Breathless in Bolivia

I realized that for future trips I should probably try to leave San Diego at night, when I can’t see what I am leaving. It was a clear, fine October day, and a new south swell was hitting the coast. Torture and regret as I watched from I-5 going past Camp Pendleton on my way to LAX.

So I arrived this morning in La Paz, Bolivia, landing at the world’s highest international airport (it clocks in with an altitude at over 12,000 feet). The thing to do when arriving suddenly at elevation is to rest, which wasn’t hard, given that I had slept only about ½ hour on the flight from Miami.

The airport is 1500 feet higher than the city, which is situated in ravine carved by the Choqueyapu River, a location chosen by the Spaniards 500 years ago to protect against the harsh winds that sweep across the Altiplano. The arrival and descent show a very brown, treeless landscape – the dry winter season has just ended and the rains will come soon.

I arrived sullen from lack of sleep and the sudden realization that I am back in a third-world country with all the attendant inconveniences. But in only a few hours the Pacenos have won me over. People are so nice. Not nice in the Thai-deferential way that makes you wonder what they are saying behind your back. Nice in the warm, hospitable and unassuming way that I suppose is common in many Latin American countries.

So far people have been very patient with my rusty Spanish; I can usually find the words to convey my thoughts, but it sometimes take a few repeats before I get the questions put to me. It’s been 2 ½ years since I used Spanish, so I am hoping it will get a bit easier in the coming weeks.