Llama sacrifice, Cholitas and a black market for human skulls: A tour through La Paz’s unique set of traditions

Elizabeth
Elizabeth
Aug 22, 2017 · 10 min read
Locals await their bus outside El Mercado de las Brujas, El Alto, Bolivia

We entered La Paz, Bolivia with terribly low expectations. We’d just endured a horrible border crossing on Lake Titicaca, which included us being solicited for bribes and abandoned by our bus, and had a less than optimal time in Copacabana. Between its tacky tourist culture and the infighting on Isla del Sol which prevented us from visiting, the lakeside village didn’t provide much opportunity for our impressions to rebound. In addition, we’d been receiving nothing but negative feedback about La Paz from other travelers and locals we’d met along our North-South route. Our Airbnb host in Salento, Colombia, for example, told us that La Paz is full of indigenous people pooping on the streets. He also told us that half of the Brazilian population is gay, however, so it was clear we needn’t regard him as a trusted source of information. If we accept his attitudes as the general sentiment of Bolivia’s neighbors/peers (for he was not the only one to talk this way), though, the country seems to be the less popular cousin in the South American family tree. Low expectations can sometimes be favorable to one’s experience, though, and in this case, they certainly were; La Paz impressed us beyond belief and we were so sad to leave after only three days.

The city is surprisingly modern — certain streets could have easily been mistaken for Europe or the US — while simultaneously holding steadfast to the traditions that make it unique. On Monday, we paid for an “extended” walking tour as opposed to the usual “free”, tip-based walking tour that is commonplace in nearly every city across the European, South American and Australian continents. These free tours cover your basic history, important monuments, and may include local food and drink tastings. They can be quite fun if you have a good guide. Our tour on Monday, however, with Red Cap Tours, took us via public transport to areas of the city which we wouldn’t have been able to visit ourselves (due to safety) and delved much deeper into Bolivia’s culture.

From the main plaza, we took a local minibus, or colectivo, as it’s known in many parts of South America. There are no regulations as to who can be a minibus driver. The government has established specified routes that the buses have to make, but anyone with a vehicle and a driver’s license can start his/her own colectivo. There are no bus stops either. If you see a colectivo with your destination displayed in neon lettering on the windshield, you simply need to flag it down. A ride across the city will cost you two Bolivianos- or about 30 cents.

After our guide, Daniel, flagged one down, the six of us piled into a colectivo and traveled the fifteen minutes to La Paz’s famous cemetery, Cementerio General. This is the only legal cemetery in the metropolis and holds almost 300,000 graves. The burial fee and annual maintenance charges prevent La Paz’s poor from accessing the cemetery, so they bury their relatives in “illegal” graveyards in the hillside. A certain percentage of Bolivians believe that a deceased relative stays with them for the first five years after death. During this time, they are expected to visit the grave and bring offerings to the deceased — anything ranging from a bouquet of flowers to McDonalds fried chicken. After five years, however, they must cut off all contact with the dead in order to allow them passage to the next life. They stop paying their maintenance fees and the grave site is evicted of the coffin and its body. The body is cremated and the skull is preserved for future black market sale. Forty percent of Bolivians display a ñatita, or skull, in their house as an object of worship, believing it holds protective powers. Because it’s destructive to maintain contact with a deceased relative beyond the first five years, this skull must be of someone unknown to the buyer. Hence the thriving black market for skulls. Delicate females with small noses are preferred.

Next, we proceeded to one of the city’s several teleferico lines. These are essentially gondola-style chairlifts that connect the poorer mountainside communities to the city center. The concept was first implemented more than ten years ago in Medellín, Colombia. Medellín is a city that, like Paz, faces transportation issues because of its topography. Both are centered in a valley and surrounded by mountains. As the cities have developed, poorer communities have been pushed further and further up the mountainsides. Compounding this is increased rural-to-urban migration which leads to shantytowns cropping up on the mountainside. Historically, workers from these areas wishing to commute to the city center would have had to take a handful of connecting buses, spending hours on public transport. This was, of course, extremely inhibitive and led to enhanced segregation between the city’s wealth and these outlying communities.

