After a disturbed night's sleep on our AIDS-ridden beds in the hotel Paradiso, we packed rapidly under the watchful eyes of an ever-growing crowd. The 'hotel' owner tried his luck by asking us for more money... you can guess the reply he got. We set off on the lake shore for the short ride to the border at Desaguadera. This is quite possibly the coldest we have ever been and Gilby was still grizzing it in his linen shorts. Fortunately we had a stunning sunrise over lake Titicaca to take our minds off it. Half an hour later 11 blocks of solid ice fell off our taxis and joined the queue for the border, and so began the wait. Whilst Gilby and Charlie went off to track down some warmer socks and Lara went shopping for gloves we spent an entire day handing over various bits of paperwork to a very overstressed Alfonso. We sampled the local version of a Cornish pasty and chugged down mugs of very sweet, very strong coffee and as the bureaucracy buried us ever deeper, we resigned ourselves to another night in Peru. Suddenly there was a ray of hope. The word went around that the taxis had to be weighed to get their export license and so engines roared in to life and 26 teams set off in an orderly procession through town. Orderly my arse! The procession instantly turned in to Wacky Races and what ensued was one of the funniest bits of the Junket so far. As taxis jostled for position, the streets of Desaguadera turned into a Peruvian version of Monaco, with slightly more rubbish and a lot less supermodels. Ellis and Paddy started well back in the pack but as soon as the parade became a race they lit the burners and tore up the field in a Days of Thunderesque romp to second and third place. The only reason they didn't push for first is because that cab carried the boss of the weighing station. Charlie and Gilby, who was at the helm, fared less well. In an emphatic push for the head of the pack they failed to notice the other 25 racers slowing to a crawl to cross a rather vicious storm drain. Hitting large holes in the ground in these machines is not an experience to be recommended and so, as they drew level with Paddy, there was an almighty crack, pith helmets flew across the street and the chain parted company with it's natural home. Diego, our Ex-Argentinian Air Force Junketeer then went on to achieve legendary status. Being both a native speaker and a bloody big unit he fronted up to the staff with a mix of tact and authority and achieved the impossible. He convinced them to change their plan of weighing every taxi, and take an average of a loaded and unloaded one. Success, instantly shat on by the news that we needed 10 pages of documents per cab from all over the country and that wasn't going to happen until tomorrow. Naturally, this process was further sullied by Gilby's wreckless/cock-like driving. Causing a delay in getting the paperwork back in to town. As the sun went down over the dusty, rocky truck park the Furballers plus a few other brave teams elected to camp with the bikes. This was the only obvious choice given that Anne was feeling particularly unwell and the toilets on sight were less than fit for human use so what need would she possibly have for a comfy bed and a decent bathroom? Ruth kindly announced a solution to the toilet problem when she pointed out that she had been for a poo under one of the lorrys... lovely. Gilbey's protests about the lack of a bed and a roof were halted when the question was asked of Charlie 'Is she always like this?'. A quick game of spoof nominated a split team to head into town and return with hot chicken and chips and crates of beer. Well, they thought it was beer. It turns out that the pikeys in the shop had wrapped a lucky dip of random cans in a beer shrink wrap. The beers were joined by coke, sprite and a particularly suspicious, alcohol free malt drink. Unperturbed, we huddled together, cracked out the iPod speakers and filled our faces. The students were grateful for some warm, free food. As was one of the local dogs who feasted like a king on the leftovers. It was at this point that we discovered our gin had been stolen in the Hotel Paradiso. Imagine our disappointment. When the beer ran out we moved on to the local wine, which tasted more like port, and then began to set up camp. Some elected to set up tents whilst others went for the al fresco option. And so to bed. Until tomorrow folks. Love from the Furballs xxx