Bolivia

22 Sep – hungover.  Again.  Of course.  And still rather drunk, and very very sleep deprived.  So, we go to breakfast.  Much grumpiness by the two worst affected people – Ben & myself – which ’spills’ over into nastiness.  I pull the old trick of unscrewing the salt cap to the point where it looks like it’s on, but is not.  I think I’m doing it in plain sight of Ben.  Turns out, not.  Ben pours an entire shaker of salt onto his chips.  I can’t help but laugh – while trying to explain/apologise.  But he’s grumpy.  Then I get grumpy.  Then it gets worse, and Ben goes to sulk outside.  And I stay inside, still unable to hold my tongue.  Piss off Pen next, then finally manage to stick to my promise of holding my tongue to myself.

Next, Pen & I head to bus company office.  Ben is being an internet nerd.  Again.  Pen & I have to stop for a rest halfway.  A rest turns into Kruse throwing up into a rubbish bin.  Not feeling too well this morning, apparently.  Eventually we manage to get to the bus company office.  It’s closed.  We sit outside for an hour or two.  It’s siesta time, you see.  Eventually I go look for something to drink.  Find a hostel with beer.  Hope that beer will make me feel better.  Big gamble – but it pays off.  Manage to buy tickets, then head back towards Ben.  Find a small market on the way.  Fireworks.  96% alcohol.  Same shop.  Sold.  Kill time for a while with internet.  Let off one firework outside on the way to bus station.  Don’t touch the transparent killer booze.  Stop off at the pub from last night, to get a photo of our entry in their guest book.  Add a little to it.  Apologise to the owner, who doesn’t seem sure why.  And agree to one drink, to sooth my guilt a little.  He suggest the “I Don’t Remember”.  A special teapot type contraption.  7 shots of spirits in seperate containers, which gradually empty into the centre compartment which is filled with beer.  I gulp it down as quick as possible, as it’s nearly time for the bus to leave.  Possibly not the smartest idea.  But, it’s done, and then I hurry to the bus station.  Get on bus.  Rather comfortable bus, but possibly the most uncomfortable sleep I’ve had yet.  Get up to throw up into the toilet one time during the night.

So, get to La Paz on the morning of the 23 Sep, still feeling like crap.   Go back to the tried and true hostel.  Use their free internet to try and find a place I’d heard rumours of with a swimming pool.  But – no luck.  So check back in.  Then, I discover that the All Blacks game against Scotland is this morning.  And we’re wanting some food.  So, off to La Paz’s self-described “100% Fake English Pub”.  Don’t like the sound of it, but it’s the best bet for rugby.  And sure enough – it delivers.  A little late.  And with a very talkative american co-owner.  But good enough.  Until a little chap with a very high-pitched annoying voice sits directly behind us.  Very annoying.  Even before he starts talking about the haka to his friends.  I don’t think he made a single correct comment.  And then onto the weaknesses of the All Blacks.  After not long, I’m fuming.  His voice is not only annoying, and speaking nonsense – but is extremely loud.  I mutter under my breath for some time, but Ben is the first to crack.  The irish guy (turns out he’s irish) had said something about the All Blacks not having a chance to win the world cup, because of their weak defence.  Ben turns around to point out that their is a zero next to scotland on the board.  Then it’s all on.  I finally get dragged in to ask the guy if he’s talking to Ben, or the people at the opposite end of the bar.  My voice trembling with suppressed rage.  It wouldn’t have been so bad if he’d been talking nonsense to his friends at an appropriate level.  But he obviously intended everybody in the bar to hear his private conversation.  And there was an irish couple seated near us, who obviously were now cringing – ashamed of this chap.  And without talking to them, they’d seemed nice.  We talked to them afterwards, and they were indeed nice, and indeed were cringing about the little leprechaun.  Ahhh.. the leprechaun.  Several phrases which he used repeatedly (and by repeatedly, I mean over 10 times each):  ”I saw the game against Italy, and they really showed up the NZ centre defence” , “If they’re struggling to put Scotland away, there’s no way they can go much further” , “Scotland, I mean no offence (to his socttish friend), but they’re the whipping boys of the 6 Nations now” , “As soon as you face Australia or South Africa, they’re going to mop the floor with you”.  And yes, we did use certain facts to try to stop him from repeating himself.  The scores of the games against Italy & Scotland, for example.  And the result of the Tri-Nations.  But still, he’d just keep going.  Eventually I went and sat elsewhere.  I returned later, and Ben had managed to calm him down somehow, and they were discussing rugby in a normal tone, and it seemed to be rather more rational.  Pen & I chatted with his friends, who were much more restrained.

After a while, and getting the american guy to make bloody marys for the bar – by individually peeling, squashing, and filtering tomatoes – Pen remembered it was Sunday.  And therefore, the wrestling was on.  So off we went.  Figured out how to get there, and went there.  Taxi to the satellite city of La Paz – and queued up for tickets.  Ladies wrestling, is what it’s advertised as.  We’re forced to buy a “Tourist Ticket” – which is about 10 times the price of locals.  But they show us a pre-printed blurb to explain why – and please don’t argue.  It kind of makes sense, but obviously lies.  ”Protect the local atmosphere”.  Then, when we get inside, all the tourists are on plastic chairs right by ringside.  But, we get two free toilet passes – a free snack – and a souvenir.  Toilet passes – turns out there are 5 toilet stalls.  One with a sign on the door saying “Tourist Toilet”.  The girl at the toilet entrance unlocks the padlock on it when we want to use it.  Hmmm.  Free snack – not bad, a drink and a choice of chips or popcorn.  Souvenir – a tiny tiny little figurine of a woman.  Not a woman wrestler.  Just a local woman holding something.  Maybe a watermelon?  Too small to really tell.

But then, the wrestling.  Turns out to be normal pro-wrestling – mostly guys.  A couple of girls involved at the end.  But all in all, pretty cool.  There was a group of koreans(?) sitting near us.  One of the bad guys (dressed in military fatigues) came out, and teased the korean tourists with the old ”slant-eye” gesture.  Helping the tourists figure out the good guys from bad, I guess.  Not that hard anyway – the ref always hugged the bad guy when he got in.  The same ref for every match.  Bad guy.  At one point I stood up to threaten him, and security rushed in to make me sit down.  Thought the gringo couldn’t tell fact from fiction.  After not long, the crowd was throwing stuff at the contestants.  Fruit, empty plastic bottles, etc.  Anything.  Children running through the protective barriers to recover ammo.  I got my hand slapped by one wrestler.  Pretty happy.  Then, near the end, the fireworks started.  Not literally – unfortunately.  Wish I’d taken some though.  But, they started throwing each other over the protective barriers – into the crowd.  And of course, the crowd next to the barrier is all tourists.  The koreans took a couple of serious poundings.  Guys fully thrown over, and landing in their laps.  People and chairs flying everywhere.  Awesome.  The second time – about 8 people went flying, including the guy right next to me.  I was just on the right side of the border between amused spectators, and dazed unwilling participants.  I think that may have been one of the ladies that was thrown, actually.  Anyway – all in all a good night.  Rather tired by the end of it.

24 Sep – get up and figure we need to do some useful stuff.  First on the list – making sure Ben can actually stay a bit longer than originally intended.  He’s got agreement from work – so now we just need to see if he can actually change his flights.  So – off to see the airline.  Airline is closed for siesta.  We wander around a bit.  Back to airline.  Ben gets told there are no seats available for any appropriate days.  Dumb.  Do some shopping on the way back.  None of the jerseys fit me very well.  Which is a shame, because there were some spectacular ones.  Pen breaks a mirror.  Then, buy bus tickets to Lima for tomorrow morning (a 26 hour journey) and back to the hostel.  Ben confirms there are actually seats available – and we head all the way back to the airline.  It’s closed.  Dinner, then back to hostel.  Much walking today.  So, I brew up some coca tea.  I’ve discovered that if one chops up coca leaves, and drinks them through the yerba mate equipment – one gets a very odd feeling.  Rather hyperactive.  Then – somebody puts a DVD on.  The Transformers.  Sweet.  Ben rushes down, followed by Pen, and we watch Transformers, with coca tea and cerveza.  After this, Ben & I are wide awake – so we then put on The Simpsons.  Pen goes to bed.  2am or so – we’re asked to finish up.  Sure.  Have to be up at 7 anyway.

