Day 87 – Rio

This morning I visited the largest Favela in Rio, Rochina which is a huge illegal slum on the outskirts of the city run by the biggest gang in Brazil A.D.A. (Amigos dos Amigos/Friends of Friends) – If you have seen the film City of God you will know exactly where I am. Although considered more dangerous than walking to a fancy dress party in Kandahar dressed as Uncle Sam – the police will only turn up in numbers of at least 400 – I didn't feel any more intimidate than in many other parts of the city. The conditions are truly shocking with open sewers running through the streets, overpopulated haphazard buildings wedged into every available space and dubious looking gangs on most corners – Sarah Beenie would really have her work cut out for her here.

The stupidest question of the year award goes to the English girl who asked our guide 'What do the drug dealers do that benefits the community?'. After letting the full weight of her question sink in, I took her to one side, sat her in a comfortable leather chair. lowered the lights and asked "For one million pounds can you tell me, do drug dealers sell crack in order to;

a) Buy cloth and stitch together quilts for 'the kids'.

b) Form a dance troupe to highlight inner city despondency amongst 'the kids'.

c) Make friends with Bono and Geldolf (both tax evaders incidentally) and record charity records for 'the kids'.

d) None of the above

After giving her the correct answer, I apologised for having to apprise her with the grim and unpalatable realities of the world.

Day 86 – Rio

I have absolutely no idea what a Sugar Loaf is but the Brazilian official in charge of naming mountains and other elevations of note obviously did, so keen was he on the mysterious Sugar Loaf that he named the most impressive mountain in Rio after it. A cable car runs from ground level to the top giving – as you may have guessed – splendid views of the city.

In the evening I visited the world famous Maracana football stadium to watch a South American Champions League game between Rio's top team Flamengo v University of Chile. The game started as any neutral would want, as in the first minute a University player received an outrageous elbow to the face prompting an almighty brawl before the offender got his marching orders for the earliest of early baths I have ever seen.

Unfortunately, the one man advantage made little difference as University were absolutely hopeless and what glimmer of a chance they did have evaporated with a goal for Flamengo then a red card of their own. Flamengo went on to win 2-0 but should have scored a hatful with their main striker being guilty of more misses than a Muslim bigamist. The striker in question Adriano is now twice the player he was whilst at Inter Milan, I don't mean he has improved beyond recognition, simply that he has clearly been enjoying the Pina Colada and fried chicken lifestyle – and what he lacks in pace he more than makes up for in girth.

Day 85 – Rio

Having tried for over two hours to find a full English breakfast (always the black pudding that was missing) I have reluctantly abandoned my short lived plan to be a typical British tourist and decided to visited Christ the Redeemer instead. A fine, fine statue and one I thoroughly enjoyed if only for the amusement of watching dozens of tourists throw their arms out in the same pose. A brilliant visual gag, I think you will agree.

I am starting to feel very, very comfortable and relaxed in the apartment, no more hotels, no more buses, no more wake-up calls and I suppose the copious amounts of Rum, pineapple juice and coconut is helping too.

Pina Colada's and Johnny Cash, not the most symbiotic of partnerships, but well worth a try.

Day 84 – Rio

One week left. I am down to my last seven days and to celebrate I am going to have a proper British holiday. I have rented an apartment which has a fantastic view of Copacabana beach (alright, it's a poor view of Copacabana but if I swap my neck with a giraffe's it will be fantastic), next I am going to buy a handkerchief to put on my head and then I am going to sit on the beach and shout at waiters because they don't speak English. 'What d'ya mean you ain't got no braun sauce?'

God bless Ronnie Biggs,

Day 83 – Rio

What can you do after only four hours sleep? Very little is the answer.

The most taxing thing I did today was read a tourist information leaflet outlining the best ways to enjoy a trip to Rio. My favorite tip was the nugget of wisdom that suggested 'Dress as a local', this seemed an innocuous and helpful hint until I read further and the author explained that no local would be seen dead wearing a pair of board shorts, and therefore to decrease the risk of being robbed, a wise purchase would be a pair of Speedos. Whilst it may be true that Brazilian men do love a pair of budgie smugglers I think I would rather be mugged.

Sud América Street Snack League © – I discovered a strange scotch egg like thing in a bakery today, upon biting it I discovered it was full of chicken and not very nice – it is not often you pine for a Scotch Egg.

1. Spicy pasty – $1.00

2. Spicy chicken Empanada – $0.60

3. Fried meat and plantain balls with a shredded salad – $1.50

4. Beef, salami and plantain kebab – $0.75

5. Plantain and cheese fritter – $1.00

Day 82 – Rio

With tonight being the final night of Carnival I moved from Ipanema beach into the more central area of Santa Teresa which is famous for it's artists, bohemian residents, fantastic architecture and excessive levels of crime against tourists.

