Week 13: Don't Wanna Be...

I had decided after my epic journey to Rio to take a slightly unconventional route back to where I wanted to be in Bolivia. In hindsight this may have been a mistake. Some places are off the beaten track for a reason. I flew to Rio Branco, on the border with northern Bolivia and then took a flight from Cobija, across the border, to La Paz. Check it out on a map to see how truly nonsensical this was. 

It was a long and boring journey with a lot of doing nothing in the middle, the only excitement was that I almost missed my connecting flight in Brasilia as I didn't realise the gate had changed and sort of forgot what time my flight was. Next thing I knew I heard "Jenkins" over the tannoy amongst a few Portuguese sounding surnames and managed to find my gate in the nick of time. 

Possibly the most impressive part of my journey was the flight from Cobija to La Paz, as I strolled into the airport like it was a train station, bought a ticket for 40£ (probably a damn sight cheaper than some train tickets) and 15 minutes later was in the air. If anything I felt a little smug. 

About all there is to see in La paz

 La Paz is not the most charming city. I had one day there and spent most of it drinking hot chocolate an reading. I did however enjoy the cathedral in the main square. I decided to make a beeline for the countryside an the next day took a bus to Coroico. I had decided to skip on "death road" as I wasn't really in the mood to spend a day wrecking my wrists and elbows, or die. 

The view from my hostel in the morning

I arrived in Coroico late afternoon and enjoyed the lovely view. For the third night out of four I was in a room by myself, and to make it worse I was the only person in the whole hostel. I did have a great conversation with the owner César in Spanish for an hour or so. It fried my brain and frustrated me that I can't speak it a well as I would like. It was amusing explaining that I prefer British men because they are "more reserved" as I tactfully put it. I.e. they generally keep their leching to theirself, don't try and constantly hold your hand and don't creepily tell you they love you in the street all the time. Anyone who tells me this is just because South Americans are more open about their feelings: I'm sorry, but no. You do not love me and you do not miss me. If you think that will get me into bed you have something to learn. Rant over. 

I treated myself to a mojito (by myself) before bed and hit the sack. 

The next morning I arose early an set off for the waterfalls, which were indeed a very impressive sight. Unfortunately I didn't do any of the other walks as I was leaving that afternoon. I was on a bit of a schedule for Christmas an besides, it gets a bit boring being by yourself for a while. 

Found out how bananas grow...
who saw that one coming?!

I went to La Paz to change bus and dropped in at the hostel I had stayed at to recover an unnamed package which I had accidentally left, and then got the bus to Copacabana. Which, by the way, is the original, from which the beach in Rio took its name. It started tipping it down as I got to the hostel in the evening so I decided to stay in rather than brave the torrential rain. By myself. Again. 

Another beautiful viewon my walk in Coroico

The next morning I took some clothes to be fixed (that's right, I am turning into a real traveller) which I promptly left in the luggage storage room the next day in my hurry to get the bus. Doh. I had a delicious lunch of trout from Lake Titicaca with vegetables(!) chips an rice. I didn't manage to finish it as I have been lacking in appetite the last few days - a combination of heat and lack of company. I took the boat at 1330 to the north of Isla del Sol, where the sun was born in Inca mythology. I took a room with an Estonian lady I had met on the boat and then headed out to see the ruins, which included Aslan's table. 

Perfecting the self selfie... needs must!

  
In the evening I went to dinner with Kirti, the Estonian, who was hoping to catch a glimpse of an Argentinian hottie she had met on the boat. No such luck. However we were joined by Mark, an Irish hottie, so I was happy enough. It was the first time in almost a week I had been able to sit down and have a proper conversation without worrying that my brain was going to start coming out of my ears with the concentration of speaking Spanish. 

I had trout for the second time that day, and we indulged in some surprisingly okay Bolivian wine. We all headed to bed early as there doesn't seem to be a lot to do on the north of the island. 

The next morning I awoke confused, as my phone had change to Peruvian time without telling me. After finally deciding what time it was I started off on the walk to the south of the island. I was lucky as the weather held out - I even managed to get burnt on my face. I had been told various things about how long the walk was but everyone seemed to agree it would take 2.5 hours. 

