I went slowly up the slope, feeling the loose rocks crack beneath each step, counting them off in my head until I reached 60 then stopping. Standing still was always accompanied by a brief sensation of light-headedness, then the pounding of my heart beat through my own head. The peak didn´t look far, but at over 17,000 feet (or 5300m), there was a cost to every exertion. The worst part is that while it was difficult, I only had to climb about 500 feet. The van had brought the group up the rest of the way.

The view at the peak, all 5395 metres of it, was stunning. I´ve never in my life been that high without being safely enclosed in an aircraft, and may never be again. Around those of us at the peak were the snowcapped Andes, some with peaks yet taller, framed in sharp white of snow against a blue sky with clouds seemingly low enough to reach out and touch. Below were a number of small lakes, stained different shades from the surrounding runoffs of the mineral-rich mountains. There was no life, no ground animals, not even traces of vegetation at this height. The only reminders of the rest of the world was the smoggy crater that La Paz sits in and the lone Andean condor soaring overhead.

La Paz itself is an entirely different landscape, constrasting with the arid altiplano and its occasional wandering herds of llamas. Instead it is a seemingly improbable city, the core situated in a steep valley that has succumbed to haphazard urban growth, evidenced by the many red brick buildings that have climbed so far up the hillside as to spill over onto the plain. The narrow, steep streets are traffic-choked, with packed minivans belching black soot into the faces of the weary, altitude-afflicted travellers simply wanted a deep breath.

The altitude is no joke either. I have been graced with stinging headaches nearly everyday but have been spared the worst of the effects. My mom was laid low, short of breath and exhausted, by spending the days at a higher altitude than even Oregon´s Mount Hood.  So far I´ve been luckier in my adjustment but have still been giving myself a lot of extra time and sparing some of the more strenuous efforts I would attempt at a milder elevation.

La Paz has some charm but also feels shockingly small in some regards. Despite being a centre of government in Bolivia, the modest capital around Plaza Murillo speaks to an era where the city (and country) were much smaller. South of town is a dessicated landscape known as the Valle de la Luna, or valley of the moon, available for tourists to wander and mercifully graced with nearby stalls selling ice cream. It was hot out there in the sun with no cover, as my reddened nose and forehead attest to.

We left La Paz today, my mom to Cuzco by air and myself overland, stopping over for a couple nights at the town of Copacabana on the edge of Lake Titicaca. Leaving La Paz, one sees constant reminders of the future. Billboards tout the new teleferico system, the longest in the world, a gondola-styled transport that lifts residents above traffic while providing spectacular views. The planner in me loved it. There are constant mentions of Bolivia´s first telecom satellite as well, an obviously proud achievement.

Numerous formal and informal adverts tout various politicians as tomorrow is a general election day for the nation. Evo Morales, the sitting president and the first of indigenous descent, is expected to win. Bolivia has one of the highest proportions of indigenous populations in South America, and women in traditional dress are still seen on the streets. Even in La Paz, the aforementioned teleferico system marks station names in a native tongue, either Aymara or Quechua, with the Spanish name secondary. Being here during election day should be an interesting experience and I´m looking forward to doing it from a cheap room with a view of Lake Titicaca.