Cochabamba.

 Cochabamba was where we found the best bar in south america so far and that is one of the main reasons we are including it in the blog.  So arriving in to town you first get to the bus station, a bustling and apparantly dangerous part of town and a real dive, which left us worried about what the rest of the city would be like.  A fifteen minutes drive away though and things started to really improve. We got  to our hostel, a beautiful old two storey spanish colonial building with all of the rooms accessible though a large court yard teeming with exotic plants and kittens.  After our nightmare 12 hour sweat box journey we were glad to just relax and take it easy, so we took off to the area where the trendy kids in the city apparently liked to hang out, a long road dotted wiith bars and resturants.  The road was a 5 minute walk away, through streets made up of two to three storey colonial architecture and  moderen bolivian brick boxes and busy roads inhabited by modern cars, the city evidently had more money than most other Bolivian cities.  The trendy road was mainly clubs, bars and resturants, but to our surprise all of them were selling good wine, cocktails and gourment food, and all at insanly low prices we couldnt not believe it.  The standard was higher here than anywhere in Peru and Bolivia so far so we decided to stay a couple of days and wine and dine sipping red wine and indulging in seasoned food.  There was no market here either and the city had a very distinct european vibe, with lots of argentinian immigrents starting up busineses.  The other high light was going to see the largest Jesus statue in all of south america, even larger than Rio's.
                                                                         - Lyndon

Prehistoric Fern Forest

The fern forest was part of a national reserve situated not too far away from Alix & David's place in the mountains of Samaipata. We drove to the edges of it and hiked through for hours to find the most lush pastures.  I was so shocked to see the first fern as it was nothing like I had expected. It looked like a cross between a pineapple a palm tree and a giant carrot. Its trunk was mottled and thick, its texture resembling dead coral. Soon enough we were completely surrounded by them as we trekked through the dappled sunlight. The effect was magical, a hazy emerald green mist was all around and the ginormous trees dwarfed us and made us feel like the faires of fern gully.

Alix & David's Land.

From Dan's throne like toilet, in the distance you could see a cluster of buildings through the trees, an idyllic array of adobe mud houses. We had heard about 'the German's' who lived there and brewed beer, apparently they were looking for volunteers too. This would be our next stop. We arrived with the two German's from Dan's and were warmly welcomed with a vegan feast (suprisingly tasty) and were shown to our digs (actual beds with walls around) luxury to the max. Me and Lyndon lucked out with a beautiful huge truck converted into a mini home with a kitchen and sitting area and an elevated double bed with a door that opened up so we could see the stars. We could see ourselves staying here for a while. 'The German's' we found out were actually Austrian, Dan's deliberate slip. He told us not to mention the War. There was a definite rivallry in the air and we felt like we had almost betrayed him by going over there, however we were ready for comfort and work, it couldn't be avoided. Alix and David were a couple in their mid thirties who had moved to the Bolivian mountains with their now fourteen year old daughter Cosma. They had started with only the truck and then managed to substantially trim down the jungle around them and build a selection of impressive mudbrick houses. Their friend Lina, also lived with them in one of the shelters, she was like the adopted auntie of the family and we really grew to love her in our time there. Right from the off they had us all assigned to certain jobs around the land, anything from sorting out wheat to weeding the beds, washing leather in the sun, brewing beer, making mixtures for adobe bricks, building foundations for a new building, making a mud wall, planting veg and helping to prepare food. The food was interesting to say the least.
The veganism wasn't just a diet for these people, it was a lifestyle. We would endure daily lectures on how it could improve our lives, how vegans never get sick, how the diet can cure cancer and many other things. They were on a strict fermented diet. Everything they ate had been either fermented or pickled an never boiled over 80 degrees. They didn't use oil and therefore nothing was fried as they believe this removes the goodness. They had a lot of evidence to back up their beliefs and we completely bought it however on our weekends off the first thing we did was head down to the village for a burger with all the trimmings and whatever greasy fatty deep fried sweet tasty goodness we could get our deprived hands on. To their satisfaction we always got sick after we had had  a splurge as our bodies were 'rejecting the badness' (they loved telling us we told you so) but it was totally worth it.
One good thing about the fermented diet however, meant that beer and wine were included and every night we would stay up until the early hours getting hammered with the family, and it would be seen as being healthy. Wine had never tasted so sweet. It was true also that you didn't get hangovers if you sticked to it, all round winner. The alcohol fueled nights began to take their toll in other ways however, and we found ourselves in the midst of some serious family affairs. It all got a bit much and after three weeks we decided to end on a high and left after an amazing goodbye party (in which Dan also came to), fitting way to end things.

