Fiona and Gustavo kindly took us out to look for flats before we had an alfresco lunch, where I ate an enormous steak and foolishly got sun burnt to the sound of recorded traditional Andean music. Unlike “bohemian” Sopacachi, where we live, we had gone down to the relatively swanky Sud Zone. Here it is smarter, the ground is flatter and it is even considerably warmer. Unusually, the rest of the city gets to look down upon the posh part of town and the drivers must lack the fabulous clutch control of their northern neighbours.
In the afternoon, we visited the German club for a touch of ex-pat glamour. Here, for those who can afford it, are fabulous facilities set in beautiful gardens. I was a little concerned about the tennis: no ironic sweatbands, it was all quality equipment being used by players who were significantly better than me. I wouldn’t mind but they were all children.
The club is strikingly green, with extraordinary views down into the valley where lightning flashed and thunder crashed. While Gustavo played with his son, Fiona told us La Paz would disappear in 20 years: once the glaciers had melted and poured down the stone walls, the city would be destroyed.
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3 comments:
A game of tennis without sweatbands? I cannot compute this irrational information....
Stibbs I swear you have found your calling - an ex pat home counties boy in a German tennis club in Bolivia. Please tell me you've been drinking gin and tonic. I give it two weeks before you start wearing a cravat.
Ahhh...brings back fond memories of the British Club in Islamabad. Gotta admire the ex-pats' stoic refusal to soak up some local culture, retreating instead behind carefully manicured lawns, Bloody Marys and KP nuts. Pip pip!
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