I enquired at the reception desk about the safety of taking a camera to Carnival and – more to the point – it actually making it back to the hotel still in my possession. The receptionist's frown and reluctance to give me a straight answer spoke volumes 'A few of our guests have been mugged' she confessed, 'How many' I ask. It transpires that in the last week alone enough punters have been relieved of their possessions to form a respectable orchestra, so with this in mind and the possibility that I may also being having a few sherries to pass the hours I decide it is wise to leave all valuables behind.

Due to the erratic nature of this trip, I had left getting a ticket to the last minute and consequently Ciara and I were in what was known as 'the tourist sector'. My first impression was that there was no difference between it and the other stands – except perhaps that we had paid four times the price for a ticket, however, as the stand filled with people it became apparent that this really was a tourist section, more precisely, the geriatric tourist section – I was more likely to be mugged at a bingo evening than in this stand. The only danger was sitting on a discarded toffee wrapper.

The Carnival parade itself was fantastic – I have not seen so much flesh, sequined jackets and feathers flying about since The News of the World caught Rod Hull with his hand in the wrong emu. It started at nine and each of the six Samba schools parade for up to an hour and a half each, it was a bit of a shock when I realised that I would still be in the same place at six in the morning watching a glorified Liberace concert I can tell you.

As you would expect from such a huge event every kind of culinary taste was catered for – as long as you liked cheese and meat – a vegan paradise this was not. Our favorite place was Big Bobs Burgers who had the widest selection available, namely; Cheeseburger, Double Cheeseburger or Spicy Cheeseburger (I am not sure how they didn't notice the glaring gap in the market which could have been filled by a Double Spicy Cheeseburger). As the night wore on, I noticed that Big Bad Bob had added a Barbeque Burger to his menu – and at a third of the price! I ordered one straight away was handed a sachet of Barbeque sauce and asked what Cheeseburger did I want to go with it? There was no escaping the cheese at Rio Carnival.

We left at six in the morning having had a great night, the only down side was that we didn't get any photos – at least not our own – I hid in the bushes outside our hotel and mugged a German tourist as he came home – 'Schwein!'.

Day 81 – Rio

As I may have mentioned previously it is Carnival in Brazil so I spent several hours this morning running around the city looking for the last remaining tickets to the grand finale parade, after eventually locating the ticket office I realised that I didn't have enough money on me to afford one so spent another hour finding a bank that accepted Visa. In 42 degree heat that is considerably more grief than it already sounds.

I spent the afternoon at a far more leisurely pace, having a few beers and taking in the scenery on Ipanema beach – I had no idea watching a game of volleyball could be so enjoyable – the temperature got considerably hotter than 42.

In the evening I had a cold shower, and Ciara banned me from volleyball games.

Day 80 – Sao Paulo to Rio De Janeiro

I checked out of the Sofitel with a heavy heart and a far heavier stomach – managing just an omelette for breakfast. As well as a bacon sandwich, three sausage sandwiches, nine slices of ham, twelve slices of cheese, eighteen chocolate covered croissants, a fruit salad, a brioche and a bowl of cornflakes with yogurt.

I re-joined the great unwashed for a bus journey to our final destination of Rio. We arrived in the sprawling metropolis without a room (all four hotels we had emailed were full) and after a fruitless hour an old lady approached and informed us that she had an apartment to rent that was 'Much nicer than a hotel' and as an added bonus it was only three streets away!

All that glitters is not gold of course, and we soon realised that quite a lot had been lost in translation, it was indeed only three streets away plus another ten. Which is annoying at the best of times, when it's boiling hot and you are carrying everything you own it is infuriating. It was only exhaustion that was stopping me from beating her to death with my guide book.

To top things off we soon discerned that what she actually said was not 'Hotel' but 'Much nicer than a hovel', which it was, the place would be best described as filthy, not as bad as a hovel or indeed a slum. I sent her packing with a flea in her ear, which would no doubt rejoin the several hundred in the kitchen later that night.

We finally found somewhere to stay and, all thoughts of the luxury of the Sofitel banished, landed squarely back to reality whilst enjoying a delicious Arabic banquet – chicken doner and chips.

Day 79 – Sao Paulo

For our final day in Sao Paulo Ann had laid on a special treat, not content with buying us the finest beers known to (Brazilian) man or feeding us enough meat to keep cattle farmers happy for years she had booked Ciara and I into a suite in the Sofitel for a night of all-inclusive five-star indulgence and sheer luxury.