A village midway along the island

I arrived in the south 2 hours after setting off feeling very pleased with myself and having had some lovely views. I managed to catch the boat back I Copacabana just in the nick of time. On the boat I spoke to the girl of a Bolivian family who were on holiday whose English was very good (although naturally she disagreed). I got back on shore 20 minutes before the next bus to Puno, on the Peruvian side of Lake Titiaca, I decided to go for it but in my hurry I left my towel and the pair of shorts I had just had repaired. Not worth it as the bus only cost £3 and the towel and shorts probably cost upward of £30 and the repairs £5. 

In all this rushing around it seems to be becoming a worryingly regular occurrence to leave things behind. I am looking forward to resting for a few days for Christmas and collecting my thoughts (and belongings). 

Now that I am back on the "Gringo Trail" it is already becoming easier to meet people and hopefully the next few days will have adventure and good company in store, before arriving in Cusco for Christmas. 

A panoramic from my walk on the Isla del Sol

Week 12: The Lost Week

You may or may not have noticed that what "a week" constitutes when it comes to my blog, varies from... well, week to week. 

Because of this, this "week" is a particularly short one as I am trying to make up on time. 

And anyone who thinks I was calling it "The Lost Week" because I got really drunk and don't know what happened for a week - shame on you!

After a few hours on the minibus and a sunny boat trip we were put ashore on Ihla Grande. In former times both a penitentiary and a leper colony it is now a traffic free paradise. If it doesn't rain every day you are there. Which isn't fair actually as it was sunny the afternoon we arrived. We had booked into a hostel as a quick look had showed us it was all rather busy. So we headed to our 9 bed dorm, which consisted of 2 triple bunks and 3 singles. Luckily neither of us were on the top bunk. 

The island seemed to attract a variety of people. (Do you detect my distaste?) although I mustn't judge there were a few rather odd (read:annoying) characters. 

We quickly found our favourite eatery - a German owned buffet bar where they charge per 100g of delicious and wholesome food. Why we don't have anything like this at home I do not know. 

In the evening we joined with a group at the hostel containing a great mix of people from Sweden an Germany (who each said they thought at first I was from their country) to Brazil and goodness knows where else. 

Our one glimpse of sun on the boat to the island

We ended up heading to Che Lagarto, the party hostel of the island, but not before I picked up a creep who wouldn't leave me alone for hours an kept trying to tell me what to do. 

It was fun although I was disappointed at the lack of dancing, so it was left to us to start it up. Eventually Lou and I decided to ditch out and go to bed. On the walk home along the beach, it seemed like the logical thing to do to go for a dip. If you know what I mean, and for one of us it was the first time. When we got out we warmed ourselves by a fire which some considerate people had lit and were sitting around. However it wasn't that fun as I think they had all taken some of those substances which I have only ever heard about and weren't particularly sociable. 

The following day we walked to the island's most famous beach Lopes Mendes where the sand was so fine and soft it was like nothing I can describe and squeaked when you trod on it. The walk took about 2 and a half hours and as we arrived it began to rain so luckily many people were leaving. The rain eased up but it remained cool and cloudy so after a few hours we took the boat home. Later we went to a crepe bar where I had an 7.5/10 crepe with (obviously) banana and Nutella. 

That evening we just had a chill, writing postcards and reading books. 

The walk to Lopes Mendes

The following day was our last whole one on the island. When I woke up it was absolutely thundering down with rain, so I went for a run. It didn't let up the whole day so we went for a short walk which conveniently ended in a hot chocolate. That pretty much set the tone for the whole day. We just completed our catch up over hot chocolates, which eventually became wine and caipirinhas. We had dinner in the same place and for chatting to some other English girls, who invited us out for another drink at the crepe place. After we had our fill (the place closed) we headed back with good intentions but were cajoled into going out to the party hostel again. Here we bumped into Rob and Robin, a couple we had been with since Paraty and kept bumping into. 

Here is the interesting part. Since I have started travelling nobody has told me I remind them of you-know-who (no, not voldemort, and if you don't know who I mean I'm not telling you) who has a popular BBC television programme of her own name. Turns out, people just haven't been saying it to my face. I mentioned this fact to Robin who turned to her boyfriend and said "see! I told you she reminded me of xxxxxxx" oh goody.

The night didn't seem to promise a lot so we went to bed with an uneventful walk home. The next day was our transfer back to Rio. We had one last lunch at our favourite spot while it peed it down, yet again, before getting the boat. 

I know some people think I overreact when it comes to PDAs but what I saw on the boat was enough to put anyone off for life. I wanted to take a picture to prove how bad it was but I didn't want to look like a pervert. I can't even attempt to describe how inappropriate it was. Entwined doesn't even cover it. 

