Dan's Farm.

What with our diminishing funds and lack of self restrain in the face of shiny trinckets we decided to try and do some farmwork to save for a month. A friend of a friend had recommended a farm run by a british couple in the mountains of Samaipata, South Bolivia, where he had visited a few years ago. We decided to make a B-line for it and take a chance on turning up on the day. All's we knew were the names Dan and Rachel and the area where the mountains were. It proved interesting trying to get info in the nearest village, the most common reactions being laughter and warnings not to go near it, also the fact that Rachel wasn't there anymore, there had clearly been some drama.
 We managed to find a taxidriver willing to take us on the trechorous ride up through the beautiful mountainscapes where you could well imagine seeing frodo and gandalf taking a stroll. After 20 mins of bumping over huge crevices in the dirt road we were on our own to walk the rest of the way, on the lookout for the sign 'Los Ojos De la Madre' the eyes of the Mother. We spotted it after being lost for over an hour and sweaty and unamused, we ventured into the woodland beyond. There was a muddy trail that eventually led to a cowgate, behind which was a large shelter made from tree tronks and corogated iron. The shelter was empty apart from a couple of homemade beds and mozzy nets, this looked like our potential accomodation. We carried on a little further, past a few overgrown plant beds and a small river until finally, amidst the glare of the afternoon sun, the most beautiful hobbit house revealed itself. It was huge and compiled of mud, bottles and gnarled tree trunks. The chimney was smoking and a feeling of ease settled over us. As soon as we approached we were met by four smiling faces, the people we would be spending the next few weeks with. Thankfully they were a lovely bunch, a German and New Zealand couple and they immediately made us pancakes and coffee on the fire whilst we exchanged stories.
Dan arrived later, after shopping in the village. His reputation didn't disappoint. He was larger than life and definately one of the most interesting people we had ever met. The sleeping situation was interesting. There were far too many of us to the ratio of beds and me and Lyndon were assigned to 'the shaman hut'. It's name alluded it, it was a tiny round mud hut with half a single bed with mushrooms and untold insects hanging from the low damp ceiling and no door. This would have been fine however we were right up in the thick of it, completely surrounded by jungle in an area with Puma's, Jaguars and all manner of horrendous insects and snakes. Our mozzy net was a Godsend, we managed to nervously attach it to parts of the crawling ceiling and tucked it around every crevice of ourselves like a safety blanket so we could lay back and think of England. We lasted barely two nights in there. The noises all around us were as incredible as they were terrifying. Not having a door was the main issue, alls we could see was a thick black velvet window into a wild void of the unknown. On the second night something strange happened that we still can't explain.
Spooning to within an inch of our lives we began to drift off to the wild orchestral hum. A loud thudding noise disturbed us from just outside, moving at the pace of something prowling however far to loud to have been feline. We sat up, ears pricked, sweating with fear listening with every fibre of our being. It was circling the hut, no doubt about it, going carefully but still loud enough to be heard above the forest noises. We were a fair distance away from Dan's house and a good walk away from the shelter where the others were sleeping, we were alone. Shaking, we found the torch and started to flash it on and off, hoping to scare the creature away. The noises stopped but we could sense its presence just beyond the makeshift tarp door we had earlier that day constructed. The tarp moved inward suddenly as if the thing was testing it. Lyndon screamed Dan's name and I screamed in shock, weilding a pair of garden pruners. A few minutes later Dan appeared, bare footed with a machete in one hand, ciggy in the other, nature boy had arrived to save the day. We then scanned the area with torches, using him as a sheild, but found nothing. After much diliberation of what the thing could have been and Dan trying to reassure us that the chances of it being a psycho from a nearby farm trying to kill us were slim and whatever it was it wouldn't be coming back - reassuring; we found ourselves again in the hut trying to get back to sleep.
Barely five minutes later however the thing was back again, with a vengence. It sounded like hooves but moving like a human and stopping right outside the door. After calling Dan again and again finding nothing we decided to call it a night and came down to his house to share the sofa with the German couple. It was an easy sacrifice, minimal comfort for no comfort but slightly more safety. That weekend we all went down to the village for a festival which celebrates the ancient God of mishchief - Pan. He is half man half Goat and walks on hooves, he is said to come back every year to torment the living. Dan swears that last year on the weekend of the festival the same thing happened around the farm...
 The next couple of weeks were spent pottering on the land, sitting around listening to his amazing stories and talking about conspiracy theories in the wilderness. After a while we realised we had came here to learn how to build and not just about the exploits of our reptilian royal family and therefore we decided to move on, however we will never forget our time at Dan's or indeed the man himself from whom we still learnt so much from.