Riding the city’s “Green Line”

Evo Morales, Bolivia’s current president, brought in an Austrian company to build the first teleferico line five years ago. He is so proud of this achievement that he has plastered his face over every single cable car. Morales — “man of the people” — is a previous coca farmer with socialist leanings whose refusal to regulate the industry is a major source of conflict between the U.S. and Bolivia. Hence our experience at the border. Morales is attempting to change the constitution to allow himself to run for a third term. Bolivian citizens voted No to this referendum but still feel threatened that he will invoke dictatorial power. Irregardless, the man has accomplished some good while in office, such as the teleférico at hand. There are currently three operable lines with five more in the works. Tickets are subsidized and cost only 3 bolivianos, or about 50 cents. The views are absolutely stunning and offer a glimpse of La Paz’s very odd landscape — think random mountain ranges cropping up behind clusters of skyscrapers. Bolivians didn’t view the city’s topography as obstructive — they simply built their highways and skyscrapers around any outcroppings of mountains. From the teleférico, we noticed that a disproportionately high number of homes looked to be under construction. Daniel informed us that this was a facade: homeowners purposefully leave their homes unfinished because it exempts them from paying property taxes. To the government, they are perpetually in a state of construction.

We used the teleférico to travel up to El Alto, the poor city overlooking La Paz (at about 4,000m or 13,000ft). This is the area we were warned not to visit without a local guide. El Alto has welcomed a massive influx of migrants from the countryside in recent years, who were attracted by its cheap living costs. It used to be considered a suburb of La Paz but is now its own entity. Before leaving the station, we were instructed to stash all of our belongings and switch our backpacks to the front. Thieves work in groups of five or six and will do anything to distract their victim — including spitting in your face or throwing a fake baby bundle at you. My travel buddy told me that the gypsies employ this baby trick in Rome as well (having seen it while studying abroad), but I had never heard of it so was rather shocked.

After the warning, our guide took us to the vast, empty area which the Thursday/Sunday flea market occupies; it covers 400 blocks! He explained the concept of a “casera/o”. Every Bolivian has a particular shopkeeper they visit for each product or need, be it electronics, fruit, vegetables, coca leaves, or underwear. One’s relationship with one’s casera is extremely important and transcends generations. A good casera will reserve the best products for you at the lowest price in return for your loyalty. Daniel told us about a recent guffaw he made with one of his many caseras: not having realized she sold a particular product, he bought this product elsewhere, and when she noticed him carrying it during his usual Sunday visit, she told him to leave — she wouldn’t be conducting business with him that day. This shed light on the local economic structure, which had confounded us for months. Every city we had visited in Latin America had been divided into subsections based on a designated commercial product (i.e. pets, books, towels, arts & crafts etc.). These stores often span multiple blocks with little to no differentiation. We wondered how any particular store gains a competitive edge over its neighbor. Now we have the answer! All sales are relationship-based so it’s irrelevant that all shops carry the same products.

Many of the merchants in El Alto are “cholitas”, local Aymara women who were at one time a marginalized, downtrodden group but have recently accumulated substantial wealth through their market dealings. They flaunt the features that once served to alienate them, ordering $1,000 bowler hats directly from Italy and donning their traditional brightly colored petticoats. The word cholita is derived from the racial slur “cholo”, which denotes a Latin American with mixed blood (also known as a Mestizo). The “ita” or “ito” appendage is used in Spanish to show affection or imply that something is little (i.e. Donkey is “burro” and “burrito” is little donkey). Cholitas have reclaimed the word with new-found pride (comparable to the way rappers use the “n word”). “Cholo” is still an unacceptable word under any circumstances, but “Cholita” will get you a smile rather than a fist in the face. Daniel told us that Cholitas throw massive parties that can last anywhere between two days to seven weeks. They hire bodyguards to dance beside them to protect their expensive jewelry. If you score an invite to such an event, you’re expected to bring at least ten cases of beer. If you find yourself throwing the next party, the previous host will take note of how many cases you brought to her party and will double this. NEVER try to out-drink a Cholita, Daniel says. You were surely lose.

