Don`s mail Fri 2nd May 2003 " Huayana ¨Kill Me Now!¨ Potosi "

let's see if i can spice things up a little since last
time. it seems karma(sara) has come back to kick my
ass after my blissful jungle/animal adventures.

"other than great views and a sense of accomplishment,
don't believe anything good anybody says about
climbing a mountain"

yesterday afternoon cam and i laughed our way up to
the base camp of Huayana Potosi. "that was so easy!"
"this altitudes got nothing on us!" after a snack of
tea and biscuits we retired to our tent to catch some
Z's before we hiked up this puny mountain at midnight
to catch the sun rise. we had been told that it was
very difficult to sleep at this altitude for some
people but i dozed off without a care, again proving
my theory that i was invincible. BEEP BEEP BEEP time
to get up. my theory was shattered! i couldn't move!
every waking movement, even every peak through my
eyelids caused a paralyzing wave of unbearable ache
through my head. i tried to exercise my discipline,
not the best time for a first attempt at something. i
managed to move myself, after rolling around in a
groaning heap of misery, into some clothes and out of
the tent. have you ever experienced the shear beauty
of a full sky of stars from a great mountain? well,
neither have i! each star pierced through my eyes
into my aching(like it's never ached before) brain,
and this mountain was far from great in my opinion at
this point, unless you were referring to a "great rock
of pain infliction". i fell back into the tent. cam
seemed to be suffering as much as i, yet he had
managed to dress himself as i lay fetal in position.
i attempted this discipline thing again and managed to
pull my overall snow pants up to my knees before i was
hit with a wave of nausea. alarms going off in my
head: i'm going to throw up! lie down! close your
eyes! that's it! this discipline thing is causing me
nothing but pain and suffering. i'm staying here! our
guide enters and tries to encourage me but i think my
attempt at "i'm going to throw up if i move" sign
language got through. "cam! good luck man!"... no
answer. had they gone? i must have passed out. what
followed was not comparable to cam's experience on the
mountain but was still nothing near anything good. i
thrashed around the tent in a restless, oxygen
deprived attempt at sleep. the situation worsened by
the minute as i managed to make myself more and more
uncomfortable, i was lacking the energy and dare i
say, the discipline, to do anything worthwhile for
myself and so i spent the next 6 or 7 hours groaning
and moaning in the cold tent. cam returned by morning
only to join me in my mess. he would, eventually,
tell me vaguely of his discipline packed(are you
sensing a theme here yet) journey up the mountain
until his legs gave out from under him and he throw up
only 188 vertical metres from the summit. it took us
near 3 hours to get our things packed and commence our
decent to a normal altitude(if you can call 3700
normal). remember that initial accent? "this is so
easy!" yada yada yada. well, we weren't laughing this
time as we thoroughly felt ever impact on every step
down through our throbbing heads.

this may sound all negative but there is something to
be savored here, for cam and i and all Canadian alike.
though many of you are probably unaware, this attempt
on Huayana Potosi was actually the 3rd and final round
of a South American: England vs. Canada Hiking
Tournament. The English took an early lead when they
managed to squeeze by the Canadians (and PJ, thanks
for the support) to finish the Inca Trail only seconds
earlier. The Tournament was quickly tied when the
young Canadians booted up Huayana Picchu in a mere 27
minutes the next day, beating the English(and PJ, your
support was not appreciated this time). The Hiking
Tournament was at a stalemate for quite some time
until Aitch, "The Little One", took on The Solo Aspect
of The Tournament by attempting to summit Huayana
Potosi without the support of her teammate "Fast"
Toby. It was a long and grueling battle(from what we
hear at least) but in the end the mountain would reign
supreme leaving "The Little One" dead in her tracks a
mere 300 vertical metres from the 6088m summit. A damn
shame, for Team England that is(and PJ, you two timing
bastard!) as the judges rule that "Killah Cam'Ron" of
Team Canada did successfully exceed Aitch "The Little
One's" attempt on the very difficult summit of the
great Huayana Potosi. The South American Hiking
Tournament was called to an end as Aitch "The Little
One" forfeited by means of "leaving the continent"(THE
RULE BOOK pg. 28 sec. 3). This concludes tonights
broadcast, goodnight everyone. THE CANADIANS WIN!!!
NO DOOT ABOOT IT!!!

i'll be back with reports on the world's most
dangerous road in no time, stay tuned
don
let's see if i can spice things up a little since last
time. it seems karma(sara) has come back to kick my
ass after my blissful jungle/animal adventures.

