Day 20 – Never Let The Truth Get In The Way Of A Good Story.


I slept like a rotisserie last night. After another batch of succulent balls I went to sleep on the hardwood floor and spent the night lying for a minute, farting, then rolling over, lying for a minute, farting, and rolling over… Every time I think my rib pain might be subsiding I go and do something like sleep on a hardwood floor.

A light breakfast and some heartfelt good-byes with Allister and Karin and then we left for Cementario, the crime capitol of La Paz. We were told by just about everyone (including our guide books) to be extra careful with our luggage in Cementario. As advised, we waited until our van was full of passengers and our luggage was packed tightly on the roof before boarding. We were given the two rear bench seats and just as were about to leave five more people hopped on and mashed themselves down on other passenger’s laps. Fifteen of us piled in a 10-person van. And while we were stuffed in the back seat our luggage was undone and subject to swift and easy thievery while more luggage was piled on top of it.

We finally drove off but at every stop along the way we could do no more than hope for the best. Since we were stuck in the back seats, with eight people to crawl over before having any chance of exiting the van and protecting our luggage, we considered ourselves lucky nothing went missing during our trip.

We dropped people off and picked people up every twenty minutes on our way to Copacabana. Sometimes there would be nothing around for miles except rolling hills as far as the eye could see. Yet, someone would motion for the driver to let them off. Similarly, we would pick up people standing on the side of the road who had obviously walked miles to be there because there was simply nowhere within eyeshot for them to have come from.

After a few hours of severe discomfort in the back of the van we reached the southern tip of Lago Titicaca. There we took one ferry across a jetty while our luggage took a separate one. Presumably this was to distribute the weight evenly between two small ferryboats but until we had our luggage back we were all pretty sure it was just a ruse to separate us from Robert’s llama fetus.

Back in the van we traveled for a few more hours until we reached Copacabana (which bares little resemblance to the second Copacabana made famous by Barry Manilow). It was not small, but it was still quiet and somehow quaint. We checked into a hostel then hiked up to the Horca del Inca (Inca Gallows) and explored some aggro-calendars from thousands of years ago. The Spaniards took over this city from the Incas and made it overwhelmingly catholic both with it’s spiritual infliction (non-believers were hanged at these gallows) and with it’s construction of many churches and monuments. This interested Karoline a lot, not because she’s catholic (because she’s not), but because she loves catholic art.

From there we marched back down the mountain, through town, and up to Los Stacions del Cross. From there we watched the sun set over the highest navigable lake in the world. We also met an Israeli named Yair who used to go out with Yael Bar Zohar, the Israeli pop icon with enormous boobies. He may be pulling my leg but who am I to let truth get in the way of a good story?

Once the sun dropped, so did the temperature. We all redressed then went out to eat at one of the many vegetarian restaurants in town. When you’re with the same few people day in and day out, especially in another country where the culture and language isolate your group further, you find that you’ve told all your stories and that your actions and thoughts have become predictable. Being Forth Class entertainers, we’re acutely aware of when our antics and personalities fall on indifferent ears. To combat this I seek out new adventures just for the sake of conversation.

For instance, after dinner everyone went back to the hostel to crash while I wandered around town looking for nightlife. Unfortunately, all I could find was a kareoke bar but even it was empty. I heard Yair laughing somewhere on the next block so I went to investigate. I found him and someone with long brown hair necking on a park bench so I kept quiet and walked back to our hostel. So much for adding to the conversation…

I went back to our room smelled bad. Worse then even the neighboring baño. Like ass, sweat, and feet. "Like our love," Devon said.

WHN? in Sudamerica - May 2002

Day 0 – Please wake me for meals.
/ Day 1 – Eu como minha propia merda.

Day 2 – Headbangs, Cumstains, and Clogged Shower Drains (aka Devon’s 33nd Birthday)

Day 3 – Banana Pizza – Don’t Knock It ‘Til You’ve Tried It

Day 4 – "Fuck My Ass!" the group of girls in the front row kept chanting.

Day 5 – Doesn’t anybody speak English around here?

Day 9 – I am Yellowman.

Day 10 – I am apparently also an idiot.

Day 11 – A gas station with a bar...Why didn’t I think of that?!

Day 12 – What doesn’t kill you, usually still hurts a lot. (aka Mother’s Day)
/ Day 13 – Touring isn’t so much a question of "Where is my next meal coming from?" as much as "Where/when am I gonna be able to take my next dump?"
Non-band travel

May 14 – Random Acts of Meat.

May 15 – The World’s Most Dangerous Road

May 16 – Another day in paradise

May 17 – They’ve had the same government since we got here!

May 18 – Why are my teeth turning green?

May 19 – Hey dad, I’m in jail!

May 20 – Never Let The Truth Get In The Way Of A Good Story.

May 21 – The sun and the moon, all in one afternoon.

May 22 – The Royal Frankenstein

May 23 – Metal? You call this metal?!?

May 24 – Machu Picchu or Bust (your travel agent over the head).

May 25 – There she is! What do I do?! What do I do?! Nothing, as usual.

May 26 – Maybe I was supposed to be naked.

May 27
– Be aware or be prepared

May 28
– Fried Food Day


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