A cloud-free sky on Ilha Grande

After a rather alarming minibus journey back to Rio we were dropped down the hill from our hostel. We needed to make the most of our last night in Rio together so Stephanie, who worked in the hostel, pointed us in the direction of a samba party with free caipirinhas. Here we bumped into the people from our hostel in Ilha Grande and had great fun. Eventually we mutually decided to go home. The dancing of one gentleman in particular was getting on my nerves. He had clearly had too much panda pop, if you catch my drift. 

Before getting a cab we went down to Copacabana beach which was just across the way from the club. The waves were incredible and at one moment we got a little too bold and ended up getting soaked almost up to our knickers. 

Finally our last day together had arrived. The weather was abysmal but could have been worse. We decided to walk to the funicular rail station to go up the see Christ the Redeemer, as I approximated it was "only half an hour or so". An hour and a half later we arrived only to be told it was too cloudy to see the statue anyway. I guess third time's a charm, but there wouldn't be a third time, so we let it go. 

Instead Lou went on a Havaianas shopping spree and then we headed to a sushi restaurant for our last supper. It was possibly the best sushi I have ever had. We headed quickly to the large market, but found it not to e to our taste so we went back to the hostel to wait for Lou's cab to the airport. 

Delicious sushi!

Very kindly, Lou also agreed to takesome of my belongings back which I hadn't been using, and also brought out a few goodies, including a chocolate orange which I am saving for Christmas Day, and a very belated birthday present from Charles:

There was no putting off the inevitable so we eventually said goodbye, much to my dismay, as I would be back on the road by myself again. I spent the evening catching up on my blogs from the previous weeks before getting an early night in preparation for my 0700 flight. 

Week 11: Lettuce

After our initial excitement at meeting up again - it was June when Lou (better known to some of you as Lettuce) and I last saw each other - we decided that some wine was in order. Except that when we got to the supermarket we didn't have enough money so we settled for chips and beer instead. 

Our hostel, Santa Mix, was recommended to me by John who I met in Buenos Aires, and it is possibly one of the best recommendations I have had. The view from the terrace roof was incredible, it was really clean and the rooms were large with comfortable beds. After a much needed night of sleep, and some serious planning, we arose the next day to delicious breakfast ready to set us up for the day, which had much in store. 

Our first point of call was to buy a new camera for Lou, who couldn't find hers before flying out. With our task accomplished we headed to pao do açucar - sugar loaf mountain. Thankfully it wasn't too busy - I can imagine that in the real height of the season it is heaving. As it was it was very enjoyable. We got some brilliant views of the city and saw some interesting wildlife. For a while we sat on a bench and basked in the glorious sunlight (and had we known what was to come perhaps we would have taken even more advantage of it). 

The view from Sugar Loaf "Mountain" (hill)

  

After we had had our fill we headed back towards the centre of the city and chose to visit the Botanical Gardens. A controversial choice for some I am sure but I would highly recommend it. Apart from a group of school children and breaking approximately four spoons trying to eat my ice cream, it was a really calming and enjoyable experience. 

Crazy tall trees at the Botanical Garden

We never made it to Jesus. 

For probably everyone, Christ the Redeemer is an icon of Rio de Janeiro. We suffered from misinformation: the official map I had received from the bus depot told me the trains ran till 1930, one of the many helpful citizens on the bus assured us the last train was 1830. We arrived just before 1800 to find that the last train had departed half an hour ago. We could have found alternative means of getting there but by that time it would have been getting too dark.  We accepted outr fate and had some "churrasco" (BBQ) skewers from a street vendor instead and decided we would try again on Lou's last day when we were back in Rio. 

We headed for dinner at a restaurant near the Merchado and both opted for fish and a caipirinha, the national cocktail if Brazil. I think; if it isn't then I don't know what is. While we were waiting they brought round free sausages (best idea ever). I offended a waiter when he delivered my cocktail by making a so-so motion with my hand, not realising he was watching. Luckily he rectified the issue. 

I was unable to finish my cocktail (I know, I know) so Lou had almost two and I almost had to carry her home as they were pretty strong. (Okay, I'm exaggerating slightly but she was struggling to walk in a straight line). 

The following morning we had a flight at 0600 to Puerto Iguazu, the Argentinian side of Iguazu Falls. We got up just before 3, thankfully we were the only people in our dorm so didn't disturb anyone. 