"other than great views and a sense of accomplishment,
don't believe anything good anybody says about
climbing a mountain"

yesterday afternoon cam and i laughed our way up to
the base camp of Huayana Potosi. "that was so easy!"
"this altitudes got nothing on us!" after a snack of
tea and biscuits we retired to our tent to catch some
Z's before we hiked up this puny mountain at midnight
to catch the sun rise. we had been told that it was
very difficult to sleep at this altitude for some
people but i dozed off without a care, again proving
my theory that i was invincible. BEEP BEEP BEEP time
to get up. my theory was shattered! i couldn't move!
every waking movement, even every peak through my
eyelids caused a paralyzing wave of unbearable ache
through my head. i tried to exercise my discipline,
not the best time for a first attempt at something. i
managed to move myself, after rolling around in a
groaning heap of misery, into some clothes and out of
the tent. have you ever experienced the shear beauty
of a full sky of stars from a great mountain? well,
neither have i! each star pierced through my eyes
into my aching(like it's never ached before) brain,
and this mountain was far from great in my opinion at
this point, unless you were referring to a "great rock
of pain infliction". i fell back into the tent. cam
seemed to be suffering as much as i, yet he had
managed to dress himself as i lay fetal in position.
i attempted this discipline thing again and managed to
pull my overall snow pants up to my knees before i was
hit with a wave of nausea. alarms going off in my
head: i'm going to throw up! lie down! close your
eyes! that's it! this discipline thing is causing me
nothing but pain and suffering. i'm staying here! our
guide enters and tries to encourage me but i think my
attempt at "i'm going to throw up if i move" sign
language got through. "cam! good luck man!"... no
answer. had they gone? i must have passed out. what
followed was not comparable to cam's experience on the
mountain but was still nothing near anything good. i
thrashed around the tent in a restless, oxygen
deprived attempt at sleep. the situation worsened by
the minute as i managed to make myself more and more
uncomfortable, i was lacking the energy and dare i
say, the discipline, to do anything worthwhile for
myself and so i spent the next 6 or 7 hours groaning
and moaning in the cold tent. cam returned by morning
only to join me in my mess. he would, eventually,
tell me vaguely of his discipline packed(are you
sensing a theme here yet) journey up the mountain
until his legs gave out from under him and he throw up
only 188 vertical metres from the summit. it took us
near 3 hours to get our things packed and commence our
decent to a normal altitude(if you can call 3700
normal). remember that initial accent? "this is so
easy!" yada yada yada. well, we weren't laughing this
time as we thoroughly felt ever impact on every step
down through our throbbing heads.

this may sound all negative but there is something to
be savored here, for cam and i and all Canadian alike.
though many of you are probably unaware, this attempt
on Huayana Potosi was actually the 3rd and final round
of a South American: England vs. Canada Hiking
Tournament. The English took an early lead when they
managed to squeeze by the Canadians (and PJ, thanks
for the support) to finish the Inca Trail only seconds
earlier. The Tournament was quickly tied when the
young Canadians booted up Huayana Picchu in a mere 27
minutes the next day, beating the English(and PJ, your
support was not appreciated this time). The Hiking
Tournament was at a stalemate for quite some time
until Aitch, "The Little One", took on The Solo Aspect
of The Tournament by attempting to summit Huayana
Potosi without the support of her teammate "Fast"
Toby. It was a long and grueling battle(from what we
hear at least) but in the end the mountain would reign
supreme leaving "The Little One" dead in her tracks a
mere 300 vertical metres from the 6088m summit. A damn
shame, for Team England that is(and PJ, you two timing
bastard!) as the judges rule that "Killah Cam'Ron" of
Team Canada did successfully exceed Aitch "The Little
One's" attempt on the very difficult summit of the
great Huayana Potosi. The South American Hiking
Tournament was called to an end as Aitch "The Little
One" forfeited by means of "leaving the continent"(THE
RULE BOOK pg. 28 sec. 3). This concludes tonights
broadcast, goodnight everyone. THE CANADIANS WIN!!!
NO DOOT ABOOT IT!!!

i'll be back with reports on the world's most
dangerous road in no time, stay tuned
don

