After a 3 hour journey from Copacabana to La Paz, Farida and I disembarked and got a taxi to the main square of Bolivia's wannabe capital, Plaza San Francisco. Having looked up a hostel in the Rough Guide (now known as the Bible, the Bib, or the Good Book of Travelling if you're not into the whole brevity thing), we went up a road to look for it. Two minutes later, having gone too far, someone pours some kind of yellowy hot dog sauce all over Farida's head and rucksacks, and onto my trousers and rucksacks, from a balcony, enabling some very helpful and kind people to relieve us of our backpacks and offer us tissues to wipe ourselves clean. Thirty seconds later and a genuinely nice pedestrian is calling out that some b****rd has run off with my little backpack (Containing a few fairly important things like my moneybelt (I wear it now, have no fear) with my bank cards and US dollars, passport and a few other documents in, my camera, my iPod, and last but by no means least, my haki sacks). Ain't no fool taking my haki sacks. I pity da fool. etc. So I decided to run after el amigo sin morals, and I think the fact that I was about 2 foot taller (slight exaggeration, but let it go), not very happy and red in the face (mostly sunburn, but also a poor level of fitness being a contributing factor), made the man drop el bolso and run off. I gave the idea of chasing him a few moments thought before realising that I'd left Farida standing guarding my big bag and hers, surrounded by Bolivians. Thankfully the ones with her were las buenos, so all was groovy. A bit of an eyeopener after the safety and chilledness of Cusco and Copacabana, but as all English teachers hate to say, part of a learning curve. Having calmed down and washed off, we set off to explore La Paz a bit - a really vibrant, bustling town (I should write for a travel guide), with mahoosive (I might have to stick to real Engish were I to do so) markets both during day and night. After a day of exploring, we booked the mountain biking trip on the Death Road ... el camino de la muerta. (I'm telling you after Mum, so you can't get too worried. My broken legs will soon heal ;) ) That was four hours fuelled by pure adrenaline, descending 3.5 kilometres in altitude over about 45km of roads and dirt tracks, with mountain one side and sheer drops on t'other. Only nearly came off once. Maybe twice. Anywho, comes highly recommended by both of us. We were provided with a cd of photos, so hopefully I'll get some on to the site soon. Met some groovy people doing the ride, who we went for a few drinks with in the evening, but the next day we were off to the salt flats, and that's another story... Otherwise, La Paz provided me with a few more bracelets...my total now, including some purchased today (the 7th) in Sucre, is 8 on the right, 5 on the left and 3 or 4 necklaces (someone give me a more manly word for that, please). Oh, and a guitar. I think there's a picture somewhere...it's pretty groovy though, hopefullyI'll make it back to England with it. And you and Gugu should now be happy Richyboy, I know it's not a banjo, but gimme a break. Right that's La Paz over with, check out the salt flats now! Much love, Dabiday.