Here I am, greater La Paz, Bolivia. HIghest capital city in the world. When we were in the hotel in Lima, we had the option to watch Good Morning America (which like the media deprived mildly homesick news junkie that I am, I was slavish towards) and there was some fool on who was suing Who Wants to Be A Millionaire because he got the question "What is the highest capital city?" and they did not list the correct answer, which is indeed La Paz, Bolivia. The correct answer as far as they had it was Quito, which is the second highest capital city in the world, but he chose Katmandu, which of the answers given was the lowest. As if this was not enough to prove that he was a bit of a dim bulb, his lawyer posited the theory that "the more you know about Quito, the more likely you were to chose another answer". Well, some times I am truly embarrassed to be a lawyer, when you have bozos like that representing us on international television. The more you know about Quito, the more you know it is second only to La Paz in altitude. I hope the judge throws it out and sticks them with costs for what it took ABC to defend it. Generally, I on the side of the little guy, but even little guys sometimes just need to admit when they are wrong and go home. But I digress. Let me begin again.

Here I am in La Paz, Bolivia, the highest capital city in the world. The city itself is in a canyon or valley, depending on who you talk to, but either way there is a rim around it of mountains and things. The rim is at 4000m, La Paz itself is at about 3600 to 3800 depending on where you happen to be standing at the time. Walking around La Paz will sooner or later involve both a lot of uphill and a lot of downhill. And steep ones at that. The city itself is relatively interesting. Not so swish as Lima, but without question more fun to explore than Quito. Steve (who leaves tomorrow at dawn, poor thing) and I met up with two guys on the bus, one English (like Steve) and one from Massachusetts (like me), and we have spent most of the day with them. We went to the Museo de Coca this morning, which is a museum devoted entirely to the history, including current day, of the coca leaf. Coca leaves themselves appear to be pretty beneficial things, and this is well documented. Increase your capacity for hard work, alleviate altitude sickness, vitamins, fiber, local anesthetic properties, the whole nine yards. Then mid 1800s, someone starts refining cocaine out of it and all hell breaks loose. Statistic for the day for you: the US contains 5% of the world´s population, and consumes 50% of cocaine production. According to the US, (at least the South American position maintains) this is the fault of the coca producing countries. I am trying to remember the name of the US political wahoo who declared in the 80s that Bolivian coca crops should be bombed with US naval ships anchored "right off the Bolivian coast". Since Bolivia has no coastline (and is one of the few totally landlocked countries with a navy, which they have to patrol Lake Titicaca), this was generally seen as proof that said politician had been smoking non-Bolivian grade crack.

Personally, I am pro the coca leaves. I did chew them right up the Inca Trail, we all did, and they did help with altitude sickness. And when I got a little woozy, Charo wet a couple and stuck them to my forehead. It also worked. I was not stoned, I was not euphoric or wired on cocaine, the worst side effect was that my gums (since you hold them between your gum and your mouth) went a bit numb. That and the fact that the leaves and the coca tea (which you make by pouring hot water over the leaves) pretty much taste like grass clippings. Interestingly, at this point I would apparently now test postitive for cocaine, just from the coca leaves. Yeah, like a medication dependent epileptic is going to be messing around with cocaine! What am I, stupid?

