In the late afternoon we rolled into La Paz, highest capital city in the World (when it actually is the capital; sometimes the capital is Sucre). Rather than paying the terminal entrance fee, the bus dropped us off in the middle of the city on a slippery, cobblestoned, signpostless street. Angie found our way to the hostel, me following nervously through the teeming streets, map in hand with no idea where we were.
La Paz is a city of genuinely hectic streets. The line between we sidewalk and road is blurred, with roadside markets actually being on the road, and cars regularly finding space on the traditionally pedestrian strips to scoot forwards. The traffic lights are for display purposes only, and the army of minibuses is constantly emitting either high-pitched horns or a endless babble of placenames from the uber-excited touts hanging out their windows.
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