Last weekend I went to Lake Titicaca. This was the third time I've been there, which some may think is a bit greedy for one lifetime. Thankfully, none of us suffered from altitude sickness, thus proving that most things we worry about don't come to pass, or perhaps proving that coca powder is a very powerful preventative measure. Here's what happened, in una cascara de nuez:
Friday night was the night bus from here to La Paz. It was raining, and I was worrying, as usual, in case the bus veered off the road. In 2005, Bolivia took the forward thinking measure of making drink driving illegal. Phew. We had seats on the top deck, in what they call a buscama - which means a busbed if translated literally. The seats are really comfy, so much comfier than the Megabus. But, unlike the Megabus, there is no toilet. So, no drinking of your water, so more potential for being dehydrated and getting altitude sickness. Anyway, none of this happened. We stopped around 230am for a toilet stop in the middle of nowhere (el medio de nada). Nikki's trousers broke at this point, which she did mention was ok to blog about - they were held together by some string so she managed to fix them with some more string I think.
'We' by the way, was me and Nikki from my team (the others decided against it as are saving up for the trip to the Salt Flats(, the 2 Swiss girls from the Spanish school, Regula and Andrea, and Noelia, a teacher from the school who was essentially our guide. Noelia looks a little bit like Maite, another teacher, and an interesting fact about Maite is that she has 15 siblings. Noelia is very lovely and looked after us really well. The Swiss girls speak very good English (of course), but we talked in Spanish only as we are all trying to learn. They are primary teachers in Switzerland, and funnily enough they live in Kreuzlingen, which is a place in Switzerland that I know, it's on Lake Constanz.
I managed to sleep well on the night bus, and it didn't veer off any roads. We got to La Paz bus station around 6am, I missed the amazing view of La Paz, seen from circling down in to it from above - it's the highest city in the world I think. Actually it's not - I've just googled it - but it's certainly up there in the list - it's 4150m by the airport (13,615 feet). I remembered when I was last in La Paz - we got the night bus there from somewhere else, perhaps Uyuni - and as we arrived in La Paz, the bus juddered to a stop and rolled the last hundreds of metres down to the bus station. They weigh your luggage on to the bus and calculate exactly how much petrol they will need so the drivers can't syphon off and sell any leftovers, thus the running out of petrol that time..... This didn't happen this time, but I certainly recognised the street we were on which was kind of a strange feeling.
We were supposed to meet a trufi, which is a mini bus taxi type thing. Noelia had arranged all this. However, the 2nd of February is the day of a festival in Copacabana, which is where we were then headed, to take the bus to La Isla del Sol, our final destination. This festival, which is the festival del Virgen de Copacabana, meant that all the trufi drivers from Copacabana had been drinking for the last 3 days, and were too drunk to drive, even by Bolivian standards. So the hotel owner had arranged a taxi for us instead. Which was fine, apart from Noelia had to sit in the boot - which to be fair looked more spacious and cosy than the rest of the taxi, and she certainly wouldn't let us move her out of there to the front seat. Off we went anyway, up to El Alto, the high bit of La Paz, and also the pretty poor run down bit (or one of them anyway) - unfinished houses, stray dogs, dust everywhere, markets by the side of the road, more dogs, random diggers and trucks on the side of the road, lots of chicken stalls called invariably 'rey de pollo'. It's a long straight road through this district, and I saw lots of graffiti in support of Evo, el presidente, along the way. The people of La Paz like him, they are Aymara, his people, and poor.
Also along the way, Noelia explained to us (in English so as not to upset the taxi driver as it's quite a sensitive subject) that the people of La Paz do sacrifices when they build a new building. Human sacrifices that is. If you were to dig up the foundations of a lot of the houses / buildings we drove past that day, you would most likely find human remains under them. In La Paz, unlike the rest of Bolivia, you are allowed to be Catholic and also believe in Pachamama (mother earth - the indigenous / traditional belief system). You may not agree with this particular ritual of theirs, so I won't go into more detail, also because I don't want to anger any of their gods as they may be quite fierce. There is a film about this particular ritual apparently, called Elephant Cemetery, but I am yet to google this.
We stopped to get some snacks at a petrol station in el medio de nada, after getting through the jigsaw puzzle of traffic of El Alto. The traffic was particularly bad due to everyone going to the festival in Copacabana. As we set off from our petrol station, Noelia shouted something about biscuits which triggered my memory of having rested them on the taxi roof as I was getting back in. They were now rolling around 200 metres back down the road and in severe danger of being run over by one of the trucks behind us. Me and Noelia leapt out of the car and ran as though our lives depended on it (which isn't easy to do at altitude) to rescue them. All the traffic coming towards us managed to swerve around the biscuits, thank god and pachamama, and we safely got them back. All I think when things like this happen is 'that'll be a good little story for the blog'. And so it was.