Originally we had planned to attempt both sides of Iguazu in one day -which google told me was doable but a lot of hassle, however by the time we arrived in Puerto Iguazu we had a change of heart an decided to give each side a whole day. (Just as well, as their is a time change when you cross the border into Brazil, losing an hour, which nobody bothers to make you aware of and there was a total absence of clocks anywhere at the waterfalls). 

The Argentinian side does give you "more of an idea of the size of the waterfalls" as everybody kept telling me. Code: you are going to get soaked. I wonder if everyone who goes has a secret pact not to tell anyone this as absolutely nobody I spoke to mentioned it, and you really do get completely soaked through, shoes, bag and all. If the secret pact does exist this isn't breaking it - I won't tell anyone to their face. Luckily it was pretty sunny and we dried off pretty quickly. 

There were an absolute shed ton of butterflies which was almost unreal. As I have previously mentioned I have a tendency to attract insects, and someone pointed out to Lou that there had been a butterfly on my back for 5 minutes while we had been walking. Unfortunately when we stopped to take a picture I attracted the not-so-nice kind of insect, which crawled up my shorts and then jabbed its massive black sting into my leg. Two weeks later you could still just about see the mark. 

After spending a night on the Argentinian side we headed towards the Brazilian side and the town of Foz do Iguaçu. 

About the only picture I have not covered in water droplets

Some people told me they had been advised to skip the Brazilian side but I completely disagree - the panorama is amazing and there is so much wildlife. We saw an armadillo, a toucan and some very large lizards, to name but a few. I shouted at someone because they grabbed a lizard's tail and started dragging it. 

We were on a bit of a schedule (which we were running by my watch) so we headed for the urban bus terminal to transit to the national bus station. On the way we saw a (the first) clock since entering Brazil, informing us it was an hour later than we thought, and that we were about to miss the last bus to São Paulo. We made it to the terminal to find there was only one seat left on the aforementioned bus. So we instead took an overnight bus to Curitiba where we changed for São Paulo and then again for Paraty, arriving 24 hours after our first bus departed. A bit crappy an a waste of a day but we couldn't complain after our bargain flights to Iguazu. 

Panoramic view from the Brazilian side

When we arrived in Paraty it was pretty late and we couldn't find a map or get our bearings so we ended up in a "posada" a bit like a family run b&b which was actually quite luxurious as I had a double bed to myself. 

After a shower it was clear a drink was required, but we didn't fancy straying far as there were more dark alleys than I felt comfortable with. Somehow we ended up in a local wine bar cum corner shop. I felt like we were intruding but we were made very welcome. There was a lot of guitar playing an singing which was great apart from it being in Portuguese. We had a great time but 24 hours sitting on multiple buses eventually drove us to bed at around 0200. 

We slept fitfully and had an absolutely excellent breakfast the next morning - fresh fruit, cake and a cheese an ham sandwich toastie which was incredibly welcome an made by my own fair hand. 

The day brought wandering through the quaint town, a trip to the somewhat cloudy beach and a walk along the heaving pier. Although the boats did day trips island hopping we decided to give it a miss and head to Ilha Grande the following day. We passed a pleasant day relaxing, which we clearly deserved, and treated ourselves to a posh(ish) dinner in the evening or a fishy seafoody brothy type dish. Plus chips, which we definitely didn't need. As we weren't ready to go home, we headed to the main square for cocktails and having ordered a second one each, realised we didn't have enough money to pay. Lou ran back to the room to get some money while I was chatted up by the waiter - which paid off in the end, because he only charged us for one cocktail each anyway. 

A dreary day in Paraty

We walked back a little unsteadily and put ourselves to bed, ready for the transfer to Ilha Grande the next day. It was maybe a little lazy not to take public transport, but for the sake a few of the Queen's good English pounds we decided it was convenient.

Week 10: Conversations

Having spent a few lovely days in Sucre and the last one just with Jen and Eefje, it was time for me to go on by myself again. In the morning I bought my bus ticket to Samaipata, a small town and the location of some pre-Inca ruins. After another emotional goodbye, and a parting gift of my sunglasses to Jen, who broke hers on a tree the previous day, a got onto the bus and readied myself for an uncomfortable journey. Here is where I met Gulo, a Bolivian who lives in Santa Cruz. I had what I felt to be my first proper conversation in Spanish. We talked about family and the city - it was hardly sophisticated but I understood 90% of everything he said to me and managed to say everything I wanted to say. I am pretty sure he watched me when I had a wee at the side of the road but let's pretend he didn't.