The first extravagance of the day was lunch, the restaurant had laid on a buffet of food the like of which is only usually seen in films about Henry VIII, it was stacked with just about every foodstuff you could imagine and more than a few you never would (I give you potatoes in truffle oil – at least I would, if I hadn't eaten them). Ciara and I were just getting to grips with the mountains of upmarket fodder on offer, as well as pondering how many trips to the buffet would be considered vulgar, when Ann pointed out 'That table is just the starters, you order from this menu'.

A feast fit for a king and two bottles of red later we got to our room – thank christ for the lift, the stairs would have killed me.

Just as I was relaxing, watching some comedy goalkeeping and thinking this can't get any better there was a knock on the door 'Mr Walsham, I am your butler for the evening, would you like me to unpack your...' she surveyed the room '...backpack?'. Not wanting to offend the young lady's delicate sense of smell, I politely declined the offer.

Having dispensed with the complimentary champagne (the manager explained that they were right out of brown ale), grapes and several gin & tonics the last thing on our mind was more food but no one else was going to eat it for us so we decided to give it our best shot and go for something light – I chose the prawn and caviar starter, and a quail stuffed with foie gras for my main course. Geese everywhere can rest assured they took their revenge later that evening as I lay in bed more bloated than a wind sock on Everest.

Day 78 – Sao Paulo

You probably know that in Brazil football is taken seriously, sometimes more seriously than religion (sensible people) which is very handy as I am bored of looking at churches, cathedrals, basilicas, abbeys, convents, nunneries, monasteries and anywhere else that only sell cheap pens in their souvenir shops, so the prospect of visiting The Museum of Football was most welcome and sure to be fascinating.

As well as exhibits on the major city teams (Sao Paulo, Corinthians), the museum concentrated on the national team and the history of The World Cup, I was particularly captivated by the 1982-86 years which included legends and personal heroes such as Sócrates, Zico and Falcão – it was watching skill and talent like theirs that led me into a lifetime of misery following our own national team.

Or it could have been this song. Too close to say.

The 1966 exhibit was pretty good too – but very dusty.

Day 77 – Sao Paulo

I spent a another relaxing day wandering the markets of Sao Paulo with Ciara and Ann until the heat got the better of us and we were forced to take refuge once again in The Gondola.

Sud América Gut Rot League © – The choice of beers in Brazil is staggering, I am struggling to remember some of the ones I tasted last night and therein lies the problem. I will try, Original is a fine beer, Xingu is another decent dark one whereas Antarctica just left me cold... (boo).

1. Bohemia

2. Cristal

3. Original

4. Kaiser

5. Pilsen Polar

Day 76 – Sao Paulo

Sao Paulo is far more modern than any other city I have been in on this trip so this morning I took the Metro to Ann's house and after meeting her two dogs we set off, along with her daughter Kate, on a tour of the city.

Our first stop was for a buffet lunch at the Sofitel Hotel (minus the dogs) where Ann works teaching English to the staff. To say the selection was huge would be an understatement, I would hazard a guess that the amount of food on display spread across several tables would feed about three thousand Brazilians for a week or Rik Waller for a day. Regardless of how you wish to divide it up, the food was superb – the waiters dishing out the endless champagne were pretty special too.

Unfortunately, as it is Carnival, it seems the entire city has gone on holiday (or is sleeping) so nothing was open. We saw the outside of several museums, a lovely courtyard where the antiques market should have been and lots of empty streets before calling it a day and heading to the local bar The Gondola.

Sud América Gut Rot League © – After a trip to the largest supermarket I have seen in ages, Ann has furnished us with a (beer) buffet fit for a king and I find myself staring at a fine selection. A new favorite comes in the form of Bohemia, which is fantastic. Another drop deserving of a mention – not for it's taste, but for it's name – is Duvessa which I was informed is slang for Dirty Whore. The evening flew by as I ordered Duvessa after Duvessa after...

1. Bohemia

2. Cristal

3. Kaiser

4. Pilsen Polar

5. Franca

Day 75 – Sao Paulo

I arrived into Sao Paulo (by far the biggest city I have visited in South America) in the early afternoon and after booking into a hostel decided to take a chance and visit the Art Museum and at last – after 75 days on the continent – found a good museum! In the evening Ciara and I met up with Ann, a friend of Ciara's family, who has rather generously invited us to stay with her whilst we are in town.

There also appears to be some sort of Carnival on in Brazil. I may give that a miss, I have never liked dodgem cars and gypsies are not to be trusted.

Day 74 – Iguazu Falls to Sao Paulo

As Iguaza Falls is considered to be one of the great natural wonders of the world, finding something to do that would surpass the exhilaration of the last two days was going to be tricky, however, I discovered an ace up the Brazilian sleeve in the form of the Itaipu Dam which generates power for both Brazil and Paraguay. What's not to like about a trip to a hydro-electrical plant?

