LION AROUND IN LA PAZ
My sister, who shares my love of words and wildlife documentaries, will be returning home after working abroad for four months.
I have missed her. I have missed her wry sense of humour, her practicality, and access to her beautiful clothes. And I have been counting the days until she returns.
She has suggested that we watch The Lion King on her return. I am not a fan of remakes, or paying for movies in which the plot holds no surprises.
But I love my sister (and her beautiful clothes), so I am willing to make the grand sacrifice of sitting through two hours of an animated musical.
Her request reminded me of my time spent in La Paz, Bolivia. I’d returned to the capital after spending a few days exploring Salar de Uyuni, the world’s largest salt pan.
I would be spending the next couple of days in La Paz before jetting off to Rurrenabeque, a small town that serves as a gateway to the Amazon jungle.
I use the term “jetting off” figuratively. I took the bus — something I would not recommend.
The journey was 20 hours long and involved us hurtling down the mountainside on an unpaved, narrow road — a road so narrow that only one vehicle could pass at a time.
During this journey, I learnt two things — firstly that seatbelts are not standard requirements for buses in Bolivia, and, secondly, how to truly pray.
When I checked into my dorm room in La Paz, I discovered two South Africans. Our shared nationality meant that starting a conversation was easy. I asked them about their plans for the day.
“We’re hungover,” replied one. “So we’ll spend the day in bed. We’ll probably watch The Lion King later. You’re welcome to join us.”
I won’t lie. I judged them, hard. To spend a day in bed in a foreign country when one isn’t ill is an act of sacrilege.
“Where will you watch it?” I asked, assuming that they were planning to watch it at a nearby cinema.
“Paula brought her iPad along. She saved a number of movies on it.”
Returning to the hostel after exploring La Paz’s Moon Valley, a pockmarked landscape reminiscent of the celestial object, I found Paula setting up her tablet.
With nothing better to do, I crawled into a bunkbed along with seven strangers. Eight adult bodies crammed into a single bed, a tangled mess of elbows and knees, all to watch a cartoon.
It wasn’t long before they all started singing along. I was flabbergasted. They knew every word to all of the songs! I’d loved the movie as a kid, but had never bothered to watch it more than twice. This level of devotion was astounding.
There is something intimate and beautiful about witnessing the candid love of a cherished film. They were obviously a tight-knit group of friends, and their willingness to unashamedly share their passion made me feel included. I felt like I’d been invited to dinner with the Von Trapp family.
I think about this moment often. I think about the strangeness of it all, and I smile.
It’s a constant reminder that the best travel experiences aren’t always found from ticking an item off the bucket list.
Sometimes beautiful memories are created when you open yourself up, when you let go of your firm plans and say “yes” to the unknown.
Here’s hoping that watching the remake with my sister will lead to some unforgettable moments.