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So what is the Route 36 Bolivia? Route 36 Bar is a mysterious cocaine bar in La Paz, Bolivia. The only people who can take you to the Route 36 Bar in La Paz are cab drivers since the address changes every six months. In the midst of its cholitas, chaotic traffic and llama foetuses, La Paz , the capital of Bolivia, also hides a unique place: Route 36 Bar La ruta After eating a few tucumanas and drinking a few beers, I was determined to find my way to the temple of high that La Ruta 36 promises to be, so when night falls, I set out to find the one that will take me to my destination. The only way to get to Route 36 Bar is by cab. After several unsuccessful attempts, I came across Ernesto. He seemed sure of himself and I decided to follow him. We set out into the Bolivian night in a dilapidated Toyota whose speakers spit out the last piece of Daddy Yankee. After 15 minutes in the maze of the streets of La Paz, the cab stops. A few seconds later, an imposing Bolivian with a patibular air comes out to extract me from the vehicle and take me into the building. The stairwell is dark and dusty. I begin to wonder what I am doing there. I pay an entrance fee of 50 bolivianos about 5 euros and follow my guide with a nervous step. As we climb the stairs, I start to hear muffled electro music. I begin to be reassured about the future of the evening. Arriving on the third floor, the sound becomes more present and a door opens on what seems to have been one day an apartment. Opposite us is a space of about fifty square meters that looks more like a cheap brothel than a party place. The purple neon lights plunge the room into a creepy atmosphere that the faded decoration only accentuates. The windows are covered with large scotch tape, reinforcing the impression of having entered a clandestine squat. If you imagined that a cocaine bar would be glamorous, it is quite the opposite. The half-open sofas and the coffee tables covered with cigarette burns convince me that you have to be pretty stoned to find a little beauty within these walls. I am among the first customers to take a seat on a bench. The waitress, as fresh as the couch, walks towards me. The question is asked so naturally that my answer seems stupid. A minute later, the waitress comes back with a beer and a dose of cocaine, and a CD cover that is nowhere to be seen. Analyzing what looks more like bad speed than quality cocaine, I understand that this place must have a clientele purely composed of tourists looking for cheap high and thrills. The passing minutes prove me right. Little by little, the tourists enter and take a seat on the benches, receiving their CD cover and their dose. The dress code of the evening is clear: two out of three people wear a sweater made of fake llama wool and ethnic motifs emptied of their meaning. With the help of cocaine, the dance floor worthy of a village party fills up. The mass of sweaty bodies with tight jaws does not count a single Bolivian. Admittedly, here, the population is more inclined towards the bottle than towards psychotropic drugs, even though coca, the plant from which cocaine is extracted, is consumed on a daily basis. It can be drunk as an infusion, but it is more generally chewed. President Evo Morales, is himself a former cocalero coca producer. By doubling in the authorized area of cultivation, he has further strengthened its economic importance for many communities in the country. The Ruta 36 is thus a pure tourist attraction. A DisneyLand for adults where Mickey would have coke in his ears. I navigate between Americans, Israelis and Argentinians and let me gradually get caught by the collective euphoria. After all, I too am only an actor in this nightly masquerade. The unbearable heat pushes us one by one to take off our T-shirts, the atmosphere is as moist as the pupils are dilated. Everyone is talking to each other, setting up projects for the coming days that will disappear at dawn. In the inconsistency of travel encounters, the ones that take place in this place already stink of oblivion. Through this blog, I hope to share some of my adventures, good eats, and unique experiences with you. If you haven't booked your hotel yet, you can get the best deals on hotels here. Massimo Hernandes. Read More.