Moniques mail from NZ in 2 parts

well folks
Howzigoin?
I eventually left SF and went to Jane's housefor a week of relaxation
and a weekend of insking in the Rockies!! The conditions were brill,
loads of snopw and sunny weather.
I then went back to SF for a few days and took a flight to Fiji. I
headed straight for a tiny island called Beachcomber, a kind of backpacker
resort, with loads of bloody English eejits., but other than that quite
nice.
I spent my days snorkelling, lying on the beach ands eating myself
under the table!! It sounds good but after a few days it gets a bit boring
and Fiji is a really humid placce so I didn't mind leaving.
I arrivewd in Auckland after spendeing about 5 days inFiji and didn't6
really do that much.
Eimear was in Hastings picking apples so I decided to hoop on the bus
and meet up with her. It was great to see a ffamiliar face especially
since we hadn't seen eeach other since september.
Hawkes bay where Hastings is very much a wine country, so we decided to
go on a tastings tour of the wineries and sample some of the local
delicasies.we borrowed some bikes and cycled around to the vineyardds to
"qquaff" some wine. Alas we got a puncture and had to abandon ship and
hitch back to hastings and collect the bikes later, but we managed to get
in a few glasses before we left of course.
Hastings is a strange kind of place, kind of like Kildare with the
horse studs and the boy racers. WE went to this pub one night wher every
had mullets and baseball caps, you couldn't distinguish betweenn the
sexes!!
I had a very short but sweet career in apple picking one and a half
days!! but it was enough.
After about a week and a half we left Hastings and headed for Taupo
with the two Stephans (one Danish and one German)who were driving there
conveniently enough.
I'll finish this later.
Monique


and part 2 "so where was I..."

....oh yeah, Taupo is a really nice ssmall place in the middle of the
north island with a big lake called lake Taupo(funnily enough). It was
easter when we were there and there was a salsa and samba festival on,
so we did a salsa class for a laurgh! ah haw ha haw!
The next day myself and the 2 stephans did a 12,000ft skydive. It was
absolutely amazing!The feeling of falling throught he airfor a 45 second
freefall was brill. Just before we hit the clouds my instructor pulled
the cord and then there was silence as we floated through the air down
to the ground.
The next day we drove to Tongariro national park to do the Tongariro
crossing.A 16km walk through a range of dormant volcanoes, this is where
they filmed the Mordor scenes and the big battle in Lord of the rings.
It was really spectacular with these amazingly green coloured lakes
called the emerald lakes strangely enough and also a red crater with the
steam coming out from the side of the mountains.
So conveniently enoough the two Stephans happened to be going to
WEllington too so we managed to get a lift whoo hoo!
That's where I am at the moment, we've been here for about a week. It's
a reallycool place with loads of cafe's restaurants and groovy little
shops and loads of very gnarly dudes around.
Tomorrow though we(myself, Eimear, Grainne(Eimear's sis) and Rob who
just arrived from Oz) are getting the ferry across to the south island.
I'm knitting myself a scarf as it's going to get really cold!!
*Just a few thoughts*
Wellington is groovy
Auckland isn't
Hastings is even less groovy
Quaffing wine is good
Getting a puncture isn't
Knitting is the new rock'n roll
Skydiving is better than jumping up and down on yoour parents bed
Noam Chomsky is a radical dude
haki sak attack!
Tim Tams are yummy
Rob's socks are yucky

Bye
Monique

Dons mail, "macaws, monkeys, pumas and a jaguar, oh my! " dated April 29th 2003

out of the jungle and on to... i'm lacking a poetic
sense right now, never mind.

