Five years ago Bolivian Express was born between a japanese restaurant and a lift on Avenida 20 de Octubre in La Paz. During the clunky journey from the ground floor to the 17th storey, two young gentlemen and a Swiss-Indian chica lamented the absence of an English-language publication in the country; two notable predecessors—the Bolivian Times and Llama Express—were sadly no longer in circulation. And so the name of the magazine was born as a portmanteau of sorts, an homage to the magazine’s forebearers.
We were determined to find a viable way of printing a quality free publication, given the erratic nature of local advertising revenues and shortage of local English-language journalists. A further (Irish) founder was enlisted and six university friends were boarded on a plane, kidnapped to serve as editorial guinea pigs. It became clear to the founding team that an ideal way of sustaining the project as a whole would be to combine it with a journalism training programme.
What started off as a magazine for tourists quickly turned into something else. After the first 10 issues, we had already covered all the well-trodden festivities and attractions the country is probably best known for. The continuous challenge has been to find new stories from which everyone, including the local audience, can learn something new. Indeed, over half of our readers are native Spanish speakers, so we are as committed to writing for them as we are for the uninitiated in Bolivia. This work has brought us close to people we would perhaps never have had an excuse to get to know: from former presidents, ministers and local sporting heroes, to Michael Jackson impersonators, prisoners serving life sentences and private investigators.
Since our unconventional beginnings, the project has involved over 120 people from 20+ countries worldwide who have come to volunteer as part of the effort.Today, the Bolivian Express team of volunteers live and sleep in a shared house as they explore the country, its stories and cultures with the help of a local team. By looking beyond the salt-flats and ancient ruins, their mission is to bring new eyes to this infinite land. If they leave as cultural ambassadors, rather than just tourists, the project has achieved one of its aims. And, of course, by flicking through these pages you, the reader, are closing the circle and helping to complete this project’s mission.
Over the years we have also worked with a large number of people across the world: editors scattered across San Francisco, New York and Caracas, a web developer in Berlin, an editor and marketing director somewhere in the Swiss alps, and even a virtual assistant in Bulgaria (hey, Pavlin). As past team members have taken on new challenges, others have appeared and have reshaped the project anew. With this, our 50th issue, we are incredibly proud to say that Bolivian Express has a life of its own; it exists as something greater and wiser than the people who have made it possible so far.
Thank you for being a part of this journey.
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PHOTO: VILLE MIETTINEN
Today, climate change presents itself in many ways: photos of polar bears clinging to floating ice caps and cities being encroached upon by the desert are abundant on the web. But why are some places being affected more seriously and rapidly than others? Andean glaciers are receding at speeds much more quickly than the rest of the world, due to their high altitude and proximity to the equator.
The glacier of Huayna Potosi is receding at an exceptional rate. Where there is now simply a glimmering lake, not long ago the glacier was 20 metres high. On the Chacaltaya glacier, a wooden building stands surrounded by rocks—once the highest ski resort in the world. It shut down a few years ago because it simply become too warm for skiing to be viable.
La Paz relies on glacial water for 15 to 30 percent of its drinking water supply, depending on the time of year. Other Latin American cities, like Quito and Bogotá, have also been affected, as well as small rural communities high up in the Andes—on the slopes of lllimani, for example, where the watershed is the surrounding communities’ main source of water. According to the BBC, Andean glaciers have lost 30 to 50 percent of their original size since the 1970s. If they continue to melt at this rate, in 30 years time, many will have disappeared. What will this mean for the countries who depend so heavily on them?
PHOTO: PHOEBE ROTH
From the lights of El Alto city at night—a starry sky that, to a London-born city girl, looks like a theatre backdrop—to the sun rising above the clouds, the views climbing Huayna Potosí can only be described as surreal. You’d be forgiven for forgetting that you are only a 45-minute drive away from La Paz. Although civilisation is a mere stone’s throw away, here, at over 6,000 metres above sea level, you are cut off from the world.
As we ascended from 5,000 metres to the summit in the middle of the night, the only sound heard for miles was the crunching of snow underfoot and the rhythmic breathing of our small group of mountaineers. However, no matter how peaceful and serene it may have seemed at the time, what I realised more than anything on this expedition is just how vulnerable you are in the mountains.
We were halfway up climbing the steep final ascent when I began to feel the snow slide away from underneath me, and every step I took felt less and less secure. The sun had started to rise and the snow had started to melt, sending small snowballs tumbling down the steep cliff face. About 80 metres from the summit, we decided as a group to turn around and not attempt the summit, as the avalanche risk was too high.
As we began our descent, Eduardo, our guide, explained the dangers of mountaineering. He once ran from the base camp, at 4,700 metres, to the summit, at 6,088 metres, in an hour and a half, to rescue his colleague and a fellow climber who were trapped in an avalanche—a journey that would take the average person about six hours. It was on that same slope that we made the decision to turn around. Avalanches occur often there, given its steep, smooth surface and the buildup of layers of old and new snow.
When he told me this story, I realised two things: just how much experience and local knowledge is needed to be a mountain guide, and how isolated and dangerous the mountains can be, especially here in Bolivia. The route is inaccessible by car and, unlike Europe, there are no emergency services, except rescuers on foot. This makes one realise that, as Eduardo explained, ‘No one is safe in the mountains’.
PHOTO: MICHAEL DUNN CACERES
Walking through the general cemetery of La Paz, I was astounded at how strange and different it looked to anywhere I had seen before, with various blocks of what looked like greenhouses, each with row upon row of glass-fronted cabinet doors. The family of the deceased pay for a cabinet where the body is buried, and prices vary depending on whereabouts, and how high up, in the cemetery they are placed.
There are also people employed by the families to pray for their deceased relatives buried there. Recently, one of these employees, Ricardo Quispe, was struck by lightning after having taken shelter under a tree during a vicious electrical storm. The 66-year-old was left with burns over 90 percent of his body but, somehow, he’s still alive.
