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: LINDA MARKLUND
In Bolivia, fifteen is the age that a girl enters into womanhood, and the quinceañera tradition dictates that an extravagant party is thrown to celebrate this rite of passage. It can be as small as a family gathering in the girl’s house or as opulent as a 1920s themed ball. Traditionally, it starts with a small Mass, then continues into an all-day party, with the girls father presenting her to the attendees in her first pair of heels, a symbol of her transition.
Perhaps one of the most important parts of these luxurious occasions is the quinceañera cake, a multi-tiered dulce de leche masterpiece, adorned with flowers, biscuits, fruit, and multi-coloured jelly. In the Max Paredes district of La Paz, cake shops line the street, displaying their most flamboyant designs, some of which cost an extortionate 3,500 bolivianos. They can be made to order in any shape or size, from basic circular cakes to designs mimicking the favourite hobby of the reina de la quinceañera.
PHOTO: NICK SOMERS
Legend has it that the man selling salchipapas on the edge of Plaza España has been around for decades. Jackie, who works in the bar Diesel on Avenida 20 de Octubre, claims that when she was a child, the same man owned the same stall, some 30 years ago. So how many salchipapas is that in a lifetime of street food? He opens the stall at around 6 pm and closes at midnight. At an estimate of 40 an hour—that makes 240 a day, 1,680 a week, and 87,000 a year (giving him a few days off for the many Bolivian bank holidays). A ballpark figure of just over two and a half million salchipapas. No wonder he’s grumpy.
PHOTO: AMARU VILLANUEVA RANCE
Somewhere amongst the abundance of radio taxis and the rather suspect missing-a-headlight cabs, you can find a driver named Mario Durán, who famously challenges his passengers to an unusual game of trivia en route to their destination. They can ask him any question from his Almanaque, but every answer he gets right, the taxi fare increases by one boliviano; every one he gets wrong, it decreases respectively. He claims he even challenged Evo Morales (in the days long before his presidency) and got every question right, after which Morales congratulated him. Mario explains that he works mainly at night and can often be found roaming the streets of Sopocachi. ‘I work the night shift because I’m too old to put up with the traffic and social protests of the day time.’ And why this strange ritual? He says he wants to encourage people to want to learn more about the world. And, of course, it makes the boring taxi rides more interesting.
