Sucre

Upon arrival at The Beehive Hostel in Sucre, it impressed. Friendly atmosphere, laptops to hire, a choice of eggs, porridge or fruit for breakfast, laundry service, spacious dormitories, regular events such as meals or activities, and a guitar. With my backpack still on my back, I uttered the words "best hostel ever" countless times within ten minutes of arrival. This was reason one.

As I have already mentioned, there is scarcely little English spoken in South America. Spanish, naturally, is paramount. While Sucre has plenty of Spanish Language schools, one-on-one lessons are available in The Beehive Hostel for just 30 Bolivianos an hour; less than three pounds. It would cost ten times that much in England. This was reason two.

As a result, I have now been firmly rooted at The Beehive for over two weeks, primarily to learn Spanish. I didn't actually believe that I had much hope - Languages had always been a million times harder than any other lesson at school - but after 2 weeks of one on one lessons with Abi, I have to say I have impressed myself. I know verbs, I know nouns, and crucially, I know much of the grammar necessary to piece it all together. And with so much time on my hands until my return flight to England in June, it was a perfect way to spend two weeks. At the most basic of levels, hablo Espanyol.

I've also seen many people come and go over the last two weeks. Julian, my Spanish-speaking Danish interpreter who I met in San Pedro, moved on after three days. Hoi-Yuen, my replacement best friend, was gone after about a week. Willem and Alies re-attached their backpacks today. And countless others.

In between visiting the market, visiting the cemetery (much more interesting that it sounds!), visiting the ancient dinosaur tracks, scaling a nearby hill for a view of the city, relaxing in the central square, and having my beard shaved with a straight razor, eating out has been another major experience. One day Julian, Hoi-Yuen and myself found a small cafe offering a set menu for next to nothing. The first course was a small plate of various beans and vegetable bits. I can't claim it pleased me much, but Julian was quickly even less pleased. As he squinted at his plate, a small insect was taking a casual stroll between some beans. Julian chose not to take a further bite. I duly took a closer inspection at my own plate. Moving a few bits and pieces about, I saw no movement, so I gingerly continued to plough my way through. 30 seconds later Hoi-Yuen asked me a casually question; "Oh, you found one too?" she said, indicating to the side of my plate. Camouflaged within one of the perimeter painted swirls of my plate, a motionless insect lay dead. It was twice as big as Julian's. My natural reaction was to rocket myself out of my seat, perfectly timed to nearly crash into the simultaneously emerging waitress. She replaced my plate, but I no longer felt like beans.

Now, however, it is finally time to move on. I am ready. I was unsure where to go at first, and recent road blockade protests have limited bus routes some days. However, last night we rented a DVD documentary from the hostel; The Devil's Miner. As a result of this, tomorrow I intend to backtrack to a town I previously missed; Potosi.