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Published: August 28th 2021
After my last stopover in La Paz being lulled to sleep by the sound and motion of humping German backpackers in the bunk below, I decided there was no way I was going back to Wild Rover hostel. Tired, older, and somewhat relieved I booked two nights back at the luxury hotel where I had stayed for my first nights in Bolivia. It was my last chance at a more authentic La Paz nightlife, but try as I may I could not make it happen. I wasn’t able to even locate anything that resembled a nightlife spot. It took me forever to find the one nearby place that came highly recommended by my guidebook. However, when I finally found it was shuttered up. Off night? Who knows.
So instead, I spent hours wandering the dark, deserted, crumbling streets of La Paz. Altitude problems? Gone. Fear of the unknown? Non-existent. Fear of anything? I had come a long way from cowering inside my hotel room on my first day. I was down for anything. Down for adventure. Down for trouble. However, trouble did not come calling that night. Even though I wasn’t able to get anything going, I did feel accomplished
simply for making the sincere fearless attempt.
I don’t know if it was just me, but Bolivia at the end felt completely safe to me. The warnings I had heard before I arrived were way off. I didn’t have any problems. That could be because I am a massive individual or because of the travel street smarts I have acquired. It could also be that because Bolivia isn’t overrun with tourists a built up a fleecing of the tourists culture hasn’t sprung up. I mean you wouldn’t want to go flashing your cash about on the streets, but other than that as long as you don’t drink the water you should be fine.
La Paz feels very much like a frontier city. Not really what you might expect from a capital city. A dusky mountainous vibe. There aren’t many traditional tourist sights. There is the so called “Death Road” outside of the city, but that didn’t really appeal to me. It seemed too much like thrill seeking and box checking to me. But what did interest me was La Paz’s Mi Teleférico, the local version of mass transit. Basically, a bunch of yellow cable cars
bouncing across the sky linking central La Paz with El Alto above and a richer area down below. Was riding a repurposed ski gondola in an impoverished country a good idea? Well, it was brand new having opened last year so it should be in good condition. And it was designed and built by Austrians. If anybody could build a safe efficient form of mountain mass transit it was the Edelweiss Crew.
I studied maps of La Paz and located the nearest station. I scribbled down a rudimentary map with ballpoint pen on lined paper and stuffed it into my pocket. It was a gorgeous clear skied day and the air crackled with the energy of a final day. After a pleasant stroll through previously unexplored streets, I found the station and purchased my ticket. Once in the queue I could see how the whole thing was going to work. The yellow gondolas bounced into view along thick black cables. As they entered the station people would hop off and then the gondola would bounce down to the front of the line. If there was room it would slow down to let people on, with an attendant carefully monitoring
the process. The gondola held up to six people. I was ushered into a gondola with four other people. File in. Sit down. Away we go.
The views were immediately breathtaking. There we were zooming above the La Paz rooftops. Blue sky above. Brown tiles down below. Ringed by the Andes Mountains. And of course, the mightiest of the bunch, brilliant snowcapped Illimani front and center majestically towering over all. My first stop was El Alto, which is where the airport is located. La Paz occupies the basin of a canyon. El Alto is the impoverished neighboring city high on the canyon’s rim. It grows by leaps and bounds as more and more of Bolivia’s poor flock there in hope of the economic opportunity which comes from its proximity to La Paz. Recently, El Alto has quadrupled in size. One of the reasons the Teleférico was built was to further integrate the two disparate cities.
My only experience with El Alto so far had been arriving and departing from the airport. I hopped out with nervous anticipation. La Paz was safe, but how about El Alto. Crazily enough, El Alto is almost 2,000 feet higher than La Paz,
at 13,615 feet above sea level. Stepping out of the station felt like stepping into an entirely different word than the one I had left down below. It was cold, windy, and stark. My light jacket offered little protection as I shivered up and down the streets. If La Paz wasn’t touristy, El Alto was a complete blank spot on the map. There was no tourist guides or recommendations on where to go. Strange figures trundled in the distance, but it felt empty and I felt conspicuous. It was a city clinging to the edges, both figuratively and literally.
