Strange days with road kill of a different kind.

After the surf it was time to make a dash for the border. Mike certainly did himself proud with his GPS route finding this time. Somehow we missed a rather large town almost entirely and ended riding around some rice paddies for nearly an hour. Scaring the naked local men, as it appeared to be bath day for the men of Peru on this particular Thursday, we got to see a rather different side to the agriculture. Beats riding through a mad city with crazed drivers anytime though.

On our last morning in Peru we had rather disappointing breakfast, no, actually, a totally disgusting breakfast, that fortunately we didn't eat much of. Half an hour out of Piura, we were slowed down by a bus in front of us. When we passed around the obstacle on the road causing this delay, we saw, much to our suprise, that it was road kill of the human kind. Almost covered completely in blankets, just the bare right foot was sticking out. Now we've seen a lot of road kill, mangled dogs, a few cats, rodents, birds, llamas, armadillos, not forgetting Larry the lamb and even two rather large horses have been left to rot by the side of the road quite often with faces distorted by tyres and inards spewed all over the road. But this one made our empty tummies turn. No entrails were smeared over the road, but what was clearly a brain. I've no idea what would have casued the accident to leave the body in one peice except for the brain as the only vehicles around was the police car, a mototaxi, which barely had enough power to carry the driver and one passanger, and a donkey. Could have been a hit an run in the night maybe considering it was early in the morning, but either way we're glad we didn't have much for breakfast.

So on we go, another half hour up the road when we take the bypass around Sallinas to head for the border. Just after crossing a cause way, Mike pulls over. 'Hmmm what's up now!' Great, we kind of have a long day ahead and Mike gets a flat tyre. A rather large nail straight through the tyre. We've been stopped for less than a minute and I'm thinking that we'll need to take the wheel off, strap it to my bike, Mike can ride it to the tyre repairman just up the road (there is aways a tyre repair man just up the road) and get it fixed while I stay with his bike and the luggage. Great plan, but within that minute of stopping, we have a taxi stop his car and hysterically indicates that we must keep moving. I'm thinking we're not in the way, people can go around us if needed. Then a local bike pulls up shouting, 'Peligro, Peligro, vamos, vamos!'
'Why, what's dangerous? We're not on the road!'
The response, fingers turned into a gun pointing at us 'Bang, bang'!
Oh! We're not in danger from other vehicles but in danger of getting shot. Great! The local biker gives up and is out of there. Next a police motorcycle turns up.
Same again, 'Vamos, vamos, peligro, peligro!'
Mike's response, 'You've got a gun, you can stay here and protect us cause I can't go anywhere with this'.
Mr Policeman reluctantly agrees that yes he does indeed have a gun and so he sticks around, in a rather nervous manner. But none the less, restoring our faith in policemen.
So it's at this point in time that I'm glad it's Mike's tyre that has a puncture. Out comes the nail, in goes a sticky rubber thingy, and yes, that is it's technical term I'm sure, and he pumps up the tyre with his little mini electric pump. You've got to love a tubeless tyre. Mine's not and would have involved taking the inner tube out, unpacking a pannier to get to the spare and putting the new tube in then trying to get the tyre back on. So in under 10 minutes we were back on the road again. The locals had calmed down. Turns out, after chatting to the policeman while Mike sorted his tyre out, that the 'peligro' was only 'poco' rather than 'mucho', and we remained unscather by the banditos.
A dead body and this, all within the first hour of riding. Fortunately that was enough weirdness for the day and we crossed into Ecuador and made it to our first night's stay with out further drama.

Surfs up dudes....

