The starlight sleepers regretted their decision this morning as we woke up to a covering of ice, frozen baby wipes and solid bottles of water. As soon as the sun broke the horizon the activity began. Out came Terry's superstove, on went the rat packs, and grinning faces were filled with various combinations of meat, beans and porridge. The burst of frenetic activity soon slowed to South American pace as the estimates for our departure began to slip right again. As the sun broke the horizon, roll mats came out, T-shirts came off and we settled in to sunbathing routine. Well, everyone except for Ruth who fell asleep kitted from head to toe in ski gear. This masked the strength of the sun and gifted her with two of the reddest eyelids ever seen. Paperwork finally began to filter through as the sun passed the yard arm. Most teams, for some reason, headed off for the truck crossing point but the ever-savvy furballers got insider info and headed back to the normal crossing point. Justifiably pleased with their efforts they settled in to wait for the final bits of paperwork whilst chowing down on sweet coffee and pasties with mystery fillings. The rest of the teams began to get the message that they had gone to the wrong crossing point and, bit by bit, they filtered back to join us. In doing so they proved that there is no honour among thieves and promptly parked up in front of the furballers. After about six teams had squeezed in Paddy decided that was enough and took up post directing the next 20 mototaxis very firmly to the back... cheeky buggers. A spot of retail therapy eased the stress levels and teams reappeared from the market armed with seriously heavyweight Alpaca blankets (Paddy's became his thermarest) and Lara found herself a head torch that actually worked and the warmest gloves ever made. Gilbey also decided that, whilst he could tolerate the shorts every morning, the socks definitely needed an upgrade. He returned wearing a large grin and what appeared to be two small ponchos wrapped around his feet.The afternoon wound away until, at long last, the paperwork began to arrive. Furballers set off on foot to get themselves stamped out of Peru (again) and in to Bolivia. Charlie, who is no stranger to ejection from foreign countries, nearly saw his junket come to an abrupt halt when the Bolivian border womble accidentally stamped him out instead of in. He sat there for a while staring at Charlie's passport trying to work out what was wrong with this picture. After a couple of minutes it clicked, and then began the quandary of what to do with this situation. After a not inconsiderate amount of pondering a course of action was chosen and out came the biro. With the skill of a blind forger and the speed of a giant African land snail he painstakingly began to alter the stamp, one tiny line at a time, until he was satisfied that it looked like the real thing - we were less than convinced. At long last, with cheers of elation the taxis rolled over the bridge into Bolivia with promises that all this waiting was finally over...it wasn't. Frantic waiving of all our paperwork and desperate bartering from Alex returned the answer 'But that was Peru, this is Bolivia. You have to do more paperwork'. Hearts sank and frowns crinkled as what little was left of the day came to a grinding halt. We were led up the road to a Bolivian customs point where they asked for photocopies of all our paperwork. Naturally, the only photocopier in the town was broken so, much to our exasperated amusement, one member of each team headed back in to Peru on foot to get the necessary copies. As soon as they were back we piled them in to the wagons and blasted on up the road to a border point that could process us much more efficiently - none other than the Bolivian side of our favourite truck border crossing! However, for once, the stories were true. The Border Womble was friendly (and very amused by the eclectic group of idiots stood before him), spoke near-perfect English and blasted through our paperwork faster than a fast thing. He was also confused as to why we sent people back to Peru to get photocopies when the photocopier next to his desk worked perfectly well. You've got to laugh or you'd cry! Despite his best efforts to appease us, which included handing out free beers whilst we waited, our new-found friend was unable to beat the setting sun and the decision was made to find somewhere to sleep for the night. Our border buddy advised strongly against going anywhere near town as it was Bolivian independence day and it was a safe bet that, if we chose to stray in to the drunken frontier, we would leave with considerably less belongings and a few new bruises...if we were lucky. We chose to heed his advice and so headed off up a dusty track a few hundred metres from the checkpoint and settled in to a really rather nice campsite in the shelter of some impressive rock formations. Learning from past mistakes, everyone opted for a tent. The furballers, joined by the students, circled the wagons and settled down for a night under an incredible starscape.