Ciara seemed less than impressed with the prospect and her assurance that she would rather be buried under the dam than visit it, was not diluted remotely when I told her that the dam had recently been voted as one of the Seven Wonders of the Modern World by no less a magazine than respected American publication Popular Mechanics. Yes, you heard that right, Popular Mechanics!

We joined the queue of bespectacled engineers, mathematicians, Star Trek fans and Stephen Hawking look-a-likes for the two hour trip along the top and into the dam. Our tour guide was as enthusiastic as one can be when explaining weight ratios, concrete spans, voltage productions and a multitude of facts that were instantly forgettable.

So it was no Machu Picchu (Popular Mechanics you have a lot to answer for) but I still had another 16 hour bus journey to look forward to that evening.

Day 73 – Iguazu Falls

Not content with just seeing the falls from Brazil, the done thing when in the area, is to cross the border and have a look at them from the Argentinian side too.

The falls are a fantastic site and I could easily bore the hair off your head with amazing facts about the amount of water that falls over them, their height, length etc. but quite frankly in this heat I am struggling to do much more than take the foil top off my morning yogurt so I can't be bothered to look up any. You will have to make do with a photo and the promise that they are very, very impressive.

If you are currently getting a sense of déjà vu I can only apologise but quite frankly in this heat I am struggling to do much more than take the foil top off my morning yogurt so I can't be bothered to do anything other than copy and paste lines of text.

Day 72 – Iguazu Falls

After abseiling out of my bedroom down three metres to ground level and breakfast I took a short bus ride to Iguaza Falls which forms part of the border between Brazil and Argentina. Once again the sun is not so much smiling as grinning like a psychotic heat beast and within minutes of leaving the shade of the hostel I am drenched in sweat and praying for rain or clouds or wind or anything to cool me down – I feel like a lizard in a sauna.

The falls are a fantastic site and I could easily bore the hair off your head with amazing facts about the amount of water that falls over them, their height, length etc. but quite frankly in this heat I am struggling to do much more than take the foil top off my morning yogurt so I can't be bothered to look up any. You will have to make do with a photo and the promise that they are very, very impressive.

Day 71 – Iguazu Falls

Strange thing sleep deprivation, it makes you have strange and barely sane thoughts like 'I must watch that Sandra Bullock film' or 'This is a good album is it Celine Dion?' or 'I can walk to the hostel in this heat'.

The latter was the very, very foolish thing I did, so after the kind of walk that would have had a Gurka gurning the last thing I needed was a receptionist telling me they were full, but he did. 'Listen mush, I have been on a bus for over 17 hours, the sweat in my socks is causing trench foot and I have less patience than Harold Shipman – find me a room'.

Sensing my mood, the receptionist ventured 'Well sir, we do have the Hobbit Suite available'. I soon comprehended that the 'Hobbit Suite' had nothing to do with the decor or location but more to do with the ceiling being only a metre and a half from the floor thus allowing free movement for Hobbit's and Smurf's only. As if to make up for the lack of ceiling height the room was only accessible by a door that was three metres above ground level via a ladder. Still it was air-conditioned and I slept bloody well that night.

Sud América Gut Rot League © – As I spent more than enough time sitting around doing nothing for the last few days I have managed to sample a couple of the local tipples. Kaiser – obviously German influenced and all the better for it, perhaps likely to be replaced by Führer in the future. Skol – in this heat both taste and quality can largely be ignored and there is no denying that the makers of Skol have largely ignored both taste and quality.

1. Cristal

2. Kaiser

3. Pilsen Polar

4. Franca

5. Cusqueña Negra

Day 70 – Campo Grande to Iguazu Falls

The heat is too much, seriously the temperature is constantly up in the 30's and the humidity is over 70% – although I have no idea what that actually means.

This morning I spent nearly an hour looking for the museum of modern art only to discover that it has been turned into the head office for a Brazilian gas supply company, on reflection, perhaps the people sitting at desks were a ground breaking and thought provoking statement on mankind's lethargy, apathy and futile struggle for fulfillment. Perhaps the map was just wrong.

Unable to bear the heat any longer I headed for the bus station two hours early purely to find some shade from the sun. The bus departure time of 16.30 came (and went) and when the bus did finally pull into the station an hour late the driver did little to endear himself to me as I attempted to board when he pointed out 'This is the disembarkation bay, you must go to the embarkation bay' as he indicated the bay next to where the bus was currently parked. Giving him the evilest of eyes that I could muster I trudged the four metres distance and watched the bus reverse, do a loop of the station and finally come to rest at the embarkation bay 'Travelling to Iguaza Falls, sir?' he smiled. I didn't. I managed to supress my anger as the nut-poaching heat and three hour wait subsided into history when I boarded the air-conditioned luxury haven and fell into a super-reclining seat.