.....God I hate the word 'dude' but anyhow, the surf was indeed up. Just enough for Mike and I to catch some waves, little tiny weeny beginner ones. We had headed for the surf again and after a bumpy, sports bra kind of ride, from Huaraz through Canon del Pato, we arrived after dark, (thanks to being pulled over by the police for a chat - no bribes though), in a little fishing village called Haunchaco. The attraction here is not only its surf, which around the point was a lot bigger for those who can, but the fishermen. Or more correctly, their boats. They're like a surf kayak made out of straw, similar to those on Lake Titicaca and have been made like this for over 2000 years apparently. So the fisherman paddles out through the waves, catches his fish then surfs back in. They're still fishing like this, but now for what appears to be a rather boring ride, tourists can be paddled out, paddled around for a bit then ride the small waves back in.
We opted for the adrenallin rush of surfing with boards. So booking ourselves in for a lesson with Eduardo, (North surf school, who also teaches orphans to surf to keep them out of mischief, and has a little bambino of his own on the way - got to give the guy a plug, he wants to go to Australia to surf but would need to scrimp and save for a year just for the flight) a brilliant instructor, we squeezed into our wet suits and headed for the beach. Two hours later and after much amuzment to the locals on the beach, I had the hang of it, sort of. I was able to stand up, and ever so slightly manouvre the board. Not too bad for not having been on a surf board for almost 4 years, when I couldn't stand up then either. Mike, the natural, stood up on his first go, then his second, lost it on the third but was back into it by about the 6th or 7th wave. We hung out in the water until it was almost dark and we were exhausted. Ah, I love the surf - especially when there are no sharks!

Touching the void and Poor wee Mikey bo bo.....

....isn't a well boy! I'll spare you the details as you can read his blog for that but as a result depsite having had 3 days off in Lima, we opt for an internet day in the beautiful Huaraz. This is the Cordillia Blanca. A stunning part of the Andes where the true story of Touching the Void occurred.

Just like the book cover.

Touching the void is about two mountaineers who are climbing a particular peak, when one slips and falls down a crevasse. As there is no response from him, his climbing buddy has to make the awful desicion to cut the rope, meaning certain death for the fallen guy, or perishing in the worsening conditions himself. It's a true story with a happy ending though and the guy who slipped, then was cut loose, falling to certain death down a crevasse, manages to haul himself out of the crevasse and literally drag himself, broken legs, dehydrated, frost bitten and hungry, back to base camp, just as the survival climber was about to leave. Phew!

Not a bad view to be looking at whilst recovering!

We didn't opt for any climbing here but Mike got some much needed delicious tomato soup and some time to recover from his own ailments. I managed to upload, but not name and file, a whole lot of photos for your perousal, if you really could be bothered, they're not great and I've only really posted them there for my Mum's benefit, so don't feel obliged.
Plus the scenery in Huaraz is stunning. A beautiful change from the desert and chicken farms.

I'm also thinking of changing my luggage to a top box, one that will fit in with the locals!

The little adventures of Northern Peru.

Heading out of Lima (a two hour fight through traffic, pedestrians and animals on a quiet Sunday morning) we make a B line, using the trusty GPS, for the motorway. North of Lima is much the same as the south, sand dunes, chicken farms and heat. It's almost time to get out of Peru but not before a quick side trip back into the Andes to Huaraz.
Of course every day is different and this one was no exception. We heard about the police being dodgy up in the north but weren't quite expecting to be pulled over so soon. Well I wasn't pulled over, Mike was. I was merrily following Mike, sitting at about 50km/hr, no idea what the speed limit was due to a convenient (for the police) lack of signs, when I notice Mike to start looking in his mirror, he's slowed right down by now and I'm thinking 'Cmon, lets get a move on, we've passed through the town, why are you slowing down?' Then I look in my mirror. Ah, that'd be a cop car following us. Damn it, he's got both of us for god knows what. Just a second, he overtakes me, cutting me up squeezing in between Mike and me. I get a sort of 'It's not you' sort of dismissive wave then the lights go on. He wants Mike. We pull over and this chubby chap gets out, all smiles. Hola, de donde viaje? etc! Espousa?, no, cama matrimonial? Quanto es BMW? and so it goes on for a few moments, this facination with our marital status and the value of Mike's bike. I've guessed by this time that they're not just curious, both cops'd be asking questions if they were, not just Mr Chubby while Mr Skinny loiters by the car. Mike hands over his fake licence, confirming that he is indeed from Scotland and yes whiskey comes from Scotland. Then Mr A**hole, formally know as Mr Chubby, produces a little book of fines. 170 soles, or could that be 340 soles! He's done with making small talk that may include me and drags Mike over to the car. I find it very frustrating coming from a culture where women are pretty much treated as equals, to a culture where males reign supreme and I should be at home having 9 children. So I'm left out of the negotiations (I'd only annoy Mike if I was trying to help anyway) and wait patiently by my bike for the outcome. 85 soles out of pocket and very one very peeved Mike. Mr A**hole, although remaining all smiles, suddenly became 'No entiendo' when Mike asked for evidence of this speeding fine, or for a reciept, or to be taken to the police station. And despite me being hot on the tail of Mike, I'm not fined (Bribed), one advantage of being a female then I guess.
So a 6 hour ride to Huaraz turns into 10 as we slow down to 35km for every cop car parked at either side of each village and town. Of course this annoys the locals, truck drivers and police alike but we're not giving them any more excuses to try this trick again. They can't fine us for going too slowly.

