After rather childishly referring to Puno as Poo-no since the whole tankbag theft hoohah, we decided to hot foot toute de suite to Bolivia and what a change. The border crossing at Kasani was our easiest yet, suspiciously so! No bribes, no extra "tax" or payments for ink, even with the Bolivian Aduana guy stamping our forms with great aplomb and a super cheery smile. Everyone was friendly and seemed pleased to see a couple of loco gringos on a rusty old bike. We headed into Copacabana, and although we know the song isn't about *this* one, we were quite Manilow'd out after the nth rendition in our heads.

A few days were spent relaxing by Lake Titicaca with Imogen getting writer's cramp from re-writing the last 2 months into a new diary (her old diary up to February was in the pannier so at least that was safe from Peruvian tricky fish), and feeling annoyed anew with every page completed. Copacabana is a tourist mecca with shops a-plenty and gringo prices. True to form we found a cheap locals place for cena and that was the start of our problems. Imogen came down with Bolivian bacteria bad belly first, which made the sunset stroll up to the Stations of the Cross a slightly worrisome affair. Then James succumbed, making the boat trip to Isla de la Luna and Isla de la Sol a mission to find baños en route. We were still following in Hugh Thomson's footsteps and tried to walk the pilgrimage route to the sacred rock but due to some local shenanigans the north part of the island was closed to visitors. Hey ho. We did get to see many baby alpacas and some glorious ruins all topped off by the brilliant blue skies you get with altitude.

We took our first mini ferry since Canada at San Pedro de Tiquina. Of course it's not obvious how you pay, where you go, or indeed, which of the slightly rickety wooden slatted boats you should get on. We had to push the bike off backwards as the boat is one way on/off and the lorry behind us was itching to get on the move and cover us in diesel fumes, only a slight wobble as our super heavy bike was heaved over the ramps.

La Paz was a crazy hectic city as befits South America in general, plus the added bonus of it being at altitude, poor bike (and us!) We spent a week holed up in a hostel next to the Witches Market, where you can buy herbs, animal foetuses and as many powders and lotions as you can imagine, nursing stomach bugs and fixing the bike YET AGAIN. Yes, the electrics died on us so we had to push it to a mechanic, luckily only a few blocks away and mostly downhill, but always fun through the street markets which spill onto the roads. We suspect a hangover from the Popayán regulator/rectifier MacGyver fix from December and luckily it was sorted in a day.

At least this slightly enforced stay in La Paz meant we could explore in depth, including a fantastic trip out to the archeological site of Tiwanaku. The road takes you across some glorious altiplano - it's just so massive you can't take it all in and pictures certainly don't do it justice.

We decided that due to the fuel pump not working, we stick to the main roads and head south, rather than our original plan of eastwards into the Amazon. Alas, there are rules and regulations on the buying and selling of petrol to foreign vehicles and we were refused gas at one place which meant we were running on willpower on the approach to Oruro. Luckily we were sold a tank at a mere double of the locals price when the starter motor clicked on and wouldn't stop until James disconnected the battery. As the locals would say: "problema". We tried to camp up behind the station as it was now dark but the guys there said it was too dangerous and their boss was super mean, so with the sterling help of Alvaro the gas attendant, we pushed the fully laden bike 3 miles into town. What a star. By 10pm we were in an alojamiento, wondering quite why there have been so many problems with the bike but maybe the poor thing is just old and wheezy. Oddly after James had a chat with our mechanic in Pembury and a bit of cleaning of the solenoids, it seemed the problem had fixed itself, so on the road again.

We arrived in the UNESCO city of Potosí, where 50% of the world's silver was once mined. We went on a tour down into the working mine, something that would never happen in the UK what with elf n safety shenanigans. A fascinating tour which really made us glad we don't have to work there, especially when you find out that ALL the workers contract silicosis and life expectancy is 50 years. A sobering thought, especially as being two Brits enjoying a year off on a motorbike, we really aren't suffering any hardships in our life. We both felt very thankful for our winning of the life lottery and being born in the west.

The roads across the altiplano really have been amazing, from seeing vast herds of camelids, to incredible raptors soaring overhead, it's been quite an experience. The colours of the red rocks contrasted with the brilliance of the skies have made it some of the most unforgettable riding, especially the Ruta 5 with its twists and turns, dropping 1500m then back up again.

As we neared the end of our time in Bolivia, we had one last trip to make, heading out to the unforgettable Salar de Uyuni. Well, we would've done if there hadn't been a lake of salty water, which had the potential to chomp through the already tetchy electrics quicker than a pack of rabid dogs. So we sucked it up and paid for a 4x4 day tour which was pretty good fun and included the obligatory false perspective photo fun and games.

Next stop, Argentina and what border shenanigans we faced this time.

Photos as usual on Imogen Burman-Mitchell's facebook page.