Ciara swears it was six minutes, I say it was closer to eight, what is fact is that less than ten minutes into the expected 16 hours of this journey we pulled into a different bus station and the driver announced "Rest stop, we'll be here 30 minutes, everybody off'. The restraint I employed not to neck chop him as I walked behind him and off into the heat would have humbled a Tibetan monk.

An hour later and we set off again.

Both Ciara and I agree that this time it was close to ten minutes before the bus pulled over to the side of the road where it sat until the driver (who I had well and truly heard enough from by now) won himself some more friends with 'We have to go to a garage'. Another hour passed before we were herded back onto the bus with the driver's final insult being 'You can't bring that can of beer on the bus', 'Fine' I replied 'I will leave it here we'll be back to pick it up in ten minutes I imagine' as I threw it away making sure it bounced off of his head on the way.

The rest of the journey was a breeze.

Day 69 – Campo Grande

Contrary to expectations Campo Grande is not a gay wild west outpost from a Carry-On film but a suprisingly large and oppressively hot city in the west of Brazil. There is not much here to interest tourists, however as it is Sunday there is bugger all open anyway, so it doesn't really matter.

So on that note I will hand out my Bolivian awards for cuisine and service, this could be shorter than an award ceremony for heroic Frenchmen:

Best hostel – Tonito (Uyuni) – I am not sure how the hostel with with rudest receptionist I have ever met has won this award, but I guess that speaks volumes about the rest of the places we stayed in..

Best activity – The Death Road – cold, wet, very, very dangerous but I managed to avoid being paralysed from the nose down,.

Best meal – Minuteman Pizza (Uyuni) – in the kingdom of the salt, the cheese and tomato man is king.

Best snack – Coca Leafs – in no way nice to eat, but much easier for miners to stuff in their pockets than bacon sandwiches.

Best beer – Pacena – the least revolting of a very poor bunch, it's like asking 'Would you rather be shot or hanged?'.

Sud América Street Snack League © – Hot on the heels on some very poor Bolivian refreshments Brazil comes storming along with a killer Shredded Chicken Pasty type thing – a true gem or it could be that nothing else was open.

1. Spicy pasty – $1.00

2. Spicy chicken Empanada – $0.60

3. Fried meat and plantain balls with a shredded salad – $1.50

4. Beef, salami and plantain kebab – $0.75

5. Plantain and cheese fritter – $1.00

Day 68 – Quijarro to Campo Grande

At some stage in the early hours of the morning the train guard decided to switch off the air conditioning in the carriage thereby turning it into a vast stinking metal sauna. Some time later, as some of the larger and therefore sweatier locals started to threaten grievous violence towards the guard he obligingly turned it back on. Then smiled sneakily and left. Within an hour the carriage was so cold penguins were handing out the blankets.

I arrived at the Bolivia/Brazil border at 10am and after clearing the Bolivian side with a simple nod of the head and a stamp in the passport I then had the great pleasure of queueing for over two hours for Brazilian customs to do exactly the same by which time I had missed all the early buses and had to wait until 3pm for yet another eight hours on a bus.

I finally arrived in Campo Grande close to midnight and it was still bloody hot.

Day 67 – Santa Cruz to Quijarro

Overnight the rain came and by morning it was torrential, I decided to stay put in the hotel until check-out at noon and then have a look around the city in the spare few hours before I had to catch an overnight train to the Brazilian border. The only flaw in this plan – as I soon discovered – was that everything in the city closes at noon to escape the heat of the day.

The first-class train I had planned to take was fully sold out for the next five days, so I was forced to book a ticket on... wait for it... The Death Train! If the road didn't get me, the train was going to have a second shot.

No one seemed quite sure why it was called The Death Train and the best explanation I got was that it often stops in the middle of nowhere for hours on end during which time the passengers are savaged by swarms of mosquitos. Calling it The Aggravation Train seemed about right, but The Death Train seemed a bit strong.

Day 66 – Sucre to Santa Cruz

Whilst the road to hell may well be paved with good intentions the road to Santa Cruz (and ultimately Brazil) is paved with nothing more than dirt, misery and frustration. According to the bus company's timetables the journey takes 16 hours, but that is on a good day, a very good day, with a sober driver and a strong tail wind – I believe the last good day happened in 1958 when they first bought the bus they are still using.