I felt like a real traveller when at 0300 the bus stopped in a ghost town and I was informed this was my stop. Gulo gave me a piece of paper with his number on and told me to call him to meet up when I arrived in Santa Cruz. I sort of... err.. lost it. After half an hour I managed to find somewhere to stay but wasn't able to sleep - despite it being the first night in some months I had a whole room to myself - typical.
The following morning I went for a short run, as I am still easing back into it and after a relaxed lunch taking in the square I went to the ruins. I had to rush them a little as I wanted to arrive in Santa Cruz before nightfall. However they were very interesting, particularly the rock carvings.

After a cramped 3hr car journey I arrived in Santa Cruz and having had an extremely sweaty walk I arrived at a hostel I had been recommended, only to realise that it had a swimming pool! I had some (very strong) mojitos with the other girl from my room - an American called Rhen who was studying in Cochabamba, also Bolivia. We ended up chatting for a while before deciding it would be a smart idea to get takeaway pizza. We got on really well and the conversation flowed freely (the bottle of wine we bought probably helped) and somehow we got from pizza to politics with any number of topics under the sun along the way.

The following day I woke up and realised I was pretty sick. I had one cold slice of pizza late in the evening but that was all I ate the whole day. It is the first time I have really got sick since I started travelling so I count myself lucky. I spent the day recovering and reading Price Caspian before getting an early night - I must have been out like a light because I didn't hear anyone come in.

A fair in the park down the road from my hostel

Mostly recovered the next day I went for a bimble into town and sat on a bench in the square, reading. I noticed a man kept looking at me. "Here we go again" I think. And it was, but not quite as I thought. After a few minutes he walked over: "allemania?" ("german?") he asked me. Just the week before at the salt flats a woman had sidled up to me and simply said "aus Deutschland?" ("from Germany?"). I told him I wasn't and he explained to me that he had received a letter in German and couldn't read it. Luckily for him I told him I could read it. Unluckily my spanish isn't that great. Luckily he speaks Italian. So there we are on the park bench: an English girl reading a German letter to a Bolivian man, in Italian. Mind. Blown. Also realised how bad my italian has got since picking up Spanish. He tells me his name is Desiderio and we go for an ice cream (note to self and others: do NOT go to a Bolivian ice cream parlour. It is an awful experience.) and then to the market before amicably parting ways.

The church in Santa Cruz main square

In the evening I catch the overnight train to the border with Brazil. It is surprisingly comfortable - my best overnight journey so far. They do however play the film "The Call" right before bed - basically a guy kidnaps blonde haired girls and scalps then kills them to make wigs for his dead sister. Creepy, and not really pre-sleep viewing.

The next couple of hours after disembraking from the train are a horrible blur. Despite being a border town it is nigh on impossible to change any money; the banks are so full of people you can barely get in (and, as I later discover, it wouldn't have mattered anyway as my card only works with one Brazilian bank) and I almost miss the bus to Rio. Thankfully I have the help of Lázara, a local woman who is insistent that she will help me. It's a good thing she does or I think I could have been stuck there for some time. At a push I manage to board the bus to Rio. It takes 29 painstakingly slow hours. Probably because the driver seems to insist on stopping every hour and a half. On the bus I meet Giovanni, an Italian with a lopsided beard who looks as though he has been travelling for much longer than 2 months. We share in each others discomfort and annoyance at stopping all the time. There was a toilet on the bus for goodness sake!

I eventually arrive in Rio de Janeiro in the early evening and after my epic 46 hour journey give in and get a cab to my hostel. A few hours later, my friend Lou arrives, having flown from London, and I cheer up a great deal.

This week has not been the most interesting (note the number of pictures) in terms of sights but it has been interesting meeting people from all walks of life and in all sorts of situations. The following days of "Holiday from travelling" and "Holiday" have been greatly anticipated by myself and Lou respectively - Brazil I hope you are ready for us!

Week 9: On Tour

After the fast pace of last week, we decided to take it easy for a day in Tupiza. There wasn´t a huge amount to do but catch up on emails, go for a bit of a wander and go for dinner. We also had to decide which tour company to do the salt flats tour with. After a little shopping around we chose to go with the hostel we were staying at and had a briefing in the evening where we met the others on the tour - 3 Germans and 2 Austrians. We were in one jeep and they were in another.

