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Published: July 18th 2005
I´d just about cracked it on the cold bus journeys by the time I got back to La Paz on Friday morning. I wore three pairs of socks, three pairs of trousers, eight top half layers, gloves, hat, two hoods and I wrapped my grey blanket (alas, now abandoned in La Paz) round me so I was like a mummy. I also had a fat local woman sitting next to me, which helped, although I could have done without her laughing - and getting all her friends to laugh - at me for how much more I payed for the bus ticket than them. Only my feet got cold.
A taxi driver was offering 8 Bs minimum to take me into town, so I decided to walk. That was a stupid idea. I had all my stuff, my shoelaces kept coming undone and one of my pairs of trousers kept falling down. Also, I didn´t know where I was going because I couldn´t go back to the hotel where I broke the bathroom tile. Several hostels strung me along saying they would have rooms shortly which turned out to be beds in rooms full of smelly boys. I almost took one of these, with a 30-something Japanese guy and two English blokes who weren´t present. I asked the Japanese guy what the other two were like and he said, "One boy good, one boy bad" and proceeded to demonstrate someone being violently sick all over the room. I took to the streets again.
I eventually ended up in exactly the same room that Steve from on my Uyuni tour had stayed in, and which he´d recommended for it having a real shower, connected to a proper hot water supply. It was heaven, that shower. Number 15, Hostal Maya, for reference.
I went for a long walk during the day, past (not in, as I felt lazy) some pretty museums and down to the Plaza Sucre where the prison is. You can´t do a tour at the moment unfortunately, Helen, because, as you suspected, the only English-speaking inmate has been released. I did go in the coca museum, which was quite good but serious, with a 30-page guidebook in English for you to read as you went round. Turns out, cocaine addiction is the fault of American multinationals not the indigenous Bolivians, for whom coca is a bit like how a nice cup of tea for us.
I went to the English pub in the afternoon for some cake. This is a habit I´ve been developing that musn´t continue when I get back. I´m eating a slice of Choco-Vanilla right now, actually. The pub´s owner is from Blackpool, but the leverage I got from this shared rootage wasn´t enough for him to agree to swap my book for one from his collection. He has about 80 books, about three quarters worth reading, and he thinks it´s the best library in South America. I was able to a one-for-one in my hotel though so no need for bitterness, and I opted for a long, long Pulitzer prize winner by Wallace Stegner (whom I´ve never heard of) which should keep me entertained for a while.
In the pub, I ended up playing cards with some lads from Bradford whose conversation was all about girls they´d encountered, which wore thin. I´d have been better off having a siesta, because in the end I was in bed by 8 o´clock (one of those, I´ll just read my book for a while, may as well do it under the covers for warmth, I´ll just close my eyes for a while... oh, it´s midnight) and got a good 11 or so hour´s sleep.
After being a bit lame on Friday, I set myself the task of taking myself to see the Inca ruins at Tiwanaku on public transport. Got a collectivo to the Cemetery District (off my Rough Guide map) where I was to catch a minibus to the site. There were three minibuses waiting, all empty, and they weren´t leaving till they were full. Hmm. I collared some nearby Germans to bully them into helping make up the party, but they were for Copocabana. About Tiwanaku, they said, "Don´t go: it´s boring and expensive." I waited for about half an hour but no-one else turned up so I abandoned it, secretly relieved.
So what to do instead? Well, I thought, when in the cemetery district, why not go to the cemetery? So, to the cemetery! I´m a big cemetery/graveyard fan, actually (with Cimetiere Montmatre as my absolute favourite), so I don´t know why I didn´t think of this before. It was a very nice one, with those stacked up window graves, all laid out on streets with pretty plants. I think this must be a Spanish style of internment, as we saw the same kind of thing in Catalonia at Easter. I got some nice shots, though not as many as I´d have liked as there were plenty of genuine mourners around whose sensibilities I didn´t want to offend or ire ignite.
Had a Saturday night out - Mongo´s again - with two English people (including Matt from Fitz, we had about 50 friends/acquaitances in common) and had to get up at 5 to go to the airport on a thimbleful of sleep.
I´ve got a big room in a hostel, where I retired to bed immediately. The owner is very nice and let me take a shower in the ensuite of another room where the water is hotter, and he brought me an extra blanket without me asking, so I think I´ll be alright here. I´m going to have lessons - starting tomorrow - at a place round the corner. It´s only $4 an hour for one-on-one tuition.
I could quite do with meeting some people, but I´ll need to apply myself and I´m still in the battling to be awake mode. And I´m shy, of course. It´s official, you know: Andrew Tyrie told me I am and a majority of 15,000 constituents can´t be wrong about a man´s judgement. Like Mr Darcy, I do quite often feel "ill-qualified to recommend myself to strangers". I know what Lizzie would say to that, though:
"Why should a man (or woman) of sense and education, who has lived in the world, feel ill-qualified to recommend himself to strangers?" Good point, eh?
Darcy: "I have not that talent, which some possess, of conversing easily with strangers."
Lizzie´s comeback: "Why, I do not play this instrument as well as I should wish (she´s at the piano), but I have always considered that to be my own fault, because I would not take the trouble to practice."
Darcy: "You are quite right. You have employed your time much better. We neither of us perform to strangers."
I´m not sure Darcy´s last line makes sense or helps us here, but I´m sure Austen knew what she was doing. And just before I leave off this self-indulgent digression, I´ll say that in all other respects I´m just like Elizabeth Bennet, not Darcy. Had I lived in those olden days, I´d have been her.
But anyway, I´m practising. Steeling myself, gritting my teeth and coming forth with "Do you speak English" or equivalent genius opener.
Oh, and it´s warm here. We´re close to the equator, don´t you know. I may even get my flip flops out tomorrow. Right, I´m off for water and a solo dinner before an early night. I´ll get on with the friend-making tomorrow when I´m back on form.
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Julie
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P&P
You've made my day with your roleplay Liz. Bringing back such fond memories, i think it's about time i did the 6 hour marathon again. Do you know they are doing a new film. Disgusted i am! With Keira Knightley! I cried with disgust when i saw the trailer in the cinema. Though someone did point out that it's about 10 years since the last remake. Can you believe it? That's a decade!