It had been another long night of travel in train/bus combo, when we arrived with surprisingly high spirits in La Paz, the capital city of Bolivia. We had been looking forward to Bolivia for such a large part of our trip and La Paz was the one city we may have set exceptionally high expectations for - lucky for us, never for a moment in our short 5-day stay did it cease to amaze. The city itself is built in a canyon of looming mountains and sprawls up the side of them. They say if you are ever lost wandering around the city you can simply walk downhill until eventually you hit the lowest point, which happens to be the main thoroughfare of the city and hence, a good directional landmark. It is a beautiful drive through El Alto (a huge city that has emerged on the plateau of the mountain range) and switchback down the dusty mountainside into the city below, with snowcapped peaks towering in the distance.

Arriving in the bus terminal we quickly left the gaggle of other arriving tourists behind and hopped in a taxi to make our way to the closest and most reasonably priced hostel in our guide, Hostel Millenio. We would soon discover that everything in Bolivia (even in the big city!) is exceptionally cheap and that our money would go about 4 times as far here as anywhere else we had already been. Needless to say, with dwindling bank accounts and perpetually empty pockets this news was music to our ears. We checked into a cozy room with a double bed for less than $8 and wasted no time falling fast asleep, making up for the lost time in transit.We awoke after only a few short hours and accompanied by the grumbling of our bellies we went in search of food. We welcomed the recommendation of the young guy working at our hostel and headed around the corner to a restaurant that was chalk full of Bolivians on the second level of a rather inconspicuous building. Bolivia is well known for its cheap and satisfying almuerzos (set lunches), which typically consist of soup, salad, a main course, dessert, and a beverage for less than $2. It was by far the cheapest and most delicious traditional meal we had enjoyed in ages, officially marking the beginning of a very fruitful love affair with La Paz.

It turned out that our arrival on that particular Friday also happened to coincide with Good Friday of Semana Santa (Easter), during which a frighteningly large portion of the city makes a religious pilgrimage to Copacabana (a town on the shore of Lago Titicaca). Paceños (residents of La Paz) make the 180km journey by foot, bus, or car in order to take part in the festivities. This meant that half of La Paz was missing, giving us the false impression that the city was far quieter and more relaxing than it really was. We passed the afternoon wandering the amazing city, taking in the indigenous women in their traditional skirts and bowler hats and having to turn down the hundreds of shoe-shine boys that wander the city in full ski-masks, "No thanks, I really don´t need my flip-flops shined". Eventually our wanderings landed us in the Plaza Murillo where a crowd of people was slowly starting to gather (everyone who had actually remained in La Paz). The central square was being cleared of people by a number of uniformed officers, all of whom looked under the age of 21. We tried to inquire a number of times about what was happening and received nothing but vague responses from the little boy scouts. After piecing all our information together, we eventually concluded that President Evo Morales might just be making an appearance that afternoon at his Presidential Palace. Evo happens to be Pat's hero - so we waited. And waited some more. And after watching an elaborate procession of about 8 different uniformed military/police sects and an awkward marching band, we finally realized that Evo would not in fact be in attendance that afternoon. It turned out that it was only a gathering of ´important officials´ of whom we knew nothing and cared very little about. Two long and uneventful hours later, we wandered away from the crowds and found a little internet café to catch up on some correspondence.

We decided to find a little pub to have a bite to eat and get a feel for La Paz nightlife, but as we wandered around we became aware of just how many establishments were not even open. We finally resorted to our guidebook and wandered to a café the mentioned called Sol y Luna (Sun and Moon). Arriving at the front door, we saw a poster that began to clarify the closure of so many places, "Due to Semana Santa, it is prohibited to serve alcohol on Thursday and Friday night. We resume full services at midnight Friday evening. We apologize for the inconvenience". As disheartening as this news was, we really were not shocked as Latin American countries tend to have bizarre laws and regulations surrounding religious holidays. We decided to sit for a while in the café anyway and peruse their extensive collection of guidebooks over a nice cup of coffee and some delicious apple pie (all the while hearing the grumbles of other foreigners at nearby tables, who like ourselves, just wanted to ring in a Friday night in La Paz with a celebratory drink!). After some more wandering around we decided to pick up some take out empanadas for supper from the only open restaurant near our hostel. We had forgotten that we still had some wine from our adventures in Argentina and settled in for a romantic meal of take-out with plastic cups of the most glorious Malbec I have ever had. Take that Semana Santa, where there's a will there's a way.

