Tour of the Town
Running a simple errand at Achumani Market, I take a good look around the city that's been my home for more than three years.
Rising up everywhere are the brand new condos built by the trustfunders for the trustfunders, colorful blocks stacked upon each other like giant legos that don't complement the surrounding mountains very well.
I walk along the river-I still refer to it as a glorified sewer-and I take a look at the snow capped mountains in the background, just wondering where the time went.
And I realize that, unlike my previous posts, I will truly miss this place. La Paz, by far the best place I've lived in over the past 13 years. This includes places like New York, Washington, Jordan, and Nepal. La Paz, the more I look at it, is simply unique.
Over on a hillside, a new park has been built. This used to be little more than a wild conglomeration of sandy paths embedded in rock where one mudslide could bring its existence to a grinding halt. Now there are beautiful pathways, long slides for children to play on, swings and playhouses just beckoning from the hillside. It has such a fresh look to it that the words here used to describe the place won't do it any justice. There is grass, actually grass growing up there, and I'm certain that even a theme park couldn't look any nicer. I hear that kids even take their bicycles up there, and I don't blame them. Good luck finding a park like that anywhere in the west.
My former boss working at the embassy derisively referred to La Paz as an erosion ditch, and I suppose there is some truth to that. The combination of altitude and wind will take away more land with the years, although the results-canyons interspersed throughout the town coupled with the mountains and pathways give this city a natural beauty you won't find at sea level. Like I've mentioned before, the place looks like the Grand Canyon, only with a city built into it.
Then there are the Pacenas, the citizens of this town, a couple of them who take my order at the bakery. There is nothing phony about them. Pacenas, I have found, are friendly, but never too friendly. Whether or not the altitude figures into this is disputable. People here simply keep it real and don't pretend to be anything they're not.
The blazing sun-never hotter than 75 degrees-has given me more sunburns than places that have summer days that display forty or fifty degrees more on the barometer.
I finally realize I have a week left here. As a worldchump, you need to have a thick skin to match a brutality that can overlook certain things that would be simply unacceptable back in the west (government, strikes, taxis, among many other things). This means that the bottom line is easy come-easy go. You will leave the place, but big deal, there will always be the next place where you will pitch your tent.
I finally reach my house and shut the gate behind me.
In the end, there will be no crying when I leave the place. Out of the question. I've left too many places in the past years, so when the gate is shut behind me for the last time, I will lock it, hand over the keys, and head over to the airport.
That said, La Paz will still be missed. There is no place like it.
Rising up everywhere are the brand new condos built by the trustfunders for the trustfunders, colorful blocks stacked upon each other like giant legos that don't complement the surrounding mountains very well.
I walk along the river-I still refer to it as a glorified sewer-and I take a look at the snow capped mountains in the background, just wondering where the time went.
And I realize that, unlike my previous posts, I will truly miss this place. La Paz, by far the best place I've lived in over the past 13 years. This includes places like New York, Washington, Jordan, and Nepal. La Paz, the more I look at it, is simply unique.
Over on a hillside, a new park has been built. This used to be little more than a wild conglomeration of sandy paths embedded in rock where one mudslide could bring its existence to a grinding halt. Now there are beautiful pathways, long slides for children to play on, swings and playhouses just beckoning from the hillside. It has such a fresh look to it that the words here used to describe the place won't do it any justice. There is grass, actually grass growing up there, and I'm certain that even a theme park couldn't look any nicer. I hear that kids even take their bicycles up there, and I don't blame them. Good luck finding a park like that anywhere in the west.
My former boss working at the embassy derisively referred to La Paz as an erosion ditch, and I suppose there is some truth to that. The combination of altitude and wind will take away more land with the years, although the results-canyons interspersed throughout the town coupled with the mountains and pathways give this city a natural beauty you won't find at sea level. Like I've mentioned before, the place looks like the Grand Canyon, only with a city built into it.
Then there are the Pacenas, the citizens of this town, a couple of them who take my order at the bakery. There is nothing phony about them. Pacenas, I have found, are friendly, but never too friendly. Whether or not the altitude figures into this is disputable. People here simply keep it real and don't pretend to be anything they're not.
The blazing sun-never hotter than 75 degrees-has given me more sunburns than places that have summer days that display forty or fifty degrees more on the barometer.
I finally realize I have a week left here. As a worldchump, you need to have a thick skin to match a brutality that can overlook certain things that would be simply unacceptable back in the west (government, strikes, taxis, among many other things). This means that the bottom line is easy come-easy go. You will leave the place, but big deal, there will always be the next place where you will pitch your tent.
I finally reach my house and shut the gate behind me.
In the end, there will be no crying when I leave the place. Out of the question. I've left too many places in the past years, so when the gate is shut behind me for the last time, I will lock it, hand over the keys, and head over to the airport.
That said, La Paz will still be missed. There is no place like it.
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