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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ILLUSTRATION: OSCAR ZALLES
El cementerio de elefantes is a graveyard in Africa filled with the corpses and bones of elephants who go to die there when they know their life is about to end. ‘Elephant graveyards’ also exist in La Paz with a not so different significance. Hardened, inveterate alcoholics drown their sorrows in gallons of alcohol to forget, or perhaps relive, their memories and take their last breaths alone surrounded by nothing except the one thing that destroyed their humanity. You won't find bars advertising this service as it is illegal, but if you know who to go to, they will be willing facilitate such needs for a shockingly cheap price. The Bolivian film of the same title tells the sombre story of a remorseful man who wishes to officially die by the same means which ended his life aged 14 when he first began to drink. Juvenal is taken to a bleak room and given some newspaper for warmth and a bucket of alcohol to ‘do the job’. This sad and dark film is a chilling representation of the hardships faced by those living on the margins of society who turn to alcohol as their way out.
PHOTO: ELIZA WOOD
El cementerio de elefantes is a graveyard in Africa filled with the corpses and bones of elephants who go to die there when they know their life is about to end. ‘Elephant graveyards’ also exist in La Paz with a not so different significance. Hardened, inveterate alcoholics drown their sorrows in gallons of alcohol to forget, or perhaps relive, their memories and take their last breaths alone surrounded by nothing except the one thing that destroyed their humanity. You won't find bars advertising this service as it is illegal, but if you know who to go to, they will be willing facilitate such needs for a shockingly cheap price. The Bolivian film of the same title tells the sombre story of a remorseful man who wishes to officially die by the same means which ended his life aged 14 when he first began to drink. Juvenal is taken to a bleak room and given some newspaper for warmth and a bucket of alcohol to ‘do the job’. This sad and dark film is a chilling representation of the hardships faced by those living on the margins of society who turn to alcohol as their way out.
PHOTO: ELIZA WOOD
When Martha Cajías' mural entitled ""The Kallawga"" was vandalised in February, several people took to social media to publicise their outrage. The mural located on La Avenida Sánchez Lima, was covered by a sheath of garish blue paint and a political slogan by members of the Satucos - a political action group run by ex-assembly member Gustavo Torrico. One user tweeted that they couldn't destroy the mural ""without suffering the consequences"". However, when days later a modern interpretation of the traditional Three Wise Monkeys was also added, the reception was surprisingly positive. A photo was posted on the Sopocachi Facebook page with the caption ""Si al arte urbano no a la política"" and received almost 150 likes as well as comments continuing to criticise the political propagandists. However one group of inspired artists wasted no time to start the restoration. The project, led by Neddy Pacheco, was completed in 5 days despite the painstakingly slow process of scraping off the under-layer of paint that caused the worst of the damage.
