Cuzco was in itself a pleasant enough town. Set at a lofty 3400m, the inevitable dull headache stayed with us for a day or two. With the theft still fresh in our minds, we decided to make straight for Aguas Calientes, the base for visiting Machu Picchu. This is a village who´s sole purpose in life is to extract hard currency from the throng of tourists passing through.  The single train track meanders its way from Cuzco to Agua, though Peruvians and gringos are kept apart. The government has clearly grasped the opportunity of encouraging visitors to think along the economic lines of their home countries. The return fare for the 3 hour train ride trip is $5.00 for locals. Gringo fares start at $68.00. HAHA. The locals have a separate station. Chaos ensues as digies pile out onto the street with giant bags of goodness knows what, whilst foreigners are shepherded through a modern terminal and, without choice, into an artisan market.  We decided to take the hard way up and complete the 90 min climb up a zig zag path. Seemed like a good idea at the time, up at 5am, the tourist buses whizzed past us. 30 mins in we were knackered, we stuck with it and arrived just in time for sun rise, clear skies it was an amazing site. Whilst we sometimes felt on a conveyor belt, Machu Picchu was a fantastic sight.

Moving onwards and indeed upwards to 3820 meters, we headed for Puno on the shore of Lake Titicaca. Fresh fish is the comida of choice here. Sue uttered the words ´lets go out tonight and find ourselves some trout.´ Phill felt a moment of nostalgia thinking back to those hedonistic nights out in Hemel with Nige and Jeff.

 The floating Islands were another must see and despite the only reason for their continued existence being tourism, they managed to retain a degree of charm and memorable uniqueness. Across the border and into Bolivia, we have now discovered there is no way out of La Paz, the countries capital. All the roads in the country are blockaded due to a demonstration. More of that later.  PaS