Until arriving at La Paz at 4:30 this morning, it was a 3-legged dog. Santiago to Iquiquie in Chile, Iquiquie to Santa Cruz in Boliva, and finally La Paz. Then ... wow! The airport is on a high plateau at over 4000 metres (each meter being about 39 inches, or 3.1 feet, so you do the math). Below, as you descend to the city at over 12,000 feet still, you see many tightly clustered lights in the streets and houses as they cling to the hillsides. They are terraced like Asian rice contours. Really quite impressive. Especially to see that much light, for a relatively poor country. When I get to the hotel area, it is obvious this area is a third world economy. Chile and Argentina were modern. Their bus fleet is better than the one we have in Seattle ! But in Bolivia, you can see the distinctive character of the city right away. There are obvious cultural differences. THIS IS WHAT I CAME HERE FOR !
In Buenos Aires, there is a completely different look to the inhabitants. More linear faces, given so much Italian and other European heritage. Fairer skin. Once crossed over the Andes into Chile, there is a large German influence. The faces round out, and the skin coloring can be quite white, or even a deeper chocolate. In parts of southern Chile, like Bariloche, it loooks positively Bavarian, and one can get by speaking only German in much of southern Argentina and Chile. But up north, in Bolivia, the faces become more ethnic ... more Indian. The youngest folks are handsome and social, but the older ones are very dark skinned and very weathered, which I am told has much to do with the altitude and sun. You don't see sun worshippers here. People dress in layers.
My karma seems to have changed (again). The staff is friendly and multi-lingual. My hotel has five floors. No walking up flights. They have a modern elevator. The rooms at $12 nightly are to die for. Each has its own bathroom, its own shower, own desk, phone, a bed better than mine, a security safe, racks to hang clothes, and the most beautiful murals painted on the walls. Connected to the hotel, is a travel agency.
First thing I do today is go up to the 5th floor terrace for a cityscape view (taking the elevator, of course). Walking at this point bring unnecessary pounding to the temples. The view is stunning. Concrete brick construction for miles and miles, brightly painted and so festive, yet so vulnerable to earthquakes. Red tile roofs, or sheet metal ... as far as the eye can see. The hillsides that are built on, would stun a mountain goat. And busy-ness, everywhere. Awkward traffic, jaywalking, 30 year old buses like I had expected from South America, more taxi vans than a Toyota factory, and barkers hanging out into traffic pitching for destinations unknown. They do this from open doors, like exposed gunners on helicopter gunships. Really incredible view! Then enjoy my second cup of coca tea (first helped with the altitude headache one initially gets here), and then walk the city. The famous Witch Market with all its native conconctions and Church of San Francisco are within three blocks of here -- I am in a great location ! Symbolically, I bought a native crafted coin purse again. Refused to buy one again in Santiago. Didn't want any attachment to that place. La Paz, is my new Shangra La. At least until I learn otherwise.
This place appears as if it is built on the slopes of a volcano. It is both the highest, and steepest capital city in the world. No idea why they coagulated here, to the tune of 1 million souls. I know a LOT of mining was done here. One could retire anywhere in the world, after running a brake repair shop here for a mere ten years. We are talking steep, steep, steep! Walking is difficult, until you get over the initial altitude sickness with a little acclimitization. Other things that help are sleep, coca tea (same ingredient that has the DEA in a constant war down here, only not "refined"), and something called Sorojchi pills. Could make a nice retirement off those, too, eventually.
The sidewalks are pitted, warped, narrow, and often dirty. A properly American trained attorney could retire in a day by bringing a busload of clients down and having them pratfall here about every 15 feet, given so many pothole opportunities. But nobody cares. The streets are full of people, into the late evening. It is a little foul in some places. But I love it. It is authentic. And the culture has been preserved. You know where you are when you land in Bolivia. The older women in their peasant garb and telltale undersized English Bowler hats and everybody trying to market something. It is hard to keep a straight face, when a short, wide, grizzled Babushka type Bolivian woman in her full native regalia and bowler, suddenly pulls out a cell phone. It is so incongruous! Many folks here do double duty, as travel agents, taxi drivers, interpreters, and shopkeepers. Whatever it takes, to survive in one of the world's most unusual environments.
I have never seen so many shops. Tiendas, they are called, due to their small size. They look like rabbit warrens. Everywhere, there are handcrafted leather purses and coin bags, colorful alpaca and llama sweaters, shawls, vests, shirts, and other implements of the tourist circuit. Fruit stands. Basic housewares and hardware stands. Stands selling jewelry, potions, trips, soccer shirts, athletic gear, travel bags, and in some cases, shrunken llama fetuses. Don't ask me why. Or who would buy one? No idea how they all stay in business.
In the central district, I vist the Church of San Francisco. Solid building, didn't catch the age, not much English literature available on it. Unlike the classic cathedrals of Europe with their spider veined arch vaulting, this one has a more basic barrel vaulted structure. It is not large, like Chartres or Salisbury or Notre Dame. But it has amazing gilding. And really old, basic, livestock type doors. They must be 250 years old, at least. Gold, statues, flowers, more gold, more saints, naves dedicated to particular martyrs of the Catholic Church, and otherwise a very fair representation of the people of this country. Simple, friendly, hard working (dawn to dusk and beyond, as witnessed tonight walking home), deeply faithful for the most part, and generally very behaved. The army and police are heavily represented here and see well to that. Outside, they help escort a man down the block and away from the tourists. He was probably drunk. But it was a captivating site. Had the worst case of Rostafarian uproar I'd ever seen. His clothes were soiled and disheveled. His pants were off. He was bare assed, lying face down on the ground. One shoe off, one on. Snarled, when the police tried to prod him up. Finally, he struggled to put on and then pull up his pants. Then he reluctantly hopped down the street, one pant leg taking the place of the missing shoe so that it dragged like a wedding dress train and his feet never touched the cobblestones. But the beltline on that side never remotely reached his waist, either. It was both sad, and comic at the same time.
Near the church, I dive into the culture. Know I am not supposed to eat street food. But saw some ceviche I could not resist, served in bowls. Alongside was a smaller bowl of something that looked like dried raisins. Couldn't and didn't ask what was inside. Everybody was eating them. So I did too. Figuratively grabbed my sack, popped a few down the hatch (both raw and with my soup), and only later asked what I was ingesting. It was dried maize (corn), combined with dried baby cockroaches. If you find me crawling on the ceiling in future months ...
Tonight's meal was shared with a Canadian couple, Chris and Sarah from Alberta, who came in with me on the last plane this morning. We looked for two hours for an Indian restaurant we were referred to. It was always "just around the corner." Again, so very few speak any appreciable English here. After walking two miles, jaywalking constantly (there are no red lights here, or hardly any for a city of this size, so you just put your hand out to warn a vehicle you are challenging his right of way and then make a dash for it) and not seeing street signs worthy of the name, we gave up and went to a Thai/Indian restaurant close to the hotel. Food was adequate. Service was so-so. The South Americans don't check on you much while one is eating, unless you flag them down. Great to sit though, after all that walking, and half of it steeply uphill. All in all, a good first day here, and a welcome change from Santiago.
Next: Tiwanaku, Most Important Pre-Inca Archeological Site in Bolivia
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