The name La Paz, had conjured an image of an exotic city in a far away land, but the reality jarred me. The air was not only thin, but often blackened with each passing vehicle.  Despite considerable effort and a few exceptions, there was little I found that inspired an extended stay. However, the people I met were warm and helpful and the markets I visited with satisfying trout, sopa de mani ( peanut soup), delectable pastel(fried pastry-something I rarely indulge in)and api(a sweet drink made from purple corn), and other cuisine gave me the chance to experience local culture first hand. These were moments I always enjoyed. 

As I sat on the bus as we slowly, very slowly, merged with the crush of buses, vans, trucks, and cars, heading up towards El Alto (previously a suburb, now a city at 4000m above sea level and around one million, primarily indigenous residents) I focused on the women in their traditional attire. There are very few major cities that have not been seduced by the Western attire that has increasingly homogenized the appearance of their residents.

And I could not ignore the poverty. People seemed capable of feeding and clothing themselves, but the buildings that made up their homes, shops and community ranged from nondescript to derelict. Many were incomplete and abandoned.

The distant Andes in their splendor provided an infrequent opportunity for the word “beautiful” to come to mind.

The bus finally picked up some speed as we left El Alto for the main road to Chile.