We crashed as soon as we got to our hotel situated near a beautiful San Francisco cathedral, it was almost 11 at night and the city was still going at full speed. SB mentioned as he lay in his bed that he heard a woodpecker, uh, no sweetie, more like a jackhammer. No 35 hour work week here.
The next morning we were all up with the sun at 6:30, along with the honking horns, the barking dogs, and the mad police whistles. We were all suffering from Altitude sickness, it seemed to be more that we had horrible flus, the ones where the smallest efforts leave you breathless and you have to sit down for a while. Unpack a bag, sit down, brush your teeth, sit down. Made things rather slow. SB seems not to be effected at all. At least that is good. We wandered around La Paz with Christiane in the morning, to the shops and the markets. If you have ever been to San Francisco, that is what the streets are like, very, very, steep. But also very, very narrow. Add the many buses and cars going in all directions, we hung very close to the sidewalks. It was also our first encounter with the local population. The native costume is not one they just put on for folk festivals once a year, (really, who in Germany wears lederhosen?) they really do wear Bolivian knitted bonnets, or derby hats, or colorful dresses. I tried to be discreet in my picture taking; I mainly shot from the hip, so that explains the strange framing of some of my pictures. Many of the women, and the most of the stall sellers were women, just had a few feet of cobblestones to sell their wares. Knitwear, sacs, corn, pumpkin, popcorn, vegetables, hangers, you name it, they were selling it. And often just inches off the busy streets. The one that made me look away was the woman selling two slabs of beef displayed on a little wooden box out in the hot sun, next to the exhaust pipes of the local diesel buses. Ugh.
As they had not much room to sell their wares, every inch was accounted for, even where they sat. Remember beanbags? We use to have two yellow ones back in the 70’s and I remember my mother lifting me up and nestling me in one, they being so big, and I so small. That is what the women in the stands looked like. I have no idea how they could nestle themselves into their stands and arrange the fruit and vegetables so neatly around themselves. Some were even taking naps when we walked by, I could almost image them pulling a blanket of potatoes and onions over their shoulders in mid-dream.
We went back to the hotel and waited for Philippe to go for lunch. We ate in a nice café in a brightly colored patio and had the most wonderful quinoa soup. We heard lots of loud popping in the distance and asked if it was, ahm, gun fire. “Oh, no,” said Philippe calmly sipping his soup, “it is just firecrackers from a demonstration.” We all looked at each other, “Who is demonstrating?” we asked. “Who knows, someone is always demonstrating,” he said with a shrug. “Oh,” we thought reassuringly, “just like back home in France.” Then Philippe continued, “Just be glad it is not the miners, they bring real dynamite to town when they march.” Hmm, makes the French railway workers seem like sissies.
Afterwards, I headed back to the hotel so that SB could take a well needed nap and the others headed off to the Coca museum. While I read Paulo Coelho’s “Like the Flowing River” with a sleeping child curled up at my side, Christiane, Laetitia, and JN visited a very interesting museum explaining the history of the Coca leaf. Turns out that yes, the coca plant can be turned into cocaine, but the leaves are used by the local population as a kind of mild chewing tobacco. The miners use it (and there are still many working in the silver mines) to help them get through the harsh conditions of their line of work. It is also used in lean years for many when there is not enough food to go around. It can also be somewhat nourishing and it is a better alternative than having your family starve to death. If you go into a café, even an internet café like the one I am sitting in to write this, you can be offered coca tea to drink.
When they got back, I left SB in the care of his dad and Christiane and headed out with Laetitia to compare prices and the quality of goods in the local shops. Since we will be here for a few days, we had time to comparison shop. The quantity and quality of the Alpaca goods were astounding. Sweaters, bonnets, ponchos, purses, coats, blankets, etc, all in a multitude of colors and weaves. There are also a vast number of silver products available. It was already dark as we headed into one of the last shops. Laetitia, who speaks Spanish fluently, had one of the shop ladies pull her off to the side and warned that us girls should be in our hotel by 10 o’clock at the latest as the “bandits” take over the streets of La Paz at that time. Good advice.
Philippe and Alejandra met us and took us all to a local restaurant for dinner. The servings were so large, everyone shared a dish. SB watched the Pan-American soccer play offs between Colombia and Mexico on a big screen TV. It was great to hear the famous “Gooooooooaaaaaaaaaaal” when one of the teams scored. On the walk back to our hotel, I stayed rather close to JN as SB rode on his shoulders; it was past 10, after all….