We found the stories of these women rather inspiring. No matter how much wealth they acquire, they will never “trade up” for the affluent areas in the city center. They maintain the same social circles and spend their newly-acquired money on superfluous items like $1,000 hats instead of using it to elevate their social status (by say, buying entry into exclusive social clubs or buying western clothes).

Next, we continued on to the local witches market (Mercado de Brujas), where Daniel explained a few of the local superstitions. One of these was the importance of godly sacrifice before undertaking any construction. For small homes, a llama fetus is acceptable; medium-sized homes will require a baby llama (both of which are available for purchase at the market); large homes and industrial construction will require a human sacrifice. This last item may seem a bit fantastical, but Daniel assured us there are many in La Paz who believe Morales subscribes to these superstitions for public works projects. Myth says that there must be a body for every pillar of a bridge. Human remains have been discovered in the demolishment of old construction sites, which lends credibility to this claim.

Llama fetuses at Mercado de las Brujas, El Alto, Bolivia

These sacrificial beings must die of natural causes. The fetuses may be the result of a miscarriage (if a llama was forced to carry too heavy a load) or the death of their mother (by butchers who weren’t aware the animal was pregnant). The baby llamas may have died shortly after birth. The circumstances of a “natural” human death is more suspect. Homeless, drug addicts are usually the targets — anyone without a family to notice their disappearance. Supposedly, the builder/homeowner will visit one of these drug-infested neighborhoods and befriend a vagrant. After confirming that s/he does not have any relatives, the builder/homeowner will feed them a 90% alcoholic beverage causing them to pass out immediately, at which point the builder/homeowner can drag them to the desired worksite. Here, their unconscious body will be placed in the foundation and covered with cement or dirt. In this way, the builder is not committing the murder. Rather, Pacha Mama (Mother Earth) is. There are therefore no guilty parties and everyone goes home happy. These murders are often viewed as mercy killings because the victim was so hopeless.

El Alto is no stranger to alcoholism and drug abuse. A visibly intoxicated homeless man started following our tour group near the Mercado de Brujas. When Daniel told him to stop, he started getting physically agitated and yelling at Daniel to leave because “it wasn’t his country”. Daniel studied in London for nine years, which is obvious from his speech and dress. Though he is from El Alto, he seems by all appearances an outsider, one who is bringing white tourists to this poor community to seemingly make a spectacle of the lives there. The man likely felt resentment towards Daniel’s choice to differentiate himself by becoming “westernized” and felt as if we were all trespassing on his terrain. Fortunately, other passerby’s stepped in and were able to restrain the man so Daniel could catch up with us. Alcoholism and substance abuse is as much an issue in South America as it is elsewhere but it seems Latin American countries are just beginning to take action. In most of the countries we visited, we saw heavily advertised AA group meeting areas, which seems contradictory to the organization’s stated purpose of anonymity.

The final piece of information that was shared with us on the tour involves the rental market in La Paz. The city has instituted quite an interesting system, referred to as anticrético. Instead of paying monthly rent for an apartment, a tenant can make a large down payment (say $25k), which the landlord uses as a loan of sorts to invest in a short-term portfolio. At the end of the renter’s contract, the principle must be returned. In effect, the renter only pays utilities during his/her stay. The maximum rental period is two years, after which the lease can be renewed with a new down payment or loan. It is concepts like these that make Bolivia so incredibly fascinating. I felt as if our days were occupied by an ever-present flow of new information and cultural anecdotes, my mind a sponge, voraciously trying to soak it all in before we had to leave. But leave we did… on a night bus to Potosí.

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