Journey to the Outskirts

Today my friend Rossana took me for a ride in her car (no taxis or minibuses, what a treat) to see the outskirts of La Paz. We didn’t go as far as the areas that are considered the “campo,” where I’ve heard that the poverty and landscapes are truly shocking, but we did drive about an hour outside of the city proper, quite far enough for me to be stunned by the landscapes. On the road that winds down from Sopocachi you pass through the various “barrios” of the Zona Sur, and then as you head past Mallasa and the Valle de la Luna the road starts to get a little bit worn, with increasing numbers of potholes and sections of gravel.

The lower areas afford a better glimpse of the surrounding mountains and hills, and they are unlike any rock formation I have ever seen. Here’s my geeky geologist side surfacing: the bright red, orange, and pink stones (as you can sort-of see from the pictures of the Valle de la Luna) jut into the dazzlingly blue sky in ragged formations of what looks like sandstone. There are houses and little tiendas dotting the sides of the road, perched alongside crumbling rock formations that look like they are made of rough cement. It’s some bizarre mix of desert and barren forests - as the road winds up and down the hills, on one side you have cacti and on the other patches of bright green growing alongside the numerous streams. Some of the hills remind me the badlands of the Southwestern United States or of the weird Hoodoo rock formations in Southern Alberta. But here everything is so much more dramatic. It’s unfortunate that I didn’t have my camera, because my words just can’t do it justice.

Rossana took me to a really great restaurant along the side of the road, which I suppose serves a mixture of “comida típica” and more international entrees. The restaurant itself was an enclosed courtyard, which provided a respite from the dusty road, and as we sat down we were immediately served what looked like a tiny glass of orange juice, but turned out to be something like a Bolivian version of a screwdriver, de gratis. I’ve taken to ordering fish at Bolivian restaurants because being a vegetarian means eating overcooked pasta, French fries, or a salad that has a good chance of making you sick. I ordered the “Trucha a la diabla,” trout from Lake Titicaca in a spicy tomato sauce served with French fries, “arroz chino” (white rice), and salad. The trout, which is a Bolivian specialty, was delicious and tasted surprisingly like salmon (it had the pink color and all). Rossana ordered a typical dish that turned out to be a huge hunk of roasted pork (about 1/ 2 the size of a football) perched on top of sweet potato, an ear of “chuño” (corn), and a roasted plantain…with a salad on the side. I have never seen so much food in my life for $4.50.

On the way back Rossana gave me a tour of the distinct parts of the Zona Sur, which gave me more of an understanding of quite how different the suburbs are form the rest of the city, or say, El Alto. Even more so than the houses I talked about and photographed in Obrajes (where USAID is located), the houses in the more isolated parts of the Zona Sur are huge and stunningly beautiful. While some of them appear to be copies of the ugly modern architecture in the suburbs of the United States, others are colorful and full of character. Every now and then we would catch a whiff of the rivers, open sewage systems, running alongside these ritzy neighborhoods. The terrain is so much more exposed than in the city – you can actually see the jutting cliffs and how the houses have (for the most part) been made to adapt to the ups and downs of the land.

But the Zona Sur really bothers me, not so much because it is a deliberate display of wealth (the people have lighter skin, wear fashionable clothing, and their own sets of stores), but more so because it is an obvious attempt to be separate from the rest of the city. I became almost angry when I saw the Colegio Alemán and the Club Alemán. It’s a very pretty compound - it has patches of green grass, a pool, and beautiful buildings – but more than anything it seemed like a snobby attempt to be isolated from the vibrant culture of La Paz. I suppose I don’t understand what people are thinking when they build a replica of a German institution and when they work so hard to defeat the natural beauty of the land…when the whole point of being a foreigner in a country like Bolivia is (or should be) cultural exchange. After seeing this, I have a better understanding of the signs like “The rich are crying…” that I saw at the Cabildo in El Alto.