The next eventful thing in the taxi was probably me falling asleep. So to make it more interesting I'll tell you a taxi based fact: they use 3 types of fuel in Bolivia - petrol (for rich people), diesel (for trucks), and natural gas (for mainly taxis). The government paid for anyone who wanted to convert their engines to ones that would run on natural gas a while ago, thus meaning that they could get around for a lot cheaper, and also that Bolivia benefitted from its natural gas resources. When we are 7 in one taxi and it has to go up the small hill near school, you can feel it almost stop completely - they are much less powerful with this fuel. When we were in a taxi one day he had to go and fill up, and we all had to get out, much to our bemusement. This was so he could fit more gas in the tank, as it is literally gas, not liquid. I was wondering if when we got in it would therefore explode as we all sat down on to it. Another taxi we were in the other day broke down mid-taxi drive on one of the mainer roads of Cochabamba. All the traffic honked and went around us - I tried to get out but couldn't quite get out in time to help the others who were by now pushing it while the drive steered it. I felt like somone in a sedan chair might feel as they pushed me towards the pavement. We felt really sorry for the taxi driver who stood there with the bonnet open just kind of staring at what was infront of him, scratching his head in a cartoon type way. Leanne suggested calling the AA, but I'm pretty sure they don't exist here.
Anyway, back to Copacabana - we stopped at a small museum en route, where we met Paulino who showed us many pictures of giant reed boats. Reeds in Spanish are torturas. I bought a small reed boat to remind myself of Paulino and his adventures, as he was pretty cool. He had made one of the giant reed boats in Barcelona, and one in Chile - this one he sailed with 6 others to Tahiti and back, over 3 months. Can you imagine it. As we left, he was still poring over his photo albums of the construction of the boats, him with various other boat making people, other reed related things. I wished I could speak fluent Spanish so I could understand him completely, he must've been pretty cool by Bolivian standards. Here is a photo of him looking at his photos:
We got our first sight of the lake here (my third, ahem). The others had probably seen it sooner, but I was fast asleep up until this point. On arriving in Copacabana, I was instantly over excited at the sound of pan pipes and drums in the town. All the men and women were dressed up to los nueves, the men in their best smartest grey suits, with garlands of flowers around their necks, and the women in traditional Aymara dresses (they have a particular name which I can never remember, but 'traje' seems to cover it - it means suit). They were all drinking from big communal bottles of beer, throwing confetti around, playing or listening to music, and doing the Inca version of line dancing. It was amazing. We went to eat some lunch - trout, from the lake, with chips, not from the lake - then looked some more at the festival and some stalls selling typical Bolivian things. Sadly we were on a bit of a time frame so couldn't stay to watch the festival descend into Bolivian oblivian madness, but it was pretty exciting to have been there on that particular day.
A small boat took us a few minutes over the lake to another bit of island (am slightly confused as to what was island and mainland, and what order things happened in, but I don't think it matters too much). The taxi came over on a separate little boat/barge thing. There were some boat/barges with entire buses or lorries on them, which made me chuckle, especially as it seems flota is another word for bus, or one of the bus companies, which also surely means floating? One of the little boats was called Elvis - here he is:
We ate some strange nut/seed/corn type thingys while we waited for the taxi to get to the other side. These are called darwi (Noelia said it's like Darwin without the n). There were really tasty, more so than they looked. We then drove some more to another bit of island to take a boat for a bit longer, to get to the Isla del Sol. The scenery was stunning, like a gigantic, non touristy version of the lake district, with snow topped mountains topped again with puffy clouds. Here is a picture as it will be better than a description:
On arriving on the Isla del Sol, we walked to see the Templo del Sol, where they used to do sacrifices to the sun. I tried to imagine being an Inca in those days, and just living on this massive lake, and seeing just a few other islands around you, and that's your life. I suppose you'd eat potatoes and quinoa and corn and have some sheep, and occasionally sacrifice someone to make sure the sun still shone the next day. There is an island nearby called Isla de la Luna - this used to be the home of just Incan princesses or perhaps still is - I can't really tell what is present / past fact or fiction anymore about some of these things. We didn't go there, in case they sacrificed one of us, but also because it wasn't on our itinerary. We then had to walk for about an hour across part of the Isla del Sol, to get to our hotel. The first part of this was up steep steps. At altitude this is not easy at all, and most of the rest of the way was steep. There were piles of hail along the way, but the sun was blazing down on us and there was not a cloud in the sky. Whence had it come?? Mysterious if you ask me, but no more so than lots of other things. I took a photo of some llamas, and 2 small Bolivian girls ran over and blocked my way until I coughed up 1 boliviano for the pleasure of taking a picture of their llamas. I was not impressed - this is what I got for my 10p equivalent:
Isla del Sol is very touristy, there are signs in English saying 'pizza restaurant, gourmet pizza chef', and numerous internet cafes along the way in the first part of the island. I don't like being one of many travellers after being a relative rarity in Cochabamba, but such is life and it is a really lovely island, despite the 10p llama photo charge incident. I can understand why they have to do it, I guess it's annoying having your island invaded by westerners who have loads of money and don't understand you or your culture particularly well and just want to eat American style food. Anyway, after my minor low point, we got to our hotel and relaxed while looking at the amazing massive view of LakeTiticaca, and drinking coca tea. Donkeys brought the Swiss girls big rucksacks to our hotel, thankfully for them. It soon became freezing cold and I wore all the clothes I had taken with me, which I thought were too many when packing but now thought weren't enough. We could barely speak during dinner we were so tired, but we managed a game of cards and watched some thunder and lightning flitting around us before passing out in our beds which thankfully had very thick blankets. I slept amazing well, and had some strange dreams - that I'd flown home for the weekend to have a roast dinner which I'd then forgotten to eat.
Sunday was rainy and grey, and breakfast was delayed, perhaps due to this or perhaps due to some other Bolivian mystery. I more than happily fell back asleep under all my blankets when Noelia announced this. Sleep like that is priceless, when you think you have to get up and then you don't. It's like how I imagine winning the lottery must feel. Anyway, it had to end at some point, and we did get up and eat breakfast - eggs, bread, and coffee - and set off, all the way with a lovely protective dog from the hotel. She decided to be our guard dog for the walk to the Incan ruins at the other end of the island, which involved growling at a man in a field towards the end, who ran at her and threw stones until she stopped. She chased a sheep for a while, who was pretty powerless but put up a good fight until Noelia intervened. Towards the end of the walk she found a new friend and forgot all about us. The Incan ruins were most notable for us eating our packed lunches there, overlooking the sea, where I saw some ducks floating about too.
And so ended our little Isla del Sol adventure, as we walked down to the boat stop, past the beach where you can rent out tents for the night. I walked in the Lake for this bit, which was in fact a first as far as I know. We picked up our bags that we had left at the hotel from another part of the island - the boat driver cleverly reversed our boat to a little house on the shore and a man ran out of the little house with our things. I think the man was little too, or it could have just been the perspective. Here's a picture anyway:
The boat ride was choppy back to Copacabana, and I slept some more. We then basically did the reverse of what we did to get there, so I won't explain it. There was still some drowsy vaguely drunken pan pipe music going on at the festival in Copacabana, and I bought some nice green earrings and a Bolivian style cardigan for my new(ish) niece Esme - hope it fits. We left the Swiss girls in La Paz after having dinner with them at a Western type place - chicken fajitas - wahey. The Swiss girls were staying on to travel around Bolivia some more, then one of them is returning to Cochabamba, and the other one is going to South Africa. Me Nikki and Noelia walked a few blocks from the fajita restaurant to the bus terminal, past a lovely church with the lights of La Paz in the background, past some jugglers juggling at traffic lights in the hope of making a Boliviano or two, past women settling down for the night on the pavement, with their babies and blankets. The poverty in La Paz is evident everywhere, and the poorest people live higher up around the rim of what they call the upturned hat of the city, where oxygen is less and conditions worse.
The night bus was just as comfy as it had been on the way there, we sat downstairs this time, there was still no bathroom, but I slept amazing well - only waking a few times in a bus related panic - I think it was quite a lot of downhill and sometimes the road is very very bumpy, and I may have been dreaming of drunken bus drivers.
Appendix 1: some more random pictures:
Friday night was the night bus from here to La Paz. It was raining, and I was worrying, as usual, in case the bus veered off the road. In 2005, Bolivia took the forward thinking measure of making drink driving illegal. Phew. We had seats on the top deck, in what they call a buscama - which means a busbed if translated literally. The seats are really comfy, so much comfier than the Megabus. But, unlike the Megabus, there is no toilet. So, no drinking of your water, so more potential for being dehydrated and getting altitude sickness. Anyway, none of this happened. We stopped around 230am for a toilet stop in the middle of nowhere (el medio de nada). Nikki's trousers broke at this point, which she did mention was ok to blog about - they were held together by some string so she managed to fix them with some more string I think.