Stories abound about the journey taking over 30 hours, with passengers having to help dig the bus out from the mud as during the rainy season (and guess what season we are in?) the road takes on all the qualities and appeal of the Somme – with the added aggravation of having to fend off millions of hungry mosquitos. Give me murderous Germans over mosquitos any day – at least we could play football. The cost is just over $15.

On the other hand, a ticket to fly to Santa Cruz is just $40. A simple flight over the Andes – what is the worst that could happen? Of course anyone who has seen the movie Alive will know the answer to that one, and I made sure to steer well clear of the Argentinian steak that was on the menu.

I touched down in Santa Cruz having smugly looked down on the road, and the cheapskate backpackers that were on it, the entire length of the way. Santa Cruz is over 4000m lower in altitude than Sucre, so being back to (almost) sea level the heat that we have been experiencing for the last few days has increased dramatically. It is seriously hot and humid here.

Day 65 – Sucre

It is ironic that on the first day I can remember where we have absolutely nothing to do, no arrangements to make or no early start the next day my stomach is jumping up and down like a enraged leprechaun who has lost his pipe.

This relaxing malarkey is not good for my health I am going to find a crocodile to wrestle.

Day 64 – Potosi to Sucre

A 7am bus gets us into the splendid colonial city of Sucre where Ciara has laid down the law and insisted we stay somewhere for a few days and relax. Is it a coincidence that she has chosen to lay down this law in Sucre – one of the finest chocolate producing cities in South America, I ask myself?

The city is roasting hot but we have found a nice 'Japenes style' hostel which has a fantastic shaded central area to stay in, however by Japanese style I think they just mean 'We don't have much furniture'. As we have no need to get up for buses, tours or anything we decide to have a crazy night on the town. After three drinks the excertion of the last two weeks catch up with us and we are asleep by 10. Rock 'n Roll.

Day 63 – Potosi

Mosquito infested swamps, death roads, can it get any worse? Yes it can as I now found myself in Potasi a city I have recently read is considered to be one of the most polluted places on the planet – this is almost entirely due to the enormous Silver Mine around which the city was built. The majority of the silver has long gone, taken by thieving Spanish colonialist (it makes a change for it not to be the British the locals despise) but the mines continue to operate for zinc, tin and aluminium.

Which brings me nicely to the reason I am here as not only is the mine still fully operational but enterprising ex-miners will show you the full operation in exchange for a few sheckles and the odd bribe to the working miners. As the tour is meant to be as authentic as possible, after decking us out in hardhat, overalls and boots our tour guide David took us to the miners market to stock up on essential items.

So it transpired that I found myself paying $3 for a stick of dynamite, a bag of nitroglycerine, a three minute fuse and the detonator. David assured me that without the detonator the dynamite was harmless – he then prooved this by sticking it in his mouth, lighting it and strolling around the shop like a slightly less scary-looking Jimmy Saville. Our next stop was for a $1 bag of Coca Leafs which the miners chew constantly both to alleviate hunger and to ensure they can complete the shifts of up to 24 hours, 'Are they not all out of there heads?' I asked David 'No, that is what this is for' he replied handing me a 96% proof plastic bottle of miners whisky, which costs $1. So with my bag full of high explosives, narcotics and hard liquor it was off to work we went.

As I was still at an altitude of over 4000m it was hard enough to breathe to start with, it got much harder as we crouched through dusty and pitch black tunnels (the owners will not pay for lights) and descended vertical ladders 100m deep into the mountain. Coming from a country where Health and Safety regulations are seemingly written by pencil-pushing cretins for the benefit of fellow work-shy cretins the tour was a real eye-opener as to what happens when an employer has no obligation to worker safety, indicating a cable running along the ceiling, within easy reach David gasped 'I forgot to say, don't touch that it's live, touch it and you will die'.

We talked to a group of workers and handed out our stash of dynamite, Coca and booze for which they were most grateful and shared the whiskey with us – there are not many places I would drink 96% proof whisky at the best of times 100m below the entrance of an industrial mine would certainly be amongst the last of my choices. Still it would be rude not to.

There is no age limit for working in the mine, kids start working as young as 13, deaths from cave-ins are common and life expectancy is 35 but the money on offer $150-$200 a week is five or six times what an average Bolivian earns in a month so for the workers the appalling conditions and risks are worth it. As David told me 'No one forces us to work here'.

After four hours our tour was done and we were exhausted and If any of you have some troublesome teenagers at home, get them over here I can introduce them to David and you'll make a nice few quid.

