In previous issues of Bolivian Express we have talked about La Paz and its transport system, its rivers and its people. We’ve also written about El Alto, about its exuberant cholets and unbridled expansion. For this October issue we are commemorating La Paz by looking at its newest transportation infrastructure and architecture.
Back in its infancy, La Paz was an assemblage of chozas spread along the Choqueyapu River. Brick by brick, the city grew, and bigger houses made of adobe were built by the original (and enslaved) inhabitants of the area. And here, on 16 July 1809, the first independence of Latin America was declared by Pedro Domingo Murillo. (It would last only six months.)
The city’s first larger structures were in the colonial style, but few of these buildings are still standing in La Paz. Charles Bladon explains why (p.11). Nowadays, you will most likely stumble upon Republican Architecture – such as the Palacio Quemado on Plaza Murillo – and Art Deco buildings, a part of the larger Modernist movement, which Josephine Zavaglia delves into (p.27). These two very different styles, which exist side by side today, date from the 19th and 20th centuries, from when the city experienced its most intense growth.
In the early 1900s, about 50,000 people lived in La Paz; 50 years later the population reached 300,000. The city had to adapt to the incoming flow of migrants and needed a new cityscape. Visionaries such as architect Emilio Villanueva made this possible. Villanueva was the first to bring the notion of urbanism to Bolivia and reinvented the city between 1910 and 1925 by designing whole neighbourhoods and avenues.
Today, the paceño is impressed by el teleférico and its modernity – as Matthew Grace uncovers (p.14) – but back then, it was all about the tramway. In 1909, the first line opened. It served the areas of Obrajes, Miraflores, the General Cemetery and Plaza España amongst others; there was a first and a second class for passengers, and in 1936 the network extended throughout 20 lines. The tramway was el teleférico of yesteryear. It closed quietly in 1950 for financial and safety reasons. Then the automobile began to invade the city’s arteries, causing more and more accidents. Now the only way to avoid the traffic is above the skyline, riding the cable cars.
The city kept on growing, with another wave of rural migration from the 1970s to the 1990s that brought the population to current levels – about 800,000 people. Neighbourhoods spread towards the south and onto the slopes of La Paz’s surrounding canyon, but since the 1990s, La Paz is, in terms of population, the city we know today. However, the city’s stunted growth is something that could be remedied. I interviewed Xavier Iturralde, an entrepreneur and urban visionary, who is working on reconceptualising the city (p.32).
If you take a walk in the city centre, chances are you will walk past Plaza Murillo, named after the aforementioned revolutionary. As Bolivian writer Jaime Saenz described it, ‘La Plaza Murillo resume la historia de Bolivia en su totalidad.’ (‘Plaza Murillo sums up Bolivian history in its totality.’) There couldn’t be a more apt description. The square is encircled by buildings that have seen Bolivia’s history unfold, by walls against which ex-presidents have been executed and by cobblestones where many have fallen dead fighting for democracy. And the buildings themselves tell a story. On one corner is a decaying house meant to be demolished soon, next to it is the Legislative Assembly with its clock running backwards and across the square is the Palacio Quemado. Behind the cathedral the towering Casa del Pueblo is growing, intended to house the current government and to represent modernity and the future of Bolivia.
Matthew Grace asked the people of La Paz what they thought about this ‘house of the people’ (p.20). From passers-by’s reactions, paceños don’t seem convinced by this giant concrete-and-brick monolith. But paceños are the sort that look ahead and embrace modernity. Looking at the city when perched up in a cable car, one sees an improbable combination of bricks and glass, old and new, historical and modern. The city and its architecture are a fitting representation for the diverse people who inhabit it.
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Illustration: Oscar Zalles
Watch out for the slippery streets. Watch out also for the meandering dogs who might bite you and the daydreaming tourists who will get in your way. The cobbled web of electrical cables has now been surpassed by the cable-car web hovering over our heads. This doesn’t mean that traffic is getting better – the minibuses are still ever-present. Watch your feet. On your walk, make sure to avoid the dog’s doings and don’t stumble into the street vendor kiosks placed strategically throughout the city. Also avoid the many construction sites and you might just make it to your destination.
Photo: Adriana Murillo
A Converted Hacienda-Lodge With a History of Repossession
A warm, lush tropical forest hugs the walls of the converted hacienda. After removing the layers of clothes necessary to survive the bitter cold of the altiplano, you’d be forgiven for forgetting that La Paz is an easy car journey away. Snow-capped mountains, visible from the estate in Chijchipa, are perhaps the only reminder of La Paz’s proximity. I observe this hacienda, which is placed amongst small local lodgings and perched on top of a foothill from which one can see even more forest. It’s is now owned by the Afro-Bolivian community of Chijchipa and has been converted to a tourist lodge.
Nicolás Gutiérrez, secretary general of the community of Chijchipa, manages the lodge on behalf of the entire Afro-Bolivian community in the area. Community members run the enterprise communally. ‘We have assemblies, meetings and emergency meetings,’ Gutiérrez says. ‘All our decisions must be agreed upon by all.’