'We' by the way, was me and Nikki from my team (the others decided against it as are saving up for the trip to the Salt Flats(, the 2 Swiss girls from the Spanish school, Regula and Andrea, and Noelia, a teacher from the school who was essentially our guide. Noelia looks a little bit like Maite, another teacher, and an interesting fact about Maite is that she has 15 siblings. Noelia is very lovely and looked after us really well. The Swiss girls speak very good English (of course), but we talked in Spanish only as we are all trying to learn. They are primary teachers in Switzerland, and funnily enough they live in Kreuzlingen, which is a place in Switzerland that I know, it's on Lake Constanz.
I managed to sleep well on the night bus, and it didn't veer off any roads. We got to La Paz bus station around 6am, I missed the amazing view of La Paz, seen from circling down in to it from above - it's the highest city in the world I think. Actually it's not - I've just googled it - but it's certainly up there in the list - it's 4150m by the airport (13,615 feet). I remembered when I was last in La Paz - we got the night bus there from somewhere else, perhaps Uyuni - and as we arrived in La Paz, the bus juddered to a stop and rolled the last hundreds of metres down to the bus station. They weigh your luggage on to the bus and calculate exactly how much petrol they will need so the drivers can't syphon off and sell any leftovers, thus the running out of petrol that time..... This didn't happen this time, but I certainly recognised the street we were on which was kind of a strange feeling.
We were supposed to meet a trufi, which is a mini bus taxi type thing. Noelia had arranged all this. However, the 2nd of February is the day of a festival in Copacabana, which is where we were then headed, to take the bus to La Isla del Sol, our final destination. This festival, which is the festival del Virgen de Copacabana, meant that all the trufi drivers from Copacabana had been drinking for the last 3 days, and were too drunk to drive, even by Bolivian standards. So the hotel owner had arranged a taxi for us instead. Which was fine, apart from Noelia had to sit in the boot - which to be fair looked more spacious and cosy than the rest of the taxi, and she certainly wouldn't let us move her out of there to the front seat. Off we went anyway, up to El Alto, the high bit of La Paz, and also the pretty poor run down bit (or one of them anyway) - unfinished houses, stray dogs, dust everywhere, markets by the side of the road, more dogs, random diggers and trucks on the side of the road, lots of chicken stalls called invariably 'rey de pollo'. It's a long straight road through this district, and I saw lots of graffiti in support of Evo, el presidente, along the way. The people of La Paz like him, they are Aymara, his people, and poor.
Also along the way, Noelia explained to us (in English so as not to upset the taxi driver as it's quite a sensitive subject) that the people of La Paz do sacrifices when they build a new building. Human sacrifices that is. If you were to dig up the foundations of a lot of the houses / buildings we drove past that day, you would most likely find human remains under them. In La Paz, unlike the rest of Bolivia, you are allowed to be Catholic and also believe in Pachamama (mother earth - the indigenous / traditional belief system). You may not agree with this particular ritual of theirs, so I won't go into more detail, also because I don't want to anger any of their gods as they may be quite fierce. There is a film about this particular ritual apparently, called Elephant Cemetery, but I am yet to google this.
We stopped to get some snacks at a petrol station in el medio de nada, after getting through the jigsaw puzzle of traffic of El Alto. The traffic was particularly bad due to everyone going to the festival in Copacabana. As we set off from our petrol station, Noelia shouted something about biscuits which triggered my memory of having rested them on the taxi roof as I was getting back in. They were now rolling around 200 metres back down the road and in severe danger of being run over by one of the trucks behind us. Me and Noelia leapt out of the car and ran as though our lives depended on it (which isn't easy to do at altitude) to rescue them. All the traffic coming towards us managed to swerve around the biscuits, thank god and pachamama, and we safely got them back. All I think when things like this happen is 'that'll be a good little story for the blog'. And so it was.