We had decided the day before to leave La Paz for a night and head to the country in order to do a little day-hike we had read about. We enjoyed an amazing breakfast of that our hostel offered of eggs (which were a rarity until then), yogurt, bread, fruit juice, and café for $1.25. Afterwards we packed our small daypacks with a few necessities and left the remainder of our belongings in storage at our hostel. We planned to catch a late combi (mini-bus) to Sorata, which is a little village deep in the Andean mountains, but we had some time to kill until then so I convinced Pat that one more walk through the markets would be good fun. It didn't take long to be laden down with bags of wonderful Bolivian paraphernalia (most of it decorated with some form of llama of course). We bought fabulous oven mitts (wait until you see them!), a couple wool toques, a traditional blanket, and much, much more. Even though every street is chalk full of the same little stores selling much of the same thing, you feel the need to go in every single one - just in case you might find that perfect something waiting for you that you can't find in an of the others. Near the street markets with all the tourist goodies is the witches market, which is a whole new ball of fun. Among the magic potions and hundreds of witchcraft necessities, one can also purchase their very own dehydrated llama fetuses - hair and all depending on its stage of embryonic development! It was a little creepy but the strangeness of it all just made us all the most entertained and intrigued. Llamas weren't all however, as you could buy a bag of dried frogs or insects and even pick yourself up a dried Armadillo! We had our fun and decided it was time to make our way to the Cemetery, from where the buses departed to our desired destination. Our taxi took us to an area which I am sure was very close to the where we had wanted to go, but being a block or two from the main area we found ourselves just a little uncomfortable. We reluctantly go out of the cab to the shouting of a couple young man competing for passengers in their vehicles to Sorata. We had originally wanted to go in a tourist bus due to the fact that they are larger and safer and we had heard a few horror stories about hijackings along the way. Without such a bus in sight however, we ended up paying the $2 fare and climbed aboard the little van-like automobile. With only a few minutes until departure, we began thinking we were the only people going for the ride and became even more sketched out - the only thing more disconcerting than being caught in a crowd of people in Latin America, is finding yourself all alone. We shouldn't have let ourselves get so caught up in the idea however, because as the driver started the engine 13 Bolivians scrambled into the van. Within seconds we were crammed into a corner and "extra" seats were appearing out of nowhere, because like the Latin American motto states - why waste an inch of unoccupied space? After a solid 15 minutes of rearranging and settling in we started to leave the city, making our very slowly up the side of the mountain. At the very top we found ourselves in El Alto and also stopping to pick up a couple more old indigenous women making their way home from the market. With 18 people in our little combi no bigger than a mini-van, we were on our way! The other passengers must have thought we were either lost or crazy, as we were definitely the only tourists for miles. The trip took us through amazing scenery, the snow-capped mountains became less distant and the dusty bustle of La Paz was quickly being replaced by lush green pastureland.

We arrived in the sleepy little pueblito of Sorata as the sun was setting. It had been a hair-raising descent down the mountain and I was very relieved to have my feet finally on solid ground. We went immediately to the Sorata Association of Guides to find ourselves a local who would accompany us on a hike the following morning. For about $10 we were able to hire Octavio, an elderly man who looked about 80, to lead us on the half day journey up and down a nearby mountain. That settled, we wandered around to a few of the local hostels in the main square but were turned away at all of them (or turned away ourselves due to less than acceptable states of cleanliness). Surprised at how many Bolivians (and Israelis) had also found there way to Sorata we headed down the road to a hostel perched on the side of the mountain with a great view - which was about the only thing going for it as the owner was a real grouch. It was here that we finally found a room, one that we paid too much for, but a room nonetheless. We set off to gather a few food items for the following day and to find ourselves some dinner. Our guide book mentioned a plethora of Italian eateries in the Plaza as well as one place that served Mexican food - we were sold. After some rather satisfying tacos heaped with guacamole, we retired for the evening as the next day would see a very early start.