This collective ownership of the hacienda stretches back to 2004, when its then owner, Bolivian President Gonzalo Sánchez de Lozada, fled the country due to large-scale protests and demands for his resignation during the infamous Gas Wars. Marcelino Barra, Gutiérrez’s deputy, recounts the hard process of repossession: ‘People from different towns found out that this belonged to Sánchez de Lozada and came to invade the house, saying, “This is ours now.” But this is our land. Sánchez de Lozada may have bought it, but this is our land. We kicked out the invaders. Then came the idea to legalise our ownership of the land. In 2009, Evo Morales came and gave us our titles. This is now legally our land.’
The mansion was once owned by Gonzalo Sánchez de Lozada, the exiled ex-president.
The conversion of the hacienda has almost acted as therapy for this community, given its harsh relationship with Sánchez de Lozada. Barra, whose parents worked for the ex-president, says that his family lived in poverty. ‘Their houses were about one metre wide. [The people] were like slaves,’ he says. ‘What the bosses gave them wasn't enough. They had nowhere else to go.’ Now locals hope to build a prosperous future for their children where their parents and grandparents suffered. ‘We recovered from the pain,’ Barra exclaims. ‘We took back our culture, starting with this hacienda. We are happy!’
Despite the hacienda’s ideal location, it’s having trouble attracting visitors. ‘We are not promoting much yet,’ Barra explains. ‘I want to be honest, we are busy with working the land. What we need is counselling for this to work.’ To make Chijchipa a warm and tranquil respite from the cold and hectic life of La Paz, the community needs guidance on how to run and promote the project. As Gutiérrez points out, the area is full of beautiful wildlife, with lively birds chirping from the surrounding trees. The hacienda is surrounded by sublime landscapes and lovely walking trails that reveal waterfalls and stunning views of the rolling hills of Chijchipa. The community plans to renovate the old pool, expand the car park and build more cabins for the lodge. With its unique charm, friendly locals and warm weather, Gutiérrez hopes to help Chijchipa thrive further.
The conversion of the hacienda has almost acted as therapy for this community.
Contact Information:
Nicolás Gutiérrez: +591 71291567
Marcelino Barra: +591 73024309
haciendachijchipareservas@gmail.com
haciendachijchipa.wordpress.com
Photo: Charles Bladon
In a corner of the world where colonial architecture is more than common, La Paz’s funky fusion of Art Deco architecture and Tiwanaku design make it a destination like no other.
Geometric shapes, symmetry and the intricate use of lines are fundamentals of both Art Deco architecture and Tiwanaku design. The intriguing convergence of these two disparate styles gives La Paz its own distinct feel, particularly in the downtown neighbourhoods of Sopocachi, San Pedro and Miraflores.
The advent of Art Deco in La Paz is a result of ‘the French expression of power’ during the beginning of the 20th century, according to Gastón Gallardo Dávila, dean of the department of architecture at the Universidad Mayor de San Andrés. He says, ‘You have Art Deco [architecture] in South Miami Beach, in Cairo, in La Paz, in New Zealand...’ But, he boldly claims, ‘in France and the rest of Europe, you can’t find Art Deco.’
Bolivian architect, engineer and urban planner Emilio Villanueva was the first to combine the design conventions of the two styles to create a cityscape in La Paz that distinguishes it from the rest of the country, and even the rest of the continent.
Villanueva took much inspiration from the pre-Hispanic empire of Tiwanaku – the ruins of which are located two hours by minibus from the centre of La Paz – when he was designing much of the city in the early 1900s.
A revolutionary for his time, Villanueva studied in Santiago, Chile, in 1907 and later in Paris, and he played a large role in the modernisation of La Paz. Although he spent many years abroad, Villanueva always returned to Bolivia, and it is here that the fruits of his career are on display.
Early in his career, Villanueva designed La Paz’s City Hall and the Central Bank of Bolivia building using principles of Eclecticism – using unique combinations of different historical styles – in much the same way it was being used in Europe during that era. It was when Villanueva returned from studying urban planning in Paris in the late 1920s that he discovered his unique style and his work developed a distinctive paceño flair.
La Paz has its own distinct feel, a convergence of two disparate styles.
The Monoblock building at the Universidad Mayor de San Andrés in La Paz, designed by Villanueva in 1947, represents both the pinnacle and finale of his career as an architect. This behemoth structure is often considered to be typically ‘Bolivian architecture’, but as Gallardo says, it is in fact, ‘pure Art Deco.’ Its unique golden embellishments, Tiwanaku depictions and distinct line work, though, give it a Bolivian élan distinguishing it from other Art Deco creations.
As the head municipal engineer of La Paz’s local government in the early 1900s, Villanueva was as integral to the infrastructural planning of the city as he was to its visual appearance. During his tenure, Villanueva advocated for the opening of Avenida Camacho, an arterial connection between the city centre and Miraflores, which is still very much in use today, and where you can spot many Art Deco buildings.
Villanueva was as integral to the infrastructural planning of the city as he was to its visual appearance.
Villanueva not only created a distinctive architectural vision in La Paz that sets it apart from its colonial counterparts such as Sucre and Potosí, but he also preserved an ancient culture through its incorporation into modern design. The geometric order of the city’s Art Deco buildings stands in stark contrast to the chaos, crowds and colourful cholitas of La Paz.
Villanueva made La Paz a modern capital and began his design career in a country where architecture theory was essentially unheard of. Villanueva, meaning ‘new village’ in Spanish, is a fitting name for the man who forever changed the form and function of La Paz.
