We arose, nervous, sweating, and with a fresh pair of underwear in our day sacks, about to take part in what can only be described as a suicidal mission towards the grave... Death Road. Known for it's sheer cliff faces,  erratic weather conditions and quite literally the worst terrain in South America, Rosie, Kirsty, Grace and I sat silently during the bus journey, wondering what on earth we'd signed up for and praying that our bladders kept it together. Our fears were swiftly set aside when we were presented with our riding gear, I'm not going to lie, we looked awesome. A pleasant down hill ride of an hour or so set our adrenaline racing and all looked well and bright, until we landed at our fateful destination. The first few minutes didn't bode too well as Rosie swiftly crashed into a small ditch and upon remounting my bike I immediately fell to the floor. Despite the probability of us returning to our parents in bin bags, we set off, in the mist, wind and fire (ok we lie, there were no flames), taking care not to look at the 4000m plummet to our left. Once we'd settled into our seats, we picked up the pace of the downhill ride, Octavia taking the lead, looking like a true boy racer in her tight lycra and motorbike helmet, oh so flattering. There were a few wheel skids to say the least, and yes I did get grit in my eye at one point and nearly went over the cliff. Grace, worried for my life was kind enough to stop and wait, although I did have the emergency backup van up my ass. His name was Solomon and he had an eye syringe at the ready. Not needed. I powered on like a don. After an eventful days ride and a narrow escape from the Grim Reaper himself, we got our T-shirts, which looked like the garments worn by the staff at The London Dungeons. Enough said.
Our last nights of Loki hostel in La Paz were no less eventful, including forming a beer pong team named "Baps and Ass" in reference to our admirable assets and having no competition ( a sad and lonely affair), partying in the streets in our pijamas after a failed "early night" and consequently devouring half a packet of cornflakes whilst walking round in circles for two hours to sober up. Tequila, we hate you. Loki kitchens, we apologise. We were ready to get back in touch with nature. Rurrenebaque, in the heart of the Amazon jungle, we were destined.

A bag of popcorn for breakie set us on our way to the rainforests of Rurrenebaque. The plane was miniscule. We were squashed to the windows like flies to a swatter. It was a ten seater plane and Octavia and I happened to be sat behind a man with the worst case of halitosis. The 35 minute flight was swift and we landed in fields of green, quite literally no runway, possibly a solitary orange flag. We were hailed at the 'airport' by motorbike men, offering taxi rides to the small town. We couldn't resist. Occy, was the picture of beauty and grace, tottering along on her motorbike, sack on her back, nearly toppling off at every corner. We were met the following morning by a 4WD and the rest of our fellow intrepid expeditioners, Nick and Joe from London, Tilda and Katie from Bristol and Maya and Lotte from Denmark. What a team. We arrived on the shores of the Amazon and presented with our bateau, in which we cruised lazily through the water, spying natural wonders such as camens, sloths, tiger herons, storks, and the biggest rodent on earth whose name we fail to remember but who strikingly ressembles Rosie on a Monday morning.
 Cheers for the lovely compliment Choccy Cobb, I do remember the camens who incidentally will eat anything, being utterly repulsed when your feet were let loose in the Amazonian river. Touche. Back to the blog.....the next few days were spent, anaconda spotting, piranha fishing and yes, swimming with wild pink dolphins. A true experience of a lifetime, Ocs was particularly popular with the dolphins, being dragged along  for a good five minutes by the fin, meanwhile I had one pissing next to me, my horizons were truly broadened I must say. It was amazing though, despite being eaten alive by mosquitoes, a magical few days.
However all this was without its fair share of Occy and Rosie drama, this time in the form of yet another blockade, although on this occasion slightly different... a wall of seething locals armed with stones, spears, and yes...machetties. Our car threw us out and sped quickly off into the dust, a sign we took with confusion. Tentatively approaching the mob, we asked in our most polite english whether it was possible to pass and catch our flight which was scheduled in less than an hour. A rock to the eye informed us that no, it was not possible. Dodging the pile of stones and debris over head, we reconvened with the other 40 terrified tourists and devised an action plan, involving bribing a local family to take us an alternative route around the blockade. Little did we know that this involved wading through previously untrodden jungle territory. The local family themselves were terrified and would only accept 1000 Bolivianos to help us avoid the angry mob. We found ourselves wading through knee deep swamp land and barbed wire, having to keep extremely quiet in the process, in fear of the violent locals finding out our escape route. It was scary. The lowest point arrived with the fear of us being pursued by the more agressive members of the pack, which prompted Rosie to elbow her way to the front of the queue, flooring a shoeless Canadian in the process and disregarding the fact that she was tit deep in swamp. They weren't. But the danger wasn't over, with sunset swiftly approaching and our plane already passing cheerfully over head. Three hours later, we emerged onto the beaten track, sweating, dehydrated and smelling of dung. We felt very victorious however and our agency gave us free Cola on the other side- cheers for nothing. Our flight back to La Paz was rescheduled the next day, we were lucky escapees.