his Lexus 4x4, was the train cemetry. Here we wandered around rusty hulks and were as unimpressed as Anthony and Katrein from Belgium who were also on our tour. Then it was on to Salar de Uyuni, the salt flats themselves, which are dead flat, white, very salty and stretch as far as the eye can see. You can play around here with perspective shots and Cath and I had mixed success trying to get a picture of a little Cath on top of a water bottle. The salt has a reflective layer of brine on it and in dryer parts divides into large hexagonal shapes. I wandered over to a sunglassed and shaded worker who was digging up salt, presumably for the lithium, who wanted 20 Bolivianos for me to take his picture so I took one long distance for free and thought at one point he might run over and crack me over the head with his spade. We wandered around Isla del Pescado which is made from coral left deposited in the evaporated salt of the ocean and is covered in enormous cacti, some of which are around a thousand years old. We then dined by the island with all the other passengers from the 2 dozen or so 4x4s and were introduced to some new passengers in our Lexus, a humourless French lesbian couple who immediately got pissed off that the Flemish Belgians preferred to speak English to French. This pair continued to be a 'delight' throughout the trip and begged the question why they had bothered to leave Mother France in the first place. Lunch however was llama- at last and very nice too- with quinoa and salad and for those who felt they needed it to enhance it- salt from Chile!

We drove on across to he edges of the salt flats to a colection of one storey buildings and were shown to 2 rooms- we let our French friends have their own- with walls and beds made of salt with a 4 inch layer of salt on the floor. This material did not stretch to the bathroom, which would have made for an interesting colour scheme, but once again the facilities were a little revolting and not helped by the other 20 French guests. There was electricity in the sleeping blocks but this was only on for the 2 hours whilst we were in the main building having supper and we spent the evening with the Belgians playing cards and drinking 2 bottles of red Cath and I had bought to send us off to sleep in the chilly salt bedroom. We are seasoned travellers! What can I say, I slept and woke up cured - boom boom!

The next day was an early start with an unschedueled stop in San Juan whilst the driver claimed he needed to change a tyre but really I think he nipped back to service the old girl he stopped to say hello to before dropping us off in the village. I took the opportunity to go round the little museum and necropolis and learned that back in the day the babies of nobles had their heads deformed into a cone shape to distinguish them - creepy. One D had done his business and ´stralia and I had replenished our wine supplies we set off through an incredible landscape coloured by the minerals in the earth and surrounded by volcanoes with views across to Chile. There was also a collection of rocks in which you could see peoples faces and the outlines of animals like puma and condors and lagoons with deep pink and green waters also coloured by the rich oxides. There had recently been an unseasonal amount of snow and the frozen remnants of this littered the vista making for an other wordly feel. My favourite sight was that off llamas on a a snowy shore in front of a deep rose coloured lake punctuated by the paler pink of flamingos. Yes, flamingos at 4000m in the freezing cold. Weirdness.

That night was in a similar affair to the night before, but of standard concrete construction and was even colder especially as the Frosty French pair shared a room with us all and temperatures dropped to -18. Still the wine guaranteed Cath and I an indisturbed night until the alarm at 0500 for a climb in the Lexus over the rocks to 5000m and some old geezers - of the sulphurous not cockney variety, though they can be both, bubbling and steaming away and reeking of rotten eggs in the biting wind. Then we drove down to a frozen lake with natural thermal pools on the sides which some lucky people plunged into- no cossie!- and bade farewell to Anthony and Katrien who were heading to Chile, and had a breakfast of pancakes in a warm building nearby. Just for the benefit of Georgina Stanley, I can confirm that the loos here were good, with a white porcelain pot labelled pipi at the front and caca at the back to avoid any confusion. They were excellent value at 3 Bolivianos a pop!

Then it was pretty much back the way we had come, giving a lift to a young man we picked up at the village we stopped at for lunch, who looked suspiciously like our driver, with a stop at San Cristobal where they were having their 2 day annual fiesta and men were going round looking like a cross between Elvis and an elf! The actual real roads were worse than all all the off-roading we had done and when we got back to Uyuni we thanked Dionysio for driving us safey and tipped him- unlike the French who I guess aren't used to them. That night we took the 8pm 11 hour coach back to La Paz, the first few hours of which were on unpaved highway and we shook violently but somehow I managed to sleep without red wine.