Day 62 – Uyuni to Potosi

Finding a reliable bus that leaves after 7am is as rare as finding a Bolivian beggar with teeth so the luxury of getting one at 10am meant we could not only enjoy a full nights sleep but we could get breakfast too. The ride was another bumpy affair made almost intolerably worse by the bloke next to me who was so happy with his bodily odour that he had decided to share it with everyone within a 2m radius.

We had a bit of trouble finding somewhere to stay and finally had to settle on a room that has a window so small it would keep an albino badger happy.

Day 61 – Uyuni

Superior class buses are not quite up to the standard of those in Peru, co-incidentally I came to this unhappy realisation at the start of the longest bus journey I have had to do on this trip (12 hours). It didn't help that the paved road ended two hours out of La Paz and the remainder was a pot-hole ridden track that was rougher than a Hungarian shot putter.

We arrived in Uyuni at 7am. At 7.02am we vowed to leave as soon as possible. Our instant dislike of the town was to prove incredibly perceptive.

Having met the rudest hotel receptionist on the continent, he loudly and dramatically groaned after we asked to see a room, then refused to give us a receipt claiming he did not have a receipt book – until Ciara pointed to one on the desk then finally declared that he had no change for the 100 Boliviano note I gave him until I took it back and said I would pay later – then he found some. He was hilarious.

We met the Canadians who relayed a similar story of having sat in a a cafe for 25 minutes and although asking three times had failed to even get a menu. The next cafe we tried was slightly better despite a poor start when we asked "Can we get some coffee' and the waiter answered with a simple 'No' and strode away.

Having been given the sort of welcome a seal-clubber gets at a Vegan Friends of the Earth Lentil Cooking Jamboree we were not enthralled by the idea of having to hunt around town for a decent tour company. As luck would have it we found someone who must have been from out of town – though god knows what compelled her to stay – as she was both helpful and friendly. We booked a tour with her before she turned into a pumpkin.

Unless you have passion for rude service or mud-brick buildings there really is only one reason to visit Uyuni and that is the salt lake which is the highest and largest in the world. The lake is vast – and I say vast purely because I have no idea how big it actually is. We drove for three hours across the white, flat landscape which was an amazing and unique sight, reflecting that this would be a supremely bad place to break down just as our jeep spluttered... then shuddered... and stopped.

We laughed the laugh you do when there is nothing to laugh at, however our driver seemed in good spirits and simply said 'We'll stop here for lunch'. As we ate a truly spectacular lunch of chicken and avocado pasta our driver set about the task of kicking tyres, wiggling pipes and bashing parts until we were back up and running.

We visited a fabulous cactus covered island and were all suitably awe-inspired enough not to let the breakdown or the impending three hour return trip discourage us. On the return drive although clearly lost our spirits remained high amidst such spectacular surroundings – still I must admit to breathing a huge sigh of relief when we at last found a road.

In the evening another of God's creatures met its maker for my dinner and amusement. After being aromatically spiced, the llama was put on a pizza base with sun dried tomatoes, oven roasted and absolutely delicious.

Day 60 – La Paz to Uyuni

Having spent a great deal of yesterday heartily laughing in the face of death, I trod carefully today making sure to keep a wide berth of any scythe-wielding, black clad skeletons.

La Paz has not been my favourite city, in all honesty I have become more attached to some of my mosquito bites than La Paz, so today I decided to give it a really good try and to try and find some redeeming features about the city. I had considered taking a 'Highlights of La Paz' tour but anticipated it being as excruciatingly tedious as an episode of Friends yet twice as long so passed on it and instead tried to gain entry to San Pedro, Bolivia's notorious maximum security prison located on an entire block in the middle of the city. The prison operates as a city with the place run wholly by the prisoners and guards only used to stop escape attempts. Tours inside the prison have been run by prisoners for many years but unfortunately they have been suspended recently due to the amount of hard drugs that the prisoners had been making and selling to the public.

As a last resort I walked to a viewpoint in the south to get a birds-eye view of the city. From up there it still looked uninspiring and dirty – I could just see more of it.

After dinner I headed for the bus station and another overnight bus journey, whilst on the bus we again met up with Geoff and Jenney.

Day 59 – La Paz

Ciara and I had made an agreement upon our return from the Amazon – No more adventure – from now on, it was to be a strict diet of beaches, lounging in hammocks and the odd Pina Colada. So quite what we were doing on mountain bikes at 8am in the freezing cold at an altitude of 4700m I don't know.

If the fog had cleared for even the shortest amount of time (which at this altitude it never does) we would have been presented with a stunning view of the 62km stretch of road and dirt track that we were about to cycle. The road drops 3000m in altitude, never gets wider than 3m and the runs along cliffs that are not far off 1km in height – the city calls this The Old Road, to everyone else it's called The Death Road, alleged to be the most lethal stretch of road on earth.

