Errr....

I can't believe I wrote a post about Brazil and forgot the main thing: Caipirinhas. Man oh man, these things rock. After the first sip has acclimatised one's mouth to the cachaça that it. And that's definitely one of those sour-y squint-y too strong-y alcohol-y effects. But once you're past thhe first sip and the limejuice and the sugar are starting to mingle in your plastic cup, and the ice starts a-melting, yeah, that's the spirit. And the drink 'em everywhere. At the wedding, they had a dedicated caipirinha bar—lime, passionfruit or strawberry to choose from. But believe me, there's no reason whatsoever to pass up the lime. The sour acid masks the cachaça flavour in a way no strawberry ever can. And I'm aint no passionfruit man But, hey, you gotta try everything once (except murder and incest, that is). (oh, and ploughing into a group of rural teenagers in your car).

So, after a whirlwind tour of Hee-oh, we had to hot-tail it back to BA. As you all know too well, my kinda town. But it also meant a period of mad flight times, like a 7:30 Rio-BA departure, meaning we have to leave for the airport at oh, 4:45 am. Pitch black. And then spend a woozy day in a rainy BA, feeling fairly shite. But enjoying ourselves nonetheless. Even seeing some tango at the Armenian Social Club in Palermo Viejo. And following yesterday's early morning rise with anothery—this time the 8:15 to Lima.

And the Cuzco. The Andes. Cold. Wet. History. And some fo the best masonry I've ever seen. A city full of these min cars whose brnad I can't recall, all mini like their stoic, broad-faced drivers, these solid, stocky coffee-coloured people who look as though they have been chiselled from stones themselves.

What with altitude sickness, yes, it does exist, Cuzco was a place the put the feet up and relax. Snooze. Drink hot chocolate. Visit the odd cathedral. Snooze some more. Read a little. Plan our itinerary. Eat alpaca (yum!). Drink pisco sours. Peruse silver. Deny the hawkers. All jolly good, old fashioned fun.