We awoke at 6am to a crisp, clear morning in the valley. Leaving most of our personal items in storage we took off with our daypacks of food and a few warm items to meet Octavio at the office. Ready and waiting he was and we wasted no time heading out of town. Octavio was a very nice old man with sandals that had more than passed the test of time. With no English, a little Quechua (the indigenous language), and apparently Spanish, we found ourselves trying to converse. To be quite honest, I wasn't sure if the man actually spoke Spanish, since not a single word that came out of his mouth sounded like anything I had ever heard. The most perplexing and entertaining thing about Octavio, was his response to the plethora of questions that Patrick kept tossing his way. His standard answer consisted of either a "yes" or a "no" - even when the question may have been "What is our altitude right now?" What a wonderful man. I had been sick for a number of weeks off and on, so the hike which had started out relaxing and leisurely quickly started to take a turn for the worse. The hike would take us up about 1500m in about 3 hours and with every step I coughed a wheezed more. The coughing and wheezing made my nose run which in turn impeded my breathing which caused me to hack up yet another lung. Needless to say, Pat had never been more attracted to me and I'm pretty certain Octavio thought he would have to carry my body down the mountain. We started taking a few moments to rest every 5 minutes, which also allowed us to take in the absolutely breath-taking scenery (in my case, quite literally). The lush green pasture cultivated in such an interesting manner makes the landscape appear like a well-used patchwork quilt. Every so often we would pass an old indigenous woman tending to her flock of sheep, sitting on the side of a hill working on some sort of craft for the market, and barely bothering us with more than a glance. In just under 4 hours we reached our final destination which was Laguna Challata, at the very top of the mountain. We had read and been told how beautiful it was and how worth it the intense hike to the top would be when we saw it. I'd say it was more than a slight exaggeration, as we emerged over the last rise to see no more than a pond. The clouds were starting to roll in at such high altitude and the wind whipped right through my clothes. With below zero temperatures we put on a few more layers of clothing, which until that moment we had felt foolish for packing since we had been dripping in sweat beforehand. It was also lunchtime, so we dined pond-side on some fresh buns with dulce de leche (a sort of caramel spread that is a hearty companion to any meal), oranges, cookies and Ritz crackers - more or less a meal of champions. Out of the wind behind a giant rock, I had begun to warm up a little and we were preparing for our descent. Realizing we didn't need the remainder of our food as much as Octavio and his family might (and as always we had more than either of us needed), we passed it along to our guide. Down we went and smiles were all around - at least for the first while, when the pain of the uphill part is still fresh in your mind and the frustration of the downhill bit has yet to sink in. It took us a mere hour and a half to reach town once again, but we took a few moments to appreciate the beauty that lay ahead all around us. Arriving back in Sorata, we said our goodbyes to Octavio and left him with a tip to show our appreciation. The man had more than kicked my ass up that mountain - respect.