I had looked at a number of different bike companies running the tour – as there were a lot warnings regarding the number of shoddy ones out there, obviously safety was my major concern as well as experience and comfort. The free T-Shirt they offered had no bearing at all on my decision but at least meant I had something clean to wear.

The first hour was amongst the most uncomfortable and painful experiences I have ever had, the visibility was not much more than 10m, the almost horizontal rain was bone-chillingly cold whilst the manic Bolivian drivers that regarded us as little more than irritating human mosquitos were the least of my concerns. The rain had soaked through all five layers of my clothing (including three waterproof jackets), my fingers were no numb I was only just able to pull on the brakes – a pretty essential skill on this road – and to top off everything the guide kept asking me to 'smile' as he shot countless photos. The drop in altitude was not helping either as both Ciara and I struggled to hold onto last nights dinner.

As the altitude dropped, I gradually noticed something remarkable – not only was it getting clearer and warmer but I was also starting to enjoy myself. by mid-morning the clouds and rain were a distant memory and the sun was now beating on us with such ferocity that I was able to dispense with my sodden clothes and (with the exception of my still numb fingertips) all was looking good. Once the notion of simple survival had passed I was able to fully focus on the sheer terror of the drop-offs to the side of the road and really appreciate why The Death Road is honored with such a title. The paved section had ended and the road was now just dirt, gravel, loose rocks and the odd waterfall making it slippery in places and spelling certain doom for anyone foolish enough to relax and start admiring the fantastic scenery.

I arrived at the end of the road elated but strangely disappointed that it had come to an end. As an adrenaline rush it was up there with the best of them and the next time you are in Bolivia I would highly recommend that you ride The Death Road – it is amazing. Although it is ill-conceived advice like that which probably got the road its name in the first place.

As we drove back to La Paz along the same route, at last able to appreciate the scenery and reflect on how precarious the road was, the driver put on a CD, the song was Eye of the Tiger – Perfect, just perfect.

Day 58 – La Paz

A week in the jungle and a starring role in Death Race 2010 was quite enough excitement for anyone, so I decided to relax for the day with the only pressing matter being the refund for our flight tickets. Having been in South America a while now I have come to realise that getting something simple like an extra slice of cheese for breakfast is akin to asking Osama Bin Laden to pop on a tutu, so the thought of trying to extricate £100 from our tour operator was a daunting one. To enter the office and be greeted like returning heroes whilst hearing 'You must be here for your refund, let me get it for you' was really quite staggering.

Would you like that in Terrorist Black or Islamic Green Mr Bin Laden?

In the afternoon I took my clothes for a well deserved and long overdue outing to the laundry, the owners face fell as she grasped the enormity of the task ahead and it sank in that she would be working a late one that night.

Day 57 – Rurrenbabaque to La Paz

According to the airline company, we are currently stranded 400km from La Paz due to the plane being – stop me if this gets too technical – 'Broken' unfortunately they have no real idea when the plane will be 'Fixed'. You didn't think there would be more than one plane did you?

Our options are limited; wait six days for a good quality bus (which takes 10hrs), take the daily local bus (20hrs, breakdown guaranteed at no extra cost) or hire a jeep. The night bus is not going to happen as we are short of money and the town has no ATMs, the local bus is last on the list as I have no wish to sit with a chicken on my lap for the day – that would be foul (bu-dum-tish), so the only real contender is to hire a jeep and driver and make our own way South. As we are not the only people in this predicament we are travelling with Geoff and Jenney, who have been on the tour with us for the last week and we know are good fun to travel with. We then found an Australian couple who need to get to La Paz – although after talking to him for ten minutes we are not sure if he is a medical student or a serial killer. We may need to put him on the roof.

We gave our driver thorough instructions 'La Paz!' and we were off. Ciara's Spanish is coming along much better than mine, but it was left to me along some of the more precipitous cliff tops to translate 'Slow down or feel my size nines in your backside' as we felt her saying 'Slow down or feel my size twos in your backside' did not carry the same level of threat.

With the mountainous dirt roads completed we thought the worst was over and started to relax – except perhaps Geoff, who had picked the front seat and was currently on his twelfth pack of Marlboro's having only started smoking today. Our tranquility was short lived as we gained altitude and the fog cut the visibility down to about two metres – at least on the dirt roads we could see our impending doom this was like being Steve Wonder left on a runway at Heathrow. After an hour we descended into La Paz thankful that our driver was obviously on a promise that night.

We never did quite work out which side of the road we were supposed to be driving on, it seems that in the cities and towns the cars drive on the left but in the mountains they drive on the right. But where does the town road become a mountain road? You may well ask.