The next eventful thing in the taxi was probably me falling asleep. So to make it more interesting I'll tell you a taxi based fact: they use 3 types of fuel in Bolivia - petrol (for rich people), diesel (for trucks), and natural gas (for mainly taxis). The government paid for anyone who wanted to convert their engines to ones that would run on natural gas a while ago, thus meaning that they could get around for a lot cheaper, and also that Bolivia benefitted from its natural gas resources. When we are 7 in one taxi and it has to go up the small hill near school, you can feel it almost stop completely - they are much less powerful with this fuel. When we were in a taxi one day he had to go and fill up, and we all had to get out, much to our bemusement. This was so he could fit more gas in the tank, as it is literally gas, not liquid. I was wondering if when we got in it would therefore explode as we all sat down on to it. Another taxi we were in the other day broke down mid-taxi drive on one of the mainer roads of Cochabamba. All the traffic honked and went around us - I tried to get out but couldn't quite get out in time to help the others who were by now pushing it while the drive steered it. I felt like somone in a sedan chair might feel as they pushed me towards the pavement. We felt really sorry for the taxi driver who stood there with the bonnet open just kind of staring at what was infront of him, scratching his head in a cartoon type way. Leanne suggested calling the AA, but I'm pretty sure they don't exist here.
Anyway, back to Copacabana - we stopped at a small museum en route, where we met Paulino who showed us many pictures of giant reed boats. Reeds in Spanish are torturas. I bought a small reed boat to remind myself of Paulino and his adventures, as he was pretty cool. He had made one of the giant reed boats in Barcelona, and one in Chile - this one he sailed with 6 others to Tahiti and back, over 3 months. Can you imagine it. As we left, he was still poring over his photo albums of the construction of the boats, him with various other boat making people, other reed related things. I wished I could speak fluent Spanish so I could understand him completely, he must've been pretty cool by Bolivian standards. Here is a photo of him looking at his photos:
 |
| my mini reed boat |
We got our first sight of the lake here (my third, ahem). The others had probably seen it sooner, but I was fast asleep up until this point. On arriving in Copacabana, I was instantly over excited at the sound of pan pipes and drums in the town. All the men and women were dressed up to los nueves, the men in their best smartest grey suits, with garlands of flowers around their necks, and the women in traditional Aymara dresses (they have a particular name which I can never remember, but 'traje' seems to cover it - it means suit). They were all drinking from big communal bottles of beer, throwing confetti around, playing or listening to music, and doing the Inca version of line dancing. It was amazing. We went to eat some lunch - trout, from the lake, with chips, not from the lake - then looked some more at the festival and some stalls selling typical Bolivian things. Sadly we were on a bit of a time frame so couldn't stay to watch the festival descend into Bolivian oblivian madness, but it was pretty exciting to have been there on that particular day.
A small boat took us a few minutes over the lake to another bit of island (am slightly confused as to what was island and mainland, and what order things happened in, but I don't think it matters too much). The taxi came over on a separate little boat/barge thing. There were some boat/barges with entire buses or lorries on them, which made me chuckle, especially as it seems flota is another word for bus, or one of the bus companies, which also surely means floating? One of the little boats was called Elvis - here he is:
 |
| a bus boat |
We ate some strange nut/seed/corn type thingys while we waited for the taxi to get to the other side. These are called darwi (Noelia said it's like Darwin without the n). There were really tasty, more so than they looked. We then drove some more to another bit of island to take a boat for a bit longer, to get to the Isla del Sol. The scenery was stunning, like a gigantic, non touristy version of the lake district, with snow topped mountains topped again with puffy clouds. Here is a picture as it will be better than a description:
On arriving on the Isla del Sol, we walked to see the Templo del Sol, where they used to do sacrifices to the sun. I tried to imagine being an Inca in those days, and just living on this massive lake, and seeing just a few other islands around you, and that's your life. I suppose you'd eat potatoes and quinoa and corn and have some sheep, and occasionally sacrifice someone to make sure the sun still shone the next day. There is an island nearby called Isla de la Luna - this used to be the home of just Incan princesses or perhaps still is - I can't really tell what is present / past fact or fiction anymore about some of these things. We didn't go there, in case they sacrificed one of us, but also because it wasn't on our itinerary. We then had to walk for about an hour across part of the Isla del Sol, to get to our hotel. The first part of this was up steep steps. At altitude this is not easy at all, and most of the rest of the way was steep. There were piles of hail along the way, but the sun was blazing down on us and there was not a cloud in the sky. Whence had it come?? Mysterious if you ask me, but no more so than lots of other things. I took a photo of some llamas, and 2 small Bolivian girls ran over and blocked my way until I coughed up 1 boliviano for the pleasure of taking a picture of their llamas. I was not impressed - this is what I got for my 10p equivalent:
Isla del Sol is very touristy, there are signs in English saying 'pizza restaurant, gourmet pizza chef', and numerous internet cafes along the way in the first part of the island. I don't like being one of many travellers after being a relative rarity in Cochabamba, but such is life and it is a really lovely island, despite the 10p llama photo charge incident. I can understand why they have to do it, I guess it's annoying having your island invaded by westerners who have loads of money and don't understand you or your culture particularly well and just want to eat American style food. Anyway, after my minor low point, we got to our hotel and relaxed while looking at the amazing massive view of LakeTiticaca, and drinking coca tea. Donkeys brought the Swiss girls big rucksacks to our hotel, thankfully for them. It soon became freezing cold and I wore all the clothes I had taken with me, which I thought were too many when packing but now thought weren't enough. We could barely speak during dinner we were so tired, but we managed a game of cards and watched some thunder and lightning flitting around us before passing out in our beds which thankfully had very thick blankets. I slept amazing well, and had some strange dreams - that I'd flown home for the weekend to have a roast dinner which I'd then forgotten to eat.