7am, 25 Sep.   We struggle up.  Not feeling the best.  Catch a taxi to the bus terminal, with the french guy whose DVD player and discs we watched last night.  Onto the bus.  Which is a van.  Drive to the Peruvian border – then we do Bolivia migration, walk across a small wooden bridge, to Peru migration – and then find our bus company.  Luggage has been dropped off – and we now apparently wait for an actual bus.  Got an hour to kill – so wander around the town.  Lots of street stalls selling DVDs.  Including Terminator 4, and Apocolypto 2 & 3.  For those of you who don’t know – these technically don’t exist.  To my knowledge, although perhaps they have come out since I’ve been away?  I doubt it.  I’ve been looking for Die Hard 5.  Back to bus company – and all our stuff and fellow passengers have gone.  Go to look for them, and succeed.  Yay.  Then, wait around while they clean the outside of the bus.  Onto the bus.  Pen & I have 2 of the Death Seats.  2nd floor, right up the front.  Most likely to die in case of an accident.  Sweet.  Comfortable though, as we can put our feet up on the window; and a good view of oncoming traffic – which sometimes isn’t such a good thing, as bus drivers here love to overtake.  Movies start to be played.  Some DVDs work, some don’t.  But – there’s a constant stream of them.  Constant.  Eventually, sometime after dinner is served, they stop.

26 Sep – more DVDs.   Breakfast.  Then, finally, Lima.  Pushy taxi drivers first thing in the morning after a 26 hour bus ride is not a good thing.  It only took the first guy two attempts at asking if I wanted a taxi before I lost the pleasant tone to my voice.  Didn’t quite snap, but was pretty close to.  But, eventually, we got ourselves together, and got a taxi.  Took us to a taxi he obviously gets a commission from – but then talked down the price for us.  So – we’ve got a place to stay.  And tired.  But – need to get Ben’s goddamn flight home sorted.  So, we have lunch, then find the airline office.  Busy.  With half the staff at lunch.  Ben takes a ticket.  Pen & I find the bar of a 5-star hotel, and have some drinks.  I drink reasonably priced beer, Pen drinks champagne cocktails.  The toilet has a huge bottle of listerine, with a pump lid.  I take full advantage.  Eventually Ben comes out.  Reckons it’s gonna cost a ludicruous amount of money to change his flights.  Dumb.  We head back to the hostel.  Pen & I find a supermarket.  Buy blue cheese, wine, and beer.  A man approaches me in the supermarket, trying to sell me marijuana and/or cocaine.  I find the concept of buying cocaine in a supermarket amusing, but decline the nice man.  I wonder what would he do if I insisted on taking it to the check-out girl for a price check?  Back to the hostel, and we sit outside with some pleasant beverages, and cheese.  Then, we head back towards supermarket.  Stop at travel agency – and buy luxury bus tickets to the northern border for tomorrow afternoon.  Ben & Pen return to the supermarket.  I return to the hostel, and wait for them.  They eventually return, laden with ridiculous foodstuffs.  Blue cheese.  Soft cheese.  Hard cheese.  Bread.  Vienetta icecream.  Artichokes.  Palm hearts.  Foie gras.  Sparkling wine.  Red wine.  I don’t know what else.  But we eat it.

27 Sep – sleep in a fair bit, and then spend a while at the breakfast table finishing leftovers from last night.  Eventually we leave.  Taxi to the bus station – and drop off our stuff.  Then, taxi to the centre of Lima.  Spot the famous Lima traffic jams on the way.  Not much time to do the main sights – but we’ll give it a go.  Marvel at the central square (is pretty cool) while rushing past it.  First – the Museum of the Inquisition.  Based in the base of the Spanish Inquisition for all of South America.  Not as big or impressive as I’d expected, but not bad.  A couple of lifesize models being tortured.  A large jury/parliament type room.  Where each desk has a Philips brand speaker with electronic voting device included.  The spanish inquisition was far ahead of it’s time.  And that’s about it.  Then – on to the San Francisco Monastery.  This had tickled my attention buds when I’d happened to read a line regarding the discovery of the catacombs.  In which there is the bones of 70,000 people.  Only discovered in 1951, they reckon.  So, we went there.  Very little time left.  Only option to see it is a guided tour.  We join a spanish language tour.  Cursing everytime somebody asks a question.  Nice library though.  And a couple of nice altars and churchy stuff and what-not.  Very nice in fact.  Catacombs are the last top.  Very very short on time now.  Into the catacombs.  Bones.  Lots and lots of bones, everywhere.  Ben and I sneak off down side passages, and find more bones.  Pits of bones.  Shelves of bones.  Rooms where each type of bone has been put into it’s own compartment.  So many bones.  But, eventually we run out of time.  The tour group has done a full circle of the catacombs – and the guide is about to show everybody a side passage which Ben & I had already sneaked down.  We take our leave, and scarper.  Find a taxi – and we’re off.  Taxi seems to take a different way back.  Seems to be heading further and further off track, into some less than busy looking streets.  I get a little nervous, but think we’re still going in vaguely the right direction.  Make sure that Ben is sitting behind the driver – so that in trouble we can both grab him.  Then Ben & Pen ask me if we’re going in the right direction also.  We wait a little longer – but I’m ready to try to drive the car from the passenger side after telling Ben to grab the driver from behind.  Then – tow truck, backing sports car into garage, blocks road.  Completely stops, while they offload the car.  We’re certainly past the time we’re supposed to be at the terminal – but with some time to spare until the bus actually leaves.  Tow truck takes it’s time.  Then, the truck won’t restart.  Nervous laughter.  Eventually, it moves.  And we get to the bus station without being kidnapped, and with the bus still there.  Yay.  We get on the bus.  But my can of beer is confiscated.  Dumb.  Take our seats.  We’ve put Ben right up the front, in a Death Seat – and Pen&I right down the back.  More movies.  Dinner.

Next update, we play bingo on the bus.  Also, cross the border into Ecuador, and hopefully get rid of Ben.

I’ve got a plastic bag next to my legs containing a one litre bottle of 96% ‘drinkable’ alcohol, and a dozen pieces of fireworks.  So I’m going to rush things a bit.

18 Sep – we went shopping.  Ben & I bought a suit each, while Pen sat playing with the young boy who liked to throw his food on the floor and sneak peeks at the big gringos trying on trousers.  We bought suits.  And ties.  Paisley ties, Moscow 1980 Olympics ties, and others.  Then Ben does his nerd thing for ages.  I buy more ties.  Big strong bear tie.  Big wide stripey tie.  Then we sit around.  Meet arsetralian Pete again.   From Rio.  Ran into him in Copocabana, and then he enters our hostel.  He has a girlfriend now, and doesn’t seem to want to play chess against Kruse so much anymore.  Fair enough – I wasted him last time.  And girlfriends are better than chess.

Anyway, we went to the bus station to get on our bus.  After a while, a lady leads us and other gringos to the bus.  Out of the bus station.  Along the road.  Across the road.  Along another road.  Reasonably long walk – enough to make the gringos start laughing nervously.  Eventually, we find a bus parked on the side of the motorway.  Then, we wait while locals load huge sacks of something onto the bus.  Ben feels not so good.  Ben is a hom.  One hour later – we get onto the bus.  Then we leave.  Finally.  Pen & Ben find it uncomfortable.  Fair enough, I guess.  Lingering smell of faeces (from when we were waiting – concrete canal of something which smelled suspicious).

