Andean Wildlife

And you think Dale Winton has a fake tan?

About twenty minutes away from our hostel in Putre are some hot springs. We've managed to laze about in them for an hour or so each day so far. Why break the habit?

What this picture conceals, however, is just how pink Dames' sunburn is. For a man of above-average (so he claims) education, it is astonishing how he failed to realise that taking most of your clothes off at midday, a few degrees south of the Equator at 4,300 metres above sea-level will result in painful reddening of the skin.

Ow.

Ouch.

Ooo.

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Julia tells us just how close she came to actually catching a llama. Please note the stylish headgear.

Ask Dames for his impersonation of a llama evacuation. Spookily accurate, we think you'll find.

We walked for three hours in this desert. Guess what? It was desserted, or Angel Delighted. NB, large mountains to the rear are the Andes Proper. We're at about 5,000 metres, here.

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Don't eat these. Not if you want to sleep, anyway.

Each of us had spent a good half-hour stalking these furry beasts. We drove up to this one and he started to pose. Bastard.

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Rabbits, Jim, but not as we know 'em. Particularly unbothered about humans walking up and snapping them. Yes, that's right: Dames and Jules are now officially wabbit-botherers (before, you only suspected such).

Please note long tail. Deviants.

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Yes, it is this pretty up here. The landscape veers from relatively lush to numbingly-barren within a few yards' walk. Wouldn't build a holiday home here. It's three thousand miles from the nearest KFC. Kentucky Fried Llama, anyone?