Why not to burn llama foetuses on a mountain

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Having gone to bed ridiculously early last night I woke up feeling hugely refreshed. Unlike yesterday, I had a huge appetite and was ravenous when I went up to the bar for breakfast. I hadn't planned to do very much today and leafing through lonely planet whilst having breakfast confirmed that I had already seen much of La Paz. The only thing that I had considered doing was buying was some waterproof clothing ready for the trek up Machu Picchu.

Once I had eaten I took the opportunity, whilst the hostel was eerily quiet, to upload some photos on to Facebook for something to pass the time. I hadn't kept up to date with my travel photos since arriving in Australia and I wanted to make sure that I had something to brag about. I was eventually joined by the Tim and Harrison, who had been out till the wee small hours of the morning partying. I was amazed that they had managed to go out at all because they had been in a similar state to me yesterday. I asked what they had planned for the day and was met with a response I would never have imagined. They had been given a dried llama foetus as a present by people who they had met traveling, and were planning to go to the Witches Market to see if it could be burned in a good luck ceremony. I was intrigued, and with nothing better to do asked if I could tag along for the cultural experience.

After breakfast, I walked through the city with the boys towards the Witches Market, in hope of finding someone that might be persuaded to carry out some sort of ceremony for us. The streets were busier than they had been yesterday, filled once more with stalls and vendors attempting to make a sale to the few tourists that wandered the streets. The air was filled with the cat calls from the passing buses that were clearly struggling during the festive season, practically begging us to get in and go somewhere. Once we arrived at the bottom of Linares Street we decided that the only way forward was to ask any of the likely looking Cholitas if they could help us.

The further up the street we got, the more disheartened we became. Try as he might, everyone Tim asked met him with the same shaking hand and shaking head gesture. It wasn't until he asked a young shopkeeper if she would burn it that we had success. Although she wouldn't burn the llama foetus for us, she explained that we would need to head up to La Cumbre to find someone willing to help. I wasn't sure if the boys were still drunk when they suggested going up there, because it clearly hadn't dawned on them how far La Cumbre was. Nevertheless, we piled into a taxi and headed for Villa Fatima, which is where the young lady had directed us.

On our way I explained to the boys just how far it was, so Tim engaged the taxi driver in conversation to try and find out if there was anywhere closer. We were dropped off at what I can only assume was a bus terminal in Villa Fatima, which is where Tim had been told we could continue the journey up to La Cumbre. As Tim began to ask the various ticket touts for help, I began to think that this was fast becoming a misadventure, given that we were now getting laughed at. Unwilling to give up and fast becoming hungry, Tim and Harrison suggested that we walk through the maze of makeshift stalls that we had passed to try and get more information. Although we found lots of interesting food, including the greasiest fried fish I had ever eaten, we were still none the wiser about the situation we had got ourselves into.

Just as I was about to make my excuses and head back to the city centre, the boys had a sudden flash of what can only be described as Australian inspiration - they had decided that they would burn the llama foetus themselves. I couldn't help but chuckle to myself; not only did we not have any fuel with which to start a fire, I was pretty sure that the boys didn't know how to make the offering to Pacha-mama. This of course wasn't going to stop them, as they began to scan the vista for a suitable mountain to climb.

In for a penny, I decided to join them, hoping that they'd get bored and turn around before too long. We walked through the streets towards the closest mountain we could see and began to scale the steep hillside. We trekked for two hours up steep hillsides, across narrow verges and through disheveled homesteads to the top of this mountain. We joked along the way that we should set up out own tour for Backpackers wanting to take part in a cultural experience unlike any other. My mood had changed as we walked, making me rather more keen to see this through then I had been at first.

Reaching the top almost completely breathless, the view across the whole of La Paz was worth it if nothing else. After we had caught our breath and taken copious panoramic shots of the city Tim and Harrison set about building a fire out of some cardboard and wood we had found along the way. I had thought that given the altitude it would get going a lot quicker, but sadly it didn't and after twenty minutes of trying Tim had managed to get a few flames dancing from the small fire. Tim place the llama foetus on top of the fire, along with a few of the coca leaves I had bought and a couple of bananas that Harrison had bought and we each thanked Pacha-mama for the experience. It wasn't as solemn as I expected, but having managed to make our way to one of the highest points in the whole city was an achievement in itself.

After we had watched our fire burn out, we began our descent from the mountain. As we reached the first plateau I saw two guys sat on the edge of the rocks. Not thinking anythings of it, Tim greeted them in Spanish as we turned to make our way on. Suddenly both of them stood up and produced revolvers from the back of their trousers. I initially thought that it was some sort of joke, until they began aggressively signalling for us to sit down. Although neither of the guns looked real I wasn't willing to take the chance, and I began to empty my pockets of all the Bolivian currency I had. Unfortunately, this wasn't good enough for our assailants who began to go through our bags one by one, taking anything of value they could find. Sadly, I had bought my emergency fund with me on our excursion as well as all of the currency which I had collected from my trip around the world. I felt sick, and the feeling worsened when they found my camera which was also taken out and placed on the ground. Every picture I had taken since leaving Australia was on the memory card, and it felt like I was having all my memories taken. They systematically went through each of our bags taking what they could. Whilst they weren't looking I began to scoop all my belongings back into my rucksack and thought I would risk secreting my camera at the bottom before they noticed.

Once they had taken everything of value, they began to back off and we took this as a sign we could go. We half ran, half walked as fast as we could in the opposite direction to the thieves trying to get back to civilisation. Our descent only took thirty minutes and was done in near silence compared to the jollity of our climb not one hour ago. We hopped into the first taxi we came across and were whisked back to Plaza Murillo where we had to withdraw more money to pay for it. We hurried back to the hostel to ask for advise, and seemingly unconcerned for our safety Wild Rovers simply said we had to go to the tourist police to file a report.

After almost three hours of relating our tale to the police, we returned to the safety of the hostel with crime report in hand for a drink. Although we were managing to hold it together well, I think each of us were a little shaken up and a beer was most certainly welcome. I hadn't had the best luck in La Paz, and as I went to bed I felt enormously relieved to e leaving Bolivia the next day.

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