Plagued by poverty and crime, La Paz, the highest capital in the world at 3 600m, is a daunting city. With a vast majority of the population living in squalor and unemployed, it is unlikely that the city will claim a place on the Top 10 list of where to spend New Year's Eve (as Nikki and I discovered).
Political upheaval and global restrictions on the production of cocaine, have left the country in a major economic recession. The majority of the population, 40%, is under 14, the average women has five or more children, retirement age is 65 and only 4% of the population, due to the harsh lifestyle, live past 60.
A few incidents, involving dubious unregistered taxi drivers, missing tourists and fraudulent credit card transactions, has resulted in security, especially in the tourist areas, being exceptionally high.
Signage in the hotels and hostels, warns against phony security guards and common pick pocketing tactics, which includes spitting on victims.
Splurging on $16 a night for accommodation, our hostel included glorious hot showers and cable TV. Using the high crime levels as an excuse to stay indoors, TV became a new found friend; CSI, Desperate House Wives, Will & Grace, all at a click of a button.
Mesmerised by the allure of cable TV and the distinct lack of advertising for New Year's bashes, by 8pm on the eve in question, we had failed to make any plans. A mild panic had begun to set in and eventually, on the advice of our hostel, we made our way through to an area called Zona So Pocachi, where the activity was said to be taking place.
We were dropped off at a placed called Mongo’s, where “the party stops when the last head hits the table,” or so it boasts, which looked decidedly dead an hour before the clock struck 12. Left standing in the freezing cold by our taxi driver, who zipped off as soon as we had paid him, we decided to review our options and see if anything, anything at all, looked livelier.
By 11.30pm, with the clock ticking, things were not looking good. After we had been turned away by a few places, who claimed to be full, although I’m convinced it was the cargo pants and hiking boots that put them off, we eventually made our way back to the last out post, Mongo’s.
Sipping on a glass of champagne, we sang in the New Year, with a group of about 20 other foreigners who found themselves in the same predicament. Things eventually did heat and fill up and we razzled until about 3am, before heading home to catch a bit more cable. A not too dismal New Year’s after all.
We depart for the Salt Flats tour today, using partly public transport, which I hear is an event in itself and then catch a train through to Uyeni, where we spend the night.
Looking forward to flying in to Buenos Aires over the weekend, sunshine and retail therapy, are in dire need. My limited wardrobe, especially since it has been so freezing, is starting to look tired. And while I have found a delicate affection for my hiking boots, the thought of getting into summer sandals is delicious.
Political upheaval and global restrictions on the production of cocaine, have left the country in a major economic recession. The majority of the population, 40%, is under 14, the average women has five or more children, retirement age is 65 and only 4% of the population, due to the harsh lifestyle, live past 60.
A few incidents, involving dubious unregistered taxi drivers, missing tourists and fraudulent credit card transactions, has resulted in security, especially in the tourist areas, being exceptionally high.
Signage in the hotels and hostels, warns against phony security guards and common pick pocketing tactics, which includes spitting on victims.
Splurging on $16 a night for accommodation, our hostel included glorious hot showers and cable TV. Using the high crime levels as an excuse to stay indoors, TV became a new found friend; CSI, Desperate House Wives, Will & Grace, all at a click of a button.
Mesmerised by the allure of cable TV and the distinct lack of advertising for New Year's bashes, by 8pm on the eve in question, we had failed to make any plans. A mild panic had begun to set in and eventually, on the advice of our hostel, we made our way through to an area called Zona So Pocachi, where the activity was said to be taking place.
We were dropped off at a placed called Mongo’s, where “the party stops when the last head hits the table,” or so it boasts, which looked decidedly dead an hour before the clock struck 12. Left standing in the freezing cold by our taxi driver, who zipped off as soon as we had paid him, we decided to review our options and see if anything, anything at all, looked livelier.
By 11.30pm, with the clock ticking, things were not looking good. After we had been turned away by a few places, who claimed to be full, although I’m convinced it was the cargo pants and hiking boots that put them off, we eventually made our way back to the last out post, Mongo’s.
Sipping on a glass of champagne, we sang in the New Year, with a group of about 20 other foreigners who found themselves in the same predicament. Things eventually did heat and fill up and we razzled until about 3am, before heading home to catch a bit more cable. A not too dismal New Year’s after all.
We depart for the Salt Flats tour today, using partly public transport, which I hear is an event in itself and then catch a train through to Uyeni, where we spend the night.
Looking forward to flying in to Buenos Aires over the weekend, sunshine and retail therapy, are in dire need. My limited wardrobe, especially since it has been so freezing, is starting to look tired. And while I have found a delicate affection for my hiking boots, the thought of getting into summer sandals is delicious.
