May 13-18, 2026

We spent the last days in Santa Cruz, from where we also flew. We wanted to be there a bit earlier to spend some quiet time before departure and also because there was a lot of unrest and roadblocks in Bolivia at the time, which made us a bit anxious about getting stuck somewhere and missing our flight.

Santa Cruz is not an exceptionally beautiful city like Sucre, but we had a great time because we experienced a lot of art and culture again. We had met an artist from Belgium in Samaipata, who was working in a gallery in Santa Cruz for a while, and she gave us many fantastic tips. We attended a fantastic exhibition, saw the Bolivian band Savia Andina live in concert, and went to a Psy-Cumbia party. The highlight was Saturday because it was the Night of Museums in Santa Cruz, and somehow it turned into a huge folk festival - the whole city flocked to the center, all galleries and museums were open, there was traditional music, many small stalls and markets, and live performances by artists.

On May 18, we spent the day at the city's botanical garden and chilled with the crocodiles. In the evening, we headed to the airport and flew back via Madrid... with a mix of nostalgia and joy for home :)

May 10-13, 2026

As our penultimate stop, we wanted to take in some nature again and visited the remote Amazon region near the city of Trinidad. There was a reserve where you could sleep and from which you could take tours along the river. It was truly beautiful and very natural! The operators had rescued and rehabilitated animals from captivity, so there were several macaws and a monkey roaming the grounds. We also saw caimans, 'pink' river dolphins, a small snake, piranhas, a howler monkey, and many birds. Aminu even swam in the river, just a few meters away from a dolphin!

In Samaipata, you meet many other backpackers and hippies, so you have to be careful not to get stuck.

El Fuerte - Ancient Inca ruins

Refugio de colibris - a garden of a super nice grandma, with tons of hummingbirds

Amboró National Park - Huge fern plants

April 30 - May 3, 2026

After a wild bus ride through the foothills of the Andes, we have arrived in Cochabamba, the culinary capital of Bolivia. We enjoyed delicious meals here and had a wild party night where we met some very nice Bolivians and shared another meal together. Additionally, we explored the largest open-air market in South America - there was truly everything available, from food to TVs, shoelaces, and wigs. We also visited a mountain in the northern part of the city, where a giant statue of Christ stands, and on the way up, the crucifixion is depicted with further statues.

Subsequently, we traveled on to the backpacker village of Samaipata, and the journey there was also beautiful!

After a long bus ride, we arrived in Uyuni, Bolivia.

There we took a tour to the salt flats, and our first stop was an old train graveyard.

On October 15, it finally began: the 40-hour journey with the nearly on-time ICE to Frankfurt Airport and 4 hours later with Air Europa to Madrid. What was supposed to be a 90-minute layover there turned into 3 1/2 hours. Boarding was announced but not carried out... Information? Why bother? Then we flew for about 11 hours over the Atlantic and the Brazilian rainforest. At 3 AM, there was dinner on board. Considering the 6-hour time difference between Germany and Bolivia, it was only 9 PM there. Because it was still night, we couldn't see anything, but there were frequent announcements to fasten seat belts due to harmless turbulence, and I had nice conversations with my Bolivian seatmates after dozing off. At 7 AM local time, we landed at the Viru Viru International Airport in Santa Cruz de la Sierra, Bolivia.

At Fabian's father's place, where he lives with his family, I was allowed to shower while he prepared a delicious breakfast with scrambled eggs for me. Just 3 hours later, we took a taxi to the airport for the domestic flight to Cochabamba. There, I was warmly welcomed by Isabel. I also got to know her two workplaces as a psychologist at the German school Federico Fröbel and as a lecturer in psychology at the Catholic University of Cochabamba. Isabel is the mother of my Bolivian friend Noelia, who lives in Hildesheim. With her warm hospitality, I was able to settle into the familiar yet unfamiliar Bolivia in her house during the first days. This made the transition very easy for me. 

The following photos are to capture the first days of experiencing beautiful spots in Cochabamba, dealing with jetlag, and regular coffee visits for relaxation, along with the wonderful excursion to the Christo de la Concordia on a hill in the middle of Cochabamba. 

On Wednesday evening, I will fly to Tarija, the city where I lived and worked from 1991 to 1998, where my two children were born, and where several friends from 'back then' are looking forward to seeing me again. The last time I was there was briefly in April 2017. My friend Carmen is especially excited. This time, we will have more time to chat, as I will be staying with her.

To be continued. 

After crossing the border and receiving the Bolivian stamp, we headed to Copacabana (3800m) - a charming little town located right by Lake Titicaca. At lunchtime, we frantically calculated the best current currency for Bolivia, as the Boliviano is hardly worth anything due to the oil crisis and the upcoming elections. So we exchanged USD on the 'market'. https://www.jungewelt.de/loginFailed.php?ref=/artikel/495854.devisenmangel-bolivien-auf-dem-trockenen.html 🏦

We spent the rest of the day at the lakeshore, at a viewpoint (which takes your breath away at such altitude!) and checking into our hotel. What we didn't know yet... it would be the worst night of our trip! With nighttime temperatures around 2°, no insulation in the rooms, no heating, no hot water, and filthy beds with stains, hair, crumbs, and chewed gum between the countless blankets... yes, we cried ourselves to sleep and checked out early after a terrible breakfast and catching a cold the next morning! That was too much! ❄️🏨 Fortunately, the hotel next door had a room available for the next night! In the afternoon, we went on a boat trip to Isla del Sol. ☀️ 🛥️

After a warm, restful night, we set off for La Paz, where we realized that this time we couldn't spontaneously get tickets like usual - all buses were booked. 🫠 So, we took the local bus with the locals on a beautiful, wild bus and ferry ride. We still wonder how the bus managed to cross the lake with the tiny raft. 🛶🚎

In La Paz, we stayed with a lovely family in their home and explored the city on our free day, visiting the witch market for typical Patagonia sweaters and observing protests for the upcoming elections next week. 🏙️🛍️

Early in the morning, our homestay mum drove us to the airport, where we passed a terrible accident with fatalities and unfortunately had to witness the 'police work' here...

Our flight destination: Uyuni, the largest and highest salt flat in the world 🏜️🚐🦩

We spent the next 3 days in the desert, which became the most beautiful time of my entire trip! Incredibly beautiful nature, fascinating animals, such a great group, and our guide Vladdi from Skyline Traveller made even the freezing nights (-12°) at the local tribal hangout a wonderful experience. 🌙🌌

On the last day, the goodbye was hard as our group parted ways, and we concluded our tour in San Pedro de Atacama, Chile. 🇨🇱

Question: Why is a llama called a llama? :)

After the warm bath, we had lunch with a fantastic view of the seemingly endless expanses of the Andes before heading to the red lagoon, where thousands of flamingos live.

We spent our first night at over 4000 meters above sea level; while my headaches were manageable, I still got a bag of coca leaves. Why should I refuse this natural and affordable medicine at 80 cents? Chewing on the leaves and then putting them in your cheek briefly numbs your tongue, and your appetite, thirst, and headaches quickly vanish - like cocaine, but healthier. 😉

The next morning, we continued around 8 a.m., with canyons, rock formations, deserts, and lagoons, I couldn’t stop marveling. In the evening, we also went to a train graveyard. Here, old locomotives were dismantled since they were no longer needed after the gold rush. We spent the sunset with rum and cola here, while all the other groups were already in Salar de Uyuni for the sunset. This caused a bit of unrest between our fellow travelers and our guide; ultimately, we perhaps shouldn’t have gone with the cheapest provider. Well, even though the sunset would have surely been beautiful, we’re coming back here tomorrow for the sunrise.

And so, our alarm went off at 4:30 a.m. so we could be there in time for the sunrise.

And what can I say, I was in awe. Minute by minute, the colors changed from purple to pink to rose, yellow towards blue, and because of the water on the salt, it looks like we are standing on a giant mirror.

I, of course, joined in on a few funny group photos; I didn’t want to be the German party pooper, but when it came to a photo that was supposed to look like a dinosaur was chasing me, I opted out. But one thing is certain: this is a unique place in the world and absolutely stunning. The Uyuni salt flat is the largest in the world. It formed millions of years ago when the tectonic plates were not yet pushed against each other and still lay below sea level. Slowly, the mountains rose up to nearly 4000 meters; the water evaporated, leaving the salt behind. The mountains in the background are up to 120km away and can only be seen because they are so high; otherwise, they would have disappeared beyond the horizon. The salt is up to 5 meters thick!

In the afternoon, we went to the former richest city in the world, Potosi. The city became extremely wealthy due to its mining past. The Cerro Rico mountain houses silver, copper, lead, and zinc. Silver was mined in large quantities during the colonial times of the Spaniards; even today, 11,000 miners still work here. Unfortunately, they work under the same conditions as 100 years ago; there are no machines, everything is brought to the surface with 200-kilo carts (when they are empty) over broken and old tracks. In case of oncoming traffic, the empty cart is tipped to the side at a wider spot to allow the full one, now weighing 1000 kilograms, to pass. The carts are pushed by only two people, even at warm and dusty 30 degrees inside the mine.

The mountain is also referred to as

Back in La Paz, we indulged again in excessive rides on the Teleferico in perfect weather; you can never get enough of this. This mode of transport is simply brilliant for this city, even though it could never be implemented in Germany in this manner. What would happen if we just zipped over a cemetery or a rooftop terrace?

We also explored the area around La Paz. Booking excursions here was significantly more expensive than in Peru, despite the generally lower cost of living, and ultimately turned out to be just a transport service without a competent guide or anything similar. The transport was an outdated Collectivo, essentially a total wreck. During the ride, we tried to hold on somehow, but we kept banging our heads against the ceiling. The overall driving style of the road users was questionable to suicidal; another car even rammed into us (exactly in the corner where Freddy was sitting), but the driver didn’t even stop and just plowed on. This wasn’t the first accident our vehicle experienced and certainly won’t be the last; who cares about a little crumpled metal?

First, we went to the Valle de la Luna, which supposedly got its name from Neil Armstrong, who played golf nearby and felt reminded of his moon trip. It consists of a small area of claystone where stalagmite-like formations have formed due to erosion, which are subject to changes with every rain. Admittedly, it didn’t completely blow us away after our experiences in the Atacama Desert, but it was quite nice. The most interesting thing is probably the dispute surrounding this area. It officially belongs to the city of La Paz, which has declared it a protected area. However, the neighboring municipality (we can’t remember if it was El Alto or another) also lays claim to it and allows people to build here. As a result, more and more of the fragile formations are being destroyed, and there are a considerable number of buildings that are at risk of collapsing during any major storm on this completely unsuitable ground.

After that, we traversed the city again through the rough traffic to reach Chacaltaya, once the highest ski resort in the world. The way led through a not particularly beautiful landscape, passing many small junk heaps and little settlements where apparent high poverty prevailed. The people we saw were mainly occupied with patching up the holes in the very damaged roads (for which they receive a bit of money from passing cars), sorting scrap, and washing laundry in the river. Our junk bus was painfully making its way up the mountain over bad roads on steep slopes. More than once, we thought we’d end up smashed hundreds of meters further down. After what felt like an eternity, we first passed a research station for cosmic radiation. Here, measurements are taken to monitor changes in the atmosphere, and data on global warming is collected for the IPCC (Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change of the United Nations); it is apparently the highest station of its kind in the world. Shortly thereafter, we reached the half-collapsed 'valley station' of the former ski lift, which stood completely lost in the middle of nowhere on a slope. Nearby, there was even a hut belonging to the Austrian Alpine Club, which, however, has been abandoned since the ski operations ceased. Instead, a few locals resided there, who would later sell us lukewarm coca tea in a half-collapsed common room. A very strange and sad sight. It took us a moment to even grasp where skiing used to take place, as the former glacier has shrunk over the years due to global warming and completely disappeared by 2009. A fate that it shares with many glaciers in the area, as hardly anywhere else do the glaciers melt as quickly as in the tropical Andes, with devastating consequences for the region but also for the world climate (here’s a rather interesting article on the topic, though it’s already from 2020: https://monde-diplomatique.de/artikel/!5688407).

From here, we began the relatively short steep ascent over the scree field with a few small patches of snow to the summit, feeling again like we were in a steam engine mode due to the altitude. But even the severely altitude-sick Korean couple in sneakers managed to make it, even though they looked really rough. And here we were, at almost 5400 m, in the icy wind, gazing from the rusty remnants of the ski lift into a largely snow-free environment, with the sea of houses in La Paz peeking out through the clouds far below. Probably the highest point we will reach on our journey (unless we end up going to the Karakoram or Himalayas), and we felt quite melancholic. Because you could see climate change so clearly here, and one felt helpless. Because it was simply the decadent nonsense of building a lift in the middle of nowhere for some super-rich people. Because the effects of climate change also predominantly hit the poor here.

