Its Not All That Pretty

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Having survived the Death Road a lovely migrane insues and thats me out for the night.

The next day however, 7.30am bright and early im woken by Bolivias largest annual festival and what sound like 1 million school brass bands rehearsing. And I am carefull here with my choice of words, rehearsing, definitely not, perfected.

The streets of La Paz are cordened off or gridlocked. The ballaclaved shoe shiners (as it is apparently a shamefull job so they keep their identity a secret) and lifesized people in Zebra costumes helping you cross the road, gone. Instead there is a 50mtr queue of v. patient ppl standing in line to simply CROSS THE ROAD whilst the processions pass by- lovely delicate carefully embriodered costumes complete with the huge meringue skirt in all shades of the rainbow.

But its not all that pretty. Give it a few hours and by evening the roads are a sea of passed out bodies. This is the one day of the year Bolivians get smashed, and they do it well, even way better than chavs on your average Friday night. My favourite however are the weeing Indigenous women in their little top hats. They do not care where they are, just squat, hoist and go!! Right there; middle of the road, kirb, car park, pavement and the floor is awash with mini green rivers. If you were lucky a lady would hold up her skirt to shield her friend doing the deed, so instead you got flashed, totally hilarious, whatever your choice.

Its even less pretty later on, when after 4 days I finally find my friend Nick who George and I left here over 2 weeks ago. Hi Nick how you doing? Every night and most of the day in Vivians, ridiculously paranoid and a new penchant for crack? Great, lovely to see you too!

If theres one thing that grates about La Paz it is the my-brothers-bigger-than-yours, attitude to drugs. Of course I believe, you did more than everyone else Nick- well done!

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