We left the next day and made the decision to go to Loki, the La Paz junction of the big chain of Hostels throughout South America.
It was like walking into the common room at Harrow. You know me, I don't like judging books by their covers, look through this blog and you can see that quite clearly, but the place was full of cunts sniffed off their tits.
Luckily, the two people in our room were fantastic. Myriam and Thomas, two French dudes. The first night we spent with them Thomas got so drunk that he made a makeshift stage to dance on in front of the entire bar, asked Helen to elope with him to Palestine and then threw up for three hours. It was nice to have someone else making a twat out of themselves for a change.
The next day we organise a trip to the Deathroad, as it is called, to cycle down it. These plans are changed shortly afterwards however, as we find out that the gang are heading to La Paz and would be there in three days, so we asked the company to pencil them in. Not only that, but we hear that the Scouse/Irish mess Tom is winging his way in midweek as well.
That afternoon we wandered around what's known as the Witches' Market and went back to the same pub as we had eaten in the first night to try and catch the Arsenal match. Unfortunately they were only showing the rugby, and when Helen asked for some food it came out with a maggot in it. Yummy!
The day after that we went to the Valley de la Luna with Thomas and Myriam. It was okay, but after a while you realise you're just sort of walking around in a circle of rocks. Perhaps if it wasn't so cordoned off it would be better. But then you'd probably fall down a big hole and die. It's that awkward balance...
When we returned the Kiwis, Sam and Loz had turned up and we celebrated by drinking beer and playing lots of pool. It turned into a bit of a session and we ended up going to a dub-reggae bar with Pro-Palestinian regalia all over the walls.
Helen was in her element.
That is, until it got to about one in the morning and she got tired. I'd just had a naughty cigarette with two random Argentinean lads and she asks me if I wanted to go and see what's upstairs in the club, little do I realise upstairs is outside. We went home but I did't moan because I had fallen down a hill the week before.
The next day we all felt slightly worse for wear, and decided that the best way to combat that was to go out and eat the hottest curry in the southern hemisphere.
The day after that we farted all the way down the Deathroad.
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