“We have happy hour on right now, if you buy three bags, you get one free” says the waiter after taking our drinks order. The tune of Baa-baa black sheep runs through my alcohol soaked brain. There’s an awkward silence as our group of random backpackers glance at each other not knowing what to say… or do.
It’s a tad past midnight and we had just arrived at Route 36, the infamous cocaine bar of Bolivia’s administrative capital La Paz. The decision to head here was made after consuming copious amounts of cheap Jaeger bombs in our hostel bar not too far away. I somehow don’t think anyone in his or her right mind would turn up at the imposing black door “hidden” between apartments in a non-descript downtown suburb without being pretty sauced up already.
Before I continue, I’ll spare the reader a lecture about how cocaine…
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