BoLOVEia

Word.

So we scaled the overland border crossing with relative smoothness and jollity and made it into Bolivia. Travelling around the edge of Lake Titicaca, which is bloody massive, man, we arrived at the always fashionable Copacabana.

 N.B. Not ordinarily being big spelling Nazis, it´s curious that we should yearn for the regularity found in English nouns. For example, there seems to be no true way to spell Titicaca. See below;

Titicaca

Titikaka

Titicaka

Titikaca

It´s a bamboozler.

Oh lovely Copacabana! We arrived to the sounds of music playing and the sights of women laying petal mosaics on the roads in preparation for more fiesta fun.

We decided to treat ourselves with the hostel and went a bit upmarket, with HOT WATER!!!!! Oh joy of joys, cahloo calay! Here is the view from our hostel…

Nut-sweet eh? (Macadamia? Cashew?)

Our hostel also had a kitchen which meant…vegetables! There is only so much corn-based carby food-stuffs you can take. We have missed cooking. Spelling and cooking.

We hosted a party for all the local grouchos. It was fabulous, daaaarling. Ate good food, drank local Boliv wine and sang folk-songs to Chad´s adept guitar playing. We also learnt to play the pipes. Learnt, in it´s loosest sense.

General fiesta fun ensued. Check out these massive bells, indicating the level of exaggerated boot-based celebration.

Big horns.

“Oh my God! A running of the bulls? Cool man!” This is what we said when we heard about the running of the bulls. But wait a minute. Who are these guys?

Erm…

No we will not be paying, thank you very much. Amy was shocked at her level of wishing harm to another human being in the five minute of the fight we observed from atop a pile of dirt. “Go bull! Take him down!” Then some bloke jumped in the ring dressed as a woman. It was all pretty weird.  Goodbye…

Here are some of our new groucho friends.

Bearded, long hair, as any good groucho should be. Chadmeister, Pete and Count Daniel.

We don´t have much more to report as we were mainly sleeping in a hammock strung garden or inebriated.

Although… we did find some sexiness, of sorts. A night of live music and dancing. Hurrah!! Here´s an equation for ya..

(High altitude + pisco sours + (bongos x 3) x “Tengo novio”)/ (A Bolivian version of the train-ghost from the hit-movie Ghost (remember him, scary face) + drug dealer + self-styled Latin-American PHD student)

= Salsa based fun with new groucho bessie, Sarah.

The next day, a little headachey, we went on a poorly organized tour to the Isla del Sol. Leaky boat, Madam? Eeek! Again, almost immediately, escaping the rest of the tourists, we´re mad us. Went a-wandering looking at the beautiful vista, and attempting to find the Inca ruins (Why are there no signposts!!!?)

Gave up and sat on a rock, see image.

Here is a llama for your delectation.

And that´s all we have to say about that.

Love you, bye.

A & H xx