Arrival in La Paz (actually El Alto)

Having left DFW in the afternoon of July 3, I finally arrived in La Paz (via Miami) on a cool, clear July 4th morning at 4,058 meters or 13,225 feet. The increase in annoyance to the body from going from sea level to 13,000 feet, as compared to sea level to say 7,000 feet (Park City), is not linear – the last few thousand feet are the problem. (Actually, the airport is El Alto, a suburb of La Paz. La Paz is in a canyon and El Alto is up on the Altiplano, where it is sufficiently flat for an airport with a long enough runway for commercial planes to take off at this altitude).

Everything went well enough on arrival, except for one hitch. Bolivia charges US citizens a $135 visa fee, which must be paid in US dollars in the exact amount. I knew that and for that reason I had withdrawn that amount in clean crisp dollars from an ATM in Irving just before I left. Nonetheless, when I went to purchase my visa on arrival, the immigration officer rejected two of my $20 bills, claiming they would not be accepted by the bank. One had a minor tear and the other, an older worn bill, had a crease down the middle. He kept the other bills and my passport and just left me standing to the side while he dealt with others in line. My assessment was that he was not likely to respond favorably to my explanation that there was absolutely nothing wrong with the bills since I had just got them out of a US bank ATM (even if I could manage to explain all that in my rudimentary Spanish).

My problem was that I deliberately hadn’t brought much US cash beyond what was needed for this visa fee, since it is easier to withdraw the local currency (Bolivianos” or “Bs”) from an ATM in Bolivia than hassle with converting dollars, and I was in that “no man’s land” before you clear customs where there are no currency exchanges, ATMs, stores, etc.

However, I managed to find another $20 bill that I had stashed away in my in luggage for emergencies. It looked fine to me, but so did the two he had already rejected. I spent some time shuffling with the bills and then handed him without comment the bill I had found along with one of the ones he had rejected. He accepted them both, gave me back my passport together with a receipt, with which I could then finish the process and emerge into the lobby where Dave and a driver (Rosendo) were waiting (and had been waiting for some time, since the flight was over a hour late). (I don’t know whether the immigration officer had not realized that I had given him back one of the bills he had previously rejected or whether he knew that but saw this as an easy way to resolve what was becoming an “awkward” situation. I think this was a hint of how things work in Bolivia.)