La Paz

We have a great night’s sleep on the bus, despite certain inconveniences. Firstly, as the semi-cama luxury (well, by Bolivian standars, at least…) dreamliner pulls out of Sucre, it becomes obvious that the aircon has not been turned on, and that vents passing along each window seat are pumping out enough hot air to warm up a Helsinki sauna. We bake, and our emergency ration of chocolate melts. Layers of clothes are removed. Some time later, Jon discovers that rather than being sealed units, the windows are, in fact, designed to be slid open. We slide, and in the face of numerous complaints from fellow passengers, we battle to keep the ventilation flowing. It flows. An enormous bottle of peach juice is placed between us, and sleep commences. We are, at this stage, blissfully unaware of our route which takes us right into the high Andes. Some hours later, we awake in a state of shivering only previously encountered when we camped at Poincenot in Patagonia. Quickly, layers of clothing were re-donned and the windows slid back into a more manageable state. But where has the peach juice disappeared to? Hmmm, we had been warned about personal security on Latin American buses, particularly when it’s dark. A torch-lit investigation reveals no new evidence.
Around 7 am, the coach begins to trundle through the upper suburbs of La Paz. The urban wasteland is quite horrific, even worse than Kathmandu: again flimsy brick buildings lie unfinished, unloved, and barely lived in. Of course this isn’t living; it’s merely surviving. Aymara women go about their daily business, their babies wrapped around their backs, and the whole beautiful ensemble of their costume evokes the bliss of simple village life. But here in La Paz, in El Alto, there is no bliss, and life is far from simple.
We coast down into the main bus terminal, book our tickets out of here immediately (we’re leaving tomorrow morning to seek a few days’ refuge at a lakeside retreat!) and jump in a taxi to head straight for the action: Calle Sagarnaga. Have you ever been to a witches’ market? No? Well that’s our plan! By 09.00 we are checked into the slightly mouldy and frayed Hotel Alem (but hard to grumble, given the price…) and ready to explore this amazing city, perhaps the most unusual, dare one say ‘exotic’ of the continent. But it’s in the clouds, literally, We look skywards to see the favellas on the steep hillsides, but as yet they are obscured in the mist.
Oh, it’s Sunday! So we should really attend High Mass in the highest capital city in the world! We seek out the ancient, colonial church of San Francisco, where the fortress-like, mighty stonework is made all the more astonishing by each and every altar, from the sides to the east end being decorated right up to the ceiling in shining gold, complete with myriad painted and adorned statues. Halfway through mass, a young La Pazian gets up, lights a cigarette and strolls out of the west doors. The offertory chant, accompanied on the Hammond organ with maximum tremolo is ‘Blowing in the Wind’. We shake hands enthusiastically with all around us at the Peace, and sit patiently as hundreds go up for communion. On the street right outside, we stop as a small Indian women sits at a brazier frying something with a very peculiar odour. It smells like burning tin foil, so we peer down more closely at the contents of her frying pan and the pile of pre-prepared morsels she has already begun to pile up on a plate. Oh: it IS tin foil. She and her husband try to convince us that it’s pure silver she’s frying up (la Plata) and that we should try some: “it’s good for you!” We do double takes, and hurry along in search of a real breakfast.
The Witches’ Market is in full flow by the time we get there, but we decide not to buy llama foetuses (lucy charms to bury under your house) or dired frogs. Incidentally did you know how large a llama foetus actually is? Well these were at least the size of a pretty hefty chicken, and whilst some were emaciated or just skeletal, a few we found were furry. We proceeded onwards to haggle some great deals on typical, hand-woven textiles. La Paz has swiftly worked its magic on us, and it will be a shame to leave so soon!
This city has quickly become one of our favourites, if only for its amazing markets, vibrant feel and dizzying views upwards to the favelas.