19 Sep – we arrive in Uyuni a little late.  But early enough to get our stuff, go to tour agency and confirm we actually have a tour, and then breakfast.  I don’t get my eggs.  I like eggs, but he didn’t give them to me.  Dumb.  Then, into the landcruiser.  We have one arsetralian couple, and one israeli.  His name is weird, so I decide to call him Jude.  Short for judaism.  Our driver/guide is called Oscar.  We drive places.  Train cemetery.  Group of kiwis thinking they’re funny wearing cowboy hats and bandannas.  Ben & Kruse actually being funny wearing suit with tie.  Then, small town where they process the salt.  Buy trinkets – cup & dice made of salt.  Then, we get to the salt flat proper.  Salt flat is cool.  Big.  White.  Flat.  Salt.  Take a few inappropriate photos, then go on.  Stop again, more photos.  Don’t take advantage of the lack of perspective for cheesy photos.  Do take advantage of the large amount of white powder for cheesy photos.  More driving.  Salt hotel.  Hotel made of salt.  Have a beer.  Paddle in their pool, wearing suit.  Lick the wall.  Drive on – nearly leaving Penelope behind.  Not quite.  Oh well, maybe next time.  Island in the middle of the white.  Cactus which is 1200 years old.  German girl in bikini pretending to hug cactus.  Ben & Kruse in suits.  Lunchtime – we buy lots of cerveza.  Give Oscar one.  We kind of set the precedent regarding booze.  Drive on.  Another salt hotel.  Have a nice cuppa tea, and nearly watch sunset.  Drink whisky.  Drink beer.  Drink wine.  Teach israel & arsetralia the chinese dice game.  Drink more.  Eventually – bedtime.

20 Sep – up at 5:30.  Quick breakfast.  I eat nada, as hangover and dry bread do not mix well.  Into landcruiser.  Oscar drives us onto the salt, and we watch the sunrise.  Cool.  Then – onwards.  Us and arsetralians played the “What’s your favourite song about …?” game.  Good game.  It quickly turned into “Name every song you can think of about …?”  Better game.  Then we went to a pre-incan cemetery.  Mummies in rock holes.  One had a hat on.  One had his skull sitting next to his pelvis & spine.  Then we drove some more.  Saw some pink flamingos.  I scared them all away so that people had to walk to other places to take photos.  Then we drove some more.  Oscar drives good.  Another lake.  More pink flamingos.  And some white ones.  Lunch – and a very expensive (relatively) bottle of wine.  More driving.  Saw a big stone that looks like a tree.  It’s called the stone tree.  Inappropriate photos.  Or appropriate photos.  Depends on your perspective, I guess.  More lakes.  More flamingos.  Then a red lake.  Lake – very red.  Very pretty.  Then to a tiny settlement in the middle of the desert – and negotiate a room.  Arsetralians and kiwis are worried for a while.  No bar in evidence.  Kruse does the legwork, and finds one.  Buy cerveza.  Drink cerveza.  Discuss marrying a llama.  Buy more cerveza.  Drink it.  Kruse goes back, buys ALL the cerveza.  And a bottle of wine.  Rather cold by now.  Very very cold.  Drink the cerveza sitting around the fire.  Put balaclavas on.  Scare swiss girls in next room.  Ha.  Off to bed late and drunk, after being told we’re leaving at 4am.

21 Sep – I wake up to daylight.  Figure the whole 4am thing hasn’t gone too well.  The israeli is full of panic.  Tries to wake up Oscar.  Lady tells him to let Oscar sleep.  I want to tell him to let Kruse sleep – but I’m just too damned nice.  Eventually we all get up.  Nearly every other landcruiser is gone.  Three left.  Two with two flat tyres.  Including ours.  The raucous noise from the guide’s hut/quarter starts to make sense.  I notice many empty beer cans there.  Either drunken joke, or malicious anti-our-company – but either way Oscar is looking dishevelled, and we have two flat tyres.  And Oscar seems to have a bruise under his eye.  So – tyres re-inflated, and we’re off.  Oscar is rather obviously still drunk.  Some rather fast driving – but Ben & myself are happy – as we’re hoping to find out, and catch, whoever punched our Oscar.  Oscar does have several conversations with people we meet at various scenic points.  Nothing which seems like accusations though – so no biffo.  We see some lakes.  Green lake is my least favourite.  Geysers.  I don’t like geysers.  Then, a hole with steam coming out.  We have a genuine flat tyre.  I help Oscar change the tyre, and also play with the steamhole.  Throw rocks into it, and watch them fly up.  Find some snow – throw that in.  Snow is cold.  Very very cold at 5200m above sea level.  I roll the flat tyre over the steam hole.  Sweet.  More driving.  More lakes.  Llamas.  Start drinking whisky.  And playing the “Speights beer cap trivia game”.  Didn’t have speights.  Did have a bottle of whisky.  You figure it out.  Then we saw some big rocks.  I climbed a big rock.  More landcruiser.  More speights-beer-cap-game.  Finished the whisky.  Onto the bottle of wine bought last night.  Then, another flat tyre.  About 200 metres from the outskirts of Uyuni township.  Borrow a tyre from another landcruiser driving past.  Back home.  Sweet.

Then – try to get bus to La Paz.  But they’re all full.  So – decision made… a night in Uyuni.  Pizza for dinner, video camera filming band also seems to like us.  We act appropriately.  Or inappropriately – depends on your point of view, I guess.  Find a hostel.  Drop stuff of.  Drop Pen off.  Ben & Kruse go for a walk.  Pass on the gringo bar despite it advertising “No chickens”.  Drink at a restaurant next to a table of teenage german girls.  Talk serious stuff.  Growing old, marriage, children, wishing we were single so we could  do more than be looked at by 6 teenage german girls.  Restaurant closes.  We eventually settle for the “no chickens” gringo bar.  Order drinks.  Find a big scrapbook – inviting us to write which “extreme drinks you drank”.  No entry is too impressive, other than the entire page of unintelligible drunken scribbling.  We decide something needs to be done.  So we drink the bar.  If anybody has ever seen Ben and myself attempt to “drink the bar” – you’ll know what we did.  And we succeeded this time.  Then a little peroxide-blonde english chap tried to talk to us.  Bad idea.  Ben started picking a fight.  I was in full “Sorry about my mate, he’s a dick and drunk” mode.  But occasionally lapsed into “being Ben” mode.  Eventually little blonde pom and his friends invited us out onto the street to “talk about this some more”.  We agreed.  Then drank their beer while they waited outside.  I’m a lover, not a fighter.  Or maybe a drinker.  Ben being extremely smashed, and bar staff not being too keen on us anymore (used to be keen.  Given free drink out of a clay vessel in the shape of a female body – with a hole to drink from in a most inappropriate/appropriate location)  – we left.  Not too sure what happened after that.  Vague memories and blurry photos of Ben lying on the ground after falling over a knee-high fence in a park somewhere.  A little bit of climbing onto roofs.  Perhaps some breaking into the supper room of an expensive hotel.  Eventually got back to our hostel, after lock-down time.  Tried to break in, perhaps?  Got let in, I think.  Woke up Penelope with “not too sure if the police are after us”. 

And that’s the salt flats.  Highest salt flat IN THE WORLD.  Biggest salt flat IN THE WORLD.  Ten billion tons of salt.  Now is time for me to think of what to do with 96% alcohol and a box of fireworks.  Then bus back to La Paz tonight.

