Lima

LIMA YAAAAAY now what the christ do I do. It's such an monstrously sprawling city and wank dull which is why I got out swiftly in the first place upon realising that tinder was even more toady than in England. There are many things to hate but as the sojourn draws to a close I discovered in the last week there are also pleasant surprises.

Hateful things include the urban acne that is casinos whose pu$tules can be found at every turn. If you've got the money go ahead, but sadly most people here don't or if they do it's imaginary, and these smeggy tycoons convince them they can win a washing machine or a jesus-approved spaceship. Which ties in sweetly with the liars. Limans (?) are largely compulsive bearers of untruths, often for no discernable reason. They'll give you the wrong directions to somewhere because they'd rather you end up naked and lost in the wilderness subsisting on algae than admit they don't know.

Floral advertising. Billboards ok but is it really necessary to have pharmaceutical logos flower-arranged into every other patch of grass? And what is it supposed to mean? Is it flammable? Have you got some matches? Lima isn't very good at flora and fauna on the whole. I always think it's a fun idea to go to the zoo and end up leaving them regretful and depressed, and this time was no exception. The wild cats were skeletal or insane or both, and the magnificent black bear (of the Paddington variety) was clearly zonked into another dimension. Bear witness below.

Less sentient than a root vegetable

So I learnt my lesson about funding third world zoos, for which I tried to compensate by taking myself on a date to see the dead and stuffed (and visibly much happier) wildlife at the Natural History Museum, your reliable go-to in any city.

Another 5starsontripadvisor experience was the "magic water park" (sounded excitingly imbecilic) whose vibrant light show with racy folkloric dancing I watched on san pedro cactus bought off witchy ladies in La Paz. Ideal context. It was something like being in a colourful RPG, or completing rainbow road in Jeff Koons' brain. (Edit: And the rest made it back across the Atlantic untouched! Where I can now add some sugar and lemon because the concoction itself tastes like redigested bile.)

Despite being archaically degrading and nauseatingly sleazy it is also quite nice to have suedra (mother-in-law) yelled at my mum by passing opportunists who indiscriminately overlook my boy hair. I've found that Lima can grow to be loved once you get past the incoherent transport "system", permanent risk of mugging, pollution and canny extortion, especially when it unexpectedly throws things at you like a peruvian The Doors tribute band, which is possibly the best thing that has ever happened in eternity and that is an objective fact. This is not the end, you beaut country.

Uyuni

It seemed little could ease the pain of leaving dinosaur park but maybe vast plains of white stuff would do the trick. The trip down to the Salar de Uyuni involved a stop in Oruro for a typical shredded alpaca (wear it! Eat it!) dish called charquekan and the bustliest market you ever did see. I'm a blissful moron at markets, you could scalp me and I wouldn't notice.

SADLY the night bus to uyuni was only 6 hours so they kicked me and some paysanas out onto the street whereupon after much shrieking we were kindly padlocked into the bus company's "office" (i.e. sty) for a slumber party on the concrete floor until release at 7am which turned out to be 8. Naturally.

The salt flats themselves are something else though. Basically residue from an evaporated prehistoric lake, they are a thin crust of icing over a pool of brine and stretch as far as my eye can see (so like 4000 miles) and offer the opportunity for "funny photos" where you use the power of perspective to demonstrate your lack of creative vision. Also it is salty and tastes shit and ruins your clothes. But I nonetheless felt right at home in our salt-block accommodation, Hostal de Sal.

We also visited Fish Island with centuries-old cactii where I barfed in the loo and the crosseyed cleaner listened in and immediately proceeded to try it on with me and shake my hand when I emerged.

Where trains go to die

Apart from the views (I'm a views dweeb ok) and the train cemetery which looks sinister and bleak at first but turns out to be the best unsafe playground in the world, the highlight was probably the geysers (eruptions of hot sulphurous gas shooting from the ground) and hot springs in freezing °C because it was like being at the dawn of time in some primordial utopia. Back in those days. Before these goddamn sapiens, tsch. There was a lot of sweaty driving to get there but it was worth it even when the chauffeur-cum-tour guide (lol) cranked up his dire Bolivian tunes at 5am.

EDIT: ALSO everyone said it'd be cooch-crushingly cold but it wasn't even that cold?? Always take Bolivian advice with a pinch of salt. Ha.

Afterwards it was miraculously back to La Paz against the odds because of protests and road blocks (created by piles of hair?) where, in my scalpable stupor, some knobber tried to nick my life with his sneaky sneaky hand but I was heroically saved by my super friend Will, singlehandedly dispelling the myth of the stupid gringo.

Now is the supposed 27 hour expedition (doubtless longer) back to the Lima endz, city of sanguches. If you can figure out what that means, I'll make you one when I'm back in the UK. With all the love I can mustard. <- clue