After the descent, it was a bumpy and lengthy return along the same way, and we decadent world travelers, who also do not contribute positively to the overall situation, prepared ourselves mentally, spiritually, and morally for the long bus ride from La Paz to Lima.

After the impressive experiences in Potosí, we have to admit that the altitude does not treat us well in the long run. And since we also do not feel like going on a multi-day tour where we mostly have to be stuck in a car, we are skipping the must-see in Bolivia, the Salar de Uyuni. We feel that Bolivia is a country we cannot fully appreciate on this trip and that we need to visit again one day, so this experience is postponed to some time in the future.

Instead, we made our way to Cochabamba, which is significantly lower at 2500 meters. The plan was to visit the Toro-Toro National Park, where one can find dinosaur tracks alongside wonderful flora and fauna. However, we were still feeling quite unwell, which led us to repeatedly postpone our trip to the park by Collectivos, and we were not very active in the city either. Cochabamba turned out to be unremarkable, and even managing basic tasks like doing laundry was a challenge for us. The visit to the local monastery was the highlight of the city, but we must admit that we had seen it more beautifully and more often during our travels in Arequipa.

In the end, we had to reluctantly admit that our bodies longed for warmth and rest, and we should head back in the direction of Peru. But we will come back, Bolivia.

So we made our way back to La Paz, where we wanted to spend a few more days before the big jump to Lima. The bus was significantly delayed en route due to service work on the bus's cooling water system and ultimately ended up in El Alto with an accident, leading to an early exit from the bus and continuation in a taxi to our hostel. Unfortunately, no one was there when we arrived, and our previous messages had also been ignored. Luckily, a guest helped us into the hostel, from where we were able to contact the owner and received instructions over the phone on how to get to our room. Very late and very exhausted, we fell into bed.

Now we headed to Potosí, a city that holds great historical significance for Bolivia. The journey was unremarkable by intercity bus, but the mountain views were quite nice.

Potosí is located in the south and has nearly 175,000 inhabitants. The city's landscape is heavily influenced by the Spanish, featuring a beautiful, albeit somewhat dilapidated, colonial-style old town. The atmosphere is pleasant, but there is too much traffic and pollution, along with good beer and a vibrant community filled with many festivals, demonstrations, and parades. Marching music was constantly in the air!

The most important aspect for the city is mining in the 4,800-meter-high Cerro Rico ('rich mountain'), which also played a crucial role in Europe's wealth. Its rich treasures, massive silver veins, zinc, and other minerals were mined by the Spaniards mainly in the 16th to 18th centuries, flooding Europe with vast amounts of wealth that played a crucial role in financing the early capitalist economy and thus paving the way for the industrial revolution. From the Spanish crown to the Fugger family in Augsburg, the silver was utilized and initiated a profound and lasting transformation of economic and social conditions in Europe and the USA. Allegedly, the dollar sign was even invented here. To this day, the Spanish saying 'vale un Potosí' translates to 'it's worth a fortune.'

Cerro Rico is also referred to as 'the mountain that eats men.' Indeed, the story of the mountain seems like a singular dystopian nightmare, as the Spaniards acted here – as they often did on this continent – not as humanitarians. It is estimated that alone 8 million indigenous forced laborers perished in the mine under inhumane working conditions. As these workers became scarce, African slaves were brought to Potosí, many of whom died due to the low-oxygen high-altitude air before they could be deployed underground.

Even though silver is no longer as valuable as it once was and the major silver veins have run dry, mining is still taking place in Cerro Rico today, under unimaginable conditions that closely resemble those of the 16th century. Death is a constant companion of the workers here as well, and one can only hope that mining will be halted quickly due to declining economic viability (though we are not optimistic that this will happen).

The mountain, which has been hollowed out for over 600 years, is in acute danger of collapse and sinks deeper every year, often by several centimeters. It is only a matter of time before a major collapse occurs. When that might happen is unknown, as there is no monitoring or any form of mining planning in place, let alone trained professionals working in the mountain. The Bolivian government does not cover itself in glory and keeps its distance. The mining operations are controlled by cooperatives that, according to what we have heard, tend to exploit the workers and are also in competition with each other.

Despite the adverse conditions, jobs in the mine are desirable since the salaries are higher than elsewhere in the region, and the hope of potential wealth is too alluring. There are no significant safety measures (one even has to buy their own helmet) or detailed mining plans with geotechnical calculations. The life expectancy of the workers is only 40-50 years, and hardly anyone manages to work in the mine for more than 10 years before respiratory diseases become too severe. And every day, people die in the mine due to accidents. Child labor is also unfortunately not uncommon, especially when the breadwinner of the family dies in the mine.

However, we did not know all these details and did not want to miss out on a visit to the mine. In Chile, we had already seen open-pit mining, and we found it exciting to now go underground.

So, we booked a tour in the city, visiting two mining areas connected by a 65-meter-long tunnel, and we would also witness detonations. So far, so good!

Then we were outfitted: work pants, a work jacket, rubber boots, and a helmet with a miner's light. We had brought our own dust masks.

We continued on the bus, facing heavy traffic up the mountain. Many trucks lined the roadside or queued at gas stations, sometimes waiting days due to a severe diesel shortage before they could proceed. In the dust clouds, animals grazed by the roadside, and young mothers with babies often sat on rocks. Our mountain guides (former miners and a few very young women) tried to create a vibe like on a school trip with free coca leaves and casual remarks, a bit overly energetic and too cheerful.

At the tunnel entrance, it looked more like a mining museum than an active mining site. Quickly, we paid our respects to 'Uncle' El Tío, who sat in a wall niche smeared with llama blood and surrounded by streamers, offering us a mini shot of alcohol, with a generous portion sprayed on the odd statue, hoping he would be favorable to us.

Then we headed inside. Immediately it became tight, with poor air quality, dust (asbestos-laden; sometimes you only realize how clever that decision was afterward), muddy and dark, very dark. We were led through a maze of tunnels, where we constantly had to dodge carts being pushed by workers in jogging pants, only powered by muscle and at breakneck speed through tunnels not even tall enough for a man. The passages were so narrow that one had to press against the wall and often had to place one foot over the other to let the carts pass. At times, it was low enough that one had to move crouching or crawling, but not too slowly so one could quickly return to spots with room to avoid the carts. These niches often had to be shared with additional El Tio statues. It was noticeable that many support beams were broken and that the overlying rock was clearly pressing down/broken in. Our guide told us that tunnels were always collapsing that then had to be re-dug.

In fact, the situation was such that panic could have set in, but everyone in the group was busy following instructions and functioning, so no one raised an objection.

After what felt like an eternity, we reached the already mentioned connecting tunnel, and at this point, the tour should have been aborted. But we didn’t. So we proceeded through the approximately 65-meter-long tunnel with a 30-degree slope and a diameter of about 60-80 cm, where one could only move while sliding or climbing in a lying position. Sitting upright was impossible. The tunnel was simply dug that way through the mountain; it had loose material, nothing was secured, and it was very winding. The air was so poor that we had to rip off our breathing masks to breathe, always careful not to have a major coughing fit. Objectively speaking, this was life-threatening, but our bodies were in full functional mode, and there was no choice; we had to get through. A dry throat, sweaty bodies, and somehow the sticks of dynamite in my pocket were bothering me. Finally, the relief came as we arrived at the lower tunnel after what felt like an eternity. Covered in dirt, exhausted. First, we needed to drink something and catch our breath. What a mess.

No sooner had we reached the bottom than our cheerful guide informed us it was time to detonate and collected the dynamite sticks. Horror spread across the faces of the group; no one wanted that nor were they feeling ready for it.

But it didn’t matter; purchased is purchased, so let’s go, the stuff was kneaded together, the fuse was prepared, and it was placed in a hole. Four times in a row. The guides took over the lighting, carrying away, and throwing themselves, they clearly weren’t that suicidal to leave it all to trembling tourists. And we awaited our fate until the commotion was over. Bang, ...Bang... Bang.... .... the fourth one didn’t want to go off. Well, let’s get moving, the gases were already creeping around our noses....

Onwards through deep mud with rubber boots, over poorly laid rail tracks, constantly dodging quickly, bent over, repeatedly hitting our helmets against something. Donk, Donk Donk, how can it be so narrow and tight, what kind of working is this? Yet it could be. It became exhausting, and we were slowly running out of energy. Bang, stuck again in a mudhole, without strapping supporters to pull you out, one would be stuck in the mud between the tracks. After several climbs, curves, and 180-degree turns, finally: light! The end of the tunnel, the exit. Hallelujah!

Well served, thirsty, and completely filthy, we had to catch our breath. Dusting off. Why did everything taste metallic? That taste would linger for days with a slight cough. Off to the 'Kaue,' a quick wash and change of clothes. Then it was back to the city for a shower and a well-deserved beer!

We feel that this mine tour was one of the craziest and most dangerous things we have ever done. All participants unanimously confirmed that they never wanted to do anything like this again in their lives.

And it is unimaginable to have to work under these conditions, and there seems to be so little awareness that it is not even concealed.

60,000 tons of silver have probably been extracted from the mountain to date, but none of this wealth has arrived here until today. We saw working conditions as they were centuries ago, with incredible competition. Workers, for example, are not allowed to use certain tunnels and passages if they belong to other cooperatives. Instead, something as dangerous as the connecting tunnel, through which we crawled, is created. They also work on their own account, so sometimes they prefer to push the heavy carts alone so they don’t have to share the wages for it. We were told of thefts in the mine that were then avenged with lynchings. Young unskilled workers pretend to have experience and blow themselves up.

But the treasures of the mountain have not yet run dry. The polymetallic vein deposit Cerro Rico de Potosí still holds estimated resources of about 540 million tons with 102 g/t Ag and 0.10–0.17% Sn (Bernstein, 1989). So, there are still about 50,000 tons of silver in the mountain. Mechanical mining does not seem economically viable, cheap labor, and a lack of alternatives will continue to draw generations into the mountain.

Until the mountain collapses and thousands will die, as self-rescue is quite out of the question in this mountain. And probably, digging will continue even after that.

Welcome to La Paz, or rather first to the adjacent higher El Alto, originally a district of Bolivia and now a separate and even larger city than La Paz, where about 2 million people live together in the metropolitan area. Here, we initially wound our way through a seemingly endless array of narrow roads winding up and down the hills, which were jam-packed and difficult to navigate, despite all drivers honking as much as they wanted. And then we were unceremoniously dumped from the bus into this frenzy of people, dirt, and cars, and had to find our bearings. However, a very skilled taxi driver managed to take us surprisingly quickly through back roads further down into the city to the relatively wealthy and safe district of Sopocachi (the general rule is: the lower you live, the wealthier it is), where our hostel was located, a stark contrast to other parts of the city.

La Paz is the highest capital city in the world (although the capital of Bolivia is Sucre). Within the city, there is an incredible elevation difference of almost one kilometer from 3200 to 4100 m, but fortunately, there is a brilliant urban network of modern cable cars by Doppelmayr, which allows you to elegantly navigate the chaos and elevation changes. It became one of our favorite pastimes to ride the cable car and enjoy the incredible views of the different neighborhoods and the spectacular mountain backdrop that frames the city.

In the following days, we rode gondolas and hiked to various sights in the city (churches and squares were rather unremarkable and unimpressive), particularly amazing were the Feria in El Alto (a huge open-air market, similar to a flea market with stalls full of clothes, tools, household goods, and food, winding for kilometers through the streets and hardly passable because it was so crowded), the Mercado de las Brujas (Witch Market), where you can buy all sorts of herbal tinctures, llama fetuses, and other curiosities to influence all areas of life, and two particularly great museums: the National Art Museum, which had an exceptionally large number of modern artworks by women and focused on women's rights, was really good. And the ethnographic and folklore museum, where we marveled at the diversity of Bolivian culture and traditional clothing. Particularly cool were the carnival masks, some reminiscent of the Bavarian

Off to Bolivia! After yet another short stop in Cusco, we first took the bus back to Puno to continue on to the Kasani border at Lake Titicaca.

The immigration process was super easy and quick, at least if you had informed yourself about the entry requirements beforehand and listened to the bus driver. A significant part of our fellow travelers had neglected this, which is why we waited about 1.5 hours until everyone had their entry stamp, found the bus again, and had sufficiently dealt with their stress with cigarettes.