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.

The Isla Del Sol.

The Island of the Sun was full of beauty from its Mars like rock formations and surfaces to the gorgeous white sand beaches and little dainty houses. Aside from the wedding we saw here, we also witnessed a Pig being sacrificed to Pachamama in a ceremony. Before a family kills one of their pigs they have to ask Pachamama first and perform all kinds of rituals before finally slitting its throat and letting its soul leave its body. All of the family members have to be present as they will be the ones eating it. We happened to be walking past as this was going on and despite being chased away from the scene, managed to find a good vantage point with trees to peep through as we thought it would be interesting to witness. I regretted this as what happened made me feel physically sick. After several chants and banging of tree trunks they seemed to try and calm the pig and prepare it by lying it on the floor and taking it in turns to hold it, whilst in the background someone was sharpening huge knives, the noise was ominous. Then the mother of the family used one of the knives to slice open its throat. The screams of the pig were so horrendous, almost human like and you hear it gargling on its own blood as it fought tooth and nail to live. The noise echoed all around the island, we covered our ears and wretched but there was no getting away from it. I found hot tears falling out of me, it was so weird, like I was feeling the grief of the animal. I'm no vegetarian but maybe I should be. This way of killing animals is actually pretty humane and respectful compared to how they're killed in our culture and so many others. Lyndon bit his tongue but I knew what he was thinking from his ivory veggie tower. Later that day I had my eye on a bacon butty and felt so awful.
Aside from that we loved relaxing on the beach & found a rustic little hostel that was a 2 minute walk from it all. We swam in Lake Titicaca and almost died of the cold. It was the most freezing Ive ever been, it stung and numbed everything even in the roasting hot sun. I don't get why it wouldn't warm up in the heat. It was quite refreshing in some ways but we were glad to get out and realised why it had been so deserted in the first place.

Copacabana.

Not the one from the song but a lovely one all the same, Copacabana sits on the Bolivian side of Lake Titicaca. From Puno we got a succession of cheap minibues to and from the border, the type which you have to sit and wait for 15 more people to eventually fill up and then your life's possessions are pretty much cello taped to the top, which means several stops to retrieve them from ditches and what not.  When we got there however we weren't disappointed. The lake was beautifully framed by rows of cafes offering delicious exotic foods that we had been craving for so long. It was definitely the most touristy place we had been yet (we had barely came across any at all so far as its not the season but this place was swarming with them) we were slightly relieved in some ways as it had been quite alienating at times and now we were just two of many and the locals didn't stare. We found a dirt cheap hostel and hired a swan shaped Pedlo (it was valentines day) living the dream. I was even able to shave my insanely overgrown armpits for the romantic occasion with a rusty bic, what a lucky boy. Next day we walked to the top of a huge hill which took everything out of us as the altitude was ridiculous. The view was spectacular of the lake and we watched the sunset hoping to see those infamous UFO's everyone spots there.

A Traditional Wedding.

I had been saying I really wanted to see a traditional Peruvian/Bolivian wedding but thought that they would be so hard to come by and obviously private, however when we arrived on the Isla del Sol, Lake Titicaca, we came across one and were welcomed as guests. The wedding was held outside in the most beautiful surroundings set to the backdrop of the lake and a dainty beach. The whole village was in attendance and as I had suspected the men and women were separated but occasionally danced together. Everyone drank copiously and to our surprise started pinning money onto the shirt of the groom, best man and grooms brother. This seemed to be the tradition and a lovely replacement for buying an expensive wedding gift as people were then able to pin on as little or large as they could afford, no judgement made. The newly weds were both dressed quite informally so as to welcome the on coming money without worrying about ruining their clothes. The woman wore the typical multi layered skirts and fancy blouse and tassled shawl combo and a tiny tophat perched on top of her plaited head as she would normally do. Her husband had a swarve trilby on that matched every man in the villages. I learned that like in many other places in Peru/Bolivia, the men only gain  the trilby once they are married and so he would have probably adorned a woolen one beforehand.
There was entertainment provided by many drunken speeches followed by an amazing brass band and accompanied by traditional dances, allowing the women to show off their swishy skirts and carves (their way of flirting apparently).
I managed to get a few photos but didn't want to seem too intrusive as we were lucky enough to be allowed to watch it as it was.