Hazel's Travel Blog: La Paz, Bolivia December 2011

We arrive in La Paz by bus late afternoon. The city is set in a large meteoric like crater, shanty houses climb its steep slopes without an inch to spare. The city is bustling and full after the calm of Lake Titicaca and we push through the thronged narrow pavements our heavy backpacks reminding us of all the things we brought and don't need. Stalls of leather bags, alpaca knitwear and silver jewellery spill onto the footpath making it a hefty task to avoid the hard sellers. 'Lady lady! eet eez bebe alpaca!' A witches market sells llama featus by the dozen, some of which are at a sickeningly developed stage with fur and fully fledged torsos. In Bolivia it is tradition/superstition to bury one of these fetus in the floorboards or foundations of a new house, and in turn good luck will follow.

We stagger up the hill towards our chosen party hostel, The Wild Rover (Irish owned of course) to discover it booked out due to the hostels anniversary party taking place that night. We book in somewhere nearby and brace ourselves for the party of the century. Heading out first for a delicious Indian meal at 'Star of India' in the Four Corners district where we are told all the best restaurants are located.

Starved we order everything on the menu and make absolute pigs of ourselves, unaware that it is wise to eat little and drink lots when arriving to places of high altitude.

A belly ache later we meet our three ozzy friends at the party only to arrive to an unsuspected teenage style disco. We squeeze our way to the bar, drinks spill lavishly over arm and elbow. Having eaten far too much and unable to drink anything in volume we opt for some shots to catch up. From behind a full pint hits me & soaks my dress from head to toe. More shots!

More shots, unfortunately does not cure my aching belly and we head home before closing...gutted!

The next day we move to the Wild Rover and find ourselves bunked in with some really lovely Irish girls and two welsh lads. We tag along with them to a steakhouse for the best ever Jack Daniels steak - Amazing! Bonding enormously with the girls (Jennie Mac - my long lost twin!!) and Donal finding his own solace from girly hell in fellow male Podge. The night passes splendidly, but alas it is for one night only as our new amazing friends leave for the salt flats the next day. We say goodbye hoping our trips will cross paths again!

The following day Donal sets off to bike Death Road, a 62K of narrow unpaved pathway with a terrifyingly large drop to the paths left hand side. Up until 5-6years ago this was a road regularly used by vehicles but is now mainly cycled by tourists. The road has claimed countless lives over the years as buses and cars alike veer too close to the edge. Many cyclists die biking the trail, Israeli's accounting for the largest number of deaths apparently on account of 'invincibilty syndrome' as many of them travel after serving their time in the army. Suffering from my own 'too-chicken-to-do-it syndrome', I opt for the more leisurely alternative of horse-riding. How lovelaay!Our Welsh roomate Ioan decides to join me on my dangerous adventure!

2pm is our horse-riding pick-up time and by 2.45pm we are still waiting for our tour bus and group. A quick word with the travel agent, whose reaction makes it clear we have been forgotten, and a taxi is ordered. We presume is to take us to catch up with the organised tour bus. Zero communication and a 30min taxi ride later we arrive at a hotel in Northern La Paz. Standing dumbly in the hotel reception, alongside our equally uninformed taxi driver, the receptionist asks us what kind of room we would like. 'Am....well...none...we're here to go horseriding?!'

Blank look. El 'Que?'

It is clear at this point that neither the hotel, taxi driver or either one of us has a clue why the hell we are at this hotel. A fit of laughing overcomes me as we all look to one another in confusion.

Suddenly, a long black haired man, clad in denim jacket and denim jeans (aam fashion faux pas) and cowboy hat, who had been watching it all unfold decides that it is he, Yes he! Who is to take us horseriding! Trusting, in our giddy mood we get into his tiny black leaking car without question. I should mention that at this point it is pissing out of the absolute heavens and in my attempt to get as little of me wet as possible I make a dash through the torrential downpour only to slip and fall in slow motion with my back flat on the ground, legs high in the air.

With Ioan's help we make it to the car finally, the laughter still flowing as the ceiling above me in my position up front drips large fat droplets onto my already saturated clothes. The windows are steamed up to the point where the road could be anywhere and the drivers attempts to wipe sections of the windscreen with his denim sleeve are made in vain. The car is littered with rubbish and mud cakes the floor at my feet.