With the stiffness settling into our (my) bones, we went in search of a bite to eat. It had been a beautiful hike, but it had also turned out to be much tougher than anyone had led us to believe. We had hiked much higher than we had ever been and much higher than we would find ourselves throughout the remainder of our trip - even Machu Pîcchu is situated at a lower altitude. While I was still surprised I made it to the top alive, it was still a sense of accomplishment - probably the best part about hiking - and made us realize that any hiking after that would be a breeze. It was time to find a bus back to La Paz, as we weren't prepared to spend another night and our hotel back in the city was expecting us. We went to both tiny offices that offered transfer back to the city but they each said their buses were full (we had hoped to get on a real bus this time as well, since the first experience left our stomachs and minds a little uneasy). It was beginning to look like all the combis were filled for at least the next few hours and we were starting to get a little worried. As we wandered away from the office wondering what the hell we were going to do stuck in Sorata, a nice looking gentleman hollered after us and shouted that he had room for us to La Paz. We took a sigh of relief, gathered our belongings from storage and stood in the plaza looking for the man. We couldn't see the man at first because we were looking to the line-up of combis to see which one was his. Soon we realized that he wasn't official transport at all, simply a nice gentleman who was taking his family back to the city after a weekend visiting relatives in Sorata. Nobody travels anywhere in Bolivia with an empty seat in their vehicle, so like any other person with some sense this gentleman saw a great opportunity to fill a couple seats in his Jeep with two tourists who were likely to pay more than the average Bolivian (it's a good way to cover the cost of gas!). Afraid we weren't going to make it back to La Paz any other way and realizing how nice the family actually seemed, we climbing in the comfortable Jeep and were on our way (for about $5 - only double the price of the regular bus… what suckers we are J ). The drive was ridiculously quick for the first leg of the trip, taking corners at a far better clip than the rickety old combis we were accustomed to. We stopped only a few times to pass some bread or small change to the kids on the side of the road, who were working really, really hard to clear the rocks and dirt off the road due to some minor avalanches - or so they make you think. After seeing them both on the way to Sorata and on the return trip, we started to wonder if they actually covered the road with dirt themselves to give them something to do and a way to scam money - one should never underestimate the little entrepreneurs of Latin America. More than halfway back to La Paz (and in a quarter the time it took us the first time), we realized what a bad day for driving we had chosen. You may recall the empty city of La Paz we had found upon our arrival, due to the hordes of Bolivians who fled town to spend the weekend in Copacabana? Well, the traffic from our road merged with ALL of the traffic returning to the city from Copacabana, making the journey nothing short of hell. The whole thing ended up taking about 7 hours (double the first trip!) as we inched along with thousands of other cars for miles. However, it was quite the spectacle to see - all the walks of life returning from their religious pilgrimages, the unloading of dozens of people and animals from the back of huge grain trucks on the side of the road, periodically as they passed local villages. It was simply one more of those frustrating, yet awe-inspiring events in South America, which eventually makes you laugh and wonder if it really could have been as horrible as you had imagined. We finally returned to the standard hustle and bustle of the Latin American metropolis of La Paz, and realized that it is an entirely different city when half of its residents are actually accounted for. It had been an exhausting day so upon returning to Hostel Millenio and our very same room we quickly settled in again and were out for the count.

We had originally planned a day-hike with a tour agency to the top of a nearby mountain for the following morning. I don't think I could have been more grateful to hear the news that the trip had been cancelled by the agency, as I rolled out of bed the next morning with a few aches and pains. With a whole day to do nothing but relax we were elated. We collected our laundry that we had given to our hostel before we left for Sorata, and I quickly discovered a few items missing (essential ones I might add!). I went downstairs to inquire and the lady at the front desk made a quick phone call home to see if they could recover the items - they turned up right away, which began to make Pat and I a little skeptical that perhaps they had intentionally taken the items in the hopes that I wouldn't notice they were gone. While this may seem paranoid, it definitely is not a practice that would seem all that unthinkable. Happy to have recovered my clothes, we reluctantly submitted another load of laundry (unfortunately it was just so cheap and we were too lazy to go anywhere else). We would later confirm our suspicions when our clean clothes were returned once again and Pat was also missing one of his favorite shirts - it turned up almost as soon as Pat questioned its whereabouts… strange? I think so. Our day was spent at the market buying a ridiculous amount of ridiculously cheap Bolivian souvenirs, we caught up a little more with our correspondence, and we watched Blood Diamond curled up on the couch in our hostel. That evening we ventured to and English pub that was hilariously obnoxious and had the most entertaining promotional flyer we had ever seen (it even had the balls to say "Don't bother coming if you're a complaining Israeli!"). We had some delicious Sheppard's Pie, a few pints of wonderfully dark beer, and a deep fried Mars bar. All was right with the world… so we went to bed.