Nazca Lines and sandblasted teeth.

Astronaught or 'Owlman'?

'Astronaught right, ok, wait, wait, un momento, left side only, Astronaught left'! It only took these few words from the rayban wearing pilot and I was almost sick. What was I doing? Banking rather steeply to the right, then the left over the Nazca Lines in a rather little 6 seater plane. All before breakfast. Word of advice, when banking steeply to the right (or left for that matter) in a little plane, don't be trying to focus on the little digital display of your camera. Its not good for the stomach. The astronaught was the first of the heiroglyphs we flew over, so I was in a bad way for the rest of the trip. Fortunately it was only about a half hour flight.
The Nazca lines are best viewed from the air in the early morning light, with the low level sun casting shadows across the raised edges of the lines. We had the cheap tickets, again, and went up at about 8am but still had a decent view of the lines although our photos don't really do them justice.
Nobody is quite sure what the lines are for. Some are dead straight and run for miles into the horizon, possibly indicating points of equinoxs or soltices. Others are graphic respresentations of animals, birds, insects and mutations of the aforementioned. It is believed that they may have been used for religious purposes although this has never been proven. There is also the belief that as most are continuous lines, they were some sort of processional tracks. Mike and a fwe others think it is an alien landing site but I'm thinking a kind of punishment made for 'bad' people who were made to go and 'walk the line' in the midday sun when they misbehaved. Depending on the crime, the different lengths of line were to be walked. No one else has a proven theory after years of research, so why not, ey!
Anyway, I've dumped a whole lot of photos in the photo section under Nazca Lines (just to be organised) if you want to see some badly composed images - I wasn't well remember and wasn't quite looking at what I was taking a picture of.

Seeing as how we were up bright and early, we decided to get going (after I'd recovered a little from the motion sickness, Mike's used to flying Microlights so faired better than me). Huacachina, a couple of hours up the road, was our next destination. So what's to do there, I hear you ask. Well sandboarding for one thing, or if you want some real excitement (and the possiblilty of getting motion sickness again) hire a dune buggy. As we'd arrived late in the afternoon, we seemed to have missed the groups of buggies going out. Fortunately the restaurantuer where we had lunch talked us into hiring our own buggy and driver.
So the three of us pile into this thing that slightly resembles a thing out of Mad Max, only colourful. And off we go. Crazed Peruvian driver to the left of me, crazed Mike to the right. No windscreen. We take off, sedately pulling out of the little oasis. Then we hit the dunes and the driver gives it some. Mike is now deaf in his left ear with fingernail marks in his arm. I'm screaming and swearing like a trouper as we tear around the dunes climbing to the ridges then dropping face first over the edge. How we didn't roll it I have no idea. We stop for a minute to take some photos and admire the view, but that's not what we're really hear for so it's strapped back into the buggy and off we go. By this time, I have a mouthful of sand, it's hard to keep the stuff out when you're grinning so much. Then it's time to try to sand boarding. We'd seen some people treking to the tops of dunes dragging the board behind but being the lazy people we are, our driver parked at the top of a rather steep dune, waxed our boards, strapped us in and pushed us over the edge. Now, I can snowboard just fine but I'm not sure whether it was that I hadn't for more than two years, or that sandboarding is quite difficult, but the first attempt didn't go so well. By the time you go to get a turn in, the wax has worn off your board and you literally have to point the thing straight down the dune to get any momentum. Needless to say, I fell over a bit, filling up a few pockets on my cargos with sand on the way.

