Bolivia lived up to its chaotic expectations. Our first few days in the country were spent cruising around steaming volcanos, salt flats and lakes with wild flamingos. When it came to choosing our jeep tour buddies, we went for the multi-lingual Germans who spent the trip translating for us - Spanish going well. We realised our alpaca jumpers, silly hats and sexy thermals still weren't enough to prepare us for our first night in a Bolivian family's mudhut at 4500m above sea level. We decided it was more hygienic to pee al fresco with the llamas than to use the shed with no running water.

Second day on the salt flats was eventful, attempting to take the classic gringo perspective photos. Failing that, we ran around with our clothes off, feeling liberated as ever. The salt flats were incredible, apparently 150m deep, covering miles and miles, so far you could see the curve of the earth and the reflections of mountains shimmering in the distance. We appreciated the sheer size as we drove the jeep ourselves, singing along to Taylor Swift. 22 really is the best age ;) Already enjoying the lack of Bolivian regulations. We even enjoyed the sights as we had to retrace our steps after Sarah had broken the window, trying to find the missing piece. Ate a grim llama steak on cactus island which made us feel slightly guilty after we'd affectionately chased (terrorised) them wild at 'llama paradise'. The llama farmers were not pleased.

That night we had the option of staying in Uyuni or going to see a train graveyard, nice cheerful excursion, not 'a great option for who likes a good trip' as the guide had told us. Surprisingly we chose to leave early on an overnight bus to La Paz, not letting every single tourist bus being full get in our way. We instead took a local Bolivian bus across the country with a surprise 3am drop off in a dire town called Oruro, nothing like taking the scenic route. After some ticket theft and experiencing some real life Bolivian culture we managed to find another local bus that promised to take us to the centre of La Paz.

This turned into an adventure in itself as we got forced off the bus at 6am onto the busy motorway, still can't understand why. The locals all took this opportunity to relieve themselves, even the women, the traditional Bolivian dress came in handy as they squatted by the roadside with babies and other luggage strapped to their backs. They must have great quads under those skirts.

We optimistically jumped on the nearest bus that beeped at us to escape the toxic motorway fumes, and after some awkward Spanglish got dropped off near a hotel who directed us to a taxi rank. The distant protest and gun shots made for interesting morning entertainment (sorry Sarah they definitely weren't fireworks). We finally made it to Loki Hostel and surprised Arthur and Albert with our early, if traumatic, arrival.

Such action babes we are we decided to book a bike ride down the Death Road, statistically the world's most dangerous road, and in the process discovered that border control had given us no immigration documents to evidence our arrival, meaning we weren't actually allowed to leave. Oops. We dragged Arthur and Albert to the embassy with us for moral support and then rewarded them with pisco sours. Nice boring day out, bet they were glad to see us again.

The Death Road tour company warned us we wouldn't be allowed to ride with a hangover, so naturally we hit the bar that night. We blame the annoying Israelis for buying us blood bombs, probably only because Phoebe told them they 'Israeli fit'. Sarah and Albert topped the night off with a live duet of My Heart Will Go On. We definitely made a good first impression at the hostel.

Woke up nice and early, feeling fresh as ever, to meet the rest of our Death Road biking crew and Derren the 'totally rad' tour guide. Such adrenaline junkies. We dressed up in our biker gear and, after a shaky start, hit the down hill. The first quarter of the 65km ride was the smooth tarmac new road which built up our our confidence nicely for the rest of the bumpy gravel ride along the cliff edge. Lucky for us there had been a landslide that day on the new road so we were privileged with all the traffic on our ride. We really are thrill seekers, even if by accident. Beccy gave the group behind us a treat when she naively squatted behind the bus; that was a pee with a view more than she bargained for.

After meandering round 1000ft drops we arrived at an animal sanctuary in the Amazonian jungle. Paid a little extra to see the monkeys which was worth it as one of them jumped on Sarah's head, while Beccy had to cover up her piercings after being told of the monkey's thieving tendencies. We unwillingly drove back up the death road to get home, with multiple beer stops to calm our nerves. Party bus terrified us, especially when they opened the door at the narrowest point showing us we couldn't even see the road we were driving on, just a sheer cliff drop. Safe to say we were more than happy to arrive back at Loki, order a pizza and go to sleep.

Next day we gave ourselves a self-guided walking tour, getting trapped literally in the parade of another national holiday we didn't know was happening. We didn't quite pass as traditional Bolivians, but did get invited into San Pedro prison and resisted the urge to see what all the fuss was about, reading Marching Powder was enough.

Next stop was the witches market to hear traditional tales and get talked into buying some interesting goods to try and take home through customs.

Saturday night turned out to be the new Topless Tuesday at Loki bar. Arthur got offered a job after his bar-top antics, Phoebe performed the Macarena and didn't get off the bar until the lights came on, and Beccy spent the next morning retrieving parts of her pirate costume from around the hostel. We had definitely embraced the Gringo Trail..