After another short ride, we reached Cococabana. On the way up the hill to our hostel (back in steam engine mode, as we were at 3800 m again), we saw old women painstakingly cutting the grass at the roadside to fill the worst holes in the street, houses in a generally more unfinished state than in Peru, somewhere between a half-finished construction site and ruins, and many little pigs grazing in the meadows or wandering through the alleys.

Our hostel was nice in itself, located on the mountain with a view of the lake, but our nicely decorated room was so damp that our clothes and the bed were completely wet, the sockets had burnt out due to water contact, and the ceiling light flickered alarmingly. And it was not going to get any better over the next few days as it kept raining heavily. We have never been so cold during our travels!

The Bolivians were - and it remained that way throughout our entire stay in the country - very hard for us to read. Without wanting to over-interpret anything, the people generally appeared more serious and as if they had experienced quite a lot - not just the good stuff. And it seemed to us that the financial pressure was generally higher. Payment processes required more discussion: one had to check the change carefully, when paying for hostels (prices stated in dollars as everywhere else during the trip) fantastical exchange rates were applied, and price structures in stores were opaque.

Cococabana itself was stunning due to its location by this enchanting lake, at which one could never get enough of the view, otherwise there was not much to offer: a cathedral, a few shops, boats for trips to the islands and across the lake, a bit of entertainment for children, and along the ramshackle promenade stood small fish restaurant stalls, whose menus were all more or less identical. Although the place was small, there was quite a lot of traffic with honking concerts and clouds of exhaust fumes that were even more burdensome at this high altitude (a shout-out to European emissions standards, you have no idea what a gain in quality of life that is).

From here, one morning we set off in torrential rain (the sloping streets turned into rushing rivers, and despite rain jackets, we were completely soaked within seconds) on a shabby passenger ferry towards the north of Isla del Sol. Just as we approached the island, the sky cleared up, and the island lived up to its name. We immediately understood why, according to Inca legend, the sun god Inti lived here and supposedly fathered the first Incas out of joy for all the beauty. So we docked at the sleepy settlement of Challapampa. It was probably a blessing that one could even travel north since the northern and southern islanders were unfortunately very divided over the distribution of entrance fees for the island, making this impossible for quite some time. From here we began our leisurely hike across the island and enjoyed the sunshine, fresh air, and tranquility! No cars, no honking, what a relief! At the various Inca ruins (labyrinths, places of worship, etc.), there were a few tourists, otherwise, we mostly walked alone in perfect weather over the hills of the island, passing cypress and eucalyptus groves and grazing donkeys (of course always a bit out of breath, we were still over 4000m high). And always with the beautifully shimmering lake in view and amazing cloud formations above it, and on the horizon, the white peaks of the Cordillera Blanca occasionally glinted through! In the far south of the island, we spent the night in a charming quiet hospedaje, where several generations of the family grew a bit of fruit and vegetables in the gardens around and went about their business. We had a great (dry, ha!) room, and the mother even cooked us a decent dinner.

Completely relaxed, we trotted back north towards the southern settlement of Yumani the next morning after a delicious breakfast in the garden with a fantastic view, where we climbed an old (and long) Inca staircase down to the boat landing and headed back to Copacabana on one of the shabby ferries.

Here you can visit the highest lagoons, geysers, and hot springs.

1) The largest railway graveyard in the world

and

2) The largest salt flat in the world

Unfortunately, we did not drive far in because it was very damp, and this is not good for the vehicle.

From now on, we will be at an altitude of over 4000 m for a longer time.

 

La Paz is the seat of the Bolivian government and has a truly magical charm that captivates us; this city is simply something special! Modern life and Inca culture coexist harmoniously here.

Due to its location in a narrow valley, the million-strong city crawls up the steep slopes. From the wealthy and warmer southern part at 3100m to the poorer section at 4200m, there is much to discover. We stay here for over a week and can't get enough of it.

A network of gondolas connects the various parts of the city, making them quickly accessible.

Our accommodation is perfect and full of charm. The hotel 'El Consulado' is the former embassy of Panama and is very stylishly furnished.

Everywhere there are street stalls, mostly offering something to eat or drink. The Cholitas, indigenous women known for their endurance and friendliness, especially shape the street scene. They are easily recognizable: They wear flat shoes, a wide skirt ensemble (often 6 skirts layered, covering their calves), braided long hair, and a hat.

In the downtown area, historical buildings alternate with shops and high rises. We navigate our way through the crowded main streets.

In the touristy old town, there are plenty of shops selling clothes made from alpaca and llama wool, interspersed with cafes, restaurants, and street art.

 

On the street, we find some delicious snacks as vegetarians: The best are the Yawitas, hot filled pockets with cheese or spicy 😋 As favorite drink, 'Api', a hot drink made from purple corn with cinnamon, cloves, and sugar goes very well with it - it tastes almost like mulled wine but is non-alcoholic.

Also incredibly good is a 'sopa de maní' (peanut soup)👌

 

Coca leaves

The notorious coca plant grows in Peru, Bolivia, and Colombia and is legal there. It is considered a sacred plant by indigenous people and is not comparable to the white powder that is also produced from it. Locals count coca leaves as a staple food: The leaves are brewed as tea or stored in the cheek. They have a similar wakefulness effect as green tea, soothe the stomach, and are particularly effective against altitude sickness symptoms. Often, they are also available in hotels for breakfast.

San Pedro Prison

The San Pedro Prison is one of the most notorious in the world! Coincidentally, our second accommodation is directly in front of the beautiful square in front of it; nothing here seems unsafe or unusual.

The prison is managed by the inmates themselves. The police only stand at the entrance. What happens inside the prison is beyond the control of the state. The inmates' fate depends on whether they have money and what crime they committed. A convicted rapist likely has a slim chance of survival.

There are rooms of different price categories, and rent must also be paid. Those who are incarcerated here also have a job and are allowed to have their family live with them.

The prisoners can leave the prison for a fee, and visitors can also enter after paying an admission fee. In the mornings, a long line of visitors forms: family, friends, but also people who want to sell something in the prison.

In the past, there were even guided tours for tourists. We could easily have a look inside on our own initiative, but it wouldn't be certain that we would come out again the same day.

El Alto

 

 

El Alto (the height) is a standalone city that has developed at the upper edge of La Paz on the high plateau at 4200m. Since space is very limited below, people had to settle up in the height.

El Alto now has over a million people. We explore the sprawling markets - here, bargaining is unnecessary as there are no special tourist prices 👌

In El Alto, there are shops run by shamans who carry out traditional rituals. For new challenges, hopes for success in business or love, and other wishes, customers receive a shopping list and obtain the respective items for the ritual from specialized stores.

Quite peculiar for us: Even today, llama fetuses are integrated into the foundation when building houses! According to our information, some die during birth, and these are then used for this ritual. The Incas believe that something must be given back to Pachamama (Mother Earth).

 

With the nostalgic train “Expreso del Sur”, we embark on a unique journey through the Bolivian Altiplano to Uyuni.

 

It is not a luxurious tourist train and the trip costs only $11 for 9 hours. The vehicle has a special charm but moves slowly and sways through the lands. Long-distance trains are a dying breed in South America, buses are generally faster and cheaper nowadays.

From Uyuni, we begin an epic 3-day tour in a jeep through fantastic landscapes: salt flats, cactus islands, lagoons with flamingos, hot springs, and geysers.

We are lucky with our group; everyone is very nice: a young British woman, a South Korean flight attendant living in Hong Kong, and a teacher couple from Cuxhaven.

On the outskirts of Uyuni, we first stop at the iconic railway graveyard where decommissioned trains rust away.

 

The salt flat “Salar de Uyuni” is the largest salt pan in the world, formed 10,000 years ago by the drying up of a lake.

With a width of 110 km and a length of 140 km, the “Salar” is massive. The salt forms a massive surface, beneath which lies water up to about 200 m deep. Currently, lithium is also being mined alongside salt, with the help of the Chinese.

We quickly realize that, in addition to Argentina, Bolivia is also in a crisis. Due to the power struggle between former President Morales and current President Luis Acre, there are supply bottlenecks. Morales' supporters keep blocking several transport routes. Gasoline is scarce, so our driver had to wait 4 days at the gas station to get fuel 🙉 We are glad that we can make the tour!

The salt flat offers very creative opportunities to play with perspective in photos.

 

We climb the cactus island in the middle of the salt lake, an unreal place!

On the second day, it gets intense. We drive all day from one natural spectacle to the next and finally land in the evening at an altitude of 4200 m. There is so much to see: several lagoons in bright colors, flamingos, endless desert landscapes, green stripes in the barren surroundings, populated by llamas, Dalí rocks.

 

The 3rd day is also the day of our return journey, we spend a good 7 hours in the off-road vehicle and are infinitely glad when we arrive back in Uyuni. During the trip, we particularly struggled with heat and extreme dust. The enormous altitude also had an effect. But there is hardly a more beautiful tour to admire so many natural wonders at once 🤩

To round off, we are taking a star sunrise photo tour the very next night. Thanks to the optimal conditions in the salt flat, we can admire the Milky Way. We almost made a detour to the neighboring Atacama Desert but believe that the starry sky there is not that much different.

After the cold journey back to La Paz and weeks filled with various activities and experiences, I spent one last weekend in this wild city before finally moving on. Originally, the Clasico Paceño was scheduled for Sunday in La Paz, the duel between the two city rivals “The Strongest” and “Club Bolivar”. One of the major derbies in South America and the most important game in the country. I couldn't deny a certain anticipation for this duel, and disappointed, I found out on the day of my return that the game had been postponed indefinitely. The two clubs were to play their knockout matches in the Copa Libertadores against representatives Flamengo from Rio de Janeiro and Peñarol from Montevideo that week, and although the dates had been known for months, the federation and clubs realized just two days before the game that they needed more preparation time and the Clasico was canceled. Shit happens – so I spent my last days in La Paz strolling around the city and indulging extensively in amateur football. It was enjoyable, and I discovered a few corners of the city that I probably wouldn't have explored otherwise. But then it was finally time to say goodbye. I boarded the bus toward Copacabana, a small town on Lake Titicaca, and cast one last glance over the city. The majestic Illimani also showed itself once again against a brilliantly blue sky as the bus struggled up the slopes on the outskirts of town. A feeling of melancholy spread over me after all the exciting times in this wonderful country. For me, it was definitely the most authentic and adventurous of all the countries I had visited in South America thus far. However, there was still no complete farewell, as I made one last stop at the famous Lake Titicaca, the highest navigable lake on Earth at an altitude of 3,800 m. The lake lies on the border between Bolivia and Peru and holds significant importance for the indigenous Andean peoples. In Inca mythology, it is said that the sun god Inti sent his children, Manco Cápac and Mama Ocllo, to establish the Incan people. Therefore, Lake Titicaca is also seen as the birthplace of the Inca Empire. After about 3 hours of travel, we reached the lake at dusk and boarded wooden ferries. The ferries are about as wide as a bus and consist of only a wooden platform and the engines for propulsion. So, we hopped onto this peculiar means of transport and crossed to the other shore. Although we were still on the mainland, crossing a bay shortened the journey by several hours, and we arrived in Copacabana just before nightfall. I checked into my hostel on a hill and listened to the endless barking of a rather large pack of dogs. Until deep into the night, there was an inexplicable fight among the stray dogs, and I tried to find some peace amidst the noise. After what felt like an eternity, the dogs finally fell silent, and a heavenly calm prevailed at the shore of this mystical place.

