Booo Lovia - I Love you

I arrived at the freezing and dishevelled Bolivian border in the early hours of the morning confused, sleepless and in a generally sorry state. Luckily for me I managed to avoid any questions relating to where my Argentina entry pass had gone, why I had no onward ticket and why I was travelling with such suspicious company (yes more Irish bastards). We stepped into Bolivia in everything but a "ready to go mood", which was not very much helped by the general oader of burning coca leaves and urine. Before the story continues, I need to highlight the difference in buses between Argentina and Bolivia. Argentina's buses can only be described as awesome, with booze, food, a semi-bed for a seat, a movie to watch and most importantly a TOILET! Bolivian buses are usually glorified metal boxes with wheels, no suspension, they are often over booked, the seats resemble hay bails. To top things off they have the pleasant distinction to be driven on the worlds dodgiest roads which are typically gravel, very rutted and are just wide enough to fit the bus (best not to think of oncoming traffic), with a shear drop on one side and a cliff on the other (I should point out hear that I have grown to love these buses like a man loves his piece of shit car which has plenty of "character" (with the exception of Dan and his now dead bike)). Any way, back to things. I jumped on a bus we had discovered through a bizarre display of sign language, was headed in our direction. What I didn't think of was that my bladder (which I now know is similar in characteristics to that of a 10 year old school girl) was nearing the need for evacuation. Jumping onto a three hour bus journey which resembled a a three hour ride on top of a rather frisky jack hammer was not the wisest of ideas.......
We arrived in the next town, and I managed to push the women and children aside and dive off the bus to find a secluded spot behind some poor blokes house to relieve the pressure which was nearing breaking point. One thing I didn't think of was that mud brick construction materials don't react to well to the extensive flow of fluid that was coming from my direction.... hmmmm. Lucky for me, fresh construction materials were near at hand, and just like that, the damage was repaired. I hopped onto the second of the days four buses, a much relieved Kiwi and ready for some stimulating conversation now that I could actually sit still. As the Irish had miraculously discovered a way to sleep my conversation partner came in the form of a bag which was across the central isle. The bag turned out to be a rather little too pensive for my likings, but luckily for me a head soon popped out of the bag and after a quick survey of the surroundings, the head was followed by a monkey. A delightful chap with some incredible insights on how to effectively peal a banana.
After what can only be described as an entertaining day on some less than comfortable tin tombs (aka buses) myself and the Irish arrived in Uyuni; a very touristy shite hole of a town which is populated by rabies infected dogs and Americans on lots of charlie. Uyuni is however near the Salt flats which is one of the big things to see in South America. The slat flats were very very cool, and after two days of tripping round a glorified giant salt shaker and making countless jokes about needing salt to go with our llama we were back in Char-bies town and trying to get to our next destination as soon as possible. Another delightful series of bus rides latter I found myself in a town called Sucre, a delightful place where I have spent the last two weeks, much of which has been spent attempting to learn how to not butcher the fine local language (any day now I am sure to get it) , and trying to stay alive even when confronted with a Kiwi girl (the first I have seen in two months) who has a liking for tequila (hope you arnt pining for me too much V).