Day 20: La Paz

After three amazing weeks exploring, experiencing and falling in love with Peru, the time had come to leave. With a heavy heart, I packed my things and boarded the bus that would take us to the border and across to Bolivia.

A quiet, sleepy five hours, journeying past the vast expanse of Lake Titicaca until we reached the border. There, we had to get off the bus, and met the local guide, Jonathan, who would take us through the border; Gino would have to go through separately - "we don't know him", wink wink. We got through Peruvian passport control, and walked 200m, crossing a bridge, to the Bolivian side. Having never crossed a border in this way, it was a strange experience. The queue on the Bolivian side went the entire length of the long, battered office building and then doubled back around the outside. Despite the bright blue sky and shining sun, it was bitterly cold, particularly in the shade, which made the wait uncomfortable. Nevertheless, we worked our way through, got our passports stamped and waited for the rest to join us. Even there on the border there were notable (albeit subtle) differences. Firstly, the currency. There at a makeshift stand in the middle of a dusty plaza, a woman with a calculator and a box full of cash was exchanging currency. At home, I'd never change my money at a place like this (partly because there's no place like this at home), but, when in Rome! I changed my Peruvian Sol for Bolivian Bolivianos, roughly double (1Bob = €0.13) and found myself a spot in the sun to warm up. The clothes were similar to Peru, except here there were more gold teeth and bowler hats.

Once all through, we got back on the bus and left behind the peculiar buzz of activity and commerce that was the border.

Another few hours to La Paz, where Jonathan organised lunch and tried to convince people about Death Road. From a height, La Paz (3,800m above sea level - nice and breathless again) came into view - a sprawling city where terracotta buildings with corrugated steel roofs covered almost every inch of the place.

Late in the afternoon now, we arrived at the hotel hungry. We threw our bags in our rooms and were promptly ferried to lunch. Crossing the chaos of traffic and street vendors on the main street, we went down a now narrow street (Calle Sagárnaga) lined with tour companies and jumper shops, and into a pretty non-descript hotel. Crammed around a table too small for our group in a windowless room, we ate an unsatisfying lunch with terrible service - antsy after a day on a bus, I had to get out. I didn't go far, as as soon as I'd left, I discovered a cafe next door that had gluten free brownies! This was to be my home for the next few days...

Replenished by coffee and cake, I rejoined the group and Jonathan showed us around the local sites, of which, to be honest, there wasn't a whole lot. First we went to the witches market, which sounds a lot more interesting than in reality. A short walk from where we had lunch, on a narrow cobbled street were a series of pretty standard looking shops. They were however filled with oddities - dried llama foetuses, potions, statues - everything the modern day witch might need. A short stroll from here down to the Plaza de San Francisco, which, with exception of the church of the same name, was surrounded by drab buildings and traffic on three sides.

Travel weary and uninspired by La Paz' lack of civic beauty, we decided to head back to the hotel. Knowing this was Gino's last night we wanted to mark it, so on the sly, I asked around about a local cake shop and Holly and I snuck off to find one. The streets teeming with people, and street stalls selling everything from tights to light fixtures, we somehow found the cake shop that had really beautiful, elaborate cakes in the window. We picked out a red one (vaguely like the Peruvian flag) and got them to write "Gracias Gino" on it. Chuffed, me and Holly oh-so-carefully negotiated our way back to the hotel with the precious cargo. Conscious not to be found out we brought it straight to the English Pub next door where we'd be having dinner. Good thing too, as the G-man himself was hanging about the hotel lobby when we returned!

After a short while freshening up we tapped in next door for dinner. Pisco sours sadly no longer as readily available in Bolivia, I opted for Cairpariña. It would have to do...

All gathered on a long table with Gino at the head, we had arranged for the cake to come out after we'd eaten (and drunk a fair bit too). He must have liked it as he stuck his face straight into it for a bite. Cake. Everywhere.

The last night not just for Gino, but for others in the group too, we made it count. After the English Pub, Gino put us in taxis and across town, with barely a car in sight, we were taken to Malagria. Smokey and filled with Spanish music, occasionally interspersed with a random live drumming band(a traditional Saya band) and dancers in white satin costumes, we danced into the wee hours.

Not wanting the night to end, when we got back to the hotel, I had the bright idea to crack into the bottle of weird aniseed drink I'd bought in Cusco on the way to Sacsaywamán. Together with Gino, Nat and Kat, we passed the bottle around reliving the excitement and laughter of the last three weeks before eventually shuffling to bed and saying goodnight to our beloved guide Gino.

Accommodation: Hotel las Brisas
Weather: Bitterly cold at the border; air definitely warmer in La Paz.