“Butch and me have been talking it all over. Wherever the hell Bolivia is, that's where we're off to.”
- Sundance Kid
After 24 hours of traveling (6 a.m. Saturday to 6 a.m. Sunday), Cincinnati , Ohio to La Paz , Bolivia , I staggered sleep-deprived and altitude-affected through the line in the La Paz airport to the visa counter to beg that they let me into the country. The kind man behind the bullet-proof glass granted my drowsy request, accepted my $100 bill and pointed me in the direction of baggage claim. I wandered dumbly in honey-bee circles around the baggage carousel a few times before realizing that the bags had already been taken off and were lined up along the outer wall (altitude brain freeze is real people!)
The night and day before had provided little rest and the overnight flight from Miami left me a bit twitchy. My Bolivian seatmate’s first calls before leaving Miami were to his Son and Wife in La Paz and then his girlfriend, with whom he proceeded to coo sweet nothings to and make kissy noises as I tried to reach maximum capacity on my iPod and play dumb. I think I may have poked him in the eye during the overnight flight due strategic adjustments to earplugs, eye mask and travel pillow, but I can’t be certain.
After gathering my wits and collecting my belongings, the kind employees at the tiny La Paz airport rounded us up and steered us out into the early morning darkness. Luckily, my brother John (who lives, works and breathes La Paz ) was waiting with the taxi drivers out in the darkness and steered me towards a waiting vehicle.
The next few days included hours of sleeping, wandering around the streets of La Paz (stopping for requisite “oxygen and coca tea breaks”) and fine dining “a La Paz” (i.e. best French restaurant plate in town no more than $5).
The most surprising thing my body did those first few days was to wake me up, mid-nap, heart thumping as though it would beat through my chest and up into the room just to get a breath. I lay there, staring up at the apartment ceiling, amazed at the urgency with which my body searched for enough oxygen to function properly. Never had I felt such an imperative request from my brain to “breathe deeply!”
John was an awesome and patient guide, walking me through the city and weaving in stories at each stop about the current Bolivian political and human situation (his course of study at the university in La Paz ).
Bolivia (bordered by Peru, Chile, Argentina, Paraguay and Brazil) proclaimed independence in 1809 in the War of Independence against Spain , struggling for 16 years longer to achieve full separation. Roughly the size of Texas , Bolivia has about 8 million inhabitants, although a reliable census has proven difficult. Roughly 50% of Bolivians consider themselves to be of Indigenous descent (mostly Aymara and Quechua), the highest percentage in South America . It is also the poorest country in South America (a title of which they never tire).
The current president, Evo Morales, won with 54% of vote and has been in power since January 2006. He is arguably the first president of Indigenous descent (Aymara ancestry) although past presidents have been Mestizo (Spanish and Indigenous descent). He leads the MAS party (“Movimiento al Socialismo” – Movement for Socialism) and is overwhelmingly popular among the cocaleros (coca leaf growers) and unpopular with the U.S. government. He is also overwhelmingly unpopular with the higher business class of Bolivia for his work at nationalizing natural resources, centralizing control of industries, attempting to found a social security network, and writing a new constitution (not yet approved).
Shortly before my arrival in La Paz , tens of thousands of protesters had marched on the US Embassy in La Paz to protest the fact that we’re harboring their past president (Gony) and VP (Lozada), the latter of whom has been accused of genocide and embezzlement of country funds. Apparently, they’re sipping mojitos in Miami , living free on Bolivian funds.
Despite their dislike of the US government policies and influence, every Bolivian I met was more than willing to discuss how US Aid has been helpful in building schools and funding farming projects (even if there are some serious “anti-coca” strings attached).
La Paz, the default political capital (Sucre being the actual capital) has just under 830,000 people. El Alto, its indigenous step sister, which spreads precariously up into the hills and clings to the shaky cliffs above La Paz , has a growth rate of almost 6% a year (current population around 700,000) and has been called the Aymara capital of the world.
In walking around the city, we ended up in the San Pedro market in the north, where we witnessed first-hand the bio-diversity of produce our factory-farmed and grown industry lacks – each corner held 40 different kinds of potatoes, 10 different kinds of eggs, 5 different kinds of greens, 3 kinds of llama meat, 2 kinds of cow tongue and one ubiquitous kind of cheese – queso fresco.
Our first week in La Paz ended with a decidedly American event – the 4th of July. John and I showered and scrubbed behind our ears for an invitation-only embassy event in the ritzy area of town and spread the word that we would be partying Kentucky-style afterwards in his apartment nearer the center of the city.
The embassy party was held at the Ambassador’s house (Philip Goldberg) in the richest neighborhood in La Paz , the gates around the complex were high; the tennis courts impeccable. The ambassador’s hand was shaky when I shook it and his Spanish was faulty when he spoke it, proclaiming in a speech to the choir (wealthy Bolivian businessmen, their wives and embassy employees) how far US Aid has come in its fight to eradicate coca production.
We behaved, kept our mouths shut and shook the requisite hands, then escaped back towards the center of the city to prepare for our Kentucky-style 4th of July (yes’m you can buy Maker’s Mark in La Paz). The party started off right with about ½ Bolivians (mostly John’s friends and classmates) and ½ Americans (friends working with local non-profits, completing Fulbright work and the like).
Around 1 a.m. as the night continued to digress (bottle rockets shot out windows onto the roof of the Ministry of Defense next door) we decided it was time to head out and forage for fun on the town. After a failed attempt at karaoke – think uptight businessmen demanding silence so they could hear themselves sing – we headed to a local international bar.
Friends, what I tell you next is no joke and could only happen at 2:30 a.m. in Bolivia , on the 4th of July. Upon walking into the next bar, we ran straight into a solid wall of 7 foot tall men speaking English – the Harlem Globe Trotters (in town for a show in La Paz)! We felt it was our patriotic duty to welcome them to La Paz by dancing late into the night and raising a glass to The Great American Way.
On our way back to the apartment we yawned and looked forward to getting out of La Paz – an upcoming trip to Lake Titicaca and La Isla del Sol (birthplace of the Incan empire). More info soon!
Click the link to see La Paz pictures.
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