Alongside a Czech couple I met on the Inka Trail, I decided to fly into the capital of Bolivia, La Paz, and avoid the customs on the land border. This was great in concept, but going through customs I had my hand luggage searched. The extremely overstaffed scanner had picked up something concerning, and the staff were clearly trying to tell me I couldnt carry such an item on board the plane. Yes, it appears my padlock was the offending item, and when I enquired why I couldnt take it on board, they said it was just too big. Definitely not a normal sized one. Oh no. Well, after some broken Spanish discussions, we came to a compromise, I could carry it on, only as long as it was kept at the bottom of my hand luggage. Obviously. Getting into the departure lounge without breakfast was foolish, as quite expectedly, there were no shops after security. Doh.
Landing into La Paz, we were whisked quickly along the mountain side overlooking La Paz, a huge sprawling city in a basin, at around 4000m high, surronded by mountains. A city of shanty towns and half finsihed houses. I stayed a couple of nights at an Irish Party Hostel, which was a weird oasis in this most distinct city. I didnt go too wild for La Paz, and travelled the next day to Copacabana on the shore of Lake Titicaca. It was almost like Bolivias answer to Brighton, but on a much smaller scale, with alot less gays and significantly more Bolivians in bowler hats. And that is just the women. Spent an afternoon on Isla Del Sol, a small sparsely populated island, still clearly terraced from the days of the Inkas. I think I spent at least a day and a half not speaking english to anyone, so although the scenery was stunning, Bolivia was quite an isolated experience, and when it came to flying into Argentina I was only too happy to oblige.