At 8 o'clock the next day, the alarm clock rang, and I set off for the small harbor of the town. My destination for the day was to be Isla del Sol, the largest island in the Bolivian part of Lake Titicaca and the site of numerous ruins and archaeological sites, including the rock formation Roca Sagrada, the place where the sun god is said to have created the world. The ferry chugged comfortably across the lake, and although the sun was shining in my face, it was icy cold in the morning hours. From the boat, I admired the impressively beautiful and barren landscape; the water was clear, and we slowly approached the island. Two thirty-something hippies attempted to play guitar, and although their effort unfortunately failed catastrophically, they persisted in entertaining the rest of the passengers with their strumming at the most basic level for the entire journey. A true test of endurance for any ear, and I was relieved when we finally reached the northern harbor of the island after over an hour. Peace, nothing but peace – absolutely heavenly. I enjoy guitar sounds, but this performance had absolutely nothing to do with music in any remote sense, and if I had grabbed any instrument and banged on it wildly, I wouldn't have stood out in this orchestra of the damned. From the settlement in the north of the island, I set off, traversed some small villages, and climbed the hilly ridge in the middle of the island. The higher you climb, the more beautiful and impressive the views over the island and the lake become. An indescribable peace hung in the air; there were hardly any other people around, and you could almost feel the mystical and unique spirit of this place. I stopped repeatedly, sat down briefly, and let my gaze wander into the distance for a few minutes or more. Rugged landscape, sparse vegetation, the chirping of unknown bird species, and the bright blue water of the lake. Just beautiful, and just the right place to let your soul unwind for a moment. Besides a few indigenous farmers with donkeys and mules, I encountered no other people throughout the morning. The locals, predominantly of Aymara culture, live a simple life. Agriculture, fishing, and a bit of village gossip; there's not much more here. The atmosphere is calm and peaceful, almost like a journey into another time, and for me, it was an appealing and absolutely fitting environment to say goodbye to Bolivia. However, amidst all the idyllic views, one should also keep in mind that Lake Titicaca is one of the most polluted lakes on Earth. Particularly the high amounts of wastewater, especially from the surrounding cities and towns, that are discharged untreated into the lake pose a significant problem. Additionally, around the lake, there are about 30,000 illegal mines that also discharge their heavily lead and mercury-laden wastewater into the lake without treatment. Although numerous projects exist for the rehabilitation and protection of the lake, both on the Bolivian and Peruvian sides, they lack resources and coordination, so pollution will likely remain a long-term problem. If you haven't dealt with the topic, you as a visitor notice very little; the water is clear, the air is pleasantly clean, and generally, there is very little garbage or other human remnants around. In fact, the place looks very idyllic and untouched. Very pleasant, even if one should not ignore the issue of environmental pollution.

I continued hiking across the island for the rest of the morning (roughly 15 km total) and enjoyed the tranquility and the beautiful views. It's incredibly pleasant to feel like the only tourist on the island. Although you can see smaller groups of people from a distance, the island's size helps disperse them well, allowing you to spend almost the entire day alone in this beautiful landscape. Some panoramas and the lake almost have a Mediterranean flair, and you have to remind yourself briefly that you are not in Corsica but in the Andean highlands at almost 4,000 m altitude. Early in the afternoon, I reached a small settlement and treated myself to a hearty lunch and a beer with a great view before making my way to the southern harbor of the island. The numerous ruins and rock formations I passed through or saw from a distance provide a rough insight into the spirituality and life of the Incan people, even though I didn't dive into the details of each site. For me, that day's main purpose was to let all the impressions of this exciting land sink in and sort my thoughts before embarking on new adventures. I would have plenty of opportunities to explore cultural sites and relics of the Inca Empire in Peru as well.

Upon arriving at the southern harbor, there was one last teeny tiny problem. It was 2 PM, and the next regular ferry back to Copacabana would leave in exactly 2 hours. Unfortunately, that was too late for me, as the return trip lasted a little over an hour, and I wanted to catch the only bus to Puno that was scheduled to depart at 5:30 PM since I would then be heading directly to Cusco on the night bus. Moreover, I still had my luggage stored at the accommodation, which was on a hill on the outskirts. Bad timing, apparently, but I didn't want to accept the situation entirely and lingered around the harbor, considering a quick exit strategy off the island. From time to time, smaller boats docked and departed, but they were reserved for pre-booked tour groups, and I asked the crew if it would be possible to transport a German white bread back to Copacabana. The answer was always the same: Theoretically yes, but nothing could be done without the approval of the village elders, who presumably had authority over all harbor traffic, and no crew wanted to risk any trouble with the overseers, as it could mean considerable hassle for them. At the entrance to the harbor, overlooking the area, there sat 5 older gentlemen who managed all payment transactions and logistics. They received the fees for transport and were like the supreme authority of the harbor, which was more of a dock for various smaller boats and ferries. I explained my plight to the council of elders and requested to board one of the tourist boats. However, after a brief assessment of my appearance, the request was unanimously rejected, and I was asked to leave. I was slowly getting fidgety because missing the 4 PM boat meant missing my bus and the subsequent night journey to Peru. So, I tried again to sneak a transit back to Copacabana, but unfortunately, it was without chance, all under the watchful eyes of the island leaders. Eventually, I got fed up, went back to the gentlemen, pulled out 50 Bolivianos from my pocket (about 6.50 euros), and waved the bill in front of the gentlemen to emphasize my urgency to get back to the mainland soon. They laid ice-cold eyes on me and I left in annoyance when a whistle caught my attention. One of the gentlemen had probably caught on to the situation and signaled for me to approach. He asked me to show him the bill. Done, and after a brief consultation with his colleagues, he pointed to a boat that was just leaving the harbor. He took the bill, signaled to the crew that I had purchased a ticket, and gestured for me to make my way to the boat. I ran to the dock and jumped onto the already departing boat, where a group of puzzled tourists stared at me. Wonderful! It was just after 2:30 PM, and I was on my way back to the mainland. The island gurus were also 50 Bolivianos richer. A classic win-win situation then. Absolutely fantastic, and thus nothing should stand in the way of my onward journey to Peru. Upon arriving in Copacabana, I made my way back to the accommodation to retrieve my backpack, which I had previously agreed to store in a room, and was surprised to find the door locked. Unfortunately, the hostel hosts were not on the premises, and my calls went unanswered. Oh no – all the excitement just to not be able to get my backpack and miss the bus. Luckily, after a quick inspection, I found that one of the windows in the room could be slid open, and I climbed in using several buckets to evacuate my things. Completely soaked in sweat and with my luggage in tow, I jogged from the hostel to the bus station and arrived about 15 minutes before my bus' departure. Almost a perfect landing; I still had some buffer time left. ;)

I sat down briefly, then got on the bus and headed for the border – Bolivia, it was an honor and an indescribable joy to be with you – I will hold the time spent with you in my memory for a long time, and I think we will definitely see each other again. Suerte!  

After the days spent in the Bolivian rainforest and the Pampas, it was finally time to head to Potosi with a brief stop in La Paz, hopefully this time without any road blockades or complications. And indeed, after a relatively relaxed night drive by Bolivian standards, the bus arrived in the early morning hours at a temperature around freezing point in the city in the south of the country. A stark contrast to the previous days, not only regarding temperatures. The barren landscape and the people adapted to the harsh conditions seem much colder and more distant compared to the environment in the green part of Bolivia. After checking into the hostel, I explored the city. Potosi lies at the foot of the 4,782-meter-high Cerro Rico and was one of the richest cities in the world in the 17th century due to its enormous silver deposits, serving as the center of the thriving Spanish colonial empire at that time. With indigenous slave labor, the Spanish crown extracted immense wealth here. It is estimated that up to 8 million people lost their lives in the process. Even today, thousands of miners work under catastrophic conditions in the mines, with an average life expectancy of just over 40 years. Not necessarily a pleasant place to linger. However, you can take a guided tour into the depths of the mountain, and since this is quite unique in the world, I wanted to seize the opportunity, which should also be the primary goal of my trip to Potosi. The city generally has a rather relaxed vibe, and in the shadow of the silver mountain, you can admire various beautiful colonial buildings. After spending the rest of the day sightseeing, I made my way back to the hostel and booked one of the tours for the next day. The night was quite short, as the altitude was once again felt; however, the breakfast in the hostel that morning was an absolute highlight and probably the best meal offered during my tour so far. Fresh fruit, various juices, pancakes, delicious bread, avocado, eggs, and various spreads – all for the price of a night’s stay of just under 10 euros. Absolutely top-notch. After this culinary delight, I was picked up and we set off in a rickety older model minibus towards the outskirts to Cerro Rico. On the way, we stopped at a market, mainly serving the miners, and bought a few gifts for the workers. Our guide mentioned that the guys in the mountain would especially appreciate cola, coca leaves, and gloves, so we bought all of that. I also bought two packs of self-rolled cigarettes because I knew how much the miners liked to smoke. Even strong smokers in our regions would likely wrinkle their noses at the sight of these local cigarettes. Definitely not normal weed but actually hard tobacco. Additionally, there was dynamite for sale at the market. Dynamite! In a public market. Simply unbelievable and unimaginable for us. Here, however, you can get a stick for around 2 euros, including a detonator. Furthermore, there were small and large containers with 96% alcohol lying around, which the workers likely drink together after their shift. Since conventional alcoholic beverages are way too expensive for people here, the extremely high-proof alcohol is an excellent means of numbing themselves and probably also of coping with the hard and dangerous working life. After the market, we (me and yet another group of French people) were driven to a garage and equipped with the necessary work gear: rubber boots, coveralls, helmets, headlamps, and a small improvised backpack for our gifts. For us, it was certainly an experience to think about actually working in the mountain with this gear, though quite absurd. The next stop was a factory located right by the mountain for processing the ores and metals. At first glance at the installations and machines, I thought it had long been abandoned and only served as a display for visitors. In fact, the entire facility is still actively used, a strange thought when seeing the worn and mud-covered equipment. Everything that serves its purpose here is used until the end of its durability and well beyond. Our guide briefly explained the processes at the plant, where the valuable rock is separated from the rest with relatively simple means. Here, clients can also directly acquire goods. Various rocks and ores are stacked in bags and available for purchase. Some miners sell the treasures they extracted from the mountain themselves. However, these are truly only the remnants from the glorious times. The mountain is almost completely depleted, and hardly any substantial amounts of the precious metal can be found anymore. Only the thought of a lucky find and the resulting wealth, providing an escape from the harsh working life, drives some of the workers into the mountain each day.

By late morning, we reached the mountain. In front of the entrances, you see the most basic infrastructure for tackling the heavy work. Carts or mine wagons, various tools, pneumatic drills, hammers, and various steel ropes and winches. There are also basic huts for storing tools and belongings. When you look around at the scene in front of the mine entrances, it's instantly and unmistakably clear what an absolutely backbreaking job is performed here. Everywhere, the remains of dead llamas hang around, and the mine entrances are thickly smeared with llama blood. All this serves once again to honor Pachamama and ensure the safety of the miners. The offerings are intended to ensure that the earth and the mountain do not become angry and protect the workers, as mining is considered an intrusion into the body of the earth. Subsequently, we entered one of the shafts and slowly walked into the mountain. There are reportedly up to 400 entrances at Cerro Rico; the exact layout and number of shafts and tunnels is not known precisely, as for decades, mining has been done without any control or regulation. It is certainly reassuring to be accompanied by a guide, as just after a few minutes in the mountain, the extent of the devastation becomes apparent. Everywhere are tunnels, entrances to other levels, corridors, holes, and shafts. Keeping track of this madness seems impossible for a layperson. At least at the beginning, one can still follow the course of the tracks, which, however, after a short time also split with the shafts in all possible directions. Still relatively close to the entrance, we entered a room where a strange figure is set up. Here resides El Tio, the devil and ruler of the mountain. The Tio is adorned with coca leaves, beer cans, and bottles of high-proof alcohol, and a cigarette stub smolders in his mouth. Before their shift, the workers stop at Tio and also hand him offerings. If Tio is pleased, he protects the workers, or so the belief goes. Since the miners descend into the realm of the underworld, where Pachamama also no longer has direct access, Tio is richly bestowed. Tio should be kept in a good mood so that he does not harm the workers in the mountain. If he is not respected, he brings misfortune. We also gift Tio a portion of our offerings, and our guide opens a bottle of high-proof alcohol. After a hearty sip, he hands the vessel to me, and I take a shot. Absolutely disgusting, and you immediately feel the strong alcohol entering your system. The whole thing goes around, before he pours a sip of the drink onto his finger, ignites it, and lights a cigarette with it. A bizarre spectacle in an absolutely bizarre place. Tio seems to be pleased, otherwise, I probably couldn't write these lines now. Subsequently, the bottle is handed to me again. I decline, but the guide points out that a single sip brings misfortune, so I once again bring my mouth to the bottle, letting only a minuscule amount pour into my throat. Unimaginable that one can consume this liquid in larger doses. After pacifying Tio, we continue deeper into the mountain. From all corners, whistling and hissing sounds can be heard, a wild tangle of pipes runs along the ceiling. Some gas or compressed air escapes, it smells sour and unpleasant, the air is thick, warm, and laden with various gases. We encounter our first workers, who are on a break, and offer them our gifts. The coca leaves are especially in high demand. On the one hand, they are an excellent remedy for various physical issues related to altitude, and on the other, the miners use the leaves to measure time. The mouth is stuffed full, and they chew until the leaves lose their flavor; this occurs after about 4 hours and serves as a signal that half of their shift is now over. The regular shift during the week is 8 hours, but on weekends, it can often last 12 to 16 hours. This is hardly monitored; they work until physical exhaustion and probably often beyond that. Time and again, you hear a loud noise approaching from the distance; the guide shouts something frantically, and we press our bodies against the walls of the tunnels. One of the mine wagons is approaching at high speed with deafening noise. Depending on the direction, it is either empty or loaded with rock and pushed by two workers. Naturally, no consideration can be given to curious visitors here. If one does not manage to quickly get into a niche or against the wall, one risks being hit by the wagons. Whether there are occasional accidents with tourists is something our guide remains silent about. However, statistics regarding the workers are kept in rough terms; around 10 to 15 deaths occur in the mountain each month. The actual number is likely much higher; only those accidents resulting in immediate fatalities are recorded. No one speaks about the long-term consequences.

