Blog 11: Gerard Murphy's hat

23 November 2023

I had only one project for today and that was to meet a commitment I made in Talbot back in September to buy Gerard Murphy a Bolivian hat. Gerard and I went to school together and although we only really knew of each other at the time, years later we've renewed the aquaintance. Gerard owns and operates Chesterfield House in Talbot, where I often stay, and is also a councillor on Maryborough's council. (If ever you want a great place to stay in central Vic, Google Chesterfield House - there's a ghost and a secret cellar and, if it's still there in one of the bedrooms, an etching of a hanging scaffold)

Anyway, when I was in Talbot last, Gerard said 'Get me the craziest most outrageous hat you can find in Bolivia'. So that was today's project. I figured the Witches Market would be the best bet.

I began by immediately having a coffee break. I found a shop opposite the hotel, in the little group of restaurants that I discovered last night. The coffee shop offered a seat in a combie van parked in the seating area, so I took the c-v option up, for no reason at all.

(That's me not sure how many seconds I had till the photo was taken)

Then it was off to the Teleferico again for a ride on the Verde and Agua lines into the CBD.

La Paz is literally criss-crossed by the cable car system. And there seems to be an etiquette that if you get in a car with someone you at least greet them and if possible strike up conversation.

On the Agua line I was joined by a middle-aged local who, like the guy the previous day, told me in broken English that he hates the smoke haze. He too blamed China for encouraging farmers in the Amazon to burn the rainfores. Who knows if the accusation is true, but he was the second person in two days to tell me that's what people in La Paz reckon is happening.

Once again I got out in the CBD and walked up to the federal precinct for a bit of a look at the main political buildings (Stage 2 in the hat-buying process). By pointing and grunting I was able to ascertain from locals that the big yellow building is the Congress, and in the middle of the square is a statue of a man apparently responsible for all this (i.e. Bolivia). And, of course, there is a massive cathedral; there always has to be a massive cathedral.

Outside the Congress, two guys dressed like Moses were giving what-looked-like drafts of bills out to bowler-hat women. The kind of wacky stuff that happens outside congresses anywhere I guess.

Just outside the cathedral, I chance-met the American I had breakfasted with at the hotel, Elliot. He had told me while I ate my scrambled eggs how much he hates the smell of eggs, how a man my age should really be followed around by tanks of oxygen, how viagra has improved his life, and how viagra is good for altitude sickness, because its job is to deliver blood to extremities ('if you know what I mean', he said, to labour the point). He then told me not to scratch my midge bites.

If I'm honest, I'd been feeling a bit poorly this morning, mostly because I woke too early (4.00am), but felt I was coping quite well now that I was back outside. That kind of crumbled when Elliot said in the square 'you don't look well, you should grab a taxi and get home'. It's amazing how suddenly that made me feel unwell. He offered to call a taxi but I declined and said I'd be right.

Nonetheless, I took it real slow over to the Witches Market. As I approached the precinct I remembered only seeing one vendor selling hats the day before, most of them cowboy western leather hats that you can buy in Target. I also remembered that that shop was a million miles uphill from where the market starts. (I don't know where you buy the characteristic Bolivian bowler hats, I couldn't see them anywhere.)

Then, in a massive laziness-induced brainwave, I spotted a knitwear stand I'd seen the day before. I decided that what Gerard really needs for those moments when he wants to be inconspicuous in Maryborough, or wants to vote anonymously on sensitive council matters, is not a hat, but a mask; a devil mask hand-knitted by Bolivian witches. Wearing that in Maryborough, what could possibly go wrong.

So I bought Gerard his Bolivian witch's devil mask and wandered back towards the Teleferico. In the busy main street, I noticed a dark, old fashioned coffee shop and figured what I needed was another coffee. Inside, it was incredible, a kind of museum of old typewriters, motor bikes, lamps and old-fashioned furniture. Against the wall was a very old and grand upright piano. There were very few customers in the shop so I asked to play it and the waitress said 'fine'. So I did breifly. It was so out of tune that I'm not sure what I played, but it didn't really matter.

Not long after, I hopped into a cable car to go home. This time I was joined by a very glamorous young couple and their 1-year old child. They were really nice; they had just been in to the city to collect their passports because Mr-Glam-Couple had been accepted to work in the USA. Using Google Translate we had a long conversation about koalas, Crocodile Dundee, our families, their life in Bolivia and my life in Oz. Or at least I thought we did. Towards the end I noticed they seemed to squint more into my phone and frowned a lot trying to understand the translation; I realised later I had touched something and had been translating my English into Afrikaans, not Spanish.

Back at the hotel I asked at reception if I could get my oxygen levels checked. They did it straight away, and the reading was 99%. Perfect. A 30 minute nap later I was feeling much restored. Looked like I would't be needing the viagra after all, Elliot.