It dawns on me somewhere in the back of my mind that maybe we should have questioned this guy/situation a little more before getting in with him and his, erm, less than professional vehicle.

Our spirits are high as we laugh at how the hell we can possibly go horseriding in such terrible weather. I notice the neighborhood getting dodgier, mud huts and dirt tracks leave me giggling somewhat nervously now, our driver still has not spoken.

A pack of 12 or so stray dogs are in the middle of the road, waiting for the traffic to pass, like a little family they cross the road together.

Eventually our little black car pulls up at two large black wrought iron gates which are large and fancy and seriously displaced in the midst of the shanty town. Any worries I may have had subside as it becomes clear that we are indeed at a horse ranch. Denim clad driver dashes around to my side and opens the door for me - it has to be opened from the outside as the inside handle dangles from thin pieces of wire.

Stalls with horses and ponies all shapes and sizes greet us as we again make a dash through the torrential rain from car to stable. We watch the rain for 30minutes or so from a small cabin as we wait patiently for it to pass. Two or three stable boys watch a shopping channel selling washing powder on a small T.V in the corner. Ioan and I stroll to each stable petting and photographing the horses and ponies. Most of the horses are keen to greet us and allow us to pet them, two larger stallions with all their saddle gear on are cranky and remain aloof as they know they are the chosen two to climb the steep mountain.

Eventually the rain passes and the clouds clear somewhat. We have managed at this stage to extract between english and Spanish that our denim clad driver is Cuban and has been living in Bolivia for 10years or so, he asks if either of us has any experience in horseriding. (I have never been on a horse, despite many many requests to buy one as a child, and Ioan's last experience was as a young boy). Despite communicating this to Mr. Cubano we are given no intructions as to how to stop/go/avoid death and with that we set off.

The horses are calm and sure footed as we begin the steep incline and we relax somewhat. Cantering along nicely through the dirt streets of the shanty town climbing a steady height and admiring the magnificent view over the deep crater of La Paz. At the top of the mountain is 'El Muelo Del Diablo' or 'The Devils tooth', a sharp piece of rock jutting from the landscape in the shape of a large tooth.

Out of a small hole in a brick wall a tiny yapping stray dog appears, calling to attention about ten or so fellow strays and they all have a great time barking and nipping at the horses hooves. Somewhat panicked our horses move faster in an attempt to escape but the incline is steep and the horses struggle to make any headway. Eventually the little nippers shag off and we wipe our brows in relief.

Along the way we pass little families of pigs, a tiny little black piglet is the cutest thing I've ever seen! We pass what looks like a fairly fancy pet cemetery as there are row upon row of kennel-like houses, a funeral is taking place and we discover that its actually a very un-fancy human cemetery. I wanted to take photos but thought it might be a tad inappropriate! With the moving horses the rest of the pictures are somewhat blurry & not great but have included the best of a bad lot here.

We reach the top after 40mins or so and the view over the city is spectacular, the deep red rock of the mountain contrasts with the grey sky and miserable looking shanty towns below. Thunder and lightening lurks in the distance warning us of more rain to come. Suddenly a loud clap of thunder sounds, sending Ioan's horse bolting down the steep mountain side, in a panic my horse follows suit. Unable to stop or slow them down, as we don't know how, we are halfway down the steep slope before the horses come to a halt - Ioans making a dangerous leap on hind legs. Both terrifyied and exhilerated we laugh a little hysterically, not really believing what we had just survived! Ioan, having biked death road the day before exclaims that the horseriding was far more terrifying, oh the irony!

We return to the hostel, via the same random hotel and taxi driver, and exchange stories with Donal who has had a similarly crazy day on death road, finding the cycling itself dangerous but great fun.

An unfortunate chicken gets in the way of one of the bicycles coming to its fateful, obliterated end. The owner of the chicken is outraged and demands repayment. The homeward bound journey includes a broken down bus amidst the heavy rainfall and they all have to get out while the tyre is changed. Heavy fog leads to poor visiblity on the unpaved track, scary with a deep ravine to the buses right hand side. Two girls argue with the bus driver as they are sure to miss their bus at 7pm, they are cranky and rude and even Donal's placid nature is agitated by them.

We laugh and joke about the days events and finish the evening off with a couple of beers and a game of Asshole with our two Welsh buddies, a really great day had by all.