Further in the mountain, we switch levels using ladders and crawl through tight holes. It is uncomfortable and definitely not a place for those with claustrophobia. The next workers we meet are mining rock in a shaft beneath us, which is only accessible through a tiny entry hole. We offer cola and cigarettes; the workers are very friendly and appreciate the gifts. The gloves are also gratefully accepted. On the tour's side, it states that a portion of the fee paid goes to the workers. I hope this is true and that tourism in this area might contribute, at least in part, to a better life for the locals.

We continue deeper into the mountain; it has now become unbearably hot, surely over 30°. The guide reports temperatures well beyond 40° Celsius deep inside Cerro Rico. One can hardly imagine how such back-breaking labor can still be performed in such heat. The walls are now yellowish in some spots, shimmering under the light of the headlamps. It's the toxic element arsenic, which is often mined in connection with silver and tin. We are warned not to touch anything and to move cautiously through the tunnels. By now, everyone in the group has donned a protective mask; the dust content in the air is high, and breathing is becoming increasingly difficult. We have now been walking through the mountain for quite a while, and I have a suffocating feeling. I neither know how far we are inside the mountain nor would I probably find the exit without our guide. It's insanity to try to navigate here. The workers seem to find it easier; we repeatedly encounter groups of 2 to 3 people, give them gifts, and have short chats. The strain is visible on their faces, and one falls into a deep humility and gratitude, realizing that by some fortunate circumstances, one is not destined to earn a living in such a harsh environment. Deep inside the mountain, the tunnels become narrower and tighter; one must sometimes walk bent over through the shafts, and the helmet is absolutely necessary—every few meters, you hit your head somewhere. Everywhere, empty beer cans and bottles of high-proof alcohol lie around. Probably the only way to endure the shift. One can only guess how many of the accidents are attributed to the intoxicated state of the workers.

I am relieved when our guide announces that we are already on our way back. After what feels like an eternity, we arrive at one of the exits of the mountain, and I am happy to once again see daylight and not have to disappear into the darkness of the silver mountain the next day. “La montana que come hombres” - the mountain that eats men. This is how the locals refer to Cerro Rico. It is not out of the question that this will soon result in a larger catastrophe. The mountain shrinks annually by several centimeters due to uncontrolled hollowing, and researchers predict the collapse of Cerro Rico in the not-so-distant future.

However, it is also worth highlighting the positive mindset of the people, as when I brought up the possible scenario of a collapse with our guide in the mountain, he replied: “Think positive – this can happen. But we are here, so not today, maybe tomorrow.” A wonderful gallows humor that, despite the external circumstances, actually brings a fleeting smile to my face.

Back in the city center, I spent the rest of the day walking to a viewpoint and gazing at the silver mountain towering over the city. From afar, the giant appears calm and peaceful; with the experiences of the day, one has a rough idea of what suffering happens daily inside Cerro Rico. Probably one of the hardest jobs on our planet and certainly one of the most bizarre places I have ever been, alongside the sulfur mine in the crater of volcanic Ijen in Java.

Before heading back to La Paz by night bus the next day, I attended a game from Nacional Potosi, the local football club playing in the first Bolivian league. Again, the backdrop of the city and Cerro Rico in the background. The stadium is at 4,000 meters and, together with the stadium in El Alto, is one of the highest in the world. Everything about this place is rugged, barren, and sparse. Be it the landscape, the lives of the people, or the oxygen levels at these altitudes.

The trip to Potosi will definitely keep me occupied for quite a while. Anyone wanting to learn more about the history of Cerro Rico and the city of Potosi can simply google “Cerro Rico” and “The mountain that eats men.” There are countless excellent and extremely interesting articles on this topic and about the people who navigate the mines daily.

Listing all this would surely exceed the limits of this text.

PS: The return trip to La Paz once again seamlessly fell into the aria of unbelievable bus rides in Bolivia. Knowing that it can get very cold at night on the Altiplano, I specifically asked before purchasing the ticket (as usual) if the bus has heating. The convincingly stated “Si” turned out to be a lie, and the journey resembled a trip in a freezer. Despite long underwear, two pairs of socks, a sweater, fleece and windbreaker plus scarf and hat, I froze my rear end off terribly. All windows were frosted on the inside, and I couldn't keep my eyes closed for a minute because I was busy trying to warm myself the entire trip. At some point, I even removed the cover from the seat to use it as a blanket. I was so happy when we were back in La Paz that I immediately jumped into a taxi and cursed throughout the entire ride to the hostel. Then straight to a hot shower and into bed, where I continued to shiver for quite some time. Fittingly surreal for this surreal place, the return from Potosi.

After a week in La Paz, I wanted to realize the plan that was still buzzing in my head and travel back to Potosi for a few days to visit the mines. Logistically, it was absolute madness since I had to take the night bus almost back in the direction of the Chilean border, but once you set your mind to something, it's hard to be dissuaded. At least, that's how it is for me, plus I had time.

Early in the morning, I bought the bus ticket, locked my luggage away at the terminal for the equivalent of 25 cents, and wasted the day in the city. When I arrived at the terminal half an hour before departure and inquired with the company about the departure gate, the lady took my ticket and handed me back the already paid amount. Quite perplexed, I accepted the amount and asked for the reason. Roadblocks in the direction of all major cities in the east and south of the country. And since the route from La Paz to Potosi is one of the main arteries of the country, this route was affected as well. Although the logistics and transport sector had announced a strike in the country, it was supposed to start in a few days, so it was really not relevant for my travel plans. But apparently, plans had changed, and nothing was moving on the connecting roads. The reason for the blockades, a daily occurrence in Bolivia: fuel shortage throughout the country. In the days prior, I had seen long lines at gas stations, cars, trucks, and people with canisters trying to secure the last reserves for themselves. So, it seemed to be a pretty acute problem, and the industry was trying to put pressure on the government with roadblocks. Well, no Potosi for now, but what now? I didn't feel like spending a few more days in La Paz, so Plan B was activated, at least in my mind, because after all, the country was paralyzed by the roadblocks, and I had no idea if any bus would be going anywhere. Plan B was the town of Rurrenabaque, located in the tropical rainforest of Bolivia. From there, various boat tours can be taken to admire the whole diversity of the forest's flora and fauna. At the bus station, I inquired about the situation, and I was assured multiple times by different people that the passage north was not affected by the blockades and that the buses were running smoothly to this part of Bolivia. Perfect! I added another day in the city and in the evening it was the same game again - off to the bus station, which for buses to the north, was located in a different part of La Paz. Just before departure, there was chaos or typical Bolivian normality: the bus for which I had purchased a ticket was already fully booked, so I was assigned to a new bus on site twice and stood around with my backpack like a fool for about 2 hours after the regular departure time. Among various street vendors, stray dogs, and the most bizarre characters, I had time to observe the means of transport, and after a brief inspection, I understood why several locals had told me on my journey that the buses to and from Rurrenabaque were the worst in all of Bolivia. Although the poor technical condition of the vehicles in this country was nothing new to me, I was nonetheless briefly astonished by the magnitude of the deficiencies. Tires completely worn, smashed windows, missing headlights, and deep scratches all over the bus's exterior. Perfect conditions for a relaxing bus ride. When it then went at high speed over the finest gravel roads, you could basically only close your eyes and hope it somehow goes well. It worked again – at least until somewhere in the middle of the night. For unknown reasons, the bus stopped in the pitch-black landscape, and nothing was moving. After a short wait, I wondered why some people were leaving the bus before news spread: roadblock. Oh interesting, and yet the bus company staff in La Paz all agreed that there was no problem in that direction. Classic misjudgment - haha. And what now? First, I got off the bus, checked the situation, and made a plan. It was shortly after 4 a.m., and we stood with a larger number of other vehicles in the middle of nowhere, still over 100 km away from the actual destination at a roadblock. A portion of the passengers started moving and walked along the road in the driving direction. So, I followed the locals and spotted two more gringos ahead of me, who also seemed to have Rurrenabaque as their destination. The couple was from France, and the three of us marched through the night. After about an hour, we reached a small village that had a few shops and vehicles. It was around 6 a.m. by then, and the small place was coming to life. The only problem was that there were no people who wanted to take us further towards our destination for a fee, as all transport and taxi companies were also participating in the strike and blockades. Good, somewhat logical, but of course not optimal for us. In the village, we met another four French people, three girls and a guy, who had also been stranded at the blockade and had all coincidentally met here. Quite the funny coincidence. One of the French guys spotted a local in the distance on some sort of tricycle with a loading area. Interesting! And practical! So, we chatted with him, explained our situation, and for the equivalent of 1.20 euros, we continued on the loading area of this unusual vehicle in the direction of our goal. Unfortunately, the ride didn't last long, as after about 15 minutes, we stood at the next blockade. And the Bolivians don't mess around here. Blockade means no passage anymore; even for mopeds and bicycles, it's nearly impossible as the roads are so blocked with trucks and cars that it's just possible for pedestrians to pass through. So, we passed the blockade and walked for what felt like an eternity until we stopped a larger van. The lady in the vehicle was very friendly and said that normally she could drive us to Rurrenabaque without problems, but not during the strike, as she was joining and needed to be at the blockade shortly. However, she had an idea and invited us to get in. We drove a bit back to her house and she suggested that her son could take us. We quickly negotiated a price, waited until the son, who was actually 15 years old (I have no idea how that works here with driving licenses), dropped off the mother at the blockade, and continued the journey. A curious scene for sure: Bolivian rap on the radio and a 15-year-old driving six French people and a German on a country road through the jungle. But the young man did excellently, and after about 1.5 hours, we arrived at the next blockade. As mentioned earlier, the Bolivians don't mess around here, and we had to walk on foot to the other side of the barrier and then switch vehicles. The last vehicle was a classic tuk-tuk, and the group split into two of these rickshaws. Shortly after 10 a.m., we finally arrived in Rurrenabaque and were pleased that despite all the excitement, we had reached our goal relatively relaxed. Then a shared breakfast, and off to the hostel. Surprised by this very beautiful place, I settled into my four-bed room and admired the view. Located right by the Beni River, only a wooden structure with screens separated the room from nature. Really beautiful, plus relaxed people and a pool where one can end the day with a cold beer. Or something like that, it was only noon. There was beer anyway, and for the rest of the day we played cards, chatted about everything possible, and did absolutely nothing productive. I repeated the same the following day and especially enjoyed the comfortable situation of no longer hanging around at an altitude of nearly 4,000 m. You could noticeably feel the extra oxygen in the air and the connected energy that overwhelmed you. Full of enthusiasm, I booked a 3-day tour in the Pampas of the Beni River and was excited about what was in store for me. In the morning of the third day, off we went in the car with three more French people (surprising) towards the Beni River. Along the way, we stopped several times at the roadside and observed capybaras in the swampy landscape who were evidently enjoying their existence and indulging in strenuous activities like bathing, swimming, and lounging in the shade. Quite charming creatures, and their relaxed nature fits perfectly on this continent. For me, it was also the first time on this trip that I was able to observe capybaras. After a while, we stopped in a village and were served a decent lunch in a sort of guesthouse. The business was firmly in family hands; the father lounged in the shade, the mother cooked the truly excellent meal, and the perhaps 10-year-old son served the dishes in fine attire. Seems to be quite normal around here. After the sustenance, we traveled a little further until we finally reached the river bank, where together with our guide Juan Carlos, we loaded the supplies for the next few days into the boat. The wooden kayak finally set off, and with a slightly chugging motor, we sailed down the river. Just after a few minutes, we could observe who rules this area on the banks - every few meters there were crocodiles, caimans, or alligators lying in the sun and letting the sun shine on their scaly skin. Quite a bizarre scenery in which we found ourselves, among the rulers of the pampas were various birds, hundreds of turtles, monkeys in the trees, and capybaras scattered around that seemed unfazed by the presence of the predators. This continued for over three hours down the river, and the view roamed all around. Quite exotic creatures were to be discovered along the way. And in the meantime, the surroundings radiated a pleasant tranquility. A stark and necessary contrast to the chaos of the big city. Finally, we reached the camp in the late afternoon and settled into our basic accommodation. There was a communal room and three huts with beds and hammocks, all made entirely of wood and built on stilts. This was probably necessary given the greedy roommates, and the knowledge that crocodiles are poor climbers was quite reassuring. After that, we went a little further with the boat to observe the beautiful sunset in the middle of the pampas. A wonderful scene and the peace that came with it - a place to feel good. On the return journey in the dark, the eyes of the reptiles reflected in the light of our flashlights, shining everywhere like buttons, making you realize the extent of the crocodile population. This was clearly crocodile land, and unintentionally leaving the boat was not a great idea. To wrap up the day, an elderly lady served us an excellent dinner, and I went to bed pleasantly satisfied. I listened for a short time to the countless sounds of nature before my eyes quickly closed.

