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: CATEY STAHL
Each May, crowds of indigenous Bolivians flood the streets of the small town of Macha, in southern Bolivia, to take part in a fiesta lasting several days. Despite initial appearances of being a traditional Bolivian festival with colourful clothing and musicians hustling amongst the busy streets, Tinku is not a typical celebration. Competitors travel down from their rival communities to take part in brutal one-on-one fist fights.
After days of strenuous combat, the streets are littered with bodies. However, despite their bloody faces and torn clothes, most of the comatose figures sprawled across the alleys have been overcome not solely by their opposition but by alcohol—specifically, chicha. The cheap beverage is made from maize and can be brewed at home. Trails of men can be seen struggling beneath 200-litre jars of chicha whilst scores of women sell the drink in large cans throughout the blood-stained streets. Although the tradition of Tinku has changed slightly over the last decade thanks to an increase in tourist attention and subsequently more attention from the authorities, it is clear that chicha still holds the same importance as ever.
It is clear, just by the number of different singani-based drinks—such as the chuflay and té con té—along with the plethora of bottles lining the shelves of any Bolivian supermarket, that singani is popular amongst Bolivians. Perhaps it is due to the strict law dictating that it can only be produced in particular areas (around Tarija, and above an altitude of 5,250 feet). Or perhaps thanks to its unique aromatic and clear taste which has been awarded seven international gold awards in the last six years. To Bolivians, singani isn't just a drink—it is a way of life present in many traditions, including the popular game of cacho. For most paceños, the best—and often only—way to drink singani is in a small bar away from the hustle of the city. This creates the ‘melancholic spirit’ of the alcohol that passionate singani drinker Sergio Ergueta ardently describes. However, the cabalistic quality of the beverage present in La Paz is very distant from the ‘free spirit’ enjoyed in Tarija. Regardless of the different feelings drawn from singani it holds a significance throughout Bolivia.
However, singani has recently taken a new direction on the global market. Singani 63 is the stylish new brand which has been privately invested in by Hollywood director and producer Steven Soderbergh. After trying and loving singani whilst filming Ché in 2008, Soderbergh declared he would import the drink to the US ‘Tomorrow, if not sooner.’ His initial goal was to import a quantity sufficient for him and his friends to enjoy. However, since a bottle of Soderbergh’s Singani 63 featured for several minutes in the box office hit movie Gone Girl alongside Ben Affleck, Soderbergh has started importing more of the one-of-a-kind liquor to keep up with US demand. Despite already having 500 years of heritage in Bolivia, the global journey for singani is just taking its first steps.
Klaus Barbie, a man who described himself as a ‘superman’ for being a member of the SS during the height of the Nazi occupation of France, was also described as a ‘savage’ by one of his torture victims. Lise Lesevre was tortured by Barbie for nine days, during which she was stripped, tied down, and almost drowned in a freezing bath, as well as being struck with a spiked ball that broke a vertebra in her back. She suffered from the injury right up until her death, nearly 50 years later. In a separate case, 44 children, aged between 5 and 17, seeking refuge in an orphanage in Izieu, in eastern France, were snatched by the Gestapo and sent to Auschwitz, where they all died in a gas chamber. The raid was carried out by Barbie personally.
How then did a man so barbaric come to lead a life of power and influence in Bolivia?
In 1947, Barbie was recruited by US intelligence for counterintelligence work to track down communists. With the aid of the United States, he fled prosecution in France and in 1950 came to Bolivia with his family and changed his name to Klaus Altmann. At this time, Bolivia was suffering from a string of unsuccessful leaders. The United States wanted to keep a ‘subtle’ control over many Latin American countries, and the CIA managed to do this in Bolivia via Barbie, as he held an important role in the country’s security services. Meanwhile, the French were continuing to search for Barbie, but the United States protected him, and itself, by denying his whereabouts. Additionally, Barbie was pocketing millions of dollars from an illegal arms enterprise and drugs business. In La Paz, he created a campaign and started a coup d'état to put Luis García Meza in control of Bolivia. Despite García Meza's regime lasting only 13 months, it has been described as one of Latin America's most errant violations of human rights, with up to 1,000 people being assassinated by the army-in which Barbie held the title of honorary Colonel. After the fall of the dictatorship, Barbie was left exposed and unprotected, and after it was discovered who he really was, he was expatriated to France to face trial for the crimes committed while he directed the Gestapo. Following Barbie’s initial expatriation from Bolivia, the United States offered a formal apology to France as it officially recognised its involvement with the ‘Butcher of Lyon’. In 1987, Barbie was arrested, tried, and sentenced to life imprisonment for 341 separate charges and four years later he died of leukaemia alone in prison.