See Mike, this is how you do it!

Our everfaithful driver was there at the bottom to pick us up and tear up some more dunes. We got some more boarding in, finally getting the hang of it, and more photos. Mike was also allowed to drive a bit and did very well, not rolling it once. And although I'd stopped screaming so much, I think the driver had no intention of letting me anywhere near the driver's seat.
After about two hours, it was time to head back to the oasis. But just to make sure every orephus was full of sand, we stop once more, this time its head first on our bellies down the dunes. What a giggle.

Yep, Mike managed to keep it upright!

Half an hour to empty pockets, boots, ears and mouth of sand, we jump on the bikes for one last dash for the day, this time to the coast. It's time to see the ocean again.

Corners, cows and carburetors!

The roads were like this the whole day and next!

On a map it doesn't look that far from Cuzco to Nazca, home of those weird lines in the desert. But try riding it one day when you're early risers like Mike and me. Actually for once, we're not that late in starting, I think we managed it before 9am somehow. But as usual, days just don't turn out how you plan. Especially when you throw in an entire day's riding where there is only one stretch for about 2 km, that doesn't involve a corner - most of which were hairpin bends. The rather 'detailed' map shows a relatively straight road, thanks alot!
Fortunately, for a rare occasion, I'm in 'the zone' for going round corners, thank god, otherwise I think Mike would have left me after the first 50. I manage to keep up, but that probably has something to do with the fact that he was taking them a little slower, realising that around every other corner there would be a cow, standing, blissfully unaware of her surroundings, in the middle of the road. Not only did I loose count of the corners, but of the amount of times there was livestock, being hearded, grazing, or just mooching about for one reason or another and sometimes for no reason at all, in the middle of the road. Obvioulsy wire fences aren't big in Peru.
Oh and did I mention that my bike started to stall again. Quite usefully as I was going around some of those rather tight corners. The carb was getting blocked again. That guy in Cuzco was probably as much a mechanic as I was. Although I was cursing him for most of the afternoon, thinking that I'd been ripped off, I have to apologize and state that it could well have been the dodgy new fuel filter that was now broken. We replaced it later in Lima with a fancy new one and I haven't had any trouble since.
So needless to say we din't arrive in Nazca that night but had an interesting ride into some hick town about 2 hours short, riding in the pitch black, freezing cold, around hairpin bends still watching out for cows.
That night I dreamt that I was riding around corners, all night! (Like when you come off a boat that you've been on for a while, and you still think you're gently rocking on the water when you lay down) Only when I woke up in the morning, I had another two hours of them. God, what I would have given for a straight bit of road!

Machu Picchu and bit of other stuff.

After Lago Titicaca, the Gringo Trail takes you northward (If you're heading in a south/north direction that is) to Cuzco. Now I'm not sure what it is like on a bus, but on a bike the ride into Cuzco is lovely. The land becomes mountainous again while remaining verdant, unlike the barren altiplano. Fortunately we have a reccomendation for biker friendly accommodation from the ever helpful Jeff at Norton Rats Tavern, Plaza de Armas, Cuzco (I have to give him a plug as he has been helpfully responding to my sometimes silly questions about overland biking in Peru, Ecuador and Colombia for over a year now in preparation for this adventure). So it's pretty much straight in, parked up and unpacked. Right from the go, it's hard not to like Cuzco and as my amiga, Kirsty, discovered just recently also, it's a great place to chill out. We have plans of bike maintainence, much needed Spanish lessons, time out, and I'm going to cash in the leaving gift from my work, J2Design, a one night stay in Hotel Monasterio, a converted monastery (hence the name) luxury hotel. All this and of course a trip to the famous Machu Picchu.

