KALEIDOSCOPIC LA PAZ: CITY OF THE CLOUDS 



127 



mm: 



TYPES IN LA PAZ 



out before them on colored blankets. 

 Nothing was sold by weight. The pro- 

 duce or merchandise was arranged in the 

 primitive way, in little heaps, on which 

 a price was set. The people bought their 

 supplies only for the one day. I fol- 

 lowed a modest purchaser, who filled his 

 basket with two cents' worth of chuno 

 (the frozen potato, on its native heath), 

 three cents' worth of char que (jerked 

 beef), and four whole cents' worth of 

 fruit. 



Although La Paz is situated upon the 

 roof, its market is filled with every va- 

 riety of fruit, vegetables, and flowers 

 from the gardens of the Yungas, on the 

 eastern slope of the Andes. Llamas and 

 burros bring the produce to town, and on 

 Sunday morning the country people may 

 be seen coming on foot down the steep 

 trails from the heights, urging on their 

 tired animals. Their goal is the Sunday 

 market, the eventful day of the week. 



I went from one stall to another, learn- 

 ing much of the ways and needs of the 

 people. A native cafe interested me. The 



chef, a little Cholo boy, squatted on the 

 ground beside a brazier, watching a pot 

 containing the favorite chape, grand- 

 mother to the Irish stew. When the 

 feast was ready there was a general 

 scramble, fingers serving in place of 

 spoons. 



An Indian artist, hawking his wares, 

 next claimed my attention. He sold his 

 work by the yard, colored figures on a 

 white background, and I have ever since 

 been endeavoring to unravel his pictured 

 story. It seems to be the portrayal of 

 some oral tradition handed down from 

 his forefathers. 



From the artist I turned to a musician, 

 a "Pan-come- true" playing on reed pipes. 

 I wondered how this shepherd had man- 

 aged to slip away from his flock of al- 

 pacas up on the cheerless mountain, and 

 realized that this was a great day for 

 him, a mad whirl of social pleasure. A 

 saucy-faced little flower-seller seemed to 

 be the princess of his dreams, for he 

 piped his sweetest as he passed her booth. 



The shepherd was not the only musi- 



