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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The bar El Acuario is hidden deep amongst the busy, traffic-filled streets in the commercial district of Max Paredes. Behind three women selling chicharrón lie some steep steps leading down to the 'El Sotano', a popular nickname for the bar. The playground-like coloured rocks on the wall guide visitors down the stairs towards a small lamp hanging above a wooden door. There is no other sign to indicate that this is a popular bar for clowns.
The peeling walls and sticky smell of beer and cigarettes could mistakenly make you believe you are entering a typical boliche. At the front, where various liquors are on display, two signs catch my eye; 'if you drink to forget, pay before you forget', and the second one, written in blue biro on a piece of lined paper, says 'we sell soft toys'.
Mila Araoz visited this bar in May 2014 to discover that clowns don’t come to this bar to drink beer, but to get ready for their afternoon performances around the city. Once their faces are painted white, cheeks red, and noses on, our new friends undergo the final step in their transformation, suddenly breaking into an incredibly high-pitched voice.
One clown, known as Tibilín, told BX: 'the AMI association [Artistas del Mundo Infantil] says we can’t be drunken clowns. Its also the rule here in the bar. We can’t drink or smoke -- what would happen if a child saw us? We would break the fantasy'. Indeed, the only clowns we encountered at the bar were drinking Coca-Cola.
Its hard to leave the bar, even after having spent the past two hours here. We leave this hectic little world just to enter another one. As we walk up the steps onto the street, the fresh air awakens us from the surrealist dream we’ve just left behind. We emerge into a labyrinth of multicoloured street stalls. The pervasive smell of fried food hanging in the air signalling our entry back into the strange and manic reality of La Paz above ground.
PHOTO: IVAN RODRIGUEZ PETKOVIC
Over the past five years, a string of gutsy interns from Bolivian Express has ventured inside some of Bolivia's most notorious prisons. In 2011, Matthew Grace, an editor for BX, traveled to Cochabamba’s women's prison to meet two young Norwegians who were arrested for attempting to smuggle 22.5 kilograms of cocaine out of Bolivia. Four years ago, Stina Brendemo Hagan and Madelaine Rodriguez, then 20 and 23 years old and still denying the crime, were both well settled into life at the San Sebastian prison. Stina had a son of five months, and their sentences had been reduced to ten years.
However, when I arrived in May this year I was greeted by Madelaine alone. Stina followed the footsteps of Christina—a third girl arrested in 2008 who escaped to Norway in 2009—and fled home whilst on bail in 2011. Up until then, Stina and Madelaine acted as rocks to one another during their solitude behind bars. Not only were the young women close friends, but Stina is also the aunt to Madelaine's first daughter, Alicia, now nine years old. In spite of their family ties, Stina absconded without saying goodbye, and Madelaine was left completely alone. But luckily for her, she was fully independent and had made a name for herself as an inmate not to mess with, due to her confident and somewhat intimidating air. She also has an appearance full of juxtapositions, with half-shaven hair and a nose ring alongside her youthful, flawless skin and callow eyes. Madelaine claimed not to have any close confidants back in 2011, and this clearly hasn't changed as the main advice she gives is to ‘not trust anyone’. But she doesn't need close friends to pass time, as she has her hands full with two beautiful, inquisitive children. Damien, who is two years old, sports the same hair style as his mother and wears an American baseball top that Madelaine says his grandmother sent from the United States along with various other clothes. Although she hasn't had a visit from her own family members since the first year of her incarceration, she and her children often speak to her mother and eldest daughter over the phone despite communication difficulties and language differences amongst all her children.
Life in the prison is dull and at times can be very hard as inmates have to pay for everything themselves. Madelaine has worked in the prison laundry for many years to earn money; some days, though, she still struggles to buy enough food for her family, let alone medical and dental services. I was surprised how comfortable she was around a complete stranger like me, but also how hopeful she was about her release after seven years in prison. She couldn't deny there had been multiple mess-ups and so many delays that she had lost count—her first parole was supposed to be in 2012. Although she may not return to Norway for some time due to legal reasons, she truly believes this is the year she is getting out.
PHOTO: VALERIA WILDE
Día de los Perros is celebrated on August 16—the feast day of St. Roque, the 14th-century Majorcan patron saint of dogs, who was nursed back to health by a canine whilst suffering from the plague. Traditionally, man’s best friend is showered with treats and affection by loving families as well as receiving extra pampering in some of the country’s fanciest peluquerías caninas.
However it is not just the coddled dogs of La Paz who receive a treat on Dia de los Perros. Charities such as Animales SOS Bolivia are dedicated to the welfare of street dogs, whose numbers are particularly high in La Paz: 60 percent of the 14,000-strong paceño canine population inhabit the streets. The charity started delivering breakfast to dogs at landfill sites 15 years ago on Día de los Perros and last year it distributed 10,000 meals, including meat-filled sandwiches prepared by volunteers, to dogs all over the districts of La Paz and El Alto.