In the afternoon, after lunch the boys we met (Mike and Serge) went off to visit the prison. This has to be one of the oddest tourist attractions I have ever heard of, and I did not go myself. They said it was great. Its the working prison smack here in the middle of La Paz. If you are a prisoner, you have to pay for your cell, etc, every month, so the prisoners make money through showing tourists around, making handicrafts to sell to the toursits that come in and things like that. There is a small, ripped sign hanging maybe my eye level so no one else really sees it that says on the order of the government it is strictly forbidden for people to enter the prison just for tourist reasons, but the guards dont care, since they are on the take, and loads of people go. Personally, I wasnt having any of it. I just dont think in the middle of a Bolivian prison is the right place for a single woman on her own to put herself. Besides, I have had quite enough adventure in the last week, I really do not need any more. So Steve and I went back to the hotel, rested a little and then met the boys again to wander around the Witches Market and Mercado Negro. The witches market, which is right around the corner from our hotel, contains a lot of odd things, including endangered animal skins, dried baby llama fetuses, statutes to bring luck, etc etc. I bought my friend Lian a statute for luck in love (she will thank me later, I just know it) and bought myself as an ironic joke a little statute of a llama. Imagine my suprise when I found out that it is supposed to bring me good health. Yes sirree bob, that llama knocked me over and I had two of the sickest days of my life ever - good health and llamas are just connected in my mind. The mercado Negro was basically a big, big, big, big market. It was fun. I did a little shopping as I am sending some gifts home with Steve for mailing for Christmas. One of the things I bought were just some little finger puppets for my friend Mark & Lis´ two kids. Then I stopped at another stall for some roasted sugar coated peanuts and noticed that my plastic bag with the puppets was ripping so I asked if I could have another one. The relatively young (20?) woman saw what was in my bag and just started playing with the puppets! It was pretty funny, but she did give them back and a bag without holes as well in the end. It was a relatively quiet day.

Its been that way for a couple of days now. After Cuzco, we whipped out on the train to Puno, since it only runs every Monday, Wednesday and Friday, although given my druthers (and I nearly got my druthers too) I really would have waited and rested up in Cuzco another day. The train though was exceptionally plush, armchairs, tableclothes, china, three course lunch, very Murder On the Orient Express (note to self, read that some day) and just went through incredibly beautiful Peruvian countryside for 10 hours until Puno is reached. Puno, the big port on the Peruvian side of Lake Titicaca (supposedly the worlds highest navigable lake), really isnt that much of a town, but is the big base for exploring the Lake. We only had really a day, so we went to the Uros, which are the floating islands. Floating because they are constructed entirely out of reeds, are staked to stay in place, and have another layer of reeds added either daily or weekly depending on the speed at which the reeds underneath are rotting. They are inhabited by tribes of Indians, and you can go out there, but having gone, I feel it is a little problematic. The main industry now on the islands is tourism, and that means that the Indians wait for the curiious tourists to show up and then try to sell them something. Even the children, who should be attending the islands school in the morning, tend to ignore classes so that they can sing songs for the tourists for tips. This is not good tourism. This is, in fact, pretty awful tourism. I didnt know before I went, but I feel badly to have taken part now.

The next day we had a bus ride to La Paz. This was interesting in its own way. For starters, there was the whole fiasco of crossing the Bolivian border. First,. you get off the bus and find Peruvian exit officials, who stamp your passport. Then you walk up a hill and try to find Bolivian immigration. This can be a little tricky,a s it is an empty office as they are busy searching the luggage you have left on the bus to make sure you arent bringing any thing illegal into Bolivia. Then you get your passport stamped, get back on the bus and immediately notice something. The road is not paved. For about an hour to Copacobana (which is far, far, far, different than the district of Rio de Janeiro, Brasil that bears its name), there is just a narrow dirt track. After Copacobana, there is paved road of a fashion, but then you have to get off the bus again, and the bus is put onto a ferry, which really looks like a giant rowboat, and you get onto a differnt little motorboat to get across a neck of Lake Titicaca. This itself was interesting, as half our bus got on one boat, and the other half (5 of us) had to sit and wait about half an hour while the boat filled to capacity, hoping the entire time that the bus didnt just get fed up and leave without us. Thankfully it didnt, but I have heard stories. Then its a schlep across higher and higher and higher altiplano, until it hits points where the snow capped peaks of mountains are rising from just beyond where the bus is driving, and they are only about 200 m high. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.

That´s it really. An intentionally quiet couple of days. I leave for Chile at 6am Saturday, for the seaside town of Iqueque, from where I will begin the trek (I see a looooooooooong bus ride) to meet Emma at 930 Monday morning. See, I can stay out of trouble.

Love,
Anne