i feel like my letters are always more interesting and
fun when i've had some thing bad, and so i fear that
this one may lack because there has been nothing but
great things here in bolivia(for the most part, fam.
ill be calling you...). ive just spent the last 2
weeks in a small jungle animal refuge in the jungle in
the coca growing region of the chapare. you see,
things got pretty routine while i was there the early
morning wake up at 7, the walk down the street past
the occasional army truck loaded with 16 year olds
packing AKs or maybe the police motorcycle gang
zipping by in a pack of 16. over the bridge and to
the refuge i would go, stopping to by 2L of fresh
squeezed OJ for the day for just a few cents over an
american dollar. grab the bananas and papayas for the
macaws, toucans, and amazon birds i cared for and
headed to the work place whilst helicopters
observing the coca plantations flew over head. after
feeding we would let out atleast 10 of our birds to
roam in the trees, and chase off the rogue monkeys
that had caught the scent of breakfast. for a few
days we had a female capuchin raphaela visiting us
all the time, problem was that if we werent paying
attention to her then the would start stealing
stuff... we later found out that she was in heat and
just wanted some one to hold her... how sweet! not so
much. my work with the birds was actually pretty
routine except for when i would find myself climbing
high in trees to rescue the adventurous ones.
otherwise i might have been visiting the monkey park
to play with the capuchins or to swim in the river
beside the spider monkey park... although Negro the
dominant male was not usually happy with my presence.
on one occasion i visited cam at his post in the
Mirador all by himself with a semi wild troop of
monkeys... after comparing daily tasks i found his job
quite hilarious... definitly important but fuckin
hilarious! as far as extracurricular activities i was
solely dedicated to getting an old swimming pool in
working order for a saturday pool party... after two
weeks or cleaning and fixing, dealing with a sabatour
and convincing people that the brown water was
beautiful if youu swam at night when you couldnt
see... i managed to get a small group of 7 people in
on the saturday Discoteca night. i didt care, i cam
and i made use of it nearly three times a day.
although the routine i got into included playing and
caring for animals of all types, running into roy, the
6 month old puma every other day, and eating homemade
empanadas for dinner, the most exciting stuff was on
the last few days. for the whole of my second last
day i walked Gato the 7 year old veteran puma through
the jungle for a good 7hrs. sprinting through parts
of it to catch up after he bounded up steep rock
ledges that i had to scale. he had been raised in a
circus where both of his back legs had been broken, he
was fed a diet of milk and bread! no meat! the refuge
obtained him through legal means from the circus 5
years ago, it took him 9 months to get on his feet and
9 more to walk i believe. he is beautiful today. the
next day i went to visit the ocelots, 3 of them. 2 of
them were unfortunatly aggitated by my presence but
the third, millie, was very playful. afterwards, i
went to fulfill a dream. i went to with yaki, one of
the long time volunteers, to visit Sama the jaguar!
the largest and most beautiful and most powerful
animal i have ever seen! sama had been ready for
releasal years ago into the brazilian jungle but
ironically enough brazil denied his release based on
political issues after sama had been taught to
distrust people(they do that so that the animal will
stay away from people for its saftey). it took yaki
months to get him out of his cage. he is to powerful
and unpredictable to take for walks like the pumas so
they have him on runners giving him a good range of
motion... he needs so much more, they are working in
small steps and he is truly dangerous, he once
attacked one of hie long time volunteers!

as i said there wasnt really anything bad in there to
spice things up but ill try to make up for it after
biking the worlds most dangerous road in 2 days, or
maybe i never will!

peace love happpiness and laughter
don

Aitch`s mail "Noseeums united...bloivia part 2" dated 26th Apr 2003

Bolivia part two and unusually for me, really long.......so sorry. Take it in small chunks and with a cup of tea. Hopefully its worth it!

NOSEEUMS UNITED

People watchers of the world love backstreets and marketplaces. Bolivia tops the league and sunny summerday wanderings in England will probably be sadly uneventful after some of the everyday incidents here.

Take La Paz. Expect to be mobbed at every turn by the "Paramilitary" shoeshine boys. They are the modern day versions of the Dark Riders in Lord of the Rings but without horses (thankfully). Instead they are armed only with their battered wooden boxes and oversized black balaclavas, but wield a shoebrush with some authority like an automatic weapon pointed at your feet. Their gruff insistence not to let you walk around this dirty smoggy city with dirty shoes is truly admirable. But as my shoes are generally one-strap cloth thongs, it appears that the daily breathing of shoe polish fumes can seriously affect your ability to tell the difference between a prime business opportunity and a complete non-starter!

I was intimidated enough one day to let one of the hooded boys loose on my unsuspecting hiking boots. The plan was that it would help waterproof them. The resulting industrial stength "shine and seal" he put on them couldnt be scuffed through despite every effort at every stone and mud pool for a week. Having your toe caps beaming your gleaming reflection back at you with every step does nothing for your street credibility amongst fellow trekkers on a cold mountain.....

