La Paz is many things less what its name says. It is a boiling pot at ‘rush hour’, is the seat of power and is an endless party, week by week, in all its neighborhoods and in honor of how much patron saint or date is approaching.

When the sun goes down at sunset, La Paz is an infinite shadow of bare brick constructions, embedded between hills and scattered over a valley that goes from the corners to the center. In a matter of a few steps, one seems to be in a cosmopolitan and traditional city at the same time. From the slopes, lights flash in the night that look like games of artifice that burn but never explode.
Modernity inhabiting the deep Andes, with its people, its languages, its fabrics, colors and foods.
Down there, the once residential area south stands in new moles of concrete, pregnant with luxuries. The village brick gave way to the sumptuousness of steel, blindex glass, the condominium goal and a new centrality plagued by 4x4 and the air of a present that seems, in its forms, to recall its greatnesses of the past. Named wonder city, La Paz is one that does not rest and lives on past and present glories.