My La Paz Addiction

La Paz, Bolivia. To me, that name evoked somewhere utterly foreign. A city in the sky in a remote land-locked country. It sounded like a place that didn’t exist, not really. But oh boy, does it exist.

 

 

Until I began seriously planning my journey through Bolivia, nothing had really phased me during my 2 months in South America. I’d been to Peru, Chile and Argentina and barely batted an eyelid, but for some reason, Bolivia was different. “Don’t go to La Paz, I hated it,” travellers would frequently tell me. Sometimes they expressed this less forcefully, with a strained: “Well, it’s interesting.” The odd person would be positive, exclaiming: “Oh La Paz! yeah, man, awesome!” But that was usually someone sitting outside the Irish pub getting drunk at 2pm, so I can’t say I took their word for it. Even the guidebooks seemed to take a slightly more hysterical tone when it came to Bolivia, peppered with boxed warnings about cab drivers who would rob you given half a chance, dangerous bus stations, death-trap roads, rabid dogs and the questionable character of the big cities at night.

So my arrival into La Paz came with more than a few jangling nerves. I walked cautiously out of the bus station, holding fiercely onto my bag and looking out for ‘dodgy characters’. However, the only person who approached me was a member of the Policia Turistica, who welcomed me to the city, took me to a waiting radio taxi and even confirmed the price with the driver. I was whisked to the hostel and relieved only of the 5 bolivianos that had been agreed. Once I had checked in to my room, housed in a beautiful colonial-era building, I went out to explore the city. I found I was in immediate agreement with the drunk guy at the Irish bar. I was in love with La Paz.

Now don’t get me wrong; this is by no means the most tourist-friendly of cities. Bolivia’s tourist economy is a nascent one, so it’s not an easy experience. Built in the Andes, the streets are punishingly steep and often dangerously slippery, with chunks of stone wobbling loosely as a pavement. The square formed by the streets of Illampu, Tarija, Santa Cruz and Morillo is the closest thing La Paz has to a tourist centre, where market stalls perch on the steep hills and small shops offer the usual variety of hats, bags and alpaca clothing, while ‘Italian’ Pizzerias with English menus abound. But in the middle of this area is the Witches’ Market, where dead llama fetuses are sold as offerings to Pachamama (Mother Earth); definitely enough to put you off your lunch. Rubbish heaps form in the middle of streets, round trash cans which clearly have not been emptied for a while.

I can understand why La Paz might not be to everyone’s taste. But this is the real South America. It is bold, brash and entirely unapologetic. If all you want to do is sit in air-conditioned, WiFi-networked cafes, then why bother leaving home? La Paz is a sea of humanity; the streets are ridiculously chaotic, with people heaving entire market stalls in-between lanes of traffic, tourists with large backpacks trying their best not to be hit by one of the stream of minivans and taxis, whose drivers like to toy with crossing pedestrians like a cat with a mouse. People crowd around street food vendors, spilling out onto the road to eat their salteñas. Many of the shops are like souks; tiny little places packed to the brim with goods and usually with a child or two and a TV nestled somewhere. The owner is often invisible between stacks of scarves and socks.

If you like your cities calm and tranquil, then maybe La Paz is not for you. But I love its craziness. I can’t help but smiling here. It’s the feeling I have in Camden. In exactly the same way, La Paz somehow connects with my soul. Yes, it’s a bit grimy and noisy, but for all its chaos, La Paz is also beautiful. The first view of the city, from El Alto, is unforgettable. Everyone who comes here, whether they like the city or not, raves about this view. The mountains suddenly open up and there is La Paz, a city cradled in the basin of the mountains, far below. I arrived at about 6:30am, just as the first morning mist was lifting, giving it an even more mystical air, and I had my face glued to the bus window until we reached street level. Even in the city itself, there is enough beauty to make you forgive the dirt and fumes for a while. The mountains rise up all around the city and each tough uphill walk in rewarded with an amazing view. Old buildings and churches offer a kind of dusty splendour which I find very romantic, while the new buildings have been built with a Bolivian exuberance; brightly-coloured or highly reflective.

Amongst it all, you find everyday Bolivian life. Markets take over whole streets, some selling clothing and household goods, others fruit and veg. Tiny booths – mini-newsagents selling snacks and papers – line the pavements; the vendor crammed inside or drinking mate on a stool outside. People weave confidently through the muddle, carrying bowls of soup back to their shops for lunch. Cumbia music will always be playing somewhere.

Sometimes, even I need a break from the frenetic activity, and this comes in the form of Sopocachi, known as the bohemian quarter of La Paz. Just a 20 minute, reasonably flat walk from the centre takes you past the university, set in a vast padestrian square, to the Plaza Alvarado. This is a much quieter, more affluent-looking area, with paved streets, less traffic and a wealth of cute cafes and restaurants. Here, there are a lot of art exhibitions, cultural centres and a completely different pace of life compared the Zona Central just a few blocks away. This area is much better adapted for the needs of Western tourists, but interestingly, you don’t see that many of them. It is much more heavily populated with Bolivian business people on a leisurely lunch or coffee break.

These two personalities of La Paz are enough to keep me happy for a long time and I really can’t get enough. There are still places here I want to visit, but more than that, it’s the kind of city I’d like to make mine for a while, to become familiar with its rhythms and its noise, to find my perfect afternoon coffee spot, to have regular chats with the newspaper seller on the corner. I extended my stay by a couple of days, which is all I had time for, but I want more. La Paz is my drug and I’m addicted.