Despite being exhausted after a difficult night's bus ride, we managed to open our eyes to take in the break-taking sight of La Paz stretching out across the valley in the early morning sun as our bus crawled down from the heights. Safely arrived at the bus terminal, we tried to find a relatively harmless-looking taxi driver but ended up being ushered into the first one in the queue. The driver was not a tourist-abductor, so it turned out, and we made it to our hotel (no "s"!) in one piece.
It was me who had finally cracked (six weeks, not too bad) and decided to inject a little flash into the backpacking. More importantly, I'd found a great deal where we'd be paying less than for an average hostel in Brazil or Argentina. I love Bolivian prices.
Our room wouldn't be ready for a few hours (still busy stocking it with champagne and silk sheets, I assumed) so although all we wanted to do was sleep we took a taxi back into town. After partially reviving ourselves with coffee and pancakes, we went to explore the central plaza. Here we found the Museo National de Arte, whose collection of 16th and 17th century paintings we enjoyed despite our semi-somnolent state (especially the customary archangels-with-muskets). From there we sleep-walked down to the old cathedral, took photos of the slightly disturbing ski-masked shoe-polishers, and visited the Museo de San Francisco, a Franciscan monastery next to the cathedral. The Museo had a brief history of the Bolivian independence movement (including the help provided by the monks), a mouth-watering old bodega, a view inside the cathedral from up in the choir, and a magnificent vista over La Paz from the roof.
After a hasty and unmemorable lunch, it was finally time to check in to Hotel Luxury. We were reunited with our backpacks and were escorted up to a suite on the top floor, with a great view over La Paz and the football stadium nearby. The hotel had recently been refurbished, so everything was pristine (until we arrived, at least). Curling up in the soft white sheets and turning on the large flatscreen TV to watch some dumb US show was pure indulgent bliss. Even better, there was a minibar, at Bolivian prices.
Following an afternoon of relaxing, dozing, and taking advantage of the hotel's half-decent WiFi, it was time for dinner. We dragged ourselves down to the lobby to catch a taxi back into the centre to "La Paz's best curryhouse" (English-owned, of course). We'd enjoyed some typical Bolivian food in Potosi and Sucre, so gave into temptation to see what kind of "Indian cuisine" Bolivia had to offer. Unsurprisingly, it wasn't very good, although we didn't mention this to the group of Brits and Yanks next to us who proudly told the waiter that this was their third visit in three nights. After a quick drink at Bar Sol y Luna, we caught a taxi back to our exceptionally comfy bed for a very long night's sleep.
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This was a real Sunday morning. A good lie in, a late breakfast (shared with a Bolivian football team, Universitario, who had lost to La Paz FC the previous afternoon in the stadium next door), and a lazy morning catching up on the news, email, and our blog.
We finally emerged into La Paz after midday, and strolled into the centre to find some food. After our misadventure with Bolivian-style Indian, we went back to typical Bolivian, finding a small place, underground, populated entirely by local families. There was a good cheap menu (of course, it's Bolivia) with a filling soup, an extraordinarily large strip of meat, and a small dessert that was somehow squeezed in. The only museum open on a Sunday was the Museo de Coca. This focused, unsurprisingly, on the history of the coca leaf, its role in Bolivian culture, and its subsequent use by the rest of the world in medicinal, gastronomical (first in coked-up French wine, then in Coca-Cola), and recreational cocaine. The museum had a fairly clear message: coca leaves (apparently still used for flavouring in Coca-cola), good; cocaine, bad.
After a walk around town, since nothing was open, we repaired to the hotel. We didn't leave. With only a little shame we ordered room service, while Clem tapped away on the netbook and I watched NFL (the Falcons inflicting some retribution on the dog-fighting criminal Mike Vick and the Philadelphia Eagles). Then another very comfy night's sleep.
It was me who had finally cracked (six weeks, not too bad) and decided to inject a little flash into the backpacking. More importantly, I'd found a great deal where we'd be paying less than for an average hostel in Brazil or Argentina. I love Bolivian prices.
Our room wouldn't be ready for a few hours (still busy stocking it with champagne and silk sheets, I assumed) so although all we wanted to do was sleep we took a taxi back into town. After partially reviving ourselves with coffee and pancakes, we went to explore the central plaza. Here we found the Museo National de Arte, whose collection of 16th and 17th century paintings we enjoyed despite our semi-somnolent state (especially the customary archangels-with-muskets). From there we sleep-walked down to the old cathedral, took photos of the slightly disturbing ski-masked shoe-polishers, and visited the Museo de San Francisco, a Franciscan monastery next to the cathedral. The Museo had a brief history of the Bolivian independence movement (including the help provided by the monks), a mouth-watering old bodega, a view inside the cathedral from up in the choir, and a magnificent vista over La Paz from the roof.
Masked shoe-polishers |
View of the Cathedral from up in the choir |
View of La Paz from the roof of the Franciscan monastery |
After a hasty and unmemorable lunch, it was finally time to check in to Hotel Luxury. We were reunited with our backpacks and were escorted up to a suite on the top floor, with a great view over La Paz and the football stadium nearby. The hotel had recently been refurbished, so everything was pristine (until we arrived, at least). Curling up in the soft white sheets and turning on the large flatscreen TV to watch some dumb US show was pure indulgent bliss. Even better, there was a minibar, at Bolivian prices.
