First Impressions
The sheer number of sidewalk vendors
in La Paz is amazing. They are sprawled over every conceivable
inch of sidewalk and sell every item under the sun.
The stamina of the people of La Paz
is amazing. Even now at midnight the streets are filled with
vendors selling skewers of potatoes and beef sizzling on an open flame
called anticuchos.
Immediately upon stepping off the
airplane I noticed the altitude. For on thing I noticed a distinct
lack of oxygen in my brain. The first airport shop I stepped into sold
me a bottle of water and when I commented on the altitude out popped a
bottle of sorojche pill, a local medication made out of
something (probably coca) that is supposed to be the magic bullet
against altitude sickness. I refused the offer and made my way
outside to the clamoring Micro drivers who despite my suspicions
insisted on tying my precious backpack to the roof. As a compromise
the driver's assistant (a rather young looking man of about 15)
allowed me to tie one strap of the pack onto a rooftop support bar.
The micro is a kind of mini van that
looks like it was left in the dryer to long and shrunk to one -fifth
of its size. Micros are privately owned while they do seem to
have a set route (that the adolescent assistant is constantly
hollering out of
the window) there are no set stops and any twitch from an interested
party on the roadside provokes a jarring stop from the driver to pick
them up. The micro is a very democratic affair and people from
every economic level were happily stuffed together with me as the bus
hurtled over the lip of the high plateau that guards the La Paz
crater. My first glimpse of La Paz took my breath away.
The city is set in this cavernous hole that lies surrounded by high
undulating mountain horizons and is in the shadow of one gigantic snow
covered massif: the 20,000 foot plus Illimani. Look, I have caught
uplifting views of Mt. Rainer in Seattle while crossing the sound from
Bellevue but this is the grand setting on a another level of
magnitude.
La Paz is a busting city stretched
out along the main boulevard of many names. All activity in the
city seems to find its ground zero on this boulevard. It does not hurt
that if you drop anything anywhere else in the city it will plummet
towards the lowest latitudinal point at this boulevard.
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After dropping off
my bags at the Hotel Torino where I stayed I began to stroll
around the city. My first stop was the shockingly small
old |
| town
Plaza Murillo.
While very pretty it was clear the action is on the boulevard
of many names. I walked the main drag's whole length and
got an excellent cross section of Paceño daily life.
Right away I was approached by two beautiful twenty somethings
who asked that I contribute to the elderly fest going on
today. This festival's purpose being to bring to light what
people of the "third age" have to offer.
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As
I progressed down the boulevard I came across the heart of the
elderly fest and enjoyed exuberant Charango
playing and
singing by |
| several
older people and checked
out the knitting by
several artisans sitting
under their parasols. |
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Of
all parts of this festival the most popular was an older man
in a bowler hat explaining the finer points of palmistry.
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The
next major hubbub I encountered was the university complex. I
snuck into the game room there and watched hundreds of |
| students
let of some steam on a rousing game of foosball called futbolín.
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I
was not surprised by the large number of police
everywhere since I had heard of Bolivia's famous democracy in
action and its |
| corresponding
regular street protests. |
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