The Three Mile High City

La Paz. Entering from El Alto, your bus suddenly drops into a crater-lake valley impressed into the high plain. The city doesn't spill down from the rim so much as it explodes up and out from the center, littering the valley's sides and beyond with some of the poorest suburbs I've seen. The city is of a more manageable size than Lima, though I have yet to explore it fully, given all the social events going on. Maeve, who is now gone from me, booked a flight to the jungle and is now there trekking and trying to avoid malaria. Our first night, we went to a live music bar with a Dutchman and an Israeli to experiment with my doctor's "advice" and, hey, not even a hangover the next morning. The next day, Maeve somehow got me to follow her from shop to shop trying on rings. I found a nice jacket for myself, though, which I am almost just about to buy for the plum sum of 120 Bolivianos (7.6 to the $). I also found another Japanese person to talk to. This has become one of the highlights of my trip. In the evening, we had arranged to meet even more Israelis, the Dutchman, the Japanese, and other persons, but most of them didn't show up for reasons unknown, so just the few of us went to a gringo bar in the gringo neighborhood, just like gringos. And we drank for sport. At one point, I needed to use the toilet. Wasn't I surprised when I recognized the woman who came out (of the men's room)? Rebeka from Perth, Australia, from La Casa de la Gringa in Cuzco, who was there with her Swedish boyfriend and New Zealandish other friend. So they joined us, and we finally had a serious party going. Somehow, we ended up going back to the bar of the previous night. Somehow, I ended up dancing like a lunatic from midnight until 4 am. Somehow, I am still functioning enough right now to make this blog entry. Somehow, but I don't know how. So much for doctors' advice.