Landing in La Paz

When I read on Google that I was landing at El Alto, the highest altitude airport in the world at 4061m high, I thought, "cool fun fact." It was not a fun fact.

My flight landed at 3:30am, so I waited at a café inside until sunrise before catching a taxi to my hotel, feeling rather lightheaded and nauseous. At first, I assumed it was from the journey; 3 flights on 3 different airlines had been taxing. However, after a couple hours, it hit me that what I was experiencing was altitude sickness.

Feeling uncomfortably weak, I hailed an airport taxi at quarter to 6 and drove into La Paz. The city was just waking up, and it was stunning to drive in from above the cloud line. The driver slowed down for me to take a picture.

Unfortunately, I'd gotten the un-updated address for the hotel, which I did not realize  until my taxi left. As the right place was just down the block, I lugged my 20kg suitcase uphill on the cobblestone and walked. I was reeling with dizziness by the time I got to the correct location, and though I could drop my stuff off, I could not yet check in.

As we were fairly central, I decided to take a morning walk around the city. The Church of San Francisco, my first stop, was under 10 minutes away downhill, but I was breathing so hard when I reached it that I sat at the pews for a while to rest. It was a beautiful building and quite distinct from most of the (French) churches I'd seen.

I next walked to the nearby Plaza Murillo -- a lovely square -- and sat on a bench as the sun came out. It had also been a short walk, but I could barely stay upright.

On the way back, I stopped at a café by the Witches' Market and then slowly made my way to the hotel. By that point, my chest was starting to hurt, and the staff let me check in a couple hours early. I took a long shower and went straight to bed but could not fall asleep; every breath was searing and constricted. I began to Google "altitude sickness," having not realized it could get so bad. Naturally, I drew the conclusion that I was going to die (spoiler: I did not).

My chest hurt for the rest of the afternoon, and though I lay in bed for 5 hours, I barely slept. Hearing that coca tea was supposed to help, I got some from the hotel lobby and drank it nonstop. My roommate arrived mid-afternoon, and we went for dinner (spaghetti bolognese: my safe choice), and whether it was the food or tea or time, I did start to feel better.

After dinner, we went for a walk around the Witches' Market, where many souvenirs were sold alongside llama fetuses and medicinal plants, but we bought nothing.

At 8, we met up with our G Adventures tour group, just 8 people in total, and my chest loosened up enough for me to pass out in bed for the night.