Pissing Hill Mate!

Pretty much the whole of the next day was spent in the jeeps, driving through incredible terrain and chewing coca leaves, occasionally stopping to take pictures and eat some sandwiches.

The amazing natural geysers and gas pits were smelly.




And there were more flamingos than you could shake a pink stick at.



When we got to the town nearest the place where we would be staying that night, the kiwis and Laurence decided that they were going to buy a few bottles of booze for dinner that night. I went in with them and we ended up getting a glorious mix of red wine, premixed Cuba Libre (with a random picture of Pamela Anderson in her pants on the bottle) and something else.

We arrived at our lodgings, a salt hotel (made entirely of salt, as the name would suggest), but a legal one that is not on the salt flat itself. It was half way up quite a steep hill, and was quite interesting to be in. I wondered what would happen if you cut yourself in a house of salt... Waiting for dinner we all sat round exchanging amusing anecdotes and humiliating stories.


WARNING: DO NOT MIX VALIUM, ALCOHOL AND ALTITUDE.

We were now at over 4800 metres and Helen was feeling particularly ill and had gone to bed straight after dinner. I had had a few glasses of wine and a few Cuba Libres when I decided to rid myself of my mop barnet, borrowing Loz's clippers. I went outside to shave my hair off and froze. By the time I came in I felt quite sober, and was sure that I should be playing catch up.

WARNING: DO NOT THINK JUST BECAUSE YOU HAVE BEEN OUTSIDE AND ARE A BIT COLD THAT YOU ARE SOBER

So I cracked on through the drinks, going in and checking on Hel who had finally got a bit of sleep, more through exhaustion than anything else.

WARNING: WHAT WOULD HELEN DO?

The last thing I remember properly is dancing to Queen with Loz, a bemused mix of Eastern European and Scandinavian people looking on in sober disgust. Soon it came time for a drunken cigarette, but first I needed a wee. Fucking queue for the toilet. It's a hotel and it only has one toilet. Right. Fuck it, I'll go outside and have one off the hill while they're smoking.

WARNING: ARE YOU A FUCKING IDIOT?

So, cigarette in mouth and cock in hand, I sidled up to the edge of the hill, staring off into the distance.

Matt shouts over to me to 'Hold onto the fucking wall, you're swaying all over the place', which I did, and I steadied myself. I was laughing at something they were all talking about behind me, and I twisted my neck round to add some inevitably pithy comment. On my head's return, I stopped holding onto the wall and looked down to do up my button fly.

WARNING: WHEN YOU ARE DRUNK, YOUR HEAD WEIGHS THE SAME AS A LOFT CONVERSION

I essentially started to sprint down the hill, completely out of control before my right toe clipped a big rock and I fell, rolling head first down the hill, before I came to a complete stop I was actually grabbed by Matt. It wasn't until the morning after I realised he had probably just saved my life. The drop that was about three feet away from me was about 12 feet. Wowser.

Battered and bruised Matt hobbled me back up to the rest of the gang that were half worried and half attempting to stifle the huge guffaws trying to escape their chests. Dana, a nurse, ran inside and got some bandages for my now fucked knees, hands and feet. Blood everywhere and not much of my jeans left.

After about twenty minutes of painful cleaning up, I looked down to balance myself and get up.

WARNING: IF YOU FALL DOWN A HILL WHILST HAVING A PISS, ENSURE THAT YOUR PENIS ISN'T STILL OUT WHEN A GROUP OF STRANGERS GIVE YOU MEDICAL TREATMENT