The next morning, we were woken up quite early, and after a decent breakfast, we went back out on the river. Piranha fishing was on the agenda. We stopped not far from our hut camp and with a line strung on a piece of wood and small meat pieces, we tried our luck. As soon as you held the bait close to the boat in the water, you could immediately hear the jaws of the predatory fish clacking, and if you didn't jerk the line towards you and were also lucky that one of the creatures swallowed the hook, the meat was already gone. Incredible how fast and energetically the piranhas devoured the bait, sometimes the fish would leap out of the water in groups while the meat disappeared between their razor-sharp teeth. While I struggled to outsmart the fish, Juan Carlos pulled one piranha after the other from the water, sometimes at the rate of one per minute. Practice makes perfect, I settled with two caught fish. After that, we continued a bit further up the river and into the pampas, the swampy and extensive savanna landscape with quite open vegetation. Here, the anaconda, the largest constricting snake in the world, is also at home, and armed with sticks and rubber boots, we wanted to find one today. We waded through grass taller than me, swamps, and ponds, trying to find any clues about the snake's whereabouts. However, we had no luck. It seemed to be more about the event itself since Juan Carlos revealed to me after hours of searching through all sorts of supposed hiding spots and ponds that the chance of finding an anaconda was quite low.

So, we returned to camp with a somewhat acceptable yield of predatory fish but without a sighting of an anaconda, and the fish were prepared. Luckily, this was not the only meal since the edible part is quite limited or rather: there’s almost nothing edible on a piranha, and the flavor isn't particularly spectacular either. However, the rest of the midday meal was excellent, and after the sustenance, the three French people said goodbye, leaving me as the only guest in the camp. Juan Carlos and I decided to take a nice long afternoon nap, and after resting, we went out again on the boat. It was wonderful in this quietness, alone with the guide and amid this diverse flora and fauna, I enjoyed the view from the boat and relaxed. At sunset, we stopped at an estate in the middle of nowhere and enjoyed the view into the vastness of the steppe while having a cold beer. Then the same game again: back with the boat to camp while once again marveling at all the glowing points at the riverbank. I asked myself several times if it would be possible to swim across the width of the river at any point without falling victim to the voracious maw of one of the crocodiles. Probably quite difficult; however, the proof of this thesis was not obtained, as there is still much more to discover than the inside of a giant lizard. At camp, everything was very relaxed, and with the three of us: Gringo, guide, and the wonderful cook, we let the evening wind down, and I climbed into bed satisfied. However, my sleep that night was repeatedly interrupted as a horde of howler monkeys made themselves comfortable near my hut and jumped from the treetops onto the tin roof several times. Since these colleagues are quite solidly built, that makes a substantial racket, and I was startled awake more than once from deep sleep and needed a moment to realize what was happening. Luckily, even the wildest monkeys eventually get tired, and by the morning hours, the commotion was over. The next day, it wasn't quite as early again but after another really good breakfast, we set off again. Juan Carlos had the glorious idea of looking for the anaconda again. His feeling told him that today might be a good day for sighting the snake, or maybe he just dreamed of it. Regardless – I agreed, and it went back out into the savanna in the same pattern as the day before. Once again, we waded through dense grass, sighted supposed nests or hiding spots, and poked around randomly with our sticks, only this time in a different part of the pampas. Eventually, I discovered an unnatural organic appearance in the dense grass and inspected it closer – snake skin! And from a larger snake. I called Juan Carlos for expertise, and indeed - it was the shed skin of an anaconda. No snake, but at least a success after all that wading and poking. Satisfied, the stick seemed a little lighter in my hand, and shortly after, the big surprise came. Juan Carlos whistled and beckoned me his way. “Anaconda” echoed through the steppe, and after a quick step, I could hardly believe my eyes. From a bushy hiding spot among the grasses, the graceful head of a snake looked at us. Completely still, with no body movement, the head was raised in the air, and the only thing that moved was the reptile's tongue. With that, it perceives everything possible: smells, vibrations, and sounds. I watched the snake fascinated from close quarters. The approximately three-meter-long body was entirely hidden in the thicket, only in certain places could you perceive the black-brown skin. A perfect camouflage; the only thing that stood out from the landscape's surface was the snake's head. A beautiful animal, and even though it was a rather small anaconda, I was completely euphoric and delighted about the sighting, like a small child. For some time, I continued to observe the animal from near distance but without touching the snake. Completely calmly, the animal endured my staring, and the tongue was the only part that moved the whole time. Fascinating. Fully satisfied, we returned with our boat to the dwelling and devoured the already prepared lunch. Throughout the entire excursion into the pampas, the food was really outstanding, and my thanks again go to the excellent cook. After that, we loaded everything onto the boat and returned for what felt like an eternity to the starting point of the journey. Along the way, we still stopped at an expansive bay of the river and moored the boat, as here were supposed to be some special residents. With knocking sounds on the boat, we drew attention to ourselves, and it didn't take long before the landlord showed himself for the first time: right next to our boat, the head of an Amazon river dolphin emerged. Wow – what a fascinating shape. We knocked on the wood of the boat repeatedly, and gradually we saw the dolphins in their striking pink garments flipping out of the water. Overall, this is a group of about 5 or 6 dolphins that are native to this river region and show themselves to visitors. I had never seen such a strange shape with its pink coloration and pointed snout before. Theoretically, you can bathe with the dolphins here; however, after all the eventful days, I was content with observing from a distance. The little ones made a few rounds in the murky water around the boat and then disappeared. We also vanished and continued on our journey. Upon arriving at the small harbor of Santa Rosa, we switched from boat to car and made our way back to Rurrenabaque. I enjoyed a long shower in the facilities of the travel agency and prepared for the return journey to La Paz. This was going to be quite an adventure again, seated in the very back row of the bus; however, the problem this time was merely the driver. He drove wildly and way too fast over the gravel roads and through numerous potholes. Sleeping was hardly an option; we were thrown around the half bus multiple times by the most violent jolts on the rear axle. The driver, however, seemed quite unfazed; he apparently had a mission, and almost two hours earlier than planned, we arrived completely rattled at the bus station in La Paz. Absolutely senseless this wild ride since I was supposed to take a bus later that night, and since it was 6 a.m. upon arrival, it meant now waiting for some shop to open where I could enjoy breakfast. Luckily, I was already accustomed to the theme of “bus travel in Bolivia,” and this ride was just another chapter in that.

The trip into the green lungs of Bolivia was definitely an experience and a very successful change from the chaotic hustle and bustle in the heights of the Altiplano.

Right after my arrival in La Paz late in the evening, Nim informed me that she had booked a tour for us tomorrow down the legendary Death Road on bicycles. We had discussed this beforehand, but I assumed that I could at least acclimatize in La Paz for a day or two before engaging in any activities. Well, it seems I was wrong, and after a really dreadful night where I hardly slept due to the altitude, we were off early the next morning. We were loaded into vans, with the bikes already stored on the roof, heading up to over 4,600 m in elevation. Since my arrival yesterday, I had only been able to see the city in the dark, so on the ride, I got my first glimpse of the lively chaos that unfolds here during the day. A bit outside the city, the bikes were unloaded, and we received initial instructions and an overview of what to expect that day. For a small extra fee, we had chosen bikes with front and rear suspension, a wise choice that would prove beneficial later. Following this, we were outfitted with various protective gear: jacket and pants with protectors, elbow and knee pads, and gloves. There must be a reason why we suited up so well for this journey.

The Death Road or Yungas Road - also known as Camino de la Muerte - was considered the most dangerous road in the world until 2007. It is estimated that approximately 200 – 300 travelers die each year on the route, which stretches for about 65 km and was the main connection between La Paz and the Amazon rainforest until the construction of a new two-lane road. Since the road is now rarely used for regular traffic, it can be navigated relatively easily by mountain bike, crossing nearly all climate zones of South America until reaching the goal at 1,200 m.

Our guide told us that every year, 1 to 2 fatalities occur during the rapid descent, but with our fantastic Transformer-style protective gear, we felt invulnerable! ;)

The first section of the route is driven from the La Cumbre Pass approximately 22 km down the newly paved road into the valley, offering spectacular views of the surrounding mountains and gorges. This section is usually secured with guardrails, and the road surface is quite good. The only issue here is the traffic and the madness displayed by some drivers with their maneuvers. After this section, the actual Death Road begins with its narrow unpaved track and steep cliffs. At some points, the road is only 3 meters wide, running alongside steep drops that fall hundreds of meters. Before we are released onto the unpaved section, we stop at a viewpoint to receive instructions and a warning to stay as far to the right as possible. This rule does not apply when approaching traffic comes, as it is allowed to pass (and this is a feature of this road) on the right from above. This rule was created because vehicles descending can maneuver better, thus allowing the uphill driver to have the side away from the edge.

From the viewpoint and the starting point of the actual Death Road, one can also see the course of the road leading further into the valley for the first time and marvel at the steep slopes on the roadside.

Initially quite cautious, we gradually picked up speed as we flew downhill on the unpaved track. It’s impressive what the bikes can endure and especially how much they can take. Perhaps a false assumption, but I felt surprisingly comfortable and safe on the mountain bike after just a short while, and the ride became wilder and wilder. I often waited at a spot with a spectacular view (and there are plenty) for Nim, and then took off again down the road with full speed. Nim also felt increasingly secure on the bike after a while, and we had a blast during the descent without really putting ourselves at risk, as we all wanted to arrive safely in the valley despite the adrenaline rush.

As we raced down the steep slopes, dramatic panoramas opened up with deep gorges and lush forests. At one point along the route, we even rode underneath a waterfall. Absolutely spectacular, and I would have loved to rewind time for a moment to observe the traffic that once struggled up and down this mountain before the new Yungas Road was built.

Around noon, we stopped at a wider section of the road for snacks, pancakes with Dulce de Leche, and fruit. After that, we continued into the valley, and I could clearly sense that the whole group (there were 12 of us crazy people in total) had become more confident with the bicycles, as the descent speed noticeably increased.

In the final kilometers before reaching the valley, we split off from the rest of the group with our 6-member team and engaged in a real race with position battles. Here the track was a bit wider, and it was genuinely fun to continue racing in a competitive spirit. Other than a small faux pas by a Frenchman who narrowly skimmed the edge with his rear wheel just before me in a curve (the Frenchman claimed it was relaxed, from my perspective it was inches away), there were no significant complications, and at high speed, the group sped towards the finish with a few position changes here and there. Upon arrival at the bottom, we all embraced. Bursting with adrenaline, we collectively realized what an incredible experience the past few hours had been. With faces covered in mud and dust, and aching wrists, we were served ice-cold beer, and we reveled in this eventful day. A big shoutout here once again for our decision to take the full suspension bikes. During the wild ride, we got jolted around so much that, without full suspension, my wrists would likely need to be in serious recovery mode.

After an hour, the bikes were loaded back on the roof, and we headed to one of the nearby villages in the valley, where dinner included in the price was served in tropical temperatures and dense forest. What a contrast to La Paz. The buffet was abundant and delicious, and to aid digestion, we lounged by or in the pool, admiring the colorful macaws that were frolicking in the trees.

On the subsequent long return trip – it took us almost 5 hours to reach La Paz – we shared many stories or just chatted about random nonsense before happily heading to bed.