The next day would mark an adventure of a lifetime. We signed up to do the World's Most Dangerous Road, a trip which took us from La Paz to Coroico on mountain bikes, an 80km or so journey which plunges over 3000m. It is called the "Death Road" because it has the most fatalities annually (over 100 on average). We went with a company called Solario, one of the cheaper ones that offered tons of extra amenities and did not cut costs in terms of safety. While many of the other tours (which offered virtually the same thing with maybe slightly better bikes) cost $70-$80, we paid $40 for an amazing experience that will not soon be forgotten. After another heart breakfast (which was included in the cost of our tour) we were picked up by the tour agency in a bus that was already filled with the rest of our group. In total there were 9 bikers (2 of which happened to be from Edmonton and another from Regina!), 2 guides, a driver, and one English girl who just came along for the terrifying ride down the mountain in the van. The first part of the bike ride was on a paved highway, which was really a lot of fun as long as you managed to make the corners and avoid the oncoming semi-trucks. We had quite a fast group as most were lacking a little in the fear department, so at some points we were easily going 65km/hr. After passing through the checkpoint and drug inspection station (where we weren`t inspected at all), we made a pit stop for snacks. Our agency made sure to pump us full of sugar, providing us with bananas and chocolate bars and bottles of water. After about and hour and a half on the highway we slowed down and veered to the left. It was there that the real Death Road began, as the pavement ended and we would find ourselves on a less-forgiving "gravel" road. Two years previous they built the new highway to Coroico and that is now the route that most of the traffic takes. However, up until just 2 years ago that very gravel road that we were about to take off down, was the only way of passage to the distant village. The new highway is 20km longer than the old route, but clearly takes far less time due to fewer hair-pin curves and plunging cliffs.

We stopped for photo ops and snacks every once in a while, making sure to get our picture standing on the edge of the biggest cliff - and also where the most deaths have occurred. There are quite a few graves and crosses placed in the ground on the corner to remember those who had died - slightly eerie. Our downhill journey finally ended in Coroico, where we rid ourselves of the spandex and had a celebratory beer for surviving. Our last stop was at a nice hotel on the side of the mountain where we were able to swim in their glorious pool with great views of the valley and have a really nice lunch. Little did we know while we were sitting around waiting to head back to La Paz that these teeny tiny little bugs were attacking all of us (except for Pat... grrr). The welts began to emerge a few short minutes later and the itching pain that ensued was unlike anything I have ever experienced. With hundreds of bites all over my legs and arms I almost lost my mind over the next few days, itching them until I had literally clawed away my skin. Good times - even better that we would encounter those very same bugs not more than a week later on the way to Machu Picchu!!! Everyone who wasn`t busy itching was nearly passed out on the drive back into the city. It was an amazing experience and more than enough to get me going as an official adrenaline junkie.

We arrived rather late to La Paz, so upon deciding to meet our crew for dinner and drinks we only had time for a quick shower and a few internet errands. Deciding it was best for us to eat street food instead of eating at the pub (to save a little money) we ended up wandering through the market one more time, enjoying a meal of champions - hot dog, sausage, and another hot dog. We met our Canadian and British friends at the English pub we had been to the night before and passed a couple hours over a couple pints. Eventually we said our goodbyes, made the exchange of information, and went our seperate ways. The following morning was the day we would part ways with the wonderful city of La Paz. We packed our stuff and settled our debts at our wonderful hostel and eventually made our way to the Cemetery (for real this time) where we found a bus headed to Copacabana on the shore of Lago Titicaca. La Paz was amazing and we regret not having been able to spend more time there. It was by far our most favorite city in our favorite country in South America and we will return one day to give Bolivia the attention it so rightly deserves.