Month: February 2010

On this third day, still not fully acclimated to the altitude, I took a calculated risk to venture further beyond the city center and staid tourist rout. First on the agenda was  a moderate distance walk to city’s cemetery. It’s something to behold as it is perched high in the center of the bowl-shape La Paz. The view from the cemetery is absolutely stunning. Apart from some mausoleums, the cemetery consists mainly of niches stacked vertically above ground where cremated ashes are placed with a plaque behind a glass door. However, bodies are first interned for 10 years, then exhumed and cremated and then placed in the niche. The strangest part was seeing eviction notices place in front of the glass niches – presumably on rent that is pass due.

Upon returning from this morning outing, I booked the bike ride down the Yungas Road (Road of Death) for tomorrow – yes I did it. After lunch, a group of us gathered and head towards Valle de la Luna at my suggestion. The short 10 km drive itself offered a spectacular view of the vicinity. The vast majority of abodes and buildings are built on top of sloping clay and sandstone. Had the Chilean quake struck here, all would certainly be lost.

Valle de la Luna itself is a surreal landscape, strange juxtaposition of colors and odd formations. Formed after perhaps millions of years, the erosion of clay and sandstones resulted in wild formations in the outskirts of La Paz. This place is truly something to behold.

Afterwards a couple English blokes and I went for late afternoon coffee and conversations into travel and politics. Some how, despite the intermittent rain, the day pass beautifully into the evening. My head still hurts, but my heart is racing in anticipation of tomorrow’s downhill adventure.

The impression of La Paz is at once of vibrant and other-worldly. I ventured off to explore the city on foot today having slept off the high-altitude symptoms from last night until 2:30pm today. There will always be that magical, initial impression of a city that can only be taken in whilst aimlessly wandering about. Perhaps it was fair timing, but the rains ceased as I woke mid-afternoon to cool weather, with sufficient light for exploring. As per usual, I headed for the local markets and haunts where the majority descendants of Incans and Aymarans wandered about. Also per usual the assault on the senses of a 3rd world city quickly presented itself in the form of fetid odors, automotive exhausts, trash, etc. Amid all this, the business of local life carried on oblivious to this foreigner’s roamings.

My walking tour then passed the bustling streets – congested with buses, minivans, lost of people -and looped around the Mercado Negro area. There is something in the organized chaos of third world cities – the market streets are always divided into niche or trade guilds. There is always sections for shoes, clothing, copper ware, cutlery, locks, ceramic toilets, etc.; as if it was logically laid out in sectors. Today’s encounter was no exception, excepting that I spent too much time in the textiles section.

The remainder of the walk tour was spent winding through the Witches Market where an assortment of strange and bizarre can be found being hawked on sidewalk stalls by local Aymara women. “Witch Doctors” wander the streets providing traditional remedies. The strangest sight must be that of dessicated llama fetus hung out for sale; the locals bury them under their property to propitiate spirit gods.

Well, all done and tallied, this body does not feel too bad after the scheduled light activities. The next two days should see more interesting adventures.

After dropping out of the air at 6:40 am local time, I took the local shared van to the city center with another chap who was on the same flight. As I didn’t have any Bolivian currency, I had to pay with US dollars to cover the 4Bs fair. The fair collector agreed to take $3 between us, equal to 21Bs at the current exchange rate. To my surprise, a couple of the local Bolivians voice protest to the bus driver saying that the clerk was trying to rip-off the tourists. This is always a good sign when the locals are honest.

After checking in to the hostel to rest a little from the altitude shock, I took a walk by morning to explore the center of town on foot. As the hostel is only 3 blocks from Plaza Murillo, I went to explore the government buildings and see Evo Moralles’ presidential abode. It’s a pleasant welcome to see local city life bustling about – reminds me I’m home on the road again.

From there, I wandered off the map into the winding streets up the hillsides; perhaps not the smartest thing as it really tested my lungs and stamina at this altitude. The higher I went, the more stunning the view of the city nested on high slopes.  So far, La Paz has already proved unique in what she has to offer.

After resting atop the hillside a while, I wended back to the hostel pass food stalls, stray dogs, local markets to rest and obviate against any altitude related problems. Just in time too as torrential rains just started pouring… time enough to plan for the next few days ahead.

Once again I’m in transit via Miami, gateway to South America. Having charged the boat to a friend’s tending, off I go to roam this wide earth. Everywhere I pass, the voices and dreams of millions echo our common destiny. Truth is, there is really not difference between here and there. One may ask “why then constantly uproot?”; to this I rejoin it is precisely because there is no difference between here and there. In some ways, we are all strangers to this strange land. This surreal existence was only re-enforced by the beautiful sight of hundreds of fishing vessels out trawling off the shores of New Orleans – each barque flickering silently in the darkness through the plane’s window.

The red-eye flight departs soon and I’m slightly apprehensive about dropping out from sea-level to 13,000 feet; along with the severe difference in weather to be encountered on the loosely planned route has made for heavy packing. But regardless, La Paz, Bolivia awaits at the crack of dawn.