Hats and Hershey's kisses, briefcases and black men

The sun is so strong here and the air so thin that cancer is a serious concern. Wisely, the indigenous farmers all wear broad-brimmed hats as protection. The mass of sophisticated urban Bolivians would rather jab their eyes out than be associated with them. Instead, they wear baseball caps or use another means of protect themselves. Newspapers, hands, folders, semi-furled umbrellas, bags: it seems Paceñas (La Paz residents) will put anything over their heads to avoid anything so foolish as a hat. Today, I saw an otherwise elegant lady dashing her sophisticated aura into the dirt by carrying a lipstick-pink child’s briefcase on her head.

In the supermarket checkout next to the other mass-market chocolate is a brand called Beso de Negro. I don’t think a Black Man’s Kiss would be really considered acceptable in the UK. However, these are no dark-chocolate, local version of Hershey’s kisses. Instead, they are knobbly, phallic-shaped and filled with cream. Added to this, “beso de negro” is another name for what greasy-palmed tabloid journalists like to call an “unnatural sex act”. Have I let political correctness get the better of me or is this simply wrong?

Exercise, altitude and a virus: not a great cocktail

About a ten days ago I developed a cold. Nothing too serious about that and after a few days, I thought I felt well enough to swim and have my first rugby training since I left school. It was hard work and my lungs burnt savagely. The next morning, I was coughing up blood. Clearly, all was not well.

On Saturday, a thirsty chap, I finished the 20 litres of water, which had been delivered on Monday. For one bloke on his own, without tea and coffee, I was sloshing back 3.5 litres a day. And I was still parched.

Still, I had my second rugby training. My lungs seemed stronger and I hung on until cramp claimed me a few minutes from the end of the session. I took this as a painful moral victory.

On Sunday, I played tennis (Evo was playing football on the pitch below us, the bands were rather distracting) and then I really started to feel dreadful. After a very early night, I passed out, woke up, passed out again, until after 3pm the next afternoon. More than seventeen hours after crashing, I dragged myself out of bed. For an insomnia sufferer, this is a lot of sleep. I’ve started taking it a little easier.