The bus journey from Copacabana to La Paz proved to be unique in that it didn't take place wholly on land. Leaving Copacabana the bus seemed always to be following Lake Titicaca. We saw it to the left, then the right, then before us and behind. Now, my geography wouldn't win any prizes (except that I once got 100% in the USA geography quiz at school in 1993), but even I knew that in order to get to La Paz we should probably be moving away from the lake. At the very least we were expecting a bridge. The situation that followed could well have featured in a poster campaign for 'Travelling In South America: An Idiosyncratic and Off the Wall Pursuit'. So we all had to get off the bus at this pseudo port and pile into a rickety old fishing boat to, as the chicken jokes go, get to the other side. While on the vessel a German girl asserted 'I'm fine with this. Some people get really seasick, but I'm not one of them No, I'm not feeling sick at all'. Sitting directly opposite her, I instantly thought that the German girl was feeling ill as the proverbial hund and was trying to talk herself out of it. Getting across the pond without being spewed upon was definitely one of my greatest achievements to date (notwithstanding that quiz at school). So, what had become of our bus in the interim? Obviously nearby there was some hastily constructed bridge to cater for the overflow of tourist traffic that has risen over the past few years, a bridge that couldn't take the weight of both passengers and vehicle. Ho ho, not so, as we witnessed our bus floating across the lake on what appeared to be a makeshift raft. I have enclosed a photo here as this mode of transport would be beyond belief for any commuting tube connoisseur. After this delightfully diverting passage, La Paz was a bit of a culture shock after party-centric yet laid back Copa. The steep, narrow and broken pavements and streets are flanked by as many artisan markets selling alpaca jumpers and other diverse wares as can be imagined. However slim the streets might be, you still take your life into your own hands crossing them. Beeping, decrepit buses make their presence known by virtually nudging your legs as you pass. There is no pedestrian right of way per se, although the Bolivian street walkers appear to be used to it, despite the collectivos coursing toward them, probably because the bumper to bumper traffic disallows them squeezing through with their portly frames. It's a wonderful minefield.
The Bolivians are a superstitious bunch. One of their idols is a fat little buddha-like character called Ekeko. The locals have his image in their house and load him up with all the things they want during the forthcoming year. Aspirational items such as cash, SUVs, mansions, lottery tickets and, bizarrely, cigarettes are purchased in miniature and piled onto poor overburdened Ekeko. Then you take your little figurine to a Witch Doctor to be blessed so that the tiny trinkets become a mega reality. Matty and I bought a little wooden carving of Ekeko but strangely couldn't locate a Witch Doctor in La Paz. I'm afraid our ship might not come in on this occasion. At high altitude any beverage you choose to partake of has an accentuated effervescence. Imaginative people as the Bolivians doubtless are, they've managed to cultivate a game from this geographical quirk. If your out on the town with your friends and happen to be sharing an oversized beer, do the pour and observe what fate has decreed. Too much head is a curse to male lager drinkers (we're not in bloody Holland now) but a blessing for those same males in other areas of their lives, where there can never be too much, if you know what I mean. Nudge nudge, wink wink. Anyway, if you're in Bolivia and find yourself with the most frothy beer, you're the lucky one. The next thing you need to do is take a pinch of your beer head and pop in in your pocket. This action apparently guarantees you no end of fiscal wealth in your forthcoming life. A flimsy consolation prize to having less actual beer than everyone elseat the table and more bubbles? Perhaps. It's quite a nice custom nonetheless. Speaking of booze, another fantastic thing about La Paz is it's shower gel. We bought this red wine infused body cleanser from a street vendor, not least because procuring any goods whatsoever from a South American pharmacy is the epitome of a massive faff. So, the pharmacy gig goes thus. You select your chosen toiletry and take it to the counter, cash in hand. The person you've approached at said counter looks befuddled at your brandishing of money so early on in the transaction and issues you with a ticket, stipulating the product you're interested in and it's cost. This ticket then needs to be related to a second pharmacy assistant who is, to all intents and purposes, The Cashier. He or she accepts your ticket, along with the long wielded money, and stamps the document. The next step for the customer is to transport the now validated ticket to the original shop assistant you had dealings with (remember, all those moons ago, when you wanted some SPF15?) who will finally pass you your goods with a receipt. Who would have thought getting some sun lotion on board would be such a time consuming rigmarole? Regardless, how about that red wine flavoured shower gel? To think, I went into the bathroom smelling like booze. Now I can emerge, doused in cosmetic cleansers, smelling not wildly different. I would have loved to have been a fly on the wall of that particular Lux focus group.
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