I woke up in the new year and knew it was time to move on. As much as I was enjoying Cochabamba, I’d managed less than two weeks of volunteer work, and had fallen into the old, dissolute expat lifestyle. I expected more of my time in Bolivia.

 Deciding once and for all to leave wasn’t easy. I had made good friends and had a great Spanish teacher. I’d wanted to live in Cochabamba for a long time, and six weeks didn’t seem like nearly long enough to get to know a city.

 Exacerbating the difficulty was that I had very little idea what would happen when I moved on to Sucre. I didn’t know anyone there, which meant it was unlikely I’d find an apartment or Spanish lessons quite as good as those I’d been lucky enough to find in Cochabamba. There was the opportunity for interesting volunteer work there, but the only confirmation I had of that was a single line in an email.

 And yet it was time to move on, to wring as much from my time in Bolivia as possible.

 So, again, the sadness of leaving, of packing up a recently established life, of putting final ticks in final boxes, and of saying goodbye to the people and places and habits that I’ve come to enjoy so much.

 And one final dump of photos; an attempt to capture just why I’ll miss Cochabamba…