I just wandered about trying to get a feel for the place, though not knowing where I was going. I kept the location of the station in mind and mainly stayed on the canyon’s edge instead of venturing deeper inside. It felt like a bleak cement filled city of the old west. And yet it had a real power of place, never seen anything quite like it. I eventually found a spot with a great view looking down on La Paz down below. I stayed there for a long time pondering the imponderables.
Then it was time to head
back. I was next going to the wealthier suburbs of La Paz, but first I had to change lines in the central station. This time the gondola was just me and this fantastic looking Bolivian woman. She was wearing a pink sweater with full size maroon skirt. To this she added a brown cozy garment around her shoulders that was halfway between a scarf and a blanket. Her outfit was topped off with a smart bowler hat. She was a cholita. The ironically dressed indigenous women that spring to many a mind whenever Bolivia is mentioned. Here I was giant world traveler alone with the perfect representation of simpler Andean times. All the while swinging over the sprawling city below in a modern yellow Austrian ski gondola. I pretended to take a picture of the distant mountains and got her image right along with them.
I switched gondolas in the central station and got on another line headed down over a hill to what was described an affluent part of La Paz. I was pleased to be seeing a new part of the city, but although cleaner it did not feel as atmospheric as the rest of La Paz.
I walked down the main avenue took pictures of some striking street art and eventually came across a Burger King. This being the first fast food restaurant I had seen in my three weeks in Bolivia. I always like to stop at one to see how it compares to other worldwide locations. It was not McDonald’s, but it would have to do.
Afterwards I walked back to the station, hopped in another gondola, and ascended back over the hills into central La Paz. Only this time I was alone! I was positively giddy. Bouncing around from one seat to the next. Taking pictures of the soaring mountains, more selfies than I care to mention, and the scenes below which included some sort of local military force. I recorded a short video of me talking about how in love I was with the traveler life. It had been just me and my ingenuity, but out of nothing I had conjured up an unforgettable traveler’s delight. This whole trip was down to me, thought up, planned, executed.
The whole Bolivia trip was winding down. The city was abuzz with excitement and there were posters everywhere proclaiming Pope Francis’s visit the
next day. I hurried back to my hotel to watch the sun set over the city from my room’s window. I could see mighty Illimani towering in the distance. After, the sun went down the whole scene became a lavender wonder. Illimani was the first to disappear, as it faded from view as artificial lights began to twinkle in the nearby hills. Before it did though I committed it to memory, a treasure to keep forever. The lights of La Paz were turning on for me!
I had to wake up early for my flight in the morning so I just went to the supermarket across the street to pick up some sandwich fixings for dinner and call it an early night. Right by my hotel there was an old beggar woman who was constantly sprawled out across the sidewalk leaning against a stone wall. She was skinny, leathery brown skin, white hair frazzling out from a small knit cap. Exaggeration I know, but she looked to be 105 years-old. I had seen and stepped over her many times during my multiple stays in La Paz, but had never put any money in her cup. My policy is that
if I am going to be seeing the same person multiple days it is better not the create an expectation.
But this night, my last in Bolivia, was different. I had excess Bolivian bolivianos that I was never going to be able to use. So while most people just plink a few coins in her metal cup. I reached down and placed the equivalent of thirteen American dollars worth of notes in her cup. I kept walking, made no eye contact, and was gone as quickly as I came. I can’t even begin to imagine her surprise. I hope it made her life a little less hard, if even just for a night.
I woke with my alarm at 4am in the morning in order to make my early flight. I gathered up my pre-packed suitcase and headed down to the lobby. I expected it to be bright, functioning, and able to call a taxi for me without any problem. What I found was a completely darkened lobby with two hotel employees sprawled out asleep on the comfortable black leather couches. They were quite startled to see me and acted like asking for a taxi to the airport
so early was a first-of-its-kind request. They scrambled around, but telegraphed that I might be out of luck.