Take markets. If you can get past the initial cloud of flies swarming over the Bull table (decapitated heads with their bloody tongues flopped out in a last minute death Moo, the biggest yellow/purple ball sacs you could ever imagine and bizarrely, just a pile of noses..) theres plenty of people to watch. The women are all traditionally dressed with their quirky hats and puffball skirts and nifty leg warmers underneath (never a good look, in Bolivia or the 80s!). They all carry things in their cerise backpack blankets, usually 50 kgs of food for market, half their house contents or a couple of sleeping kids with feet hanging lifelessly out of the sides. There are floor to ceiling displays of vividly coloured fruits and vegetables and old women buying them. Old people here come in a standard design - stunted and hunched over from all the back breaking load-carrying years, and the women always with their hair plaited like two horses tails to their bums with woolen adornments at the end. They also have the most amazing ancient leathery faces that they hide from you once they see a camera. The older generation still believe that taking a photo takes your soul.

Look on buses. Buses are really mini theatres here, with a seated captive audience and street sellers lining up to perform their 3 minute between-stops sales pitch at supersonic speed. After extensive personal study of this microcosm, it seems that the quality of delivery, salespersons clothing and product on sale are directly proportional to the quality (=ticket price) for the bus. At the bottom of the heap (detritus level) , we have the the scruffy kids thrusting sticky week-old sweets into your face and the great deal-sealing line of "Gringo you buy". At the top of the food chain we have the suited, booted and briefcased professionals selling gold chains. This is the Bolivian equivalent I guess to travelling insurance salesmen. And everything in between, including the angelic dirt-streaked faces of boys selling nothing but their musical talents, singing 8 bars of an unidentifiable Bolivian song for a few cents a time.

To be fair to these little singers, any Bolivian music is actually all pretty unidentifiable. What a difference crossing the Andes makes. Come back Simon and Garfunkels “ El Condor Paso” in panpipes, churangas and ponchos, all is forgiven . In Bolivia even the professionals can make every song sound worryingly like a compilation of the worst (but infinitely jolly) advertisement jingles in the world. And they all share that same irritating 1980s DIY synthesiser backing drumbeat. Their delight in playing this constantly and loudly is the worst thing about long tedious bus journeys.

But the best thing about long tedious bus journeys is seeing how all that quality thinking time affects peoples perceptions as to what they really need in life to make everything suddenly better. The bus sellers seem miraculously to have worked this all out for them ahead of time. Some of them dont even have to walk onto the bus to sell. The bus stops, you yell out of the window for what you want and it turns up at the window a moment later. Bread, Coke, chicken with rice, wife..... I screamed on every trip for some new music to replace the droning elevator music but sadly all the vendors have missed this obvious gap in the market. But if it happens to be a life saving sewing kit, or a chart of religious poems, a kids book or a pair of white lace knickers you need, you will be catered for. I was once sorely tempted by a folding ruler but wimped out and bought some delicious fluff-coated sweets prised from a grubby set of little hands for one Boliviano instead.

And theres always police watching. Returning from a mountain climb we thought someone important had died, as everyone in the city was crying and holding handkerchiefs. We stepped out of the car into an empty instead of bustling main street, which had we been thinking properly might have given us a small clue as to something weird going on. We walked right into the No Mans Land of a wall of riot police in front and a mob of poster-clad and firework throwing students behind. Posters being dangerous weapons, the police were obviously justifiable in feeling threatened with only their body armour, helmets and guns for protection. In retaliation for those pesky noisy fireworks they simply charged past my open-mouthed staring, firing rounds of tear gas. I ran up the nearest street clutching my throat. Police are great to watch but from a safe and gas-masked distance.

As if this potential welcoming committee isnt enough, just prior to that I had climbed a big mountain overlooking La Paz, for the adventure and because it was there. Or almost climbed it. 6088 metres in 24 hours is not strictly within safe climbing guidelines. You start at a breath-robbing 4700 metres and hike with fully loaded backpacks up loose rocky inclines to pitch base camp on a rock ledge at 5200 metres. The view from the dinner spot was spectaular and took your mind off the congealed starchy spaghetti and coco tea actually served for dinner. All glistening snow capped peaks and rolling clouds and condors circling in the thermals. The forecast was for a film-worthy summit attempt, in companionable silence, on pristine snowy white slopes and luckily without headlamps as the night was to be romantically backlit by a full moon ...all the way to a beautiful sunrise against cobalt blue skies at the aforementioned summit.

