First, for about the last hour or two before arriving, there is no road to speak of. There is just dirt and dust, and sometimes the bus I was in had to cross small rivers or flooded ditches, seemingly by driving right into them and hoping for the best. Swaying and sliding amongst the mud and stones, and began to realise why the bus was kind of small.
On the sides of the dirt paths were buildings that were all made of the same red tile and seemed to share something else too: it looked like nobody was living in them. In fact, the majority didn't even have a roof. Still they stood there, hundreds of them, for miles and miles. Sometimes we saw a few people walking on the street, signs of life amongst the calm ominosity. On the walls of some houses, adverts had been scribbled with big letters on white chalk, such as "ELECTRICIAN" followed by a telephone number.
After reaching the outskirts of the city, there is still a good half an hour's descend to the city itself. La Paz has been constructed in a canyon surrounded by several mountains. The highest of them is the snow-covered Illimani, which can be seen from most parts of the city.
As I had arrived without knowing anything of the place, I resorted to the Internet. I learned that the city was founded in the 16th century and is not particularly big with under one million inhabitants. With altitudes varying from 3200 to 4100 metres, La Paz is the highest capital in the world. This means that there is very little chance for a fire; the oxygen in the air is so scarce that the flame burns only feebly.
With a variety of elevations, an underground train would not perhaps make much sense. That's why the Paceños commute by...dashing through the air?! The public transport system of gondola lifts, Mi Teleférico, was opened only two years ago and is strikingly modern. There are three lines in operation at the moment, and at least four more have been planned.
It's no wonder one would look to the skies for a solution to the transport problem. When I take my Virgin La Paz Walk, I see that the old, narrow streets are so packed with cars and minibuses that none of them seems to be moving anywhere. There isn't much room for people either, with the sidewalks full of street vendors sitting next to their banana pile or standing in front of their food cart. The feeling of crammedness is overwhelming.
Still, I can't help liking the city. The buildings are of varying ages, filthy but beautiful. The feel of La Paz is perplexing. Contrary to what the ghost town and the dirt road just before the city made me expect, and despite the street vendors and chaotic streets, the people seem– – –well, more familiar to me. (I refuse to say 'European' or 'Western', although I acknowledge the facts: having grown up in the so-called Western world, that is what I feel familiar with.) It's hard to put one's finger on it, but when I look at people, it's easier for me to understand what they do.
There is a different kind of diversity compared to the other places I've seen on this journey. The first thing I notice is a music conservatory. There is a large, beautiful bus station building. There are Italian restaurants. Daycares. Girls with a side cut or a nose piercing, next to the old women in their traditional costumes and the q'ipirina on their back. A group of teenagers going to the cinema, a couple of students coming from the university. Even people who, despite belonging to a gender or sexual minority, appear not to be living in the closet.
And although there are seemingly no tourists in the areas I walk in, I realise people don't stare at me. I no longer stand out like a sore thumb, and it is a huge relief.
x
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