So first up it's chilling out and playing tourist. We pop into Norton Rats Tavern for a pint and burgers, nothing like living it up with the locals. But hey, Jeff's been there for over 9 years now so that must count for almost being local. Whilst there, we happen to meet a rather amuzing and energetic Canadian mountain biker, by the name of Timmy. Over the course of our week in Cuzco, we run into Timmy quite a bit, and as I'm writing this, almost a month later, we have to thank Timmy for two particular tips he gave us of riding KLRs and motorbikes in general. I won't bother you with what they are but we used both today to get us through some rather tricky terrain which you can read about in a blog entry regarding volcanoes in Ecuador.

Next was getting the Spanish lessons in. In total four hours. Two hours before Machu Picchu and two after. They were good and we tried to tie them in with the Spanish lessons that Mike had on his MP3 player, although these tended to make me fall asleep. I think I managed to learn one or two more words and sometimes I can now even string half a sentance together. Maybe I should take another few lessons and see if the elusive grammtically correct sentance will happen for me.

Onto bike maintainence. Oil changes, normal and fork. As usual, I get chatting, just for something different, and don't finish the basic tasks until it's dark. When I get home (where ever that may be) I'm going to have to make sure that my home has a garage with good lighting, just so I can finish the bike maintainence. Mike's done an oil change and some other lubricant change, don't ask me, I know nothing about BMWs, except that he is finished long before I am.

It looks just like the photograph!

So then the 'highlight' of this entire adventure, a visit to Machu Picchu. We've decided to be skin flints and opt for the cheapest train fare up there, which for us, with our own tranpsort, isn't a problem as it leaves from Ollytatambo rather than Cuzco, and it's only $48 return. So we pack up one ruck sack between us, leave our panniers at Casa Grande, the hostel we were staying at, and head up to Ollyatatambo. I have a rather organised (for once) suggestion of checking to see if there are still tickets available for that night at the Cuzco train station. That's where our little plan comes unstuck in more than one way. There are no tickets left for that night. Despite being low season, the trains are still packed. A quick discussion and we're on the next cheapest ticket, $58, and still leaving from Ollytatambo. One problem solved. Next problem, my carburetor decides it's blocked again. So I keep stalling. For C***ts sake! Ok, so it's my fault for not noticing that that fuel hose is deteriorating rapidly and flaking off into the useless fuel filter, therefore blocking the jets, but hey, what am I, a motormechanic! Fortunately we ride past a motomechanic's and arrange to leave the bike there for a bit of TLC. So it's two-up on the BMW to Ollyatambo. We'll get to Machu Picchu eventually.
It's a lovely ride up there. We're only pulled over by the police once, asking to see the bike's documents, which of course, are handily located in the pannier back in Cuzco. But Mike's fake driver's licence seems to do the trick as does answering that 'No, I'm not Mike's espousa, rather his novia'. I'm not sure what the facination with Mike's and my martital status is, but the topic comes up even when we just stop for petrol.
Ollyatatambo is a rather lovely little town with Inca ruins and once again, my reccommendation would be to catch a train from here rather than Cuzco, just because you get to see so much more of the country side getting to Ollyatambo.
So the big day's arrived. We're off to Machu Picchu. The rather slow, rickety 8:40am train gets us to Aguas Callientes just before 11am, then it's a dash for the 20 minute bus ride to the entry of the ruins. Followed by a few minutes of frustration trying to buy the tickets to get in, lining up to get in, then being told that we actually need to fill in some details on the tickets, so having to go back to some desks, fill in our names and passport numbers and some other bits and pieces, lining up again, then we're in. We're in, behind what seems like thousands of other tourists. Unesco world herritage estimate that the site can only cope with 200-500 people a day, without sustaining damage. Today they were obvioulsy taking no notice of this number. Over 400 alone did a two hour trek to the Moon Temple, within the site, and the place was still packed. Mostly with large groups following umbrella wielding guides arround. We didn't hire a guide, maybe we should have, but just eavesdropped on a few groups we were passing. We also had two guide books. I have to say, that although dissapointed is probably not the right word, I wasn't as 'blown away' as I thought I'd be. I think it could be that we've all seen the photos of the site, and they inundate you in Cuzco. Every travel agancy's window has the photographs plastered up. But it does have to be said, it does look exactly like the photos, and I still manage to take over a hundred myself (not quite as many as whale watching but the subject in these photos aren't moving this time).
One benefit of being disorganised is that we couldn't get the normal train back to Ollyatambo, it of course, is fully booked. We have to catch one an hour later. That gives us an extra hour in the ruins. It also gives Mike the opportunity to chat to a Peruvian, on holidays with his father, who seems to know a lot about the history of the Incas. We learn more about the site in 10 minutes of talking to him than reading the guide books and eavesdropping. Plus we have the place to ourselves almost. We start to get a feel for 'magic' that draws thousands there every year.
This particular day was also happened to be Australia Day, so hence the photo of me with the Aussie flag in a restaurant in Aguas Calliantes in my photo section.

