I neglected to plan anything today, so I´m scanning the advert board at the hostel looking for some action. There´s plenty to do around Sucre, and it´s a very comfortable place to be based. There´s some climbing around here, but I´ve already go ideas about some heavy duty trekking and climbing in La Paz. Amongst other activities, there´s horse riding, Spanish school, and offroading. We have a winner.
The offroad experience offers quad bikes and motorbikes. I don´t think I can fall off and kill myself on four wheels, and ever since I saw the beards, bikes and leather at the biggest motorcycle festival in Europe last year, this was inevitable.
Unfortuntley, owing to a combintion of my card being max´ed out for uses over a five day period, and my inability to convey my problem and the solution to a Bolivian bank teller, the remainder of the day is on foot.
The day isn´t without excitment. Since I arrived in town, I´ve been pretty excited about posters for the Saturday night show. I like KISS and I like Bolivia. I´m going to a Bolivian Tribute to KISS. The excitement is tempered by the probability that the Bolivians will struggle to imitate one of the greatest shows in the history of rocking. I like to think Millsy would be all over this, like a bad suit, with me, but it´s more likely he´d make some derrogatarry comment about budget imitation and immediately buy a thousand Dollar KISS VIP ticket just to emphasise his point. He´d probably also immediately try to sell me that same ticket for eleven hundred Dollars.
Two Englishmen, Joe & myself, and seventy Bolivians are not in the least bit disappointed by second derivative Bolivian KISS. In full costume, overweight Bolivian Paul Stanley is hitting the high notes, Bolivian Gene is blowing fire & spitting blood and Bolivian Peter Criss is giving roses to the girls during the instrumental in Beth. Bolivian Ace´s guitar is shooting smoke, which is Bolivian awesome, until our eyes are stinging with the toxic smoke. Brilliant. Just brilliant. I love it.
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