14 Sep – picked up early again from the hotel.  I don’t like being picked up early – as it means waking up early first.  In this case, however, we weren’t really early enough.  Well – somebody wasn’t.  We get to the bus station for our bus to Copacabana – and discover that our tickets are for the bus that has already left.  Honest mistake this time – somebody just booked tickets on the wrong bus.  Dumb.  However, the girl with us lacks initiative, and just stands there for a very long time looking dumb.  Eventually, we buy tickets for the next bus ourselves, and head off.  Get to Copacabana – and have lunch.  Pen & Ben sit around doing Pen & Ben, while hard-working trustworthy hero Kruse goes researching stuff.  A real asset is old Kruse.  Found a cheap hostel – and we drop off most of our stuff there before getting on a ferry to the Isla del Sol.  The Sun Island.  Birthplace of the sun and the moon and all sorts of things.  Ferry is dangerously overloaded – and I watch Pen fall asleep on the rooftop seat with a very low back nearly protecting her from toppling backwards into the lake.  Then, the english couple next to us mention that they’d heard that anybody who is lost overboard – there is no attempt to rescue them.  Most locals view it as an offering to the lake.  Sweet.  I spend the rest of the trip imagining scenarios in my mind of how we would save Pen’s life.  Also – power lines crossing the decently sized channel between mainland and island.  Big long drooping power lines.  Ben & I simultaneously see the potential for an awesome flying fox.  We get to the village on the southern end of the island.  Climb up lots of stairs.  I walked fast, coz I’m a very fast walker.  We kept climbing up and up and up, although we weren’t really sure if it was the way.  Then, instead of buying a thing from tout, I got directions instead.  Then, stopped for a beer, and asked for more directions.  Then we got to the top of the hill.  Took some photos, because the view was pretty.  Then noticed that the track didn’t seem to exist anymore.  So we headed in a general direction.  Ben climbed a hill.  Told us to go one way.  We kind of did, but not quite.  We were off the beaten track.  Then an old man chased us, and caught us.  Friendly enough, but turned out we were supposed to be on the main road – and were supposed to buy a ticket off the nice old man for the northern half of the island.  So we did, and then Ben found us too.  And we got back on the boring actual trail.  Having lost lots of time.  On a trail which people were surprised we were doing at that time – as it should be too late to do so without getting trapped in the middle of nowhere in the dark.  Oh well.  Meet a sheep herder – he recommends a hostel.  Then we find the temple of the sun.  I’d like to watch the sunset from the temple of the sun – but it turns out there’s a big ugly hill between the temple of the sun and the sun.  Bad planning, incan-people.  We have a quick look around.  Can’t see any rock that looks like a puma.  Or any rock that looks like it was used as a table to create the sun and the moon.  There was one – but it seemed a bit small.  Maybe the big creator god fella made little ones then pumped them up into bigger ones.  Maybe.  Then we walked to the northern village.  I was walking slow now, because there was nobody behind us to find Pen if she rolled an ankle or something.  So I walked slow.  Ben walked fast.  Then it got dark.  We met a farmer in a field who recommended a hostel.  Then we got to the village, and let a small boy lead us to a hostel.  It was more expensive than we expected, and even more than the boy had told us – but we took it because we couldn’t be bothered argueing or searching for an alternative.  And it was still about 6 NZ$ each.  I took my smelly shoes off, and hid them under the head-end of Ben’s bed.  Upstairs, we had dinner.  The waitress seemed genuinely slightly mentally retarded.  Perhaps that’s why she liked me so much.  Leaned far too close/over me while taking my order.  We didn’t order much, because we figured we may barely have enough money to eat, and get back to the mainland.  Then, clever old Kruse asks the non-retarded employee whether we can pay with US dollars.  I hated asking this – but the affirmative answer meant we could order lots.  So we did.  Then Ben & Pen teased me about the retarded waitress sneaking into the room later and doing nasty things to poor old Kruse.  I got scared.  Then we went back to our room – and I checked the lock on the door.  But Ben reminded me about ‘tard cunning’, and I figured the staff probably had a spare key.  I got more scared.  But then I remembered my shoes under Ben’s bed, and I cheered up.

We got up on the 15 Sep – with no untoward events having happened overnight.  Sweet.  Up, and about.  Hardworking old Kruse once again goes out and about to research useful stuff, while Ben & Pen do useless things like showers and stuff.  One guy wants to charge us lots for a private boat to Isla del Luna (Island of the Moon).  Eventually, Ben & Pen are ready to leave also.  So we do.  Soon figure out that only way to Isla del Luna seems to be private boat.  Chap again tries to sell ride to us.  We don’t have enough cash.  Try to join in with another group – but the captain doesn’t want to offend the other chap by stealing his business.  So, eventually, we figure we can pay with combo of US dollars and bolivianos.  And this we do.  And we get on a small boat, and off we go.  Long ride to Isla del Luna.  Forty minutes there.  Nice enough Temple of the Virgins.  Then, back on to the boat, and another long ride back to Copacabana.  Again admire the flying fox possibilities.  Get back to the mainland, and check into the hostel.  Nice and cheap and separate rooms – for the first time since Ben arrived.  Then, we go walkabout.  Kruse again was the hero by going to do useful stuff.  Found a place that would give me money.  Then, lunch.  Then, beers on the waterfront.  Meant to go for a ride in the pedal-swans – but didn’t get around to it.  Watched the sunset though – and it was pretty.  Then, went to a restaurant.  I ordered drinks.  2 each of 7 cocktails.  And a red wine came with Pen’s meal for her.  We only got 6 of the cocktails – but they were enough for the meantime.  I walked Pen home, then returned to finish the drinks with Ben.  We chatted with a pair of people at the next table.  Bolivians with chinese heritage.  Chino-Bolivians, as it were.  17 year old boy, and his 25 year old cousin.  We played the question game.  (Truth or Dare – but with only the Truth option).  Going round in a circle, each person allowed to ask any question to anybody, and the truth must be told.  It only took one round before the inevitable.  I didn’t notice at the time, but the next time Ben pointed out that the 17 year old boy asked a large number of homosexually oriented questions towards me.  That may be because I had brain damage.  The toilet doorway was slightly lower than it should be.  I hit my head on the doorway at least five times.  Plus lots of cocktails.  Ben answered one question with the number “2″.  I found the answer so amusing that I wrote it on my hand.  Unfortunately, neither of us can remember what the question was.  Apparently, we couldn’t remember five minutes after the fact.  I have resolved to keep the number “2″ on my hand until I recall.  After the restaurant/bar turned it’s lights off on us, we finally left.  Back home – struggling to open front gate, and all the other things that go with arriving home late rather intoxicated.

So, rather hungover for the 16 Sep.  Pack our stuff, and head to breakfast.  Ben wants me to wear my New Zealand t-shirt which is exactly the same as his – so we can match, but I refuse on the grounds that it is gay.  Much breakfast, then go and get on a bus.  A minibus.  We sit at the back.  After a while, I swap seats with Ben.  So I can sit next to the window.  Then, I throw up out the window.  I feel a lot better after this.  After that, we have to get off the bus – while it is ferried across an inlet of the lake on a very basic ferry.  We get on a motorboat to take us across.  I have a beer, because I feel lots better now.  Ben doesn’t, because he is a prude.  Back onto the bus, and a few hours more until La Paz.  I make friends with a young girl sitting further up the bus.  We play peek-a-boo.  Luckily she’s too far away to smell me.  Near La Paz – the bus stops.  Our bags are on the roof.  I see somebody take them off.  I panic.  I run to the front, and try to get out.  Door is locked.  Pen watches out window – and thinks that they’ve been put in the ‘boot’ luggage compartment.  It has been raining a little, so it makes sense.  We drive off again, and I can’t see anybody running away with our bags – so hope that all is well.  We get to La Paz – and confirm that we still have all our stuff.  Sweet.  Walk to the hostel I stayed at last time – and get accommodation.  Then, walked through the Witches Market, and had a late lunch.  I had a beer, but Ben didn’t – because he is a prude.  Then Ben returned to the hostel because he is an internet nerd.  Pen & I went for a walk to buy chocolate for Pen and gay camomile tea for Ben and a bottle of whisky for Kruse.  Spend the evening in the hostel common room.  Booooooring.

17 Sep – we start panicing about how much time we have, and how to fit things into a schedule.  Around rugby world cup fixtures, of course.  Ben spends all day on the internet – because he is an internet nerd.  Pen & I go walking and shopping and stuff.  Find the market.  The largest market IN THE WORLD!  Thirty city blocks, they reckon.  Find bottles with labels which translate to “Drinkable alcohol – 96%”.  I shudder, and we walk on.  Walk past a reasonably aged child, standing casually on the sidewalk urinating onto the street.  Busy sidewalk, busy street.  Fair enough.  We walk on.  I find fireworks.  Strings of double-happys.  Big big single solid units of fireworks.  Awesome.  Pen won’t let me buy them.  We walk on.  Big market, lots of stuff.  Shoes called Kevin – not big enough for Pen’s giant man-feet.  We walk on.  Lunch, then return to hostel.  Ben is still on the internet.  He is a nerd.  Pen & I go for another walk.  Bus station – and do some research.  Past a man urinating on the wall.  We walk on.  Back to centre of the city.  Walk past a small local-type bar.  I have a hankering for a cerveza.  Pen won’t let me go in.  We walk on.  Then some shopping for trinkets.  And back to hostel.  Ben is still on internet.  Nerd.  I finally convince Ben that if he was to quit his job, or at least get an extra 10 days off work – it makes things much much easier.  He emails to ask.  We then take the more expensive but much easier option of booking a tour to the salt flats through our hostel.  Then – off to dinner.  Get loads of cash out, and head towards an awful gringo bar.  Because Ben is an awful gringo nerd.  Luckily, it’s closed.  So, instead, we head to an awful gringo curry restaurant owned by the same people.  We sit and drink and eat.  A mix up with ordering results in three bowls of rice, and no garlic naan.  Pen knew about the mix-up, but didn’t tell us.  Sometimes she is a real liability.  After a while, a couple of irish folk walk through the door.  They turn out to be the same irish folk as on our Inca Trail group.  They join us, and we chit chat.  Lots of complaining about some guys who’d done the mountain bykling down the most dangerous road IN THE WORLD with them.  Apparently lots of “RADICAL!” and “WICKED!” and similar comments.  We laugh and mock them together.  Mocking other people is fun.  Then, we return to the hostel.  Drink whiskey, and all three of us use internet together.  Romantic like.

