Crazy, Crazy Nights

I arrive in La Paz in the morning and, for lack of remembering any other hostel names, I settle down in what transpires to be an infamous party hostel.

The must-do gimmick in La Paz is cycling the death road. There´s scarcely a La Paz tourist that doesn´t do this, and with some noteworthy exceptions, everyone seems to survive, so I´m not hugely excited by the prospect. But, Andy O told me I had to do this, and Andy O has all but total credibility. What I´m actually looking to do is some mountain stuff - climbing, I guess.

After a few stops where I´m described a few climbs, I´m finding that one mountain, Huayna Potosi, is constantly mentioned. I´ve taken this to mean that it´s a tourist mountain, probably no more difficult than Ben Nevis, and certainly beneath my aptitude. That´s despite good memory of my ill-advised and failed attempt to summit Ben Nevis with Nico. Nick and I probably should have done some research before we went up. For a start, I didn´t know the Ben Nevis was there. I had just wanted to go and run around the hills where The Highlander was filmed. Then we should have looked up things like precisely where the mountain is, how high it is, how long it should take to get up, what gear is necessary, and when the sun goes down. Instead, we started our way up at a casual 1300, and my gear list included little more than a bottle of single malt, my ukulele and twelve cigarettes.

I find a climbing operator that I have a good feel about. I´m offered Huaya Potosi, but ask for something more technical. The seasoned Bolivian climber, Alfredo, begins to draw a crude diagram on a Post-It Note. It´s three lumps, one atop another, to show the three stages of the climb. The lowest of the three lumps has a line across it and the numbers fifty and seventy. Alfredo goes on to explain that the first stage is home to the technical part of the climb. It´s a fifty metre lateral traverse across a ice face of seventy degrees. Neither he nor I are too concerned that I don´t have ice climbing experience. I go away to think about it, but already thinking that this is perfect.

Back in the party hostal, after a few pints of White Russian, my new friends and I are looking to hit the town hard. Before we´re out the door, one of the gang leads us to a broom cupboard, and points at a large basket of colourful material. Having had too many White Russians, I agree that we should suit up in fancy dress. I´m in the Grim Reapers cloak and a jester´s hat. Two of the English contingent are now dressed as frogs, head to toe.