In the end, it’s once again clear that some experiences are more than just adrenaline and adventure, even if it doesn’t seem that way at first glance. The crazy journey on the Death Road was not only a challenge but also a moment of pause amidst the wild nature of Bolivia – an experience that lingers long after.

La Paz as well. Puhhh. What a city and how incredibly difficult it is to somehow bring the impressions to paper in an orderly manner. This is really a challenge, and I don’t know how to even begin summarizing it. Overall, I spent more or less over 2 weeks in this chaos, and I will try to summarize it somehow. When you arrive in the city for the first time in the middle of the night, what stands out first is the incredible dimension of the urban space. You drive over El Alto into the valley and only see lights on the horizon. Houses, hills, and an unfathomable populated area in this seemingly hostile environment at an altitude of 4,000 meters. La Paz describes only the core city located in the valley. However, right next to it is El Alto. Formerly a district of La Paz located on a plateau above the city, El Alto is now an independent municipality with an estimated population between 850,000 and 1 million (as El Alto expands daily, the exact number of residents can only be roughly estimated). While the more affluent parts of the population settled in the sheltered valley, El Alto is rather a melting pot for people who can no longer afford to live in the supposedly better-situated valley. El Alto is a city with a very high proportion of indigenous population, and a large portion of the people have migrated from the Altiplano to El Alto in recent decades due to rural flight and poverty. As a visitor, you immediately feel the stark contrast between the more middle-class La Paz and the relatively impoverished El Alto. Looking from the streets of La Paz towards El Alto, you only notice the mountain ridge at the edge of the city, and it’s hard to realize that a much larger city still stretches beyond the city’s borders on the plateau. It seems completely surreal how the two municipalities entangle themselves in a kind of symbiosis. From the perspective of El Alto, however, during a ride on the Teleferico or while walking along the edge of El Alto, you gaze into the valley basin, and it is difficult to grasp the scale of the core city in the valley. Everything feels so surreal that you really have to remind yourself repeatedly that you are in an actual existing metropolis and not in some artificially created world or virtual reality. As mentioned before, while both municipalities are geographically very close to each other, they differ significantly in terms of population, economy, and cultural background. El Alto is considered the heart of indigenous identity and resistance in Bolivia, while La Paz traditionally represents the political and economic elite. All this is reflected in the perception of the actual cityscape. While La Paz appears like a “normal” South American metropolis, El Alto looks more improvised and rather simple in structure. Walking through the city on the plateau, you notice that the infrastructure is limited to what is essential. Simple street kitchens and supplies for the population take priority here. Bars, better restaurants, and other sites of urban enjoyment are hard to find. The population seems too poor to indulge in entertainment venues. El Alto is also home to one of the largest markets in Bolivia, if not in all of South America and the largest open-air market in the world. Known as the Mercado 16 de Julio, it stretches over vast areas of the city. When we strolled through the market on a Thursday, we quickly realized that it cannot be explored in a day. It’s unbelievable how extensive the market is, and even after hours, there seemed to be no end in sight. Without a doubt, this is the largest marketplace I have ever walked through, and everything you can imagine is offered here. In addition to everyday products, the market is also known for selling unusual and bizarre items. There are stalls with spiritual and esoteric products, healing remedies, talismans, or various items for religious rituals. Part of the market, and likely all markets in Bolivia, is closely linked to Aymara culture and the belief in Pachamama (Mother Earth) and other spiritual beings. During market days, almost all street traffic in El Alto comes to a standstill, and during our first visit to El Alto, we also missed the Cholita-Libre event because it was impossible to reach the event location, but more on that later.

To slightly structure the entire madness of La Paz, I'll mention some facts, impressions, experiences, and events that left a lasting impression during my stay.

The cityscape in general can be described as quite unique. There are few undeveloped areas; in the valley and on the slopes, houses and huts squeeze into every tiny open space, right up to the last buildable area at the edge of the rugged cliffs and slopes that surround the city. It’s a stark contrast to planned cities like Brasília or Washington, D.C. The only order and constant in the cityscape is the never-ending chaos. It is loud, and there is always movement somewhere, like in a proverbial ant hill. With a height difference of nearly 900 meters between La Paz and El Alto, the descent into the valley leads to one of the most spectacular views on the South American continent. And above it all looms the snow-capped peak of Illimani, at 6,439 m the second-highest peak in Bolivia and a prominent landmark of the city.

Teleferico:

To explore the city, taking a ride on the Teleferico, the highest cable car in the world, is highly recommended. There are now a total of 9 lines connecting both cities, and for 3 Bolivianos (about 35 cents), you can enjoy spectacular views over the rooftops of both municipalities. The cable car system visibly helps to relieve the roads and the nerves of the residents; given the size of the city and the still catastrophic traffic, it undoubtedly meant that before the construction of the Teleferico, an appointment on the other side of the city would involve a day trip. In about an hour, you can travel in a sort of ring system to all essential neighborhoods using the cable car and get a wonderful impression from a bird’s eye view without having to plunge directly into the bustling hustle and bustle and without being stuck in traffic for hours.

By the way, to ease the traffic chaos, the city employs zebras. Although not real animals, these are people dressed in zebra costumes who help regulate traffic. Here, traffic lights are merely seen as decoration, and state authority is not fully respected; the zebras serve as a link between the state and the population, using red and green signs to manage the traffic. This surprisingly works well, and these animal helpers are taken seriously and respected. After all, who can defy a zebra that jumps onto the street with a wide grin, goofing around and pointing out the next green phase?

Cholitas- Wrestling:

As previously described, one of our first excursions to El Alto was to see the Cholitas. Combat sport and shows are nothing unusual in Latin America, and since I had already visited lucha libre fights in Mexico, I had a vague idea of what to expect here. Due to the chaos on one of the market days, we missed the first scheduled fight day and decided to return to the arena in El Alto another time. We booked the tour at one of the first hostels, and together with other foreigners, we made our way up to El Alto. For about 10 euros, you acquire an entrance ticket, including a snack, drink, and souvenir. An estimated 90% of the visitors here are tourists, and among the interested locals, they retreated to the back of the hall on the concrete steps of the grandstand while plastic chairs are reserved for foreigners right by the ring. I honestly didn’t like this two-class society; however, since the entire event likely primarily lives off the income of tourists, I can somewhat understand it from the operators’ perspective. It’s definitely spectacular to see the Cholitas take turns hitting each other in several matches, both individually and as a team. Clearly, it’s all a show, but the athleticism of the women is quite impressive, and with some of the moves displayed, I’m sure any ordinary person would break every bone in their body. Somewhat rustic at times, with punches, kicks, hair pulling, and mutual beer-spitting followed by crushing the can on the opponent's head, a wide repertoire of actions is presented here. This also has a serious background, as domestic violence against women in Bolivia is unfortunately widespread; the Cholitas have taken this as a reason to emancipate from violence, learn combat sports, and showcase it to the audience. The majority of the earnings also go to the fighters (so we were told), thus supporting women in their daily battle against violence. Definitely a fun and interesting event; if you’re in La Paz, you should experience it.

San Pedro Prison:

In the middle of the city at Plaza San Pedro lies the largest prison in the country, well shielded from the outside world with its 18-meter-high walls. However, San Pedro Prison has nothing in common with a conventional correctional facility. The prison has a nearly autonomous economic system. There are apartments and markets, restaurants, bars, and even small businesses that provide services to other inmates. The prisoners pay for their cells, and there is a clear hierarchy regarding the type of accommodation and social status within the prison walls. Wealthy inmates can buy or rent luxurious cells, while poorer prisoners have to live in miserable and overcrowded cells.

The exclusively male inmates in San Pedro often live with their wives and children. Early in the morning, the women take the children to school and then work somewhere in the city, selling food or souvenirs before returning to the prison with the children in the late afternoon. Since the first hostel was located in the immediate vicinity of San Pedro Prison, we could observe the colorful activities outside the prison gates daily; during rush hours, women and children sometimes lined up to return to their heavy men because the demand was simply too high.

There are reports that cocaine is produced and smuggled in significant quantities within the prison due to self-administration. Unusual methods are employed for this: sometimes transported by pigeons or packed in apples, which are then thrown onto the street and picked up and further transported by contacts. The residents are generally aware of this methodology; however, it tends to be accepted more or less tacitly. If someone mentions it, that person is automatically implicated in the gangs' schemes and part of the problem. So, it is better to keep quiet and avoid trouble. During a walking tour, we were advised not to pick anything up near the prison walls – smuggling seems to remain an ever-present issue. Originally intended for 300 inmates, there are now reportedly over 4,000. If you’re interested in how things look inside the prison walls, just type “San Pedro Prison” into YouTube and gain a visual impression of the conditions described in the facility.

The prison also became famous outside Bolivia through the book “Marching Powder,” which tells the true story of British drug smuggler Thomas McFadden and provides a deep and authentic insight into the daily life in San Pedro Prison, which is fundamentally different from other prisons.

McFadden was arrested in 1996 with 5 kilograms of cocaine at La Paz airport and incarcerated in San Pedro. Quickly integrated into the unusual prison system, the clever McFadden begins to make the best of his situation, offering unofficial tours for backpackers and other tourists into the prison's inner workings with the help of corrupt guards and other accomplices to tell the unique structure and stories of the inmates firsthand. McFadden gained notoriety through these tours, and the tourists helped him with the earnings to continually improve his life in prison. He rose to a position within the prison that provided him with protection and a relatively comfortable life, while violence and power struggles shaped daily life within the prison.

On one of these tours, he met the Australian Rusty Young, who was so fascinated by McFadden’s story that he wrote a book about it – Marching Powder. The book, published in 2003, became an international bestseller and made San Pedro Prison world-famous. The reports about prison life and the state of the Bolivian justice system shocked many readers, and after publication, the authorities tried to tighten their grip and curtail drug smuggling, which presumably only succeeded for a short time. At least the official tours into the prison are now strictly prohibited. There were reportedly some unpleasant incidents, and the government has finally put a stop to this. The last story I heard about the still unofficial tours was about 3 Australians who reportedly had to raise a significant amount of money at the beginning of the year to leave the prison unharmed. Surely such a tour would have been interesting for me as well, but under these circumstances it is certainly not feasible and just plain foolish and dangerous.

To this day, the book is not available in Spanish. Perhaps to avoid confronting the majority of the Bolivian population with the true conditions inside the prison walls.

Markets and Pachamama

I briefly touched on the significance of markets for the local population with the example of Mercado 16 de Julio. Entire neighborhoods are covered with stalls on certain days, and there are streets for sweets, hygiene products, clothing, or fruits. There is also bustling activity in La Paz. Even in major cities, there are very few actual supermarkets; all daily necessities are purchased in countless small kiosks or at the market. The business here in the country is traditionally firmly in women’s hands. Women are said to have a good business sense, whereas men are thought to take their earnings straight back to the next brewery to drink. Indeed, I noticed that during all my walks, almost exclusively women were behind the stalls. As a customer, for every item desired, you have your own market lady, who besides the goods also shares a bit of gossip and, depending on the length of the business relationship, offers a decent discount in the form of more goods. Thus, you stroll over the vast areas and shop with the respective “Caseritas” (the friendly term for market women) for potatoes, beets, or onions. And you should be careful not to avoid the respective caserita responsible for your desired product and go to another lady, because then, besides the good personal relationship, the special price and better quality of products are gone for good. In addition to traditional markets, there is also a witch market in La Paz, where you can find all sorts of tourist trinkets as well as very unusual products, such as dried llama fetuses, exotic herbs, talismans, amulets, and various ritual ingredients. Here as well, the goods are traditionally offered by Cholas or Cholitas (indigenous women) in their traditional clothing. The clothing of the Cholitas consists of a long skirt, up to 10 petticoats, a shoulder shawl, and the typical hat. The ladies also make for an interesting photo motif, but one should proceed with extreme caution when photographing the indigenous population or ask for permission beforehand. Many indigenous people believe that photographing them can steal their soul.

