I just wish there was "I Survived Bolivia" T-Shirt, as it would be apt.

Why, you say, Well, for a start we did get into the country with the illegal, unfinished, uninsured truck (thanks for the almost adventure of a border crossing, Kumuka!!), only because we did the dodge run to the south, which is hardly frequented by non-Andeans, and did it first thing in the morning. This was so not on the cards the day before, as not only was the truck a red tape nightmare on wheels, but the main driver had a broken ankle that had blown out and resembled a crocqet mallet, and of course Jose our little offsider driver couldn't reach the pedals (again, great work on the driver application process, Kumuka!!!) Alas the day was almost saved by Kumuka's replacement Peruvian driver who was flown in, well, almost. The morning began with our guides frantically calling replacement Peruvian driver, who was nowhere to be found, at the arranged uber early meeting time, which was necessary to negate boarder crossing issues. Finally, upon reaching said driver by phone, we were told he had somehow got lost and instead of driving the few blocks from the truck park to us waiting nervously in the picanini daylight at the hotel, ended up driving almost back to Cuzco.

Oh yeah, we were really in great spirits by the time he smashed his way back to where he was meant to be. So when he offered a hand for each of the ladies to clamber into the unfinished but not-as-bad-as-we-were-expecting truck, you can imagine the response.

This was just the beginning of what was to come. Sitting in the front of the truck's cargo area, we were in a precarious position above the cabin, giving my two new Kiwi girlfriends, Adrian and I front seat tickets to "YAY, THERE IS A MADMAN AT THE WHEEL". Believe me, I've been in with some crazy drivers (my dad for one), but this guy was something else. After amost decapitating a a line of donkeys and mowing down several dogs.may I remind you of our front seat status,a certain Kiwi lady, who felt one such canine's demise under the several sets of truck tyres, had had enough. The dunny bell was rung, the truck came to a "thank God I'm alive" halt, and Peruvian replacement driver was grinning with outstretched hand, ready to help said Kiwi lady down for her requested dunny stop.

It was on, I thought South American screaming match was something to behold- oh no-  said Kiwi lady made it clear to non-English speaking Peruvian replacement driver that she was #??#$#%& &/%&%&%$%;)(/&$?!%; $#$%&&%&//((/()/ %$#?/))=$$#$#&%%$#$%%&%?.

or something similar, you know how the Kiwi accent is hard to pick up sometimes.

At a decidedly more sedate pace, we trundled to the border. Let's just say truck, no dramas, all other passengers, no dramas, David, well, let's just say Hitler would have an easier time getting into to Israel then I did getting into Bolivia.

Luckily, our sedately driver had pulled up a little on the gung ho attitude, as the bridge which formed an almost East/West Berlin frontier was oddly packed with traditionally dressed Andean women with their wares spread out for sale... I didn't really concentrate too much on the traffic jam, as my mind, as juvenile as it is, just kept trying to see what nation's currency they were using.