Final Chapter |
Market Day and Celebration
What a pleasure to awaken and have nothing special, and in particular, nothing strenuous to do! Bob and I had a day off - one that we had sorely earned and that we intended to enjoy.Final Climb and Ice Cream
A Bolivian Chola
The chola is a native Bolivian dress that is ubiquitously worn by women who retain the old customs. With several layers of clothing it has the tendency to make the bearer appear overweight. The outfit is not complete without a bowler hat, shawl, and even a baby swaddled in its own layers and borne on the upper back. In La Paz the younger generation tends to western attire, and in particular teenagers enjoy looking as "American" as their financial means (or that of their parents) will allow. It was a little absurd to see students, obviously full-blooded indians, wearing blue jeans and toting walkman radios. Had it not been for their ruddy complexion and relatively slight build, many could have been mistaken for Americans. Insofar as I am on the subject of Bolivians I shall comment a little further. I am constantly alarmed at the lack of obese individuals whenever I travel abroad - for it constitutes a pitiful testimony to the sorry state of the average American's health. Sometimes I think I should have been born and raised in some other country; whereas in the United States one would normally view me as underweight, in most other countries, including Bolivia, I would fit right in. Indeed, in Bolivia there are plenty of younger people who are as skinny as me.Homebound
I awoke a 4 AM and met Walter (who else?) at 4:30 AM waiting for me at street level. The twenty minute ride was through nearly empty streets, for once, and nearly led to disaster when the taxi slowed to a crawl owing to some mechanical problem related to the freezing temperature. After checking in my baggage I was called on the airport PA system and asked to see security. Talk about being alarmed! The airline's scanning device, which possibly uses nuclear magnetic resonance - based technology to locate explosives, had caught the scent of my empty fuel bottle within the duffle bag. I explained that it had been washed thrice with soap and water - the fuel having been placed in an old wine bottle by the hotel bellboy the previous day. Some bigshot said it was OK and I repacked. At the hotel I had intentionally made quite explicit to management my efforts in scrubbing out the fuel bottle in the bathroom. By that means I would have an excuse for the residual odor of fuel that remained fully three days after Bob had dumped his fuel down the drain: the odor would be from my cleaning of an empty bottle - a perfectly legitimate activity in my view. A second search-related event saw myself identifying to authorities the various spices that I kept with me in a tupperware container for use on the flight. The dried milk in particular, being a white flaky powder, may have been mistaken for cocaine. So too the jar of salt. The odor of curry powder served to identify it as well as the jar's label ... as if the yellow color was an insufficient clue by itself.Introduction | Preparation | Ascent |