Back in Cuzco, the KLR's has had some TLC, more than I bargained for. It's clean, the guy has replaced the broken mirror and it didn't stall once on the way back to the hotel.
Time to check into our luxury accommodation for the night.
Suprise, suprise, there is no parking for one clean/one dirty motorbike. I don't think they'd do for having us just park up in the lobby. So its quickly back to Casa Grande who are rather excited that two of its guests are staying at the poshest hotel in town, before returning to more familar surroundings, and we're parked up. I just drag my bin liner covered dusty backpack with me back to the posh place. You can just tell the concierge doesn't want to go near it, but it's his job to take it to the room. It's weird being back in a hotel of this class (Something I had to get used to with my work) and I think my poshest English accent makes an appearance. But the dusty bike clothes give me away.
After bouncing around the enourmous bed (The size of two doubles together without the split down the middle - god knows how they found sheets to fit it though as most other hostals can't find sheets to fit a standard double in South America) for a few minutes, it's off for another two hours of Spanish lessons. We're taught how to ask for food in a restaurant including how to ask what comes with the dish. Something that Mike remembers still but I forgot as soon as we walked out of the classroom. Memory like a sieve. So dinner is the usual blundering through mostly in English and a few hand actions. Although to be fair, the staff can all speak reasonable English. We arrive 15 minutes after our reservation at the hotel's restaurant, only to realize that we've missed the night's traditional entertainment, yep - those panpipes. What a shame!
Then we have the quietest night's sleep we've had since who knows! I'm not sure about the oxygen enriched rooms that they claim to have to help with the altitude, but it was still good. And a bath, I'm not normally a bath person, but I have missed them since leaving England (And no smart comments, I've been showering) so I get to have a lovely long bath with bubble bath and all. Got to love those little bottles of posh shampoo, shower gel, conditioner and moisturiser they have in the hotel rooms.
A bit of a mix up checking out of the hotel in the morning leaves us a little dissapointed (They wouldn't let us stay for free the next night! :0), but overall it was fantastic gift and much needed bit of luxury. Back to Casa Grande and our affordable budget!

Un sole, un sole.....

' The Sun Gate'

This kid stood in the way so you 'had' to take a photo then hit you up for a $.

The cutest little voices whisper to you. We're on the Isla Taquille in Lago Titicaca and it's beautiful. We've followed the Guide Book's recommendation and caught the slower, cheaper local boat out to the island and are staying the night. This place is so tranquil and the people so friendly. The children, still trying to sell you their little wristbands, are so sweet and gentle that you can't help but give in and buy one. It makes for such a pleasant change from the mainland.
These guys live in a kind of communist state. There is one community restaurant on the island, but they also take it turns on a week by week basis as to which restaurants are open for the day trippers. We met a local lad who spoke very good English and who is trying to promote healthy tourism to the island. We stayed at his family's home where we were also fed. There are no hotels as such and this way the money goes directly to the Islanders rather than any tourist company based in Puno.

We travelled by a small boat, stopping at the floating reed islands for 20 minutes. This was more than long enough. The rumours that they are very touristy was an understatement. And I think we faired much better than the actual tourist boats. It was kind of weird walking on the reeds though, so I shouldn't be too damning.

So when the day trippers arrive, they have a very steep, 500 step climb to get to the Sun gate, before making their way down to the main square. The guide book says it's a 20 minute climb. I doubt it. Fortunately we landed at another port and although steep, it wasn't half as bad a climb to the township. And the best part was, we had our local man giving us a running commentry about the history and lives of the locals all the way to a restaurant that served the most delicious fish. It also had the most amazing views.

