25th December 2024

We were in a taxi by 7am on our way to the airport to fly to the Bolivian capital, La Paz. Our flight was delayed by half an hour but that gave Dan time to FaceTime his family to wish them a Merry Christmas. If it wasn’t for WhatsApp we would have been quite oblivious to the fact it even was Christmas. It seemed so far removed to what we were doing. Although, having said that, the annoying pitchy Christmas lights at the airport screeching silent night on repeat while flashing obnoxiously may have tipped us off!

Once in La Paz, our Uber descended from El Alto, the borough we flew into standing at 4000m, down into La Paz. The city fills a basin and has expanded rapidly up the sides of the mountains as the population grew. All around the city are panoramic views of mountain ranges, the most eye catching of which is Illimani, a large snow capped mountain. 

After checking in to our hostel we wandered down into town through the Witches Market, past Iglesia San Francisco, and through the hustle and bustle of the city. It was chaos. Stalls litter the streets and cars erratically twist and turn ignoring traffic lights and road signs, so that crossing the road become a very serious endevour. Above the streets are multiple electric cable lines knotted together in a tangled mess. We got pangs of hunger from delicious smells wafting from food vendors, but mostly the city smelt of urine and car fumes.

After lunch we took a series of cable cars which act as a public transport system helping to connect the city despite its dramatic altitude difference. This was a great way to view the city without having to walk. From our vantage point we could see busy markets dominating entire streets. Red and orange plastic rectangles used to shelter goods from the sun which, from our perspective, created a patch like effect along the street. High on the mountainside we could see basic homes with tin roofs standing nervously on the sheer sandy edge of the mountain side. Further on we could see the wreckage of similar structured that had collapsed with the earth they stood on in landslides.

On our last cable car we were joined by a elderly women dressed in traditional Bolivian attire. She was wearing a colourful skirt, known as a pollera, which has the same shape as an open umbrella, puffing out at the hips. She also wore a shall over her shoulders and tanned bowler hat over thickly plated braids. She was accompanied by her son and, despite the language barrier, was able to communicate and joke at how she was scared of heights.

We returned back to the hostel and enjoyed a drink in the rooftop bar. There we chatted with a member of staff from Brazil before enjoying dinner while watching the sun set over the city.