The Bolivians are revolting! Ok, so maybe not 'revolting', but 'protesting' doesn't sound quite as dramatic! We were warned that the Bolivians liked a good protest and this had a habit of disrupting the best-laid plans, and 4 days into Bolivia we have experienced this already.

The flight here, amazingly, went without hitch - Madeleine was convinced that the travel agent had not actually booked our flight as it took them an hour and a half of confused looks, and even if it was booked we wouldn´t actually get on it as this is what happened last time she flew out of Cuzco. But no, we arrived at the airport, our names were on all of the lists (there were at least 5), our flight left on time and dropped us into Bolivia an hour later. And what a beautiful flight it was - entirely over the Andes with awesome views of Lake Titicaca.

The drive from the airport into La Paz was equally spectacular. The airport is in the Alto Plato - a massive explanse of flat land with just a view isolated mountains in the distance. 5 minutes in the taxi, however, and we were somehow dropping down into a valley with buildings clinging to every available surface and snow-capped mountains in the distance, it really was quite a sight.

The reality of La Paz didn´t quite live up to this spectacular introduction, however. The city is large and dirty and we have yet to find the charm that everyone promises us it holds.

On Tuesday we headed out to Lake Titicaca - now that IS beautiful. This is where the protests hit us though,and getting there and back was no mean feat.

We had got tickets for the bus leaving La Paz at 7.30, arriving at midday (a 3.5 hour journey apparently) andsure enough, the bus picks us up at 7.30, to drive us down the road and around the corner to wait for another bus. At this point we realised we left a box at the hotel, so Madeleine dashes off back to the hotel to retrieve it. Luckily it´s there and we get on the bus at about 8.15, thinking that's the drama out of the way for the day.

About an hour into the journey we veer off of the tarmac road and onto dirt-tracks around tiny villages. The bus then lurches to a stand still for 5 minutes before the driver decides we have gone the wrong way and reverses. We head in another direction before once again stopping and reversing and heading yet another way. This continues for half hour or so, with the villagers all staring in disbelief at the sight of this tourist bus lurching past their back gardens - a sure sign this is NOT the bus route. Eventually the bus driver stops and asks for directions and we head out through a field until we eventually hit the main road again - a little shaken but none the worse for the experience. Turns out that protestors had blocked the tarmac road so the driver was just winging it.

A further hour goes by incident free until we get to the port of San Pedro where we all have to get off of the bus and board a little motor boat to be ferried across the water whilst the bus is put on a barge and taken across. From this point on we are treated to spectacular views of Lake Titicaca as we drive around to Copacabana where we catch another boat out to the Isla del Sol - a boat that splutters and stalls and does not convince us it is going to get us there in one piece.

The lake,the largest high-altitude lake in the world, is magnificent. The turqusoise water stretches off into the horizon, with mountains and islands - some seeming to float above the water - poking out in the distance.

Isla del Sol is one of the closest islands to the mainland, is inhabited by just 2500 people, has no running water and and is believed to be the birth place of the Sun. In order to get to the 'village' where the hostals were we had to walk up a massive hill, no mean feat at such high altitude with our packs. Just as we were reaching the top, however, a family walked past us, each carrying a massive pack on their backs - including the children who can't have been more than 5 or 6 years old. However hard we had found it to get up that hill the locals have to do it all the time, bringing everything they need - including all their water.

The view from our hostal was amazing - straight out over the Lake to the Isla de la Luna. There was just time for an hour or so of exploring before the sun went down, rather spectacularly, and Madeleine roused Joe from her exhausted slumber for dinner.

The next morning the sun rose over the mountains right in front of our hostal. Sitting watching the island wake up was fantastic - the moment it was light the locals were out, moving donkeys or sheep around, carrying goods or tending their patches of land. Just time for breakfast before we made our way slowly back down the hill to catch the boat back to Copacabana.

The journey back was no less eventful. The bus was an hour late, so we were all sitting in the blazing midday sun getting more and more grumpy and when it finally did arrive there were too many passengers so we had somefaffing to sort that out. The journey seemed to be going ok - we went across the water on the little boats again, and were heading on what seemed to be an entirely tarmac road. A couple of hours into the journey,however, we once again veered off onto the dirt tracks. This time without reversing and only for 20 mins or so. 'phew' we thought 'they have found a route'. But no, a few minutes down the road and the bus comes to a stand still and the driver, his mate and the drivers of the two buses in front of us alll get out to stare at some piles of dirt on the side of the road.

Turns out they HAD found a better route, but between them leaving the road in the morning and returning that afternoon the protestors had blocked it up. So we continue down the road to another turning, with a massive puddle in it. We're all on the bus thinking'there is no way he is even going to attempt that is there?' But yes,apparently he is, and sure enough we are then stuck in the mud. Another 10 minutes of all the drivers staring at the bus and eventually digging it out and we are free again and carry on down the road looking for another turning.

We did eventually make it back into La Paz, the 3.5 hour journey this time taking 5. By this point we were fed up, Joe had a stinking cold and we had given up all hope of getting a night bus to Sucre, so we checked into a posh hotel (still costing us less than 50 quid a night) for a hot shower, heating and a decent night's kip. Not sure what the plan is now - another day in La Paz for Joe to recover and then who knows? If this is the way of transport in Bolivia then we are going to need to get our senses of humour in gear and not make any hard and fast plans.