Alice Newitt

Day 10: Puno to La Paz, in which we spend a very long time on a bus before taking some time out for some footballing disappointment

Upon waking, a flicked the switch on the lamp, only for there to be a loud ‘pop’ and all of the power in the room to go out. I guessed it was time to leave.

At the bus station, we boarded the coach that was to take us to Bolivia. This time, there was no security inspection of our luggage – clearly these buses were not as interesting to thieves.

As we sped through the countryside lining the edge of the lake, we pulled over at a small shop that sold water, snacks and also offered a currency exchange service. Disembarking rather nervously, fearful of the bus suddenly taking off and leaving me in the dust, I entered the shop and handed the lady at the desk my remaining 400 Peruvian soles. At the same time as serving the other customers, she made a great many calculations on her calculator before handing me precisely 800 Bolivianos. I took my money and quickly hurried back onboard.

Around half an hour later, we crossed the border, a rather slow process but unexpectedly high-tech process involving scanning of QR codes and full airport-style luggage scanning. We re-boarded the bus and continued our journey, through a landscape that looked very much the same as before but sadly with a marked increase in roadside litter and military checkpoints.

After a few more hours of rural hinterland, we began to see more evidence of civilisation before arriving in La Paz via El Elto.

Seeing the iconic view of La Paz from above had been one of the things that I had most been looking forward to, and the view from the bus as we began our descent into the city did not disappoint.

After arriving at a bus station that would put Leicester’s Haymarket to shame, we travelled to our hotel via minibus and then headed out immediately for lunch at an ‘English pub’ in order to watch the final of the Euros, where my enthusiasm for the England men’s football team was quickly put to shame by the passion of the football-mad Bolivians.

After the, er, authentic Bolivian-English experience and traditional England football disappointment, we visited some of the sights of this not-capital capital. Prior to arriving, I had been a bit nervous after hearing about the recent attempted coup, but signs of any disturbance were limited to a noticeable military presence in the parliamentary square so it seemed that any storm had blown over.