Sunday was rainy and grey, and breakfast was delayed, perhaps due to this or perhaps due to some other Bolivian mystery. I more than happily fell back asleep under all my blankets when Noelia announced this. Sleep like that is priceless, when you think you have to get up and then you don't. It's like how I imagine winning the lottery must feel. Anyway, it had to end at some point, and we did get up and eat breakfast - eggs, bread, and coffee - and set off, all the way with a lovely protective dog from the hotel. She decided to be our guard dog for the walk to the Incan ruins at the other end of the island, which involved growling at a man in a field towards the end, who ran at her and threw stones until she stopped. She chased a sheep for a while, who was pretty powerless but put up a good fight until Noelia intervened. Towards the end of the walk she found a new friend and forgot all about us. The Incan ruins were most notable for us eating our packed lunches there, overlooking the sea, where I saw some ducks floating about too.
And so ended our little Isla del Sol adventure, as we walked down to the boat stop, past the beach where you can rent out tents for the night. I walked in the Lake for this bit, which was in fact a first as far as I know. We picked up our bags that we had left at the hotel from another part of the island - the boat driver cleverly reversed our boat to a little house on the shore and a man ran out of the little house with our things. I think the man was little too, or it could have just been the perspective. Here's a picture anyway:
 |
| spot the rucksack |
The boat ride was choppy back to Copacabana, and I slept some more. We then basically did the reverse of what we did to get there, so I won't explain it. There was still some drowsy vaguely drunken pan pipe music going on at the festival in Copacabana, and I bought some nice green earrings and a Bolivian style cardigan for my new(ish) niece Esme - hope it fits. We left the Swiss girls in La Paz after having dinner with them at a Western type place - chicken fajitas - wahey. The Swiss girls were staying on to travel around Bolivia some more, then one of them is returning to Cochabamba, and the other one is going to South Africa. Me Nikki and Noelia walked a few blocks from the fajita restaurant to the bus terminal, past a lovely church with the lights of La Paz in the background, past some jugglers juggling at traffic lights in the hope of making a Boliviano or two, past women settling down for the night on the pavement, with their babies and blankets. The poverty in La Paz is evident everywhere, and the poorest people live higher up around the rim of what they call the upturned hat of the city, where oxygen is less and conditions worse.
The night bus was just as comfy as it had been on the way there, we sat downstairs this time, there was still no bathroom, but I slept amazing well - only waking a few times in a bus related panic - I think it was quite a lot of downhill and sometimes the road is very very bumpy, and I may have been dreaming of drunken bus drivers.
Appendix 1: some more random pictures:
Great trip and nicepics x
ReplyDeleteI am back with you after a bad bout of the flu, a complete wipe-out. Your stomach problem must have been difficult to manage! all sympathy to those who are ill, whether in the West or where you are.
ReplyDeleteThe lockers look wonderful, and is the new roof installed? And will you use them before it's time to depart? What a legacy you will leave behind you; secure storage. You will be remembered!
We are preparing for the choir concert on 27 March at Bankfield again. And living dangerously! Our programme this year is more ambitious than last year's and we are pushing the time-limits.......but that's what being in a choir is all about. We have some lovely stuff: a Zulu prayer for peace, the Hymn to Freedom by Oscar Peterson, some kids' stuff jazzed up....and a beautiful piece by Mozart. And as you won't be back for the March concert I hope you will join us on 23 June in a garden above Heptonstall for the same programme. With love, and take care, Gwyneth
What is the problem with Giant Reed?
ReplyDelete