A lie-in was in order after the previous day’s high altitude excitement. Eventually I went for a wander around the centre of the city, changed some dollars for Bolivanos, went to buy postcards of Chacaltaya, and ink cartridges (my preferred method of writing is still a fountain pen). I also noticed a film processing lab that can process slide film in a few hours. So I went to the nearby Plaza Murillo to take some photos to finish the film, which I then dropped off for processing.

According to Rachel, Paul had been suffering from snow blindness from his skiing day and was apparently inside their room with a towel over his head to cut out as much light as possible! So Rachel joined me for lunch which was a rather daring meal of fried chicken and chips – I hoped that my insides would now tolerate this. There wasn’t any immediate consequence… but my stomach still feels a little strange. Rachel had also been suffering similar problems to me.

In the afternoon, back at the hostel, I got my diary up to date and tried out the new ink cartridges. Unfortunately I found that the ink is too runny and soaks into the paper such that the writing appears on the other side of the thin sheet. So I have reluctantly given up on the fountain pen and switched to using a ballpoint pen in the diary. The diary being up to date I went to get the latest pages photocopied, and at the same time picked up my processed slide film. I had been a little concerned about the quality of the processing, and back at the hostel I inspected the film strips carefully for problems. Rachel snapped a photo of me doing this:

A quick sortie to a supermarket with Paul and Rachel resulted in us all cooking tuna and French toast for dinner. I then wrote the skiing postcards – basically to boast about having skied at a greater altitude than anyone else I know!

On the morning of 15 January I decided I will head east with Paul and Rachel to Cochabamba for a few days. They are then continuing eastwards into Brazil, which isn’t on my schedule. From here I have 2 main route options open, and it’s hard to know which to do. One option is to go to the recommended lowland Bolivian city of Santa Cruz, and then head south through southern Bolivia and into Argentina, visiting the northern city of Salta, which is supposed to be beautifully colonial and with green mountains nearby. The other possibility is more complicated and would take me back west via 2 interesting Bolivian cities and then up over the Andes again by train into the Atacama desert of northern Chile…

But, regardless of which route I pick, I will go to Cochabamba first. So I after breakfast I went to buy a ticket for the night bus to Cochabamba, and then packed up ready to check out of Hostal Austria.

In the afternoon I headed up to the market area on the south side of the centre – it looked a lot more “Andean” there. Many women wore the “traditional” bowler hats. The story of the bowler hats is a triumph of capitalism over truth! Less than 100 years ago they were introduced by the British, and the local women were somehow persuaded that they were the height of fashion for women in Europe and adopted them!

I bought a panpipe after trying a few out – I wanted one that was for playing as opposed just an ornament for tourists – then I wandered the streets taking photos of the locals. The main product on sale appeared to be large red sacks of coca leaves. Needless to say, I didn’t get any more coca leaves…

I later went to the post office where, at the Poste Restante desk, I was pleased to find another letter had arrived, from my friend Jaqui. I sent a parcel off containing the panpipe, a pullover, and the photocopied diary pages, and thus lightened, was ready to hit the road once more.

I also felt that I should try reading some Spanish literature, so bought a novel in Spanish that I had already enjoyed in English – The Power of the Sword, by Wilbur Smith.

Finally I went back to the hostel, where I found Paul and Rachel with the Israelis. They are planning to travel to Cochabamba in the morning, so after we all headed out to the “normal” Chinese restaurant, I said goodbye to all, and headed for the bus station.