Highest capital city IN THE WORLD!

Well, sort of.  Sucre still kinda is the capital in theory, with La Paz in practice.  After a civil war which La Paz won, but left ceremonious capital rights to Sucre.  All very odd, and reminds one that in this region, it wasn’t very long ago at all that there were civil wars, coups, and straight out wars.  At this moment, there is talk of moving the capital ‘back’ to Sucre – and 2 million people turned out in La Paz to protest.  That’s a lot.  Apparently the location of Bolivia’s capital is twice as important as racial rights were in the United States of Seppo.

Anyway – I arrived in this highest ‘capital’ city IN THE WORLD! on 25 July, a couple of hours earlier than anticipated.  Not sure what to do, walked into bus station.  (Bus had stopped a block over from bus station, in very small dark side street.)  Looked around, didn’t really find much to help my befuddled mind figure out what to do.  Put on some more layers of clothing, then took first taxi driver to yell at me.  He grins at his mates as I say ’sure’.  I tell him to take me to the central plaza (my usual tactic when I have no idea what to do), and then pay him what I think was actually a fair rate, and walk around looking for accommodation.  Everywhere has bolted down corrugated iron gates.  Find a doorbell though, and press it.  Answered, try to apologise for early hour, but get bed.  Sleep, sweet.  Then, up & about in La Paz.  Am in the centre of the tourist district, one block away from the street known as “Gringo Alley”.  So, not too hard to buy my quota of souvenirs.  Then, find the Witches Market.  Stalls with miniature statues, cigarettes, dandelions, and dried llama foetuses.  Then, try to find the Coca Musuem.  Fail, instead have afternoon lunch at small restaurant.  Watch shoe-shine chaps do their job.  Wearing balaclavas.  Apparently a lot of them are uni students, trying to pay their way.  And it wouldn’t do for somebody to turn up to their doctor and recognise that last year this doctor was shining their shoes.  So – wear black balaclavas, in stinking hot sun, to protect their identity.  For those who complain about the student loan system – try that for a day.

After a few cervezas (wanted to have enough so that I wouldn’t feel guilty about paying with a 100Bs bill), I return to the hostel.  Chat to some french (a lot of french here, a LOT), then a german girl who is very keen on sharing my maté with me.  A little too keen, but my general disinterest is enough without bringing out the girlfriend card.  Bloody tall hot german girl – begone.  Or maybe it was the fact that I’m leaving lipstick marks on my glasses and maté ’straw’.  Lipstick marks OF BLOOD!  Lips are extremely cracked, and bleeding ensues at any movement of the mouth.  Anyway, then spent the night on the internet, trying to figure out what’s going to happen once Pen arrives, and then Ben.  Ben, of course, was the difficult one.  But once we figured out a scenario where neither of us has to make a decision in the immediate future, it was all sweet.  But, it’s looking like I’ll be staying in this rather cheap continent for maybe a month longer than originally intended.  Instead of spending a month in the most expensive continent in the world.  Possibly a good choice, will depend on our success at finding coverage of that kiwi religion – the Rugby World Cup.  I suspect that with my & Ben’s recently discovered disdain of the worth of cash, we’ll probably end up staying in some stupidly expensive hotel on the nights of each important game.

But, babbling.  Onto 26 July.   Woken up by the hostel workers doing their job.  Although I’m not too sure on the rational behind cleaning the shower at 8am.  I get up, book a nice touristy tourist tour to Tiahuanaco.  (Tiwanaku for those who call Beijing ‘Peking’, etc).  Then, buy a token purchase from a stall at the Witches Market, then ask if I can take a photo.  She seems stoked, even poses for me, waits while I realise my batteries are flat, then demands to see the photo, giggles, and recommends 2pm as a better time for the sun position.  Onwards, today I find the Coca Museum.  Very very small/cramped (whole thing in the size of one double bedroom in an old NZ house), but well executed.  Exhibits have explanations in spanish, but they have booklets in various languages with translations.  The museum seems torn between explaining that there is nothing wrong with the coca plant, and heaps right with it – and with toeing the government line (which is in turn toeing the seppo government line for money – which I always thought was actual gifted money, but is in reality loans.  Thanks, America.)  Of course, they have to what they have to do to get funding – both the Bolivian government, and the museum itself.  Explains the history of coca before colonisation, and since.  Before colonisation – a beautiful thing.  Effective anaesthetic for Incans doing brain surgery.  Effective nutrition for workers.  All good.  Colonisation.  Effective nutrition and “at least I have coca” for slaves under spanish/catholic rule.  Catholics figure that something this miraculous must be the work of the devil.  (Alanis would call that ironic.  She´d be wrong, but…)    Catholic church condemns the coca leaf.  Makes it a sin.  Spanish royalty figure out that their slaves work much harder and longer hours when chewing it.  ‘Ask’ the catholic church to reconsider, which it does, and imposes a tax on it instead.  To this day, the miners in Potosi spend 15% of their income on coca leaves – as it is proven to make it easier for people working hard labour to do so for longer periods.  Oops, am in danger of ranting.  A very little more of the stuff I found interesting though.  I think it said every anaesthetic, or something like that, is cocaine-based.  Sigmund Freud was the first casual cocaine user.  Got himself nasal cancer.  Coca Cola really did originally contain cocaine.  And was a copy-cat product after a french wine.  Which was awarded medals and accolades by seppo presidents & christian popes.  Cocaine used much in medicine & other products.  Acclaimed by scientists.  Then, one scientist says that it causes mental retardation and poverty in South America.  Just when south american countries producing it were booming.  United Nation condemns it.  South american countries slide into poverty.  Seppos stay the most powerful country IN THE WORLD!  36 countries now have an annual quota of cocaine they’re allowed to produce.  New Zealand is one – can produce 17kg, from memory.  Not one south american country is in that list.  America, of course, has the biggest quota.  And I think the company given most of that quota is a subsidiary of CocaCola.