After a delicious lunch of soup and fish, we drop our bags off and go for a wander around the norhtern part of the island. Unfortunately it turns cold and the storms that we had been watching off in the distance start to move in so we head back to our abode and have an afternoon nap before dinner. It's a hard life.

The view was amazing

The next morning we took a stroll (or an out of breathe climb more like it) to the beautiful beach at the southern tip of the island. It was too cold to go in past our ankles but like a couple of nonces we did some pilate stretches. It was one of those mornings where you're glad to be alive in mind so we wanted our unfit bodies to feel the same. Mike did well and after half an hour of trying, all the time stating he has never been able to touch his toes (he does have very long legs), he managed to reach them. I have photographic evidence, but I'll spare you the image as he is not fully clothed. I even think he gave the fisherman who turned up not long after we arrived, a bit of a fright.

Lunch was at our 'favourite' restaurant where we got an idea of what the day trippers were like. But how the five obese Americans who were sitting at the next table ever made it up the stairs from the dock without having heart attacks will remain one of life's great mysteries.

It was sad to leave that little bit of paradise, and once again my recommendation to anyone in the area would be to stay overnight and avoid the tourists boats. If nothing else but to avoid the horrible pan pipe versions of bad 80's music the local seem obliged to play.

The worst ruins in Boliviar and the first and worst attempt at bribery.

Frank from Donny Darko?

Maybe it was worth the money just to see this at Tiawanaku

After an excellent ride back to La Paz on the replacement 'Most Dangerous Road', Mike and his GPS navigate us quickly around the outskirts of La Paz and we head for one of the 'Not to be missed' sights of South America. Tiawanaku is the site of what used to be a rather large civilisation. Pre-Inca. Unfortunately the Bolivians don't really know how to curate a site like this and you really have to use your imagination to even begin to see something left in the ruins. What gets us is the cost. It all but wipes out our Bolivino kitty and Mike's wallet, we're not impressed - at all! Just as well today we hit Peru. And no, the guide book got it wrong, it is not a site, not to be missed. Our suggestion is to go through Cocacabana, much pretier by all accounts.

We're a bit nervous leaving Bolivia. When we entered through the National Park 10 days ago, there was one dirt road we should have taken. The one that took us to the Aduana (Customs) Office, conveniently located about 5km down a road I thought the Park Ranger told us not to go down. So the bikes have never been imported into Bolivia officially. Today we'll see just how inept the Bolivians really are.
So we come to a road block just before the Peru/Bolivain border. We're motioned to pull over and show bike documents and passport. Other traffic is being stopped and appear to be paying about one or two Bolivianos to pass. Mike is first to get his papers looked at and handed back but as I'm trying to hand mine over for inspection, we get 'There is a US$10 fee'. 'What's that for' we ask, 'we don't have US$10'. 'Ok, $10 (Bolivianos)' We get the idea pretty quickly and Mike, on the ball, pulls out our empty kitty, cleaned out from the visit to Tiawanku. He also pulls out his own, empty wallet and we explain, in English of course, that the expense of the ruins has left us with no Bolivianos. And that as we are going to Peru we haven't got anymore. They get they're words mixed up and suggest that the fee is voluntary rather than obligatory, we opt for the voluntary approach and say that we volunteer not to pay it. They try a spin around and of course we 'No entiendo'. I still have my documents in my hand, Mike's are right in front of him on the table, so we guess it's pretty safe to leave. They're laughing at our 'No entiendo' but let us get on. If they'd been on the ball doing they're job properly instead of trying to get a bribe, they could have held us with every right for not having the correct aduana documents. Bless them, no wonder they're a land locked country with a poor economy. Even when they have the opportunity to make some money somewhat legitamately, they balls it up.

La Paz and the World's most dangerous road.

