Greetings home! We moved from Peruvian Andes eastward and crossed the border into Bolivia. The border crossing was mainly about pulling our wallets in and out of our pockets. Not that we want to moan about prices (calculated back to pounds it's still pretty good), but the density of places somebody wants you to pay is getting ridiculous. Observe:

1) Bus = fare ticket, no complaint there
2) Bus change tax = 1 Peruquid
3) Wee = 1 Peruquid
4) Border crossing (Peru) = 1 Peruquid
5) Border crossing (Bolivia) = 1 Boliquid
6) Wee = 1 Boliquid
7) Copacabana entry tax = 1 Boliquid

And that is just transit from point A to point B. :) As it seems today's entry will be mainly about money moaning... o:) In Copacabana we've met up with our Bolivian connection Rossio. She used to live and study in London for 4 years and she knows Mort from their workplace (Marks and Sparks). After initial greeting ceremony (that is a 10 minute long kiss while I am making a hole in the ground with my heel) we went to get ourselves a place to sleep. After several failures (too expensive, too shabby) Lady Luck has blown a local fisherman in our way and for a very interesting price he offered us a boat trip to Isla de Sol (Island of the Sun) where we can find fairly cheap accommodation. We didn't think twice about it and some two hours later we were climbing up the hill dodging donkey's excrements. About 20 meters into the hill we were overtaken by 6 years old kiddies that were jumping around us and wanted to chat (quite impossible when you are trying to stop your lungs from jumping out of your chest) and some 50 metres up the hill two grannies with huge load of something shuffled past us, mocking grin on their faces, sending our morale to the rock bottom. I'm telling you, when you are climbing up the hill in the middle of the day in 4000 metres with a full backpack on your back, that's when you find out how is your physical condition... :)

The Island of the Sun is a beautiful place, but we were soon to find out what spoils this idyllic place. Money obsessed aborigines. I understand that everybody wants to get an extra coin and poorer the people are the more desperate attempts you'll see, but this place is too much! Anytime you pull out a camera or stop by a stall with anything somebody will start tugging at your sleeve saying:"Gimme some money, dough, love,...!!" One example for all. I was taking a picture of a hill and about 100 square metres of a countryside with two girls at the bottom of the hill. When they saw me (from more than 300 metres away) they immediately started to run towards me and demand. Unfortunately I had no change on me so they unpacked their little shops  and started to offer embroidered cloths and other touristy stuff. I chose two necklaces but that didn't seem enough to them. Because I bought the stuff from only one of them, the other girl started to demand payment for the picture. That was beginning to be slightly annoying but I remembered that i got a dollar in my pocket (that's 7 bottles of water or 5 packs of biscuits btw.) and gave it to her. But even that didn't satisfy her greed and she was still pushing her dirty hand up into my face. That was the last drop, my face turned into a storm cloud, I called them several names and thieves and such and walked off pissed. Not a pleasant experience at all...

But even here we found exceptions that were more than pleasing to treat with a tip. On the west side of the island was a tiny little pub that was really just a small kitchen with one room big enough to accommodate four tables and few chairs. But a grilled trout served here was amongst top three delicatessen we had on our trip so fay. The innkeeper was a little man with the aura of kindness and ease, older but lively, a man who loved his job and made you feel really relaxed and welcome. Do I used the opportunity to sneak into the kitchen with my all seeing eye and now even you can see local sanitary conditions. :)

Another thing worth mentioning is insufficient supply of electricity. Either you had your light on or you charged your batteries. But forget about reading a book while charging your batteries, no way Jose. A classic was a local donkey orchestra, practising regularly every night after 9pm it's logopaedic exercise "eeeee - aahhh" (soz, dunno how donkey sounds in English :D) with decibels of a Motorhead concert in the O2 arena. And I got to mention the altitude again. One evening I went to kick the ball with local youngsters playing on a small tarmac pitch (the only tarmac on the island btw.) in front of a school. My whole performance was in rounds, each round consisting of a quick run towards the goal possibly with finishing the chance and then going back to our goal to sit down with my head between my knees trying to catch breath.

After three days on the islands we decided we had enough of donkey's cradle song and we mowed to La Paz. The only entertainment on the way there was an encounter with drunken Peruvian/Bolivian duo on the ferry. Those two jokers were admiring Mort's Aryan features and wanted to exchange his irises for theirs. I would never believe how many times you can shake hands in ten minutes but those two champions were definitely world class! :) Today it's already two days since we are in Bolivian capital. It's a fascinating place full of contrast and interesting places. Mainly because of this fact I'm writing this entry with a little delay but I promise that I'll make it up to you all soon and before we move from La Paz I'll give you a fascinating insight into a randomly encountered place of obscure shamanism and paid magic. So stay tuned...

- translated by Mort.