After the museum, went to the adjacent restaurant.  Set meal for 20Bs/NZ$3.50.  (I’ve read one other person’s travel website where they keep saying how cheap stuff is in their native currency, and I didn’t like it.  But, Bolivia is awesome, and I can’t help myself.)  Set meal – soup, main, desert.  Soup – garlic soup.  Only heard that garlic soup existed about a year ago, and have been dying to try it since.  Lived up to expectations.  Llama steak, filling.  Chocolate mousse – long missed.  Waddle out door, and use a couple of blocks downhill to gather momentum for uphill.  Unfortunately main road is in the valley, so momentum lost.  Up the other hill then, in high altitude (highest ‘capital’ city IN THE WORLD!), rather puffed after one block.  A few blocks later, find another plaza.  Again, only in Bolivia, immaculately maintained.  This one with hundreds of pigeons, and vendors selling birdfood.  Kinda like Zhongwei in China, but the pigeons weren’t quite so friendly.  Possibly due to the kids here enjoying chasing/scaring them, rather than being tranquil Zen babies in China.  Heaps of colonial government buildings surrounding square, and a few oversized flags.  Nothing I would call “giant” though – so a little disappointed.  Soldiers guarding one building wearing uniforms from the war of independence.  Including weapons & bedrolls on back.  Apparently there are very modern & heavily guards backing them up subtly.  Also, sitting on steps was Ben.  Seriously, it was Ben.  If he wasn’t sitting with a girl I didn’t recognise, I would have stormed over to confront him.  Instead onwards to artisan market.  One stall with stuff made from salt – cut from salt flats I assume.  Tempted, but not sure of the longevity.  Back to hostel, heaps of barber shops nearby – all yell at me wanting to shave me.  Decline, but store possibility in mind for later.  Book mountain bikle ride down the most dangerous road IN THE WORLD for day after tomorrow.  Death Road.  Tourist died doing it very recently.  Same company, I hear rumours of later.  Then, nothing to do.  Try to play music through TV in common area.  Fail.  Walk, eat at dodgy little fish ‘restaurant’.  Awful looking ‘potato’ with it, which I skip.  Therefore small dinner.  Back to hostel, buying bottle of wine on the way.  Get to chatting with an australian guy & girl.  Start playing cards with them and frenchman.  Start winning, so can’t leave, even after finishing wine.  Open bottle of coca liqor (spelt that way – I figure I got the liquor and not the liquer I wanted), and drink that with cocacola.  First time I’ve drunk that in ages, but – as mentioned last update, wanted to try and replicate the original product.  Turn down invitation to go into town with australians, as have early start for Tiahuanaco tomorrow.  Australian girl talks in very loud voice about how they were asked to leave the common room last night.  Soon after, we’re asked to leave.  She doesn’t seem to understand why.  Guy australian gets rather het up about John Howard.  Then, they leave for town, and I go for my early night.  2am.

27 July – wake up on time.   Which is lucky, because another way Bolivia outshines other south american countries thus far is it’s actual adherence to times/schedules.  Guide arrives, suggests I need warmer clothing.  I climb the two flights of stairs to my room.  High altitude, rather puffed.  Back down.  Guide suggests jacket, as may be windy.  Back up, puffed again.  Highest ‘capital’ city IN THE WORLD.  Back down.  Guide suggests sunglasses.  You get the picture.  Then, we walk to another tour agency, to whom I assume the hostel’s tour agency had fobbed me off to, being the only one who’d booked the tour.  Wait, then get on minibus.  Pick up a few others around town – then head out of town.  Guide counts heads, checks lists.  Looks worried.  Then, seems to figure it’s too late.  Gives some fairly informative talk.  Hills planted with eucalyptus, because they grow fast.  Informative, but boring.  A few obviously well-used jokes thrown in.  Artificial forest.  But trees aren’t plastic.  Eucalyptus, but no koalas.  Etc.  Stop at the highest point of road on way to Tiahuanaco, nice enough view – but nothing special.  Just the Andes in the distance.  Onwards, Tiahuanaco.  Very hungry, buy chocolate bars for breakfast.  Museum – some cool stuff, but no photos allowed.  Dozens of skulls – most deformed.  Children of priests were destined to become priests, so immediately after birth, planks of wood were strapped to their skulls, to force their skulls to grow into a certain shape.  Tall and thin.  Also, a display of a Tiahuanacon mummy.  In a flax-type bag, with only face showing.  Some other stuff.  Proud of the state of the technology, etc.  Pottery showing faces which seem to signify contact with civilizations from other continents.

Then – the actual ruins.  Main pyramid is still being dug up.  Luckily not as much to dig up as there should be, as the spaniards dismantled the top two levels in order to use the bricks for building a nearby town.  Nice work, europeans.  But, kinda cool to see an archeological site in the midst of work.  A couple of points reminded one very much of Indiana Jones, just before he tricked a chap into being dismantled by an aeroplane propeller.  Guide explains how the gate & a statue were used as a calendar.  Some of it I believe, other bits I’m not sure on.  Her credibility was a little damaged after she explained that her grandfather founded the 1 million population city just above La Paz.  And lived to 150.  A lot of guides seem to be related to very important people.  Have lunch at nearby restaurant, then – instead of going to 2nd part of the site – bus heads back to La Paz.  Oh well, main bit was kind of interesting, I gather the other part was just houses.  I’ve been meaning to ask if there is a good spot to see the city of La Paz, and it’s setting.  On the way back, the bus stops at just such a spot.  Awesome.  City of 1 million in a hole.  And it is referred to as just that… “The Hole” – for the main city.  With big mountains surrounding it.  Highest ‘capital’ city IN THE WORLD!  Back to hostel, buy a thimble, then use some internet.  Wrote the last update, then read The Onion for a while.  Perhaps a little too long, as I left the internet cafe, and for a moment after getting onto the street – was actually surprised to find myself in La Paz.  Highest ‘capital’ city … you know.  Try to find a store to sell me a bottle of wine.  Fail.  Instead, go to very overpriced restaurant.  NZ$10 for a main.  Salmon trout.  Back to hostel, just in time to go to bed at a reasonable hour, ready for a descent down the most dangerous road IN THE WORLD tomorrow.

28 July –  Up at 7.  Drink coca maté while waiting for other byklists to turn up.  Eventually – one frenchman, three irish guys, one english girl turn up.  We have breakfast, and one irish guy pulls out.  Sick, he reckons.  Sick to the stomach of fear, I reckon.  Try on our bykling gear, then into minibus.  Pick up a woman & two kids – turn out to be family of guide.  Little girl is shy, but with my winning way I eventually win her over.  She’s poking her tongue out at me with gusto by the end of the day.  Drive up to the top of the range.  Altitude 4,700 metres.  Onto bikes, and down the road.  First bit is tarseal, and the guide figures us out.  We promise we can go faster.  Some of us do.  Eventually we get to the turn-off for the actual Death Road.  All gravel and dirt from here, at times very thing, very bumpy, and very slippery.  And the road rules change – on Death Road people drive on the left side.  So drivers can see the edge easier.  Which means we have to ride close to the edge.  And if a car/truck comes up, we have to get off, and hold bikes out over cliff to give them room.  Sweet.  After a couple of stops, the others realise that I’m the fastest (most foolhardy) of the tourists, and there is no more of the subtle jostling for the first position behind the guide.  Make it to the bottom.  We’re warned about a couple of speed bumps at the bottom.  Unfortunately, I’m following the guide so closely, and quickly, that the first I notice of the speed bump is when the guide and his bike are flying.  I don’t have any time to slow down, as recommended – so I try the flying approach also.  Land just in time for the second speed bump, and stay with the tried and proven method.  Skid into a halt, and order a cerveza.  Others arrive a while later, and after we’ve all had a cerveza, into the bus for a ride up the hill to a township.  Go to a hotel where we’re promised showers and lunch.  Then we discover the showers aren’t working.  Others lie around pool, without actually getting in – while I go to inspect the drinks list.  A bottle of chilled cold wine.  Others eventually join me, and we have our lunch.  A buffet lunch – buffet consisting of one meat option, and one vegetarian option.  Couple of hours later, back onto bus.  We’re expecting a nice smooth ride up the new road – but soon discover we’re going back up Death Road.  Maybe the new road is a toll road?  So – I stay awake until we get to the top, and we’re back on relatively safe ground.  Back to the hostel – and I go find a bottle of wine.  Break the hostel’s corkscrew trying to open it.  Eventually find another, and sit on the couch to enjoy some vino.  Then stand up immediately, and borrow a cushion from another chair – as double padding is certainly needed.  Drink my wine, get my free t-shirt (opted against the design with a skull on the front), and CD with photos taken by guide/bus-driver.  Arse is bruised.  Hands are bruised.  Cracked lips certainly aren’t getting any better.

29 July – don’t sleep in as much as I’d hoped.  But, not as tired as I expected either.  Bykling is easy.  Walk to bus station, past armed guards who’ve blocked the road.  Was waiting to be yelled at, or shot – but no such luck.  Ask around for buses to Chile.  All either leave early morning, or lunchtime – arriving fairly late at night.  Decide to postpone decision until last possible moment.  Walk back to hostel, via restaurant for lunch, and markets.  Lots of markets in La Paz, including, I believe, the largest market IN THE WORLD!  30 city blocks, or some such.  Arsetralian girl I met the other day had been there, and bought 7 pairs of shoes/boots.  For not very much at all.