Although Potosi is a relatively cool colonial town, after recovering from the tour of the mine, we headed off to La Paz. From what I'd heard of La Paz, I have to say that it kind of scared me. Rumours of kidnappings for your credit cards, crazy drivers and a smog filled valley made me ask myself 'Did I really want to go there?'. Unfortunately, or fortunately, I needed a new chain ASAP. So we had to stop by.
After getting caught up in the world's entire population of minibuses, on a Saturday night, and scraping through a street parade, dancers in traditional constume blocking the main road into the city, we find the Autopista into La Paz down town. If I thought all the mini buses were on the outsirts of the city, I was sorely mistaken. The hotel that we had booked, on the proviso that it had parking for 'Dos Motos', turns out to be to be a dud. It's a nice hotel, and after several clutch burning hill starts to get there, I was rather disappointed/furious when the hotel manager points to the sauna as being the location to park our bikes. At a push, with panniers off and both bike and rider breathing in, we still would have had little chance to fit. Ok so we can park in the courtyard, not quite as secure but it's off the street. Well that's great but how the hell do we get the bikes up a flight of non DDA compliant stairs where the risers are much taller than the treads? And all this in a country full of short people. Once again I'm very happy to bump into Andreas and Kristina again. Turns out they have a hotel with secure parking. Within half an hour and many near mises with some minibuses, Mike giving some drivers a whole lot of his left indicator, the horn being badly located on the BMW, we were parked up, checked in, and unpacked.
We spent the next couple of days souvineer shopping, Alpaca wool products abundant in Gringo Alley. And Mike bought a Charranga to calm his guitar playing urges. We also had the pleasure of meeting some very nice, unscarry locals and Police with the KLR also getting a much needed new chain and sprocket.

The bikes get a wash

Then it was time to attempt the infamous, Road of Death. After gettting some prices for the mountain bike tours, we opt for taking our own motorbikes down. We'd met a couple of bikers who'd given us the GPS way points and shown us some photos. Couldn't be too hard, surely!
Fortunately after 15 years of construction, a safer, just as scenic road opened about 3 months before our arrival, taking all of the traffic off the Road of Death. And that day we didn't even have to contend with the mountain bikers as the tour groups were on strike over a local toll rising from 3 Bolivianos to 15.

I had a good reason to be a bit cautious.

I admit it was a bit scary at first, the road is quite narrow, but getting into the swing of things and the bikes getting a wash under the many waterfalls, we spent a lovely 4 or so hours slowly bouncing down the track. We arrived in the lovely Yungan town of Coroico in time for a late lunch and decided to stay the night. It was warm, the people friendly, and the altitude was low. Not to mention that the setting was beautiful. This part of Boliviar I really like.

If you kids don't behave.....

......it'll be down the mines for you.
We arrived in Potosi and got ourselves set up in a hostal. No mean feat considering there are no street signs. That and we had a couple of stairs to get down with bikes to get them parked up securely.

Nope, not much fun at all.

So the next morning we head off to the mines. You've seen the adds, jolly Welshmen talking about pot noodles. Not this bunch. After getting kitted up in miners jackets, pants, boots and hard hats, we head off to the markets. Apparently it is customery to bring gifts of soda, cocoa leaves or dynamite to the miners, we opt for the soda and Mike can't resist the temptation to buy some dynamite. So we head up to Cerro Rico, a mine that has been in opperation from the arrival of the Spanish over 500 years ago and claimed over 9 million lives - moslty African and the local Indian slaves who had to spend 6 days a week working, eating and sleeping down in the mines, allowed out only one day a week.
It is a mountain at the top of Potosi and currently has 14000 miners working in it. The conditions are apalling and there is no Work Place Health and Safety, life expectancy is just 45 years for the miners. Boys from as young as 14 years old work in the mines, pushing trolleys weighing more than a tonne, from the depths of the mountains to the exit points, no electricity for winches, for over 10 hours a day. All for the equivlant of about $6 a day. We were down the mines for less than 2 hours and that was more than sufficient. With the arsenic fumes, cramped conditions and having to leap to safety, out of the way of hurtling trolleys, although enlightening, I couldn't wait to get out of there. If you ever hear me whinge about work again, remind me that anything is better than working down a mine in Boliviar.
As a side note, since leaving Boliviar, the Government has agreed to immplement a plan for better working conditions for all miners. They've only been waiting since 1985 for this.