Eleven Weeks

Time flies, so they say. Certainly, those last couple of weeks went by in a whiff, with a lightness and tranquility that rendered their true duration utterly unfelt. It wasn't a planned temporary residence either: When I came to La Paz in those last days of October, my intention was to stay for some three resting days only, before getting onto the ferry to the mainland. Then I stumbled over and into the Hotel Lorimar and from there the corruption of my plans took its inevitable course, stealthy yet consistently — and one of those 'Well, just another day...' stories unfolded...

First events inviting postponement of departure were brought to my attention by Gabriel, one of the receptionists, and those namely were the 'Dia De Muertos' followed by the (successful) Guinness World Record attempt for the 'Burrito Más Grande Del Mundo'(see older blog posts). He also mentioned an off-road exposition. Sharing the interest, we decided to visit it together, and when it was postponed — well - there just went another two weeks.
Later his colleague Guillermo, a man of romantic heart and healthy appetite, proved himself as an astoundingly talented seer, as he subsequently predicted my staying for Christmas, New Years and his birthday — and he was right every time. Only his last prediction failed: the Carnival in March was just too far off.

So what made La Paz special, and what the Hotel Lorimar? Depending on your personality, the latter is one of those places that may grow on you to the extent of turning into a home away from home. For me it certainly did. The Lorimar doesn't boast any stars or the polished facade of perfection, but I discovered it to have something far greater and more intriguing: It has a soul...
I had chosen a room of their lowest budget category(read old and not yet renovated), with peeling paint and a bare lightbulb in only every second fitting. It took me two weeks to find out there actually was hot water coming from the taps (if one just waited long enough), until then I'd quite happily taking short cold showers. Yet the room offered a good firm bed, an en-suite bathroom, electricity and even Wifi-access - after living in a tent for weeks, to me this was sheer luxury. I soon loved my 'little cave and retreat' and truly felt at home there.
Beyond my room lay a shaded but well-lit courtyard within cheerful yellow walls, furnished with green plants, tables and chairs and a little gas stove for preparing provided coffee. From the neighbour's, music floated over the wall: operas or symphonies from speakers or a variety of classical and more modern pieces played on the piano by the elderly lady herself; I still hear her interpretation of the mournful 'Ol' Man River'...

The people... To borrow and grossly alter a line from one of my favourite films, 'Casablanca': 'What would the Lorimar be without them?'...

The receptionists Gabriel, Francisco and Guillermo - all very different men in character and attitude — were contributing each uniquely to the Lorimar's broad appeal to me. So did Mike, the owner, a very knowledgable man of calm cheerfulness complemented by his vivacious lady-friend Monica; they proved to be remarkable hosts, even inviting us longterm residents — my friends Patrick and Gary and me — over for Christmas Dinner; and there we sat next to the adorned tree, having delicious turkey roast with the family including grandma and the two kids, which afterwards we watched with amusement, diving into their presents with much excitement.

With Gary and Patrick I found friends in two of the most extraordinary and eccentric Gentleman I've ever met. Patrick by his elegance of dress, act and speach could have been transported from a bygone, grander era, that now sadly can be observed in classic movies only. Gary always had the somewhat dreamy, melancholic air of an aristrocratic Russian poet about him, which might not be a coincidence for he turned out to be a great expert on royal history and classic Russian cinema. They had left cold Washington DC to live in La Paz, and to me they soon became a vital part of the La Paz micro-cosmos, as they not only provided me with intelligent, witty conversation — often at a table at 'La Fonda', a small restaurant that practically doubled as our dining room — but they also made sure to keep me hydrated with a steady supply of freshly brewed coffee or tea from their rooms.

There was a fine flow of other people moving through the Lorimar and my life: Peter and Henrietta - a Korean-American traveling with a Romanian-German; Aïna and Paula - two Spanish teachers at the Circo 'Berlin' carrying flutes and red noses in their backpacks; Art - a highly intelligent and slightly neurotic Canadian with a combined passion for drink and conversation; Sean, the frequently unfortunate yet after all lucky sailor; Robert and Patricia - a retired British couple, who had come in without the intention to stay, yet did it anyway, like myself... Those only to mention a few.

At its front doors the Lorimar seamlessly blends into La Paz. Just a hundred metres down Nicolas Bravo Street lies the Malecon - the promenade - lining the shore of the Bahia La Paz.

On the way there one passes a little square — which I eventually referred to as 'The Plaza'. It is dotted with palm trees and some skateboard ramps and occasionally there would be events, a little rock concert, for example.
In it's centre, adjacent to a souvenirs-and-artisan-shop is the little kiosk, where Brenda and her mother sell delicious Mexican food. I would visit them several times a week, to taste burritos and quesadillas, tortas and tamales, pozole and guisados. As they spoke Spanish only, it also was a good opportunity to practice the language, so we had little conversations and I soon regarded these Ladies as part of my 'La Paz family'. Down there, I sometimes met Gregorio, an US-American running aid-projects for children and also some men of the local Policia Preventiva; those often were merry gatherings, the police teaching us Mexican street-talk...

They don't serve Margaritas at the 'Margarita's'. Instead the barman will produce ice-covered glasses from a chest freezer to fill them with dark 'Modelo Negra' from a barrel. The beer would have crystals floating in it, indicating it being as cold as it gets while still remaining liquid. Flat screens, hanging above the bar, usually display music videos but when you are lucky, then there's a box-fight on and it's exciting to watch it with the gathered crowd. In the back lies a little open-air courtyard, where on weekends local bands play typical Mexican Ska or Reggae to an audience of mostly young, student-type people.
The Margarita's became my favourite bar.

The plot thickened, the number of little things making La Paz dear to me augmented.
Within the city I discovered little of architectonical merit, yet the colourful streets and the seaside and desert mountain panorama made up for it.
To my anarchic mind's delight it sports some of the craziest sidewalks imaginable, some true civic-order-defying obstacle courses of cracked, thrown up concrete, steps and holes; no wonder skateboarding is hugely popular here.
La Paz is a touristic city but in the present time of recession the only days when I found this somewhat unpleasantly noticeable where those when for half a day a stopping-by cruise ship would spew some thousand visitors onto the Malecon; other than that it was rather quiet.
And she's a big city, too, with an estimated population of five to seven hundred thousand people, yet feels surprisingly tranquil and almost intimate, which - being not very fond of dense populated places in general - I found to be one of her most attractive qualities.

My live slowed its pace, adjusting to the city's relaxed rhythm. I had bought a ferry ticket for Mazatlan, had it postponed, finally canceled it; I felt the time to go hadn't come yet.
Only in the eleventh week it would arrive, with the opportunity to join a yacht crew sailing for the mainland.

Still, it wasn't easy to leave.