That was the plan anyway until it all went Pete Tong at one in the morning when we woke up to less than a metre visibility, howling wind and swirling snow. Only 5 layers of clothes to put on, fumbling in two sets of fingerless gloves and 15 below temperatures, rope up together with crampons and, picks in hand, stroll and climb for 7 hours up near vertical ice slopes. NO PROBLEMA! The first 3 hours were a slog one weary foot at a time, with my calfs and ankles screaming at the exertion and unnatural slope of the land. It was uninspiring, dark and directionless, just a line of trussed-up zombies shuffling along after a bit of rope suspended eerily above the ground and disappearing off into the murky gloom in front of us. I hit a vomiting wall at 5700 metres. I hit near-meltdown claustrophobic panic with every minute more of enclosing fog. Stopping was only ever a footstep away and the invisible mountain peak a staggering 4 more hours of footsteps away. Given these statistics even my frozen brain could see that mind over matter was not an option and sadly I stopped and turned my sick stomach and aching body back down towards camp.

Hindsight is a great thing and although Im still disappointed not to have made it, if I had the same conditions, no visibility and no friends for encouragement again I probably couldnt do it again. I will live the summit vicariously though – “All Hail the Canadians” who are taking up the challenge and will undoubtedly do a better job than me on their day. Sorry to Fast Toby - I let our team down a bit on this challenge but you werent there to kick my arse up further!

The last eight days in Bolivia were wonderful and surreal, working as a volunteer at an animal refuge on the edges of a thick jungle with the river wending slowly past and 5 hours from the nearest bank or internet. Perfect. Even more perfect as we re-united our Montenita travelling family there and met some new members (basketballing Jordan, sista Gillian....) With great company, my newly acquired guitar, a hammock, $1.50 bottles of rum, apple empanadas freshly baked by the woman next door and the sounds of the evening jungle, time after work was filled with nothing much and everything special.

Daytimes, I couldnt be an individual animal carer with full time animal responsibility as I couldnt commit enough time (2 weeks minimum) but that gave me plenty of time to play over lunches and quiet times. Sitting designing new visitor information boards all day with a baby capuchin monkey nestled fast asleep under your hair and hugging your neck or a scruffy injured parrot perched on your shoulder, is a REAL and unique experience in life. Parrots, toucans, monkeys, big cats (we didnt get to play with the jaguar, pumas or ocelots too closely though).....Everyone was permanently smelly, dirty, drenched through with either torrential rain or boiling sweat, pissed on, shit on, tired from the 11 hour days without a day off...and covered in bites from animals, mossies and the infamous "noseeums" (...work it out...). You could tell what animal people worked with by studying the pattern of bruises, teeth marks and scratches on their body parts. Wild unpredictable animals, and thats just the women.....!

The location was a combination of Indiana Jones and The Terminator. It had everything a good script needs. Uneasy history - primary coco leaf growing area. Motivation - greed and big bucks money, as the area services the cocaine industry. Backdrop - dark jungle, pressure cooker heat. Foreground – tourists wandering the village.

Introducing the chief combatants - the cocoa growers and the police - the former with a penchant for demonstrating and closing roads, the latter with a history of randomly shooting them dead to re-open them again. Every day a team of 16 black-booted and camouflaged police outriders would stream across the bridge four abreast, huge AK47s slung across their backs and designer shades in place. The helicoptor would thwud-thwud overhead a few times a day. It wasnt exactly a shining example of low key community policing.

Ironically Villa Tunari and this area are probably the most difficult places in South America to actually get cocaine. As a Red Zone the police have the right to stop, search and arrest for any drugs found. Its straight to jail, do not Pass Go, do not collect $200 and definitely no Get Out Of Jail Free card for gringos. Coco leaves are easily accessible though and also legal but a bit of a chomping chore in reality. Most locals have these huge hamster-pouch cheeks from stuffing up to 500 coco leaves into their mouths at a time. Thats a huge amount of cellulose to chew but eventually I suppose some big numbing hit to your gums and head. Going on the average set of teeth, or lack of them, it also has a profound rotting effect long term, the same as sniffing and your nose.

All of this I was contemplating last night, between 11 and 3 in the morning as I sat like a lost soul waiting for a bus at the side of the road, with the snarling packs of stray dogs circling me hungrily. It might not be for everyone but I found sharing time with wild animals, 40 international volunteers and nothing to do but work, rest and chill a simple and addictive way of life. Same as working with horses in Oz or the Dive Crew in Byron. Before decamping roadside, I had a traditional travellers send off courtesy of Trina - my first attempt at fire dancing (I had been learning with a staff which last night she kindly set fire to for me) - and some rum courtesy of the boys. As the hours passed and the dog pack grew, I was a little melancholy (and cold and a tad nervous...) but realised I had some great memories and of course was still sitting there adding to my impressive collection of 400 souvenir bites. It does look like someone loaded a paintbrush with red paint and flicked tiny spots all down my legs (preferred Noseeum dining area) and inserted small itchy lumps of cotton wool under my skin across my shoulders and back (preferred Mosquito dining area). Despite this, someday I hope to go back and work with the cats for a month at their new park even further off the beaten track towards the Brazilian jungle.

