What happened to that girl Heather anyway?

Hmm,

In the tradition of travelers, I will regale you mass mailed stories of adventure, of brave exploits and dirty hostals. Ok, not really.

I arrived in La Paz at 5:30 last Wednesday, just as the sun started to peek out from behind the peaks that surround the Bolivian altiplano. La Paz is the highest airport in the world, and the flight in is supposed to be specatular. Unfortunatly, or fortunately, I was asleep when we arrived. I shared a taxi with a teva-clad outdoor type from Colorado. The taxi ride was certainly spectacular, as we spiraled down into the basin that is La Paz. Basically there are two cities here, El Alto… the poorer city perched on the harsh cliffs above La Paz, and the bowl that is central La Paz. Once down, I quickly found my hostal, some coffee, and went promptly to bed with a headache from the altitude.

When I awoke and had explored a little, we went out to the local tourist bar of choice, Mongos. It has a warm feeling, with low ceilings and fires burning. Tim, the Colorado kid, had several Bolivian friends, as he leads tours fairly regularily. The small pond that is La Paz was quickly made evident when I realized that one of them worked with the only other person I knew here. Also, the house I now live in used to be inhabited by another outdoor leader type they all knew, Lyle.

I forgot how quickly you make friends and lose them while away from home. By the next day, Tim had moved on to another destination and I was keeping the barstool warm at a tourist bar called Sol y Luna. Though my hostal was cute, including a turquoise inner courtyard, my room was cold and quiet. I found talkative bartenders at Sol y Luna, including a chirpy brit who worked in scaffolding and a long haired Bolivian chef with tales of playing a guitar in Italy. Needless to say, I felt sort of lame when I went there three nights in a row.

My overwhelming desire this whole time was for HOT WATER. I’m spoiled these days I guess. I think that is one thing that this trip is reminding me of. In the states I feel so poor, but here I feel so privaliged. I think I needed this.

During this time, I’ve been adjusting myself to my job. It is in the middle of chaotic, hectic, lively La Paz. I sit at a large table in the president’s office (he is my contact, but he is never here) and type most of the day. The staff doesn’t really know what to make of me. Similarily, I cannot really figure out what to make of them. The hours are different, no one comes in until 11, then the have lunch from 12 to 2:30. The you work ‘til 6. You can get lunch here, including three courses (bland, Bolivian courses which always include some type of potato) for less than a dollar. I sometimes go to the American coffee shop which had wireless internet, or sit in the plaza on the steps of the church and watch people cross themselves as they pass. The ice cream men are everywhere during the afternoon, making handmade ice-cream sandwichs, and the pigeons are extraordinary in their numbers and their vigor.

Outside of one of the government buildings on this plaza, there are young soldiers in silly red uniforms standing on pedestals. They undress you with their eyes as you pass.

I just moved into my new place, with a Belgium girl named Laurence. Perhaps it is because we have a friend in common, but I felt like I had known her all my life from the moment we met. She is brilliant, with a mischievious smile and huge eyes behind her glasses. She talks of Gent, rowing, and growing up French speaking in a Flemish region.

The house is perched on a hill, and if I climb out my window and stand on the sill to peer over the newly constructed house a foot away from my window, I can see this great mountain in the distance (Illumani, I think it is called). It is the same mountain that you can sometimes catch peeking behind high rises in the middle of town. In the evening, it turns pink as the sun falls.

I couldn’t imagine a place more suited to me. The furniture is sparse but well chosen, there are wood floors, hot water, a couch, a fireplace. There are plants growing, and weavings on the walls. Honestly… my inner housewife is busy baking and sweeping the floors all day.

So things are going well. I’m planning a 72 hour bus trip to Buenos Aires to visit my friend Paula (flying home, thank god). It should be very interesting.