The city of La Paz, Bolivia, lies in a canyon.

The expensive housing is at the flat bottom of the canyon and the gentle lower slopes, while the shanty-towns and poorer housing cling to the cliffsides, inaccessible by transport and jostling for space on top of each other, often made of makeshift materials.

In direct contrast to most major cities, in La Paz, the poor have the best view.

In early 1996, I was living in Sopocachi Alto, a neighbourhood close to the cliffs, in the last few steep streets accessible by bike. One night, in the early hours of pre-dawn I was awoken by a distant rumbling, crashing noise, echoing off the cliff walls. I rolled over and went back to sleep.

A few hours later, I and the rest of the city awoke to find that an entire chunk of the cliff had simply disintegrated and slipped down, vertically, down into the canyon, crushing everything beneath it.

The rainy season had come and gone, and because of local deforestation, the earth on the cliff edge had simply turned into mud, and slid off. Hundreds of people were buried; dozens died.

It was about 500 metres from my bedroom, and I have never felt more guilty about being alive.

Similar things in Chima [Los Tiempos story].

I’ve visited Coroico, Las Yungas, which is relatively close to Chima and Tipuani. More Bolivia pictures here.