View of the football stadium from our hotel |
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This was a real Sunday morning. A good lie in, a late breakfast (shared with a Bolivian football team, Universitario, who had lost to La Paz FC the previous afternoon in the stadium next door), and a lazy morning catching up on the news, email, and our blog.
We finally emerged into La Paz after midday, and strolled into the centre to find some food. After our misadventure with Bolivian-style Indian, we went back to typical Bolivian, finding a small place, underground, populated entirely by local families. There was a good cheap menu (of course, it's Bolivia) with a filling soup, an extraordinarily large strip of meat, and a small dessert that was somehow squeezed in. The only museum open on a Sunday was the Museo de Coca. This focused, unsurprisingly, on the history of the coca leaf, its role in Bolivian culture, and its subsequent use by the rest of the world in medicinal, gastronomical (first in coked-up French wine, then in Coca-Cola), and recreational cocaine. The museum had a fairly clear message: coca leaves (apparently still used for flavouring in Coca-cola), good; cocaine, bad.
After a walk around town, since nothing was open, we repaired to the hotel. We didn't leave. With only a little shame we ordered room service, while Clem tapped away on the netbook and I watched NFL (the Falcons inflicting some retribution on the dog-fighting criminal Mike Vick and the Philadelphia Eagles). Then another very comfy night's sleep.
Clem on the laptop and Falcons on the TV |
We had a late start on our third day in La Paz, but nevertheless decided to visit some museums in calle Jaen. Unfortunately, we arrived late and found that they were closed (for lunch, we presumed). We thus decided to go for lunch ourselves. We found a nice restaurant nearby and had a very enjoyable set menu with soup, a napoletana escalope and a vanilla-flavoured flan dessert. John, who was not feeling well, decided to go back to the hotel. I thus had the whole afternoon to myself.
I went back to calle Jaen, only to find out that most museums were closed on Monday. I thus turned to the Museum of musical instruments, which held a great collection of guitars and charangos (some made of turtle carapace) from Bolivia. There were also instruments from all over the world (from Tibetan horns to European pianos and gramophones).
The nearby Museo de Etnografia y Folklore hosted an interesting exhibit on the participation and contribution of transvestites in folklore parades: "La china morena: memoria historica travesti." This exhibition also displayed beautiful costumes. The museum dedicated a room to an impressive collection of about 40 masks, used in folklore dances, in the various regions of Bolivia. The ones that caught my attention were those of the Devil, the Devil's wife and some "Warriors of Death" represented by the faces of Spanish soldiers (beginning of the 20th century, Milluni, La Paz). It is said that the Warriors of Death danced day and night fighting death until they eventually lost. The next day, they had to had to bury the clothes they were wearing to dance or throw then in a river, in order to take Death away from the community. More information on the different masks and related dances here. As I was reading the explanations, the motion-sensitive lights went off suddenly, and I must admit that for a second I did not feel very comfortable. The museum also had an interesting exhibit of textiles.
Danzanti, La Paz, end of the 20th century |
Banner of the protesters: TIPNIS es vida!!! |
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We had booked an excursion to Tiwanaku, the ruined capital of the pre-Incan civilisation of the same name, for the next day. After an hour wait (we had been told that the minibus could be late), we called the agency, which informed us that the bus had already left the city. As it was raining, we decided that it was not worth the hassle of going on our own and instead set off to visit the rest of the city. We started by a lookout with a great view of the city. Despite the rain, the sight of the city of La Paz crawling up the surrounding hills was very impressive.
Later, we headed to the calle Jaen museums. The first museum, Museo Costumbrista Juan de Vargas, displayed pictures of traditional costumes (and some elements of costumes) of men and women from the end of the 19th century. The fashion does not seem to have changed much as women in Bolivia still wear jupes plissees, have long plaits and round hats. They have left behind the little boots though. The Museo del Litoral concerned Bolivia's loss of territories (including all of its coast) to Chile and Paraguay during the 19th century. The collection included uniforms and arms (bayonets). Dilplomatic relations between Bolivia and Chile apparently remain cold. The Museo de Metales Preciosos Precolombinos possessed a great collection of objects in gold from the Inkas, as well as ceramics spanning from pre-inka times to inka times. Finally, the Casa de Murillo displayed nice furniture from the colonial era and provided interesting information on the uprising led by Murillo and others against Spanish rule. The Spanish later took the city of La Paz back and Murillo was beheaded. Nevertheless, he is a national hero judging by the number of portraits of him in the museum and elsewhere.
After a nice lunch in a restaurant near the Cathedral, we had a walk around the Mercado de Hechiceria (the "Witches' Market") where llama foetuses are exposed next to textiles and statuettes. I did not resist the temptation to buy a statuette for safe travel (in the shape of a condor's head) and another offering general protection ("pacha mama"). Despite its name, the market was not as spooky as one would expect, though the llama foetuses (to be buried under the threshold of a new house to keep evil spirits away) were rather disturbing.
Stands at the Witches' Market (look for the foetuses) |
In the evening, we splurged and went to a nice restaurant, Bella Vista, on top of the five star hotel El Presidente, on the 15th floor. From there, we had a great view of La Paz by night, which was a great ending to our stay in the city.
Hw come you haven't bought a llama foetus for the future house in London ?? :O
ReplyDeleteHad I known, I would have sent you one. Not sure how the French customs would deal with it though...
ReplyDelete