Lots of llamas!

The following day was a long one, with about 11 hours in the Jeep - there was almost no legroom in the very back. The "ghost town" which was to be the main attraction of the day was inaccesible due to a road blockage although we still saw some impressive landscapes and had lunch in a tiny settlement, courtesy of our cook, Dolores. Despite being told our accomodation would be very basic, we were impressed. There was even a power outlet which was on for 2 hours in the night - just as well as the battery of my new camera is pathetic.

The second day promised a little more as we started of at some llama pens (where some highly indecent PDAs were taking place) before heading to the first of many many lagunas and a sodium farm. The next stop was "Laguna Verde."So called because of its green colouring. I thought it looked inviting and really wanted to swim in it until I found out that the reason it was that colour was because of the copper in it. Oh yes, and the ARSENIC. Laguna of Horrible Poisonous Death seems a more apt name.

Before lunch we hit the hot springs and after being well fed again we went up to the geysers at 5000m. Then, having dropped our bags at that night's accomodation, we went to the last stop of the day. Laguna Roja (The Red Laguna) was not poisonous but is coloured by the algae and microorganisms which live in it. It was pretty impressive. The evening brought more socialisation as the "vodka" (read: paintstripper) came out and we played a few rounds of cards - mostly spoons and Irish snap.

Day 3 genuinely brought more lakes than I can recall, they were all quite pretty with lots of flamingoes. However before this inundation we headed to the Boulder Park, a collection of volcanic rocks which sound hollow if you knock on them. We had great fun climbing on them, although as we were still at some altitude it was a bit of a struggle.

We had lunch in the middle of nowhere with a pile of rocks and a fair few chinchillas. I also caught a glimpse of a small wild cat that day, although nobody else saw it and I am beginning to think it was a mirage! After lunch we went to a viewpoint of a dormant but smoky volcano. It was then that we realised how spoiled we were becoming as those of us who had climbed Villaricca volcano in Pucón, Chile, thought it would be a good time to have a bit of a rest on the rocks. In the evening we arrived at the salt hotel where almost everything was made of salt (save for bathrooms and kitchens). I licked the wall just to check and it definitely was salt. When I was already in my PJs and getting into bed we decided to go for a night time walk. Well worth it! Whenever I am outside at night at home and comment on what a clear night it is my Dad tends to reply with "this is nothing Claire, you should see the stars over the desert in Africa." I think I finally know what he means. Sadly I couldn't configure my camera to take a picture which did it justice. Apart from the fact that it all looked unfamiliar - partly because there were so many more stars, and partly because we are in the Southern Hemisphere and it all looks sort of upside down - it was absolutely amazing, the stars went all the way to the horizon. To top it off Jen and I saw a shooting star.

At 0430 the next morning we were all up and ready for the main event - the vast salt flats themselves. Salar de Uyuni is the biggest salt flat in the world at over 4,000 square miles and was essentially formed from the remains of several large salt lakes. The sunrise was pretty incredible and we headed to Cactus Island before breakfast. As its name suggests it is an island in the salt flat covered in very large cacti. Then for breakfast - Dolores had saved the best for last as we feasted on yoghurt, cereal and cake. Yes, they eat cake for breakfast here. Why isn't that socially acceptable at home?!

Possibly not the best, camera struggled with focussing. Then I ran out of patience.

Following breakfast was the "crazy perspective" photo shoot - with nothing on the horizon you use the lack of perspective to warp the appearance of people and everyday objects. Which is really fun... for about 15 minutes. 30 tops. One hour later we left. 

Relaxing at the top of Sucre

After lunch we were pretty much done for the day and took an epically horrible bus journey with the three Germans to Sucre, a beautiful city quite central in Bolivia. We passed a few relaxed days here - beautiful buildings and views, lush cocktails, an impressive and huge cemetery and good company. Unfortunately the hostel we stayed in was populated almost exclusively with Germans who were working or studying in the city. It was a good hostel although there was no way to leave after about 11pm so there was something of a breakout operation which went quite badly. (Worse for some than others.) The days of relaxation could not last forever though, and on the Wednesday Edgar and the Germans went on their way, leaving Jen Eefje and myself. We had a lovely relaxed dinner after the hectic affair of the past few days in such a large group and had an early night. Although the other two were staying for a few more nights, I needed to prepare for my next stop - Santa Cruz.