At this point in my night there were happily buses passing every 15 minutes. Maddeningly they had got the passing down to a fine art but not the stopping for passengers bit. Some would teasingly slow down to have a good gawp, sometimes even opening the door for a better view, before accelerating straight past me again and leaving me in a cloud of choking dust. For some of my 4 hours watching this routine I was kept company by a local. His English was non existent and my Spanish is only fully workable with a dictionary to hand and light to read it by. So on a dark dog-infested street we compromised on polite chitchat in Spanglish and sign language. On a previous bus ride to Villa Tunari I talked to a doctor for two hours about studies, health care systems, financial aid and his lawyer girlfriend (I think). Last night the conversation was less challenging. In between gesticulating wildly and shouting in two languages at the disappearing backs of buses , we sat on rocks and threw rocks at the prowling dogs – two satisfying moments of international bonding. And more than anything else he wanted to take to his family a list of traditional English firstnames. Dont ask me why. It turns out that theres an awful lot of these names you can write down in 2 hours together. It was a fitting end to a country and its people and reminded me that I was indeed embarking on the first leg of journey home.

Bolivia has been a great place to be. Still so much jungle I havent trekked through, mountains I havent climbed and hikes I havent hiked though. If it wasnt for the promise of Tango-ing in a square in Buenos Aires tomorrow, I would be a little sad today to be leaving. So I think that this is the last email from South America. Theres a slim chance Uruguay (4 days) might warrant a mention...I will let you know.

Other than that, a long flight home to sit through and miss South America on I guess. I will miss the empanadas, the gorgeous ice cream, banana shakes, my 100% natural steaks, flat tasteless bread (although not that much), eggs, eggs and more eggs, cheap rum, cheap food, being willing to pay any money in dollars cash just for a swig of Coca Cola sometimes, dreadful weak beer that’s half froth at altitude, drastic weather changes, endless stunning scenery, huge mountains, smiling brown faces, kids carried on backs, kids selling stuff on streets, palm weavings, fruit markets, the amazing low rise cities, beautiful colonial architecture, the sunny Plazas in every town centre, random conversations with old characters on park benches, speaking Spanish, wandering down winding streets, peering into bizarre shops, riding in battered up cars, squashed into buses with bags and animals, disorganization and frustration at every turn and no concept of customer service.

And what have I learned? You should never travel without Ducktape (ducttape?! – anyway that silver strong sticky stuff for every occasion), that I don’t have nearly enough gadgets, never travel with a Canadian flag on your daypack as like a red rag to a bull for every thief, scam artist and corrupt policeman within a mile radius (!), overnight buses age you, basketball is huge in Bolivia but what´s football?!, walking at altitude is unfeasibly draining, getting to the summit is a drug-free high, hallucinogenic cactus juice drunk through the nose is exceedingly painful (otherwise called Liquid Hell Fire and thanks to you 2 for trying this so I never need to!…), English as I speak it is a whole new vocabulary to English-speaking USA/Canadians, I eat like an English person (!?), there are wonderful connected people everywhere, no meeting is a coincidence, being on your own on a mountain is raw energy, being with others is an invigorating experience, learn a new skill every week (guitar, fire sticks,..), the world is small, push yourself past the point of no return, keep sight of true friendships and never let an argument or someone come between you and finally I miss horses and animals, I miss using my brain and Im eternally excited about the next trip to come……..

To all the Bolivian gang (and those that came before) - Canada boys, the Princess, the USA gals, the Frenchies, the Kiwi Chef - thanks. Its been THE BEST, which is saying something after all this time on the road. I think you can safely say its had its ups and downs - geographically, emotionally and belly wise. But everythings been a "think back and smile" time. YOU ALL REALLY ROCKED MY WORLD. So see ya somewhere in the world .....soon..... for some more rocking.

Until then

Love to everyone

Little South American Explorer Out
for one last time....