I travel not to go anywhere, but to go. I travel for travel sake. The great affair is to move. (Robert Louis Stevenson.) Wandering down the cobblestone streets in front of our hostel, I turn right into Saragenara street, drop a few coins in the beggar women’s tin, brush off the guy selling happy mushrooms, pass the restaurant where we ate llama and pollo last night, the many shop fronts with their color full beanies, jumpers, scarves, skirts and other lama wool garments, the leather bags, t shirts with Che’s picture on front, the silverware and of course the music shops full of guitars, shakers, bongos and ukuleles. From his doorway the travel guy enquires about our plans. Have we been to Sucre? Have we seen the salt flats of Uyuni? Do we want to fly
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