At the witch market, everything is closely linked to the deep connection of Bolivian society with traditional beliefs and nature. For the Western visitor, the market represents a bizarre attraction; for many locals, however, it is an essential part of daily life and spiritual practice. Here, the traditional knowledge of the Aymara culture is preserved, and Pachamama is revered. Pachamama, also known as Mother Earth, plays a central role in the indigenous culture of the Andes, both in Bolivia and Peru. She is considered the personification of the earth, goddess of fertility, nature, and life. Everything revolves around Pachamama here, and you are confronted with this theme almost daily. On the street corners in La Paz, you see shamans everywhere, called Yatiris, who facilitate personal contact with Pachamama, for personal contact is unfortunately not possible for the average citizen. The ritual goes as follows: You have a wish or need and would like to seek Pachamama’s assistance. So, you gather a few offerings and head to a Yatiri. The offerings (llama fetuses, coca leaves, candies, flowers, alcohol, or perfume) are arranged on a special tray and burned. Through the smoke of the burnt offerings, Pachamama sees the contact request and turns her attention to the person in question and their request. The offerings are meant to maintain the balance between man and nature and ensure her protection. Whether these rituals are generally successful, I cannot say, but it seems there’s something to it; especially in the city center of La Paz and near markets, you often see these ceremonies.

A central role in the colorful assortment of offerings play llama fetuses, which are especially needed when building houses. Before laying the foundation stone, ashes and a baby llama are included in the earth, thus securing the protection of the house by Pachamama.

There are also reports that when constructing larger houses and buildings, human sacrifices are resorted to in order to ensure protection. During the demolition of older structures in the cities, the remains of people are sometimes found in the foundations. Officially, this is no longer common practice today, and it is socially frowned upon, but several Bolivians have told me that this is still practiced. Rumors have it that homeless and alcoholic people are specifically targeted to honor them in one last “great night” before offering them. Also, on a free walking tour, human sacrifices were mentioned, but I could not find verified sources or evidence in my research.

In general, the cityscape regarding the demographic structure is heavily influenced by the indigenous population; about 40% of Bolivians identify as indigenous peoples, which is the largest share among all South American countries. However, over 80% of Bolivia's residents are Catholic. Since the colonial period, Catholicism has been deeply rooted in the country; the Spaniards successfully managed to evangelize a large part of the population.

At the center of La Paz stands the Basilica de San Francisco, built in the mid-16th century during the Spanish colonial period, which features one peculiarity: On the front facade is a representation of a naked woman, Pachamama. This figure was intended to encourage the indigenous population to practice the Catholic faith. The indigenous people, drawn to the Pachamama figure, entered the church, and were astonished. In the church, the Spaniards had placed mirrors. Since the indigenous people were unaware of mirrors, they were astonished by their own faces, and the Spaniards told them these were their souls. And if people came to church often enough and prayed to their God and their souls, their souls would be safe in the church and would ascend to heaven. Along with horrific depictions of hell shown to the indigenous people, which instilled great fear, they obediently attended church and prayed to the god of the conquerors. This is a vivid example of the creativity of the Spaniards in evangelizing the local population.

Apart from the execution of their traditional beliefs, the traditions and rituals of the indigenous population are omnipresent in the cityscape, be it at the markets, through the Cholitas, or the Yatiris. That’s what makes La Paz so unique and interesting for me; you feel like you've arrived in a different time, far removed from the modernity of European capitals. Notable in La Paz are also the many shoeshiners standing on every corner, often with their faces completely covered. Since the profession of shoeshiner is considered inferior and contemptible in Bolivian society, the men cover their faces, especially to avoid being recognized by acquaintances and relatives. It's a stark example of discrimination, which likely stems from the belief that during Inca times, the lowest job was to clean the feet of the Chaski (the messenger) after a long journey.

What else can I personally report about La Paz?!

Most of the time, I spent here with Nim, a wonderfully crazy Australian with whom I explored North Chile and Bolivia. After 3 days in a really awful hostel (much too small rooms, uncomfortable), we booked an Airbnb with two private rooms for a cheap price, and we also treated ourselves to some good rest after all the excitement of the last weeks and the daily adventures in the city. This was also necessary as you can feel the altitude at times and with the constant up and down through the streets of the city. In La Paz, I had a significant problem with the food for the first time on my trip and was out of commission for 3 days due to constant toilets visits from all body openings. I have no idea if it was already a food poisoning, but it definitely wasn’t enjoyable.

Of course, we also watched soccer, and a visit to the city's cemetery should not be missed during any stay in La Paz. While attending a match in the Copa Sudamericana: Always Ready – LDU Quito, we visited one of the highest football stadiums in the world (4,170 m above sea level), the atmosphere at the Cementerio General de La Paz was rather calm and respectful. Walking through one of the most significant burial sites of the country feels somewhat like being in a Wes Anderson film. All the artistic tombs, the magnificent mausoleums, and the morbid street art against the backdrop of the constructed slopes leave a quite surreal but somehow beautifully sad impression.

I could probably write for hours about everything I experienced or perceived in La Paz, but I instead recommend a personal visit to this crazy city – for me definitely one of the most exciting, if not the most exciting urban space I have ever moved in.

La Paz, the colorful city high up on the Altiplano as a melting pot of history, culture, and tradition: colorful chaotic, wild, contrasting, rough, rugged, windy, historical, hectic, exciting, authentic, diverse, breathtaking, and above all, UNIQUE!

Before I get to the actual visit to the city of Cochabamba, I must first report on the journey there, as it turned out to be quite interesting and spectacular.

From Samaipata, I took a colectivo for about 30 minutes to Mairana. As I was running a bit late and the colectivo only departs when full, I bought the last remaining empty seat for about 1.50 euros and made it to the bus departure point for Cochabamba on time. The initial visual inspection of the bus did not exactly cast doubt on its roadworthiness, although the vehicle was already so worn out that operating it in Central Europe would probably not be allowed under any circumstances. Moreover, the driver, equipped with sandals, a messenger bag, and a cigarette in his mouth, left no doubt that he was exactly the right guy to maneuver this vehicle. And so the wild journey began, and after a short ride, we had to stop for the first time, as in addition to the loud noise when braking, there seemed to be a problem with the air pressure in one of the tires. At the first stop, without any help, we took breaks at regular intervals to inspect something on one of the front tires. However, it did not seem to be a fundamental problem, as the vehicle kept rolling steadily. Until we ascended into the Altiplano and reached heights over 3,000 meters, the ride was still quite relaxing. However, with a more demanding route, the driver discovered his racing genes, and with full speed and all sorts of extremely risky maneuvers, madness commenced. The bus made noises that I could no longer interpret, and looking down into the gorges with the absence of any safety precautions like guardrails or other barriers, one could only vaguely imagine the consequences should our racing driver have a weak moment here. To make the whole thing somehow bearable for me, I simply stared blankly out the side window and tried to concentrate on something else. Meanwhile, I repeatedly heard the frantic and nervous murmurs of the other passengers, and during one of the completely unnecessary overtaking maneuvers - of course, before a difficult-to-see bend - we almost rammed the bus we were overtaking. It was really a matter of centimeters, and I could touch the bus's body with my hand by extending it out the window. To make matters worse, there was also oncoming traffic, and with a loud honk, we narrowly avoided a collision, which was not the first critically dangerous situation during the ride. Some Bolivians found it too much by now and tried loudly and with wild insults to urge the driver to moderate his speed. However, he seemed to feel offended in his honor as a passenger transporter and accelerated the bus with even more vigor through the winding roads of the Altiplano. Meanwhile, a lady in the bus collapsed and fell in the middle aisle. Several passengers attempted to help her, and I also wanted to contribute with water. However, due to this freak's driving style, it was impossible to hold oneself upright, and we moved through the bus gingerly as if on eggs, while the lady rolled back and forth in the aisle. What a grotesque spectacle, like in a movie, all sorts of people were thrown around in the bus until someone finally managed to convey to the wild driver that this was an emergency situation. Finally, the driver slowed down a bit, and after some time, the woman regained consciousness. Her circulation stabilized, and the rest of the ride proceeded relatively normally.

It is a pity that the circumstances of the journey only allowed for a limited enjoyment of the landscape, as it was truly breathtaking. Through different landscape zones, from the lush slopes of the Andes to the dry Altiplano with its impressive views to the relatively green valley of Cochabamba, this journey, under normal conditions, is an absolute highlight.

Upon arriving in Cochabamba, I was to meet Nim again; beforehand, I had reserved a bed in the hostel, and we went on a culinary exploration. Cochabamba is often referred to as Bolivia's food capital and is known for its rich culinary tradition and diversity. Typical dishes include “Pique Macho” (a kind of savory stew made from fried beef, potatoes, onions, and peppers, served with a spicy sauce), “Salteñas” (stuffed pastries), “Sopa de Mani” (peanut soup with beef or chicken), and “Llajwa” (a spicy salsa made from tomatoes and Rocoto chili).

Unfortunately, Nim had eaten something strange days before my arrival and had massive stomach issues. Luckily, I was spared from this and was able to enjoy and indulge in the rich and affordable offerings of local delicacies throughout my stay in the city.

What else was happening in Cochabamba? There aren’t many sights to see in the city; the main square with its surrounding buildings is quite worth seeing, but sightseeing is almost exclusively limited to this area. I also made sure to check out the local football scene and attended a match of the club Jorge Wilstermann, which is quite popular in Bolivia, and it was even an exceptionally good atmosphere for Bolivian standards.

I also visited the Cristo de la Concordia, the impressive statue of Christ on San Pedro Hill, high above the city. The statue is 34 meters tall, making it taller than the Cristo Redentor in Rio and currently the third tallest statue of Christ in the world. From San Pedro Hill, there is also an impressive view over the city and the smog that surrounds it on most days.

Overall, I spent four days in Cochabamba; one highlight was certainly the party at the hostel, featuring three live bands and genuinely great music, with various locals mingling among the hostel guests and sharing interesting stories.

In summary: Even if Cochabamba does not offer outstanding architectural or cultural highlights, the city is generally quite laid-back. The people are nice, the selection of local foods is large, and it is also quite affordable. One can spend a few relaxed days in the city without feeling like something is missing. And after such a long journey, this can be a lovely change of pace.  

After a short visit to Santa Cruz de la Sierra, I decided to make a stop somewhere in nature on my way to western Bolivia. However, I couldn't really make up my mind due to the numerous possibilities, so I strolled past the terminals of various bus and transport companies in the morning, looking for a destination that suited me. After a short while, the offer of a ride in a colectivo to Samaipata caught my interest. It was on the way to Cochabamba and La Paz, and not even converted to 5 euros for the 3.5-hour route to a sleepy small town amidst national parks and some Inca ruins. Perfect - deal! I left my backpack at the company office, quickly grabbed something to eat, and then we were set to go. Cramped with 8 other passengers, the journey took us over hilly terrain and through impressive landscapes with numerous rock formations. Shortly before 6 PM, we arrived in Samaipata, and I walked to the pre-booked accommodation. Upon arriving at

The journey continued from Sucre to the largest city in the country – Santa Cruz de la Sierra.

The approximately 480 km distance takes about 13 hours by bus, as the road conditions are somewhat worse than on the previous routes. The journey goes partly through mountainous landscapes and unpaved roads – just imagine, traveling from the capital to the largest city in the country and part of the only direct connecting road would not even qualify as a dirt road in Germany. This explains the extremely long travel time for such a relatively 'short' distance.

I spent a total of 3 full days in Santa Cruz, which is actually a bit too long, as there isn't much to see here. Santa Cruz is a vibrant and modern city, and the economic center of Bolivia. Unlike other cities in Bolivia, it is quite wealthy, leading to ongoing efforts to gain more autonomy from the central government in La Paz. These autonomy efforts often lead to political tensions and conflicts between the regional government and the central government in La Paz. How this whole story will unfold remains to be seen, but so far, all attempts for greater self-governance are being stifled by La Paz.

Due to its geographical location and economic significance, Santa Cruz has developed into an increasingly important center for the cocaine trade in recent years. Strategically located near various coca cultivation areas and with access to critical transport routes, the city is seen as a hub for drug smuggling. As a tourist, one doesn't notice this on the surface, but talking to the people in the city provides a rough overview of the importance of this market. Most people speak rather positively about the cartels and tolerate their businesses, especially since a significant portion of the capital generated stays invested in the country, thus contributing to local prosperity based on the cartel business. One may not agree with this as an outsider, but the statements and reasoning can be understood.

Another interesting aspect of Santa Cruz is the city's transportation planning. There are a total of 7 road rings surrounding the city, forming a network of roads aimed at easing both urban traffic and connections to the outer districts. However, traffic in the city remains catastrophic, especially during peak hours, and I can only vaguely imagine how the chaos would be maximized without this transportation planning feature.

There isn't much more to report about Santa Cruz de la Sierra; I found the city rather monotonous and uninteresting. However, it was here that the beloved travel group should initially split up. Colin stayed a bit longer in the city, Nim traveled on after 2 days towards the Toro Toro National Park, and I planned to make a stop in Samaipata on my way west. More on that in the next report.