The Markets of La Paz

In the Black Market tiny indigenous lake fish, only big enough for soup, flop on blue tarps next to the larger Canadian introduced rainbow trout. Goat heads seem to laugh with enormous protruding teeth as we pass the butcher. Rounds of white cheese fill the air with a stink unfamiliar to us. Potatoes of every size and color lie next to mounds of peanuts waist high. Women prepare fresh squeezed orange juice for $0.15 a glass while others carve intricate designs into pineapples. Woven textiles hang from every street corner.

Meanwhile, in the Withes Market, Llama fetuses hang ready to supply luck to those who will pay. San Pedro cactus begs for a connecting with universe. Figurines of every shape and size besoty fortune and good will. Herbs, medicines, sacred wood, all available to cue whatever ails you at the time.

The streets are narrow, the alleys cramped. We walk seemingly forever through the shadowy maze that is the market.