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Belarus Practical Guide Minsk. Balaton Budapest. Macedonian Wine Ohrid Skopje. Antwerp Flanders Top-5 Destinations. Haifa vs. DMZ Zone. Bohol Manila. Cappadocia Edirne Istanbul Kars. You're welcome. Numerous scams ripping off tourists from all their savings, pollution, corruption, drugs trafficking… Also the night bus had some bad reputation of its own, as apparently sometimes the driver takes a detour to the slums to give thieves free access. No half measurements for this chick though. I brought my backpack into the bus instead of putting it in the luggage room and tied it to my body with scarfs. If those bastards would take their chances to steal it, they would basically have to drag me out of the bus with it. I fell asleep with my deodorant in one hand and my killer stiletto heel in the other, related to my plan to first spray the poison straight into the eyes of possible thieves and then eliminate them by slapping them in the nuts with my pumps straight after. When I think about it, it's almost a shame that nothing happened. As usual, when you set your expectations that low, the only thing that awaits you is a positive surprise. So when I woke up driving in the mountains and saw La Paz lying in the valley in front of me, lit up by the early sunrise, it literally took my breath away. This was absolutely the most gorgeous capital I ever saw, what a location! After I checked into a hostel I entered the dorm and witnessed 2 people having sex. I greeted them and unpacked my back while they continued. The altitude forced me into a slow morning, which I used to explore the many markets, whose tentacles expand into the entire city. Although the Bolivian kitchen seems to be notorious for its lousy deep fry, I was positively amazed by its alternatives. I never paid more than a euro for a sometimes 3-course meal, and so far my stomach never turned against me. After I watched free street theatre in front of the San Francisco church and bought some instant love potion at the witch market , I hit the bars with the sex-guy of my dorm as well as two Americans and drank the night away with some terrible Bolivian wine they do beer better. The next day I accidentally ran into a free cultural festival. Still swinging I hurried to the San Pedro prison , where a free walking tour took off. San Pedro houses prisoners and is led by 12 guards. There are different sections, based on how much money you can afford on a cell. Where my country rewards criminals with a free cell including playstation, tv and books, Bolivia let their criminals pay rent for a place in prison. Well done. In between these stabbings and liquidations a society is created, as many prisoners live in jail together with their wife and children. In between the prison walls the inmates work in restaurants, like lawyers or vendors, or the San Pedro favorite: in the cocaine business. Their wives can easily smuggle it out somewhere in their massive layer skirts, and if not they just throw it over the prison walls, no one cares. My parents can thank the free walking tour guide though, as she changed my mind with her examples of tourists getting trapped, raped and stripped of all of their belongings after which they are dropped off in Chile without a passport. Hm, maybe not. At an ever-changing location silver platters full of high purity lines are supposedly served with every drink. So I went. I gathered around some French boys and a pumped up Irish vacuum cleaner and spoke the magic words to a random cab driver…. The only sound was my own bouncing heartbeat… the mess I got myself in this time, did I test my luck too much? Doors opened, there it was: a big-pupiled bunch of nervous people hysterically giggling, attacking trenchers with endless white savannahs. After a solid night of sleep yes I tried to reach the Museo Arte Contemporaneo. In this privately owned museum the impressive paintings are actually for sale. Then I took a collectivo to another happy destination: the central cemetery. Just like at markets, I think the true culture of a country can be found at cemeteries. Your corpse get dropped into a station wagon, and upon your arrival at the church your partner will run around you screaming hysterically while your friends throw flowers. All of this accompanied by an unshaved dude with a cowboy head playing guitar straight out of the heart. Your body will disappear in one of the massive grave flats, high above the ground. Well, after I got back to the hostel safe and sound, I found yet another way to put my life at risk: The Death Road, supposedly the most deathliest road in the world. Heavily commercialized, but well worth the views is this mountain bike tour from Cumbre to Coroico straight through waterfalls and along the steepest slopes you can imagine. Prices vary widely, and being Dutch I off course choose the cheapest company Chacaltaya. I watched my poor group members, bike after bike breaking down. So I brushed the dust off, smiled and continued until the end, where I got my very own I-survived-the-Death-Road-shirt. I was thinking about staying in La Paz for 1 or 2 days max, but ended up staying a week. This service is and will remain free. Related: - Go to the Bolivia Page for more blogs! San Salvador, El Salvador - Yay or nay? Panama City

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