Back at hostel, brew up a yerba/coca maté combination – and sit in common area researching options for the two weeks between Pen arriving, and Ben arriving.  Then, decide to go for a shave.  But, nobody yells at me to come into their store, so keep walking.  Instead, go to a cuban restaurant.  Is gringo-priced, but I’m willing to pay the extra tonight.  Then, figure out the prices in NZ$, and feel guilty at thinking it’s overpriced.  Take the waiter’s suggestions for food & drink – both excellent.  Then, walk back to hostel.  This time, a barber spots me, and beckons me in.  Sweet.  Sit down, and get myself shaved.  Have to hold myself back from smirking the entire time – both to be polite, and because there is a very sharp razor blade on my face – and staying perfectly still seems a good idea.  Back to hostel, bottle of wine, listen to french jibber-jabber, and try to finish off all my coca leaves & yerba mate – as coca definitely isn’t allowed into Chile, and I believe yerba won’t be either (no fruits or vegetables at all).  Succeed in finishing yerba, but have to leave half a bag of coca leaves behind.

21 July – Got up, a couple saw my All Blacks top, and asked if I knew the result of that mornings NZ vs Aus test.  Nope, but gave them my knowledge of usual replay times on Latin America ESPN+.  Checked out, then found internet cafe, and discovered the replay was actually 8pm that night.  Went back to hostel, but didn’t see them.  If they’re kiwis, they´ll probably look it up themselves.  If aussies, I guess they won’t think of it.  Anyway, went to central market, and got myself another breakfast of saltenas and grapefruit juice.  Then, waited for minibus to bus station.  None arrives, I eventually ask somebody.  Next block over, apparently.  Go there, wait again.  Nada.  Walk to bus station, getting a little lost along the way.  But, get there, and book next ticket to Potosi.  I know the fare is 15Bs, but she doesn’t write the price on my ticket, and accepts my 20 note without a hint of giving change.  Less than 1 NZ$, I decide to forget about it.  Go down to platforms, and have to pay a 2Bs tax.  Odd, but legitimate.  Watch as teenage boy ties luggage onto roof, including tables, chairs, all sorts.  Then, give my pack to chap to stow in actual luggage section under bus.  Get onboard, and as bus leaves, listen to yet another hawker give her spiel on what she’s selling.  Not sure what it is, some kind of sachet.  Army chap gets on and sits next to me, then gets off in the middle of nowhere.  Little girl moves from her seat further back to come and sit next to me.  Asks why my skin is white, and chats about other things.  Falls asleep with her head on my shoulder, which ends up preventing me taking a photo of the ridiculous amount of litter (plastic bags) covering the hillsides and valley just before Potosi.  One tall chicken-netting fence could be mistaken as being a solid fence, except for the multi-coloured paint rustling in the wind, giving away that it is actually just covered in plastic bags.  Get to Potosi, and get off bus.  Start walking, and a local yells out “Hey!”.  I turn around, preparing to tell him I don’t need a taxi.  But, instead of offering taxi, he just shows me one finger.  And he wasn’t giving directions.  Angry, angry man – and I figure it’s better to ignore.  Keep walking towards centre of town.  After quite some time, a ute pulls over, and asks where I’m heading.  “Centro”.  “Centro is the other direction, you’re heading towards Oruro.”  Oruro is a town a long way away.  So, I turn around, and get the first taxi I see.  3.50 Bs – just over 50 NZ cents.  Sweet.  Get him to drop me off at the central square, then walk around looking for a hostel.  First place, wants to charge me in US$.  Bad sign – plus, the price would have been good in Bolivianos.  Not in seppo money.  Keep walking around, go to a place called The Koala Den.  Hoping that this mornings result will be favorable for me, not the australian (I assume) owners.  But, after half an hour at reception, nobody wants to take my money.  So, use their Lonely Planet to research some more places, then keep walking.  Next couple of places are booked out, then finally discover a place willing to put me up.  Thankfully drop off my stuff, then prepare to walk back into town.

(Did I mention that Potosi is the highest city IN THE WORLD!?  And that it is rather hilly? (Not steep hills generally, but with the high altitude, rather tiring to walk around.)

Anyway, walk around a little bit, trying to get my bearings.  I fail – my initial mistake of heading in the wrong direction stays with me, and my sense of direction is completely screwed for the rest of my time in Potosi.  Highest city in the world.  Go back to hostel, and have a siesta.  Then, get up, and ask guy at hostel where in town is likely to have a TV with sports on it – specifically ESPN+.  He seems surprised, and says everywhere.  Sweet.  Off I go, looking forward to food, cerveza, & rugby.  A dozen restaurants and bars later, finally find a place with a television.  They reckon they have ESPN.  Flick it over for me – but it is only ESPN they have, not ESPN+.  Continue, and many more failures.  Another place, with an english speaker, assures me they have EPSN+.  However, currently a large drunk guy is watching the PanAmerican games – but is willing to switch over about 8 or 8:30.  Sweet – order food and cerveza.  Watch womans beach volleyball, then some kind of japanese wrestling – possibly sumo for skinny people.  Eventually, switch channels.  And they don´t have ESPN+.  Dumb.  Have some more cerveza, then back to hostel for some sleep.

22 July –  walk down to tourist agencies, and book a trip to the silver mine.  Sunday, most other touristy places are closed – so do not much.  Have breakfast, find a spot with a good view of the mountain (at one time the richest source of silver IN THE WORLD!), then catch a taxi to a tower on a hill.  Get there, go up – decent view of the city and the mountain.  Mountain is a mix of red and orange – would be scenic if you didn’t know that it´s not naturally that colour, but is so because of all the mining.  Turns out to be a little cafe type thing in the top of the tower – so I buy a cerveza and sit down.  As it nears lunchtime, and more people arrive, my fears are realised.  It’s a revolving restaurant.  I wasn’t too keen on the standard of the structure beforehand, but once it starts moving – my worries increase.  Still, haven’t finished the cerveza, so can’t run away scared.  Eventually finish, and descend to ground.  Was hoping that my relatively expensive taxi here was so because it was a return trip.  No such luck.  Walk down hill, then try to flag down a taxi to avoid the rather steep long walk uphill to the centre.  Taxis ignore me – so I walk.  Up lots of stairs.  In the highest city IN THE WORLD!  Very tiring, but persevere.  And get lost.  I have a map, but in my entire time in Potosi, I only ever saw one sign telling one what street you were on.  Eventually I stumble across a restaurant which is listed on the map, and get my bearings.  Then, another siesta, I think.  Am writing from memory, still at high altitude, and my brain isn’t getting much oxygen.  Anyway, in the evening – went to a touristy cafe place, and ate some llama steak, and used the internet until closing.

I got up on the 23 July in enough time to get to the tour agency for my silver mine tour, but not early enough for breakfast.   Instead, had a cup of coca tea, then into a minibus for the tour.  Taken to a little house in town, where we’re fitted out with trousers, a jacket, gumboots, helmet, and the strongest looking lads with a battery pack and helmet lamp.  I was the first to be given a lamp – the guy’s eyes lit up when he saw me.  This entire continent mistakes too much cerveza for being fit and strong.  Anyway, got fitted out, and told that it is hot in the mines.  I’d meant to ask the guy when booking, but forgot.  Am wearing thermals all over, with another layer over top, and then the stuff provided.  Can’t be bothered changing.  How hot can it be?  Back into vehicles – this time I’ve been allocated a group, and our group has got a van to ourselves.  The van would have been much happier without a group at all – and indeed, we all had to get out so that it could make it up the first hill attempted.  But, we made it to the Miner’s Market.  This is where we are to buy gifts for the miners.  Guide talks us through the equipment that miners use, and how the miners here are essentially self-employed, and have to provide their own equipment.  So usually don’t.  Recommends buying lots of soft drink & coca leaves for them, as well as a few cigarettes, dynamite, etc if we want.  I’m the first to put my hand up for buying dynamite.  Comes in a little plastic bag.  A dynamite kit.  One stick of dynamite, a fuse/detonator, and a little bag of ammonium nitrate (or something, whatever the oirish use to make bombs – and makes dynamite heaps more powerful when packed around it).  I buy two bags, intending one for the miners, and one for myself.  Only place IN THE WORLD one can buy dynamite without all that annoying legal nonsense.  Also buy some soft drink, cigarettes, coca leaves (again – some for myself), and a bottle of the miners’ choice of booze.  96% alcohol which I tried.  Tasty.  They use it to toast the devil every Friday.  (Christianity didn’t think of that.  Teach the heathens that the devil lives underground.  Then make the heathens into slaves in the mines.  Heathens figure it out… “we’re underground, the devil is the lord of the underground, ergo – we’d better worship HIM, and not the invisible guy in the sky”)

