Bolivia, 2012, La Paz

I have literally exhausted my second and last day in La Paz. The city lies between mountain rises, and itself stretches out and up at about 12,000 feet. My hotel seems to rest at a point that requires uphill climb regardless of the direction I explore. With the altitude and the climbing I welcome bedtime.

The city is full of humanity. Sidewalk vendors are so plentiful one almost is required to squirm between crawling vehicles in the street to make progress forward. There are stores as well , but they only provide a walled backdrop to the scenes of sidewalk vendors on stage front and center. There are vendor sections which seem to specialize. There are several spots for clothes of all sorts, leather jackets, jeans, tailored shirts. The most colorful market of course is the food market. Here virtually all the stalls of fruit, vegetable, flour, grain, animal, are operated by ´cholitas´, ladies of Quechua or Aymara descent, who continue to wear cultural dress, including bowler hats. They are so beautiful, not only their physical appearance, but because of the nobility of a quiet and inner strength that needs nor desires external attention to justify their import. So different from the me, me, me of Americans.

Another peculiar area nearby is the mercado de las brujas, market of witches. No, there are no broomsticks and long pointy black hats. This is an area that sells herbal remedies and items for good luck or to ward off the evil ones. One item is the dried fetus of llama, which if planted in the cornerstone of a newly built house will bring good luck. I imagine a long delay at customs if I were to try to get one of these into the states. By the number of fetuses in the market I believe the llama population must be near endangerment.

I try on these visits to oberve similarity and difference between countries. It is too early to observe the differences, but similarities are apparent. There is the common market and sidewalk vendor, there is the crazy traffic and method of transport, there are the fireworks for any type of religious event or other fiesta and there are the demonstrations (I have seen two in two days). And, there are the children. There are babies and infants everywhere. I am always captured by their round faces and dark-eyed gazes as the parents carry or pull them forward. Here the children do not appear to be demanding of attention or of things. Oh, they get attention, lovingly, and while young the children are never far from reach. But, one rarely hears cries and I am not remembering any instance of tantrum, which is pretty contant at the stores in the states, not just at Walmart, either. I don´t know why, but it is another distinct difference than of American observance.

So much, too much, in this city for my senses. Interesting amusement, with tourist memories to keep. Yet, I arrive with a bit of anxiety and doubt not experienced before. It has nothing to do with Bolivia, which will be as wonderful as the others visited. But I wonder if I may have finally taken on too much. Observing and responding to how this all evolves will be an additional education for me. One day at a time. Next stop, my true destination, is Sucre.

We got our feet on the wire,
Talking about flying
Maybe we´re diving in over our heads
Scared of what I´m feeling
Staring at the ceiling, here tonight.

Come on and lay down these alms
All our best defenses
We`re taking our chances here on the run
If fear is the anchor, time is a stranger
Love isn´t borrowed, we are promised tomorrow.

We´ll never be ready
If we keep waiting for the perfect time to come
Hold me steady, we´ll never be ready
Where we don´t know, though we can´t see
Just walk on down the road with me
Hold me steady, never be ready.
(M. Kearney)