I sat back down on a couch in bewilderment. Could I really miss my flight? My sleepy brain began to doze, as one of them got on the phone trying to make arrangements. It was out of my hands, what else could I do. Finally, after about fifteen minutes he came and told me he had located a driver, but it would take him a little while for him to get here due to the fact that La Paz was locked down anticipating “Papa Francisco’s” arrival at the airport later that morning. It was all coming down to the wire.
After furtively glancing at the clock over and over, the hotel employees informed me that my driver was outside. After, saying goodbye and thanking them profusely I got into the elevator and left. I like to think that those two young men were able to get back to sleep before the morning rush. It was still dark outside as I stowed my bag in the trunk and got into the waiting car.
It was early enough that the traffic
wasn’t too bad, but as we climbed up to the El Alto located airport things began to snarl up. There was a huge security line for cars to even get into the airport. When we got near the front a soldier walked around the car shining a flashlight in the windows. He motioned for me to show him my passport and ticket. He also interrogated the driver and asked to see his papers. Then to my surprise the soldier opened the door and sat in the front seat next to the driver. All three of us then sped off towards the departure gates. I guessed that the solider was there to make sure that the local driver did not stay at the airport. An unknown security threat who could possibly foul up Pope Francis’s historic visit. Once there I headed towards check-in and departures. I was leaving, only to be replaced by the Pope. A pretty balanced trade for Bolivia in my book. Even Steven?
* * * * *
Coda: These two below entries were something I scribbled in my journal the night before and again in the morning while waiting for my
plane to depart.
State of Travel Everything in travel is getting easier. There is more English everywhere and everything is more set up for tourists than it was even ten years ago. One thing I noticed this trip is that the hostel scene has changed. In the past hostels used to be places to meet people that you would then go out, grab dinner and party with. Now it seems that everyone is doing their eating and partying in the hostel. Not as much exploring the city they were presumably there to see. Just satisfied with reveling in the global traveler scene. Also, everyone is now glued to their Iphones. Like in Sucre, when I was watching the Copa America final in this atmospheric bar, surrounded by festive locals in a communal experience. There were these two young Western girls sitting at a table, just looking down buried in their Iphones. They barely looked up the entire time they were there. They didn’t even speak to each other. What is the point of coming to someplace new if you aren’t going to immerse yourself in it?
I have come to realize that I have done what is
basically a two-week itinerary stretched over three weeks. I like travel at a relaxed pace. It is a holiday after all. I didn’t need to rush around and see everything. I left Potosi and Tiwanaku on the table for example. If I had been here for another week, I would have flown to Santa Cruz to connect with the two Japanese-Bolivian friends I made drinking together on my birthday in Sucre. It would have been super cool to glimpse that city from an insider’s perspective and get to chill with Santa Cruz’s Japanese population. Ah well. Travel memories coalesce into memory jewels that you can then access over and over again.
State of Me I have seemingly segued into a more inquisitive, less party-based mode of travel. I get tired quicker than I used to. For example, I like getting back to my room before midnight. I am not like the young backpackers anymore who are singularly focused on partying and getting drunk. I had no interest in the “Death Road” or going to the notorious Route 36 club.
I have been more introspective this trip. I have taken a step out of my life, which was
much needed. I have some big life choices on the horizon. This has been a good way to clear the mind. As far as traveling goes, return trips to Argentina and India are in order. In terms of new countries, maybe Ghana or Mexico. I really want to become proficient in Spanish. That way I will gain true access to an entire hemisphere of possibility. Este viaje ha terminado. Todo es posible en el futuro.
Note: I was finally able to finish my Bolivia blogs six years after the fact due to coming across my old trip journal as I cleaned up my house. Now I am just waiting to come across my India 2008 trip journal to complete that trip as well. I guess I better get cleaning…
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Home and Away
Bob Carlsen
Missing blogs...
The last 18 months has been a good time to clean house and discover buried treasures such as diaries. However, I completed blogging about my past trips in 2011 as a way of getting rid of old slides and pictures. I hope you find e diaries. As for Bolivia, we also almost missed our early morning flight. Fortunately we used a travel agent (due to fears about criminals late at night) who woke us up at midnight, took us to the airport, and checked us in while we relaxed.