I have breakfast with some of the guides at a stall in the market.  One guide tells me the name/nickname of the food, and informs me that the name translates to “Shit”.  Asks if I still want some.  Sure.   Haven’t had breakfast, and if it’s good enough for them, it’s good enough for me.  Just.  Then – back into van, which struggles up the hill/mountain.  Girls are issued with new expensive ultralight helmet lamps.  I get photo taken of me pretending to smoke stick of dynamite as a cigar.  Ha!  Then – into mine.  Very dusty mine.  Built for the short bolivians.  After a little while, arrive at a ‘museum’.  Has a few examples of equipment, and the statue of the devil which the miners worship.  Good statue.  Also statues of pirates – who the miners liked, because they stole the silver from the hated Spanish.  Also, a very interesting piece on the tax system.  Took a photo of that for some of you people who complain about my photos.  Then – onwards into mine. Hands and knees for quite a lot of the time.  Very claustrophobic, and hearing trolleys rattling along behind you, above you, all around you.  Above is prettyscary, because it becomes rather obvious that tunnels are rather close to each other – making cave-ins a very real prospect.  Stopped in one little open area to learn about some history.  Stories about inter-mine wars, and miners versus the police.  “The police have guns.  We don’t.  But we have dynamite, so we use dynamite.”  Sweet.  More crawling, and see a few miners at work.  Hand out presents, etc.  Very very nasty environment to work in.  Most miners die after 15 years of working in mines.  Very interesting trip, but was pretty happy to get out.  Especially as my second bag of dynamite, and one bought by the oirish couple (surprise, surprise) had been set aside to make ‘bombas’.  So – back to sunlight, then watch the guide making dynamite bombs.  Not like on the A-Team.  Don’t just stick the detonator into the top of the stick, light it, then throw it out of the helicopter – resulting in bad-man’s jeep to roll.  Unwrap dynamite, knead it into a ball (is just like playdoh), rewrap it, stick the detonator/fuse in it – then place it in a plastic bag, and pour the fertiliser into the bag.  Tie the bag up, leaving fuse coming out.  Tie your bomb to a barbie doll, thread the fuse through the barbie doll’s mouth – then light it.  Wait as people ask how long the fuse burns for, then finally run down hill, place bomb, run back, and wait.  And boom.  Big BOOM.  Felt the shockwaves in my body – and was (not by choice) a considerable distance from the explosion.  Cool.

Back in van, drop off equipment.  Then, others head straight for showers, while my priority is cerveza.  Cerveza, then to hostel for shower, and possibly another siesta.  (High altitude plus exercise = many siestas).  Then, found a nice restaurant for some good food and red wine.

Woke up on 24 July very very sore.   But, packed stuff, and checked out.  Left luggage in the hostel, and headed to town.  Just in time to join a tour of the mint.  Rather interesting, although nothing in particular I can think of which would be worthy of your time.  Old methods of making coins.  Machines to flatten silver ingots.  Story of the treasure ship which was sunk – and only discovered fairly recently by american treasure hunters.  Who generously gave two coins back to Potosi.  Out of $400 million worth of silver.  At the end, had option to buy a ‘blank’, then use the old coin stamping method to stamp one’s own coin.  One couple did it, with cheapest blank.  Sledgehammer onto top of vice type thing, coin stamped.  I decide to do it too, but insist on pure silver.  The most expensive one.  And told I have to hit it very hard for it to work with silver.  Sweet – can do.  Couple take photo for me – bang, coin stamped.  Then, discover couple are kiwi.  We chat, then go for lunch/breakfast together.  I mention I’d heard the nunnery museum is interesting.  So, we walk markets together, then off to the nunnery with us.

Have to pay extra to be allowed to take photos.  Tour of nunnery.  A little interesting, but most of place has been ‘restored’, which in this case means turned into a museum – leaving very little of how it originally was.  Did get to see their flagellation tools though.  And a particularly brutal portrayal of Jeebers on the cross.  But, after two and a half hours, I think everybody was rather happy when the tour ended.  And I was very cold.  Sun had gone down, and I had only one layer on – with rest of clothing back at hostel.  Hurried back to hostel, put on more clothes, then headed towards bus station.  Stopped twice for hot food and cold cerveza.  The second time accompanied by Jean-Claude Van Damme (twice – cleverly playing two characters).  Then, suddenly noticed the time, and got a taxi the rest of the way.  In bus station, first office had no tickets for La Paz.  Then, heard guy yelling “La Paz, La Paz”.  Rushed over, bought a ticket off him.  Already printed, with somebody else’s name on it.  Sweet.  A local woman does the same, and I follow her to findout what platform my bus is at.  Get there, and find gringo carefully watching bags being lowered by rope from window of ticket office upstairs.  She tells story, similar to one I’d heard before, about luggage being stolen from bus luggage compartment.  Sure, fair enough, but realise that maybe my pack is supposed to be given to the folks upstairs.  Ask the guy packing the luggage, and sure enough.  It is now the scheduled time for bus to leave, so I run upstairs, hand my pack over, and run back downstairs to make sure it is loaded onto correct bus.  Get back down just in time to see it land on the ground, and packed away.  Onto bus (normal class, not cama.  Which means no legrest, and just a normal seat that reclines very little.  For an 11 hour trip.), and am sitting next to woman with small boy on her lap.  Fellow comes down calling out names, apparently the names of people who’ve bought tickets.  Woman next to me tries to explain that she just bought a ticket, with name preprinted.  Doesn’t seem happy at the response.  Perhaps that if the real person turns up, she’s out of luck?  I just show my ticket.  A few more people get on, and sit/stand in the aisle.   And we’re off.  Am careful of stuff in my pocket closest to aisle, as guy is sitting just behind my eyelevel in the aisle.  But soon I’m absorbed by the movie.  Blood In, Blood Out.  The title intrigues me, but I’m completely drawn in when the dialogue switches randomly between spanish and english.  Excellent.  Movie finishes, people in aisle get off somewhere, child on lap next to me throws up, we stop at a little ‘cafe’ in the middle of nowhere.  People use the side of the road as a toilet (men & women), and a few of us have a nice cup of tea in the ‘cafe’.
Then, stand around a small fire on the roadside outside.  A couple of drunk locals (not sure local to where.  Really seemed to be just one building in middle of nowhere) walk past, and seem to be trying to pick a fight with me.  Not sure, and if so – subtly.  May have just been very very drunk.  One guy fell into me a couple of times, possibly wanting me to push him away.  Eventually walk off, then the drunker one turned around, and started to rush back towards me.  His amigo stopped him though, and they disappeared into the darkness.  I’m really not keen to get into a fight with locals, as even if I act in self-defence, it may be 50-50 as to who other locals side with.  But, nothing happened this time, and I got back onto bus in time for us to drive off again.  With a new person getting onboard to sleep in the aisle right next to me.  I manage to get a few periods of sleep.

Next update, La Paz.  By then, I will have done some bycicling (yes, that’s how it’s spelt) done the world’s most dangerous road.  Also – to the Publican from Col-bin-a-bin (yes, that’s how it’s pronounced), I did get your little message – but it has since disappeared when my computer nerds moved my website for me.  In answer to your queries, I haven’t had too much dealings with Latin American constabularies.  Neither, to my memory, have I had any uncontrollable waves of nausea.  Although last night was close, after drinking a quantity of coca liquor.  I believe it was the cocacola which made me feel ill.  Haven’t drunk that crap in a long long time, but thought I’d make an exception for using it as a mixer with coca liquor, and therefore recreating (nearly) the original cocacola recipe containing cocaine.