My business partner and I would serve him a coffee and join him. This was how the ritual began. Year after year he would ask the same questions. He would look down at his little spreadsheet, as if he didn’t know the drill by now. Then he would begin to rattle of his questions; “storage of the meat, still good as last year?” Tick. “Cleanliness of the surfaces, still good?” Tick. “ Pots and pans still hanging where they should be?” Tick. He would never go upstair to inspect the kitchen. I’m almost certain he wouldn’t even be able to pick out the kitchen door, even if his life depended on it. The ritual was set in stone long before we even bought the restaurant. He would ask the questions from his little spreadsheet, dictate the tempo, then look up at us for the answer. We would say yes, almost like a marriage ritual when the bride says “I do”.

Then we came the business part of our ritual. This was the only thing that actually mattered. He’d lean forward to make sure no one would hear, then very casually, he would suggest to us, if we could give a generous contribution for his Coca-Cola for the day. That was the phrase. Not a bribe, not a fee, just a small contribution toward his coke. We would give hime a generous contribution. He would write his report. We would get our license. This was the ritual. Year after year. Like clockwork.

I used to think this was corruption. In a narrow legal sense it is. That being said, over the years as I participated in this ritual, I came to understand it for what it is. It is a different operating system for how business gets done. In Denmark and Scandinavia at large we build businesses on rules and regulation. Contracts, licenses for everything under the sun, inspections. This is the Scandinavian operating system. A sort of shared assumption that if you follow the rules to a tee, the rules will protect you. The rules are the relationship.

In Bolivia, and in Latin America at large, this assumption won’t get you far. There are no rules that protect you, only on paper. But in reality there is only the person in front of you, and he or she will decide whether you’re worth protecting. The relationship is the rule. You don’t earn a license by being clean, you earn it by being known, by making conversation and creating a connection. In other word by being someone worth doing a small favor for, year after year.

This is the single biggest blind spot I see in Danish and Scandinavian companies looking to enter the LATAM markets. Don’t get me wrong, they have done their research. They are well prepared- on paper… In Latin America you can be as well prepared on paper as you want, but if you aren’t willing to step outside of the boundaries of your paper, drop your shoulders and button up, then you will soon hit a brick wall. The assumption that good paperwork wins the deal seems logic but don’t forget. Somebody has to sit across the table, more than once, and build the kind of trust, in you, that a contract can’t provide.

In Denmark and Scandinavia, the rules are the relationship. In Bolivia and Latin America, the relationship is the rule. If you’re not willing to buy the man his Coca-Cola, don’t bother setting sail across the Atlantic.

Right here in the Pulacayo mine, in the middle of the Bolivian Altiplano desert. A barren landscape, on the surface stripped for life, except for the llamas roaming the area. The air up here is thin, each step comes at cost, it will cost you valuable oxygen, but dig into the ground and you will be rewarded. No one describes it better than Butch telling The Sundance Kid about Bolivia, in the movie carrying their names, Butch says: “You wouldn't believe what they're finding in the ground down there. They're just fallin' into it. Silver mines, gold mines, tin mines, payrolls so heavy we'd strain ourselves stealin' 'em”.

Subscribe now

In its heyday Pulacayo was a bustling town with around 30,000 inhabitants, today around 50-60 families are left rummaging through the scraps, trying to make a living off of what little zinc, copper & tin the mine still provides. As I recently visited the mostly abandoned mining town an old local man told me “we are hoping for an investor to come and buy the mine, to bring it back to life”, what is it the English say?– It’s the hope that kills you…

The old man seemed to be somewhat of a warden of Pulacayo, he had been born here and he was still living here. I imagine he was old enough to have seen the mine in the latter years of its heyday– the mine was ramped down in the 1950’s. Apart from the covid face diaper he was wearing, it was as if he was stuck living in the past, desperately waiting for it to come back, hoping to one day wake up back in 1951. The old man was kind, very talkative. I imagine he doesn’t get many visitors these days. He asked if I wanted to play a game of bowling on Bolivia’s oldest bowling lane, a bowling lane dating back to 1891, brought to the town from England by the owners of the mine back in the day. I couldn’t believe my luck, of course I wanted to have a go!

As I took aim at the pins lined up at the end of this historic bowling lane I couldn’t quite believe myself. I imagined all the people who had lined up here before me– presidents, rich businessmen and outlaws, squeeze your eyes together real hard and you’ll struggle to spot the difference between these folk. I can imagine Butch and Sundance playing a game here against the owners of the mine, drinking beers, smoking cigarettes, charming the owner, luring him to let out all the details they needed to pull off their next heist– The route of the payroll transport, the dates upon which payroll comes in and out of town and most importantly how much money the payroll is?

The official story of Butch Cassidy and The Sundance Kid claims that the two outlaws ended their days in a shootout with the Bolivian Army in San Vicente, a small mining village hidden deep in the Bolivian Andes, after having stolen the payroll of the Pulacayo mine. The pair had escaped on horses marked with the logo of the Pulacayo mine, after days riding through the rough Bolivian Andes, under the sun with no food and hardly any oxygen, the pair made it to San Vicente. Hungry, sun-burned and thirsty they headed straight to a small guesthouse and restaurant. They ordered two beers and plenty more– You can’t trust the water quality up here in the Bolivian mountains. The fatal moment came when a young San Vicente local noticed the two horses marked with the Pulacayo mine logo. The young local went straight to the San Vicente sheriff– later that night the Bolivian Army arrived in San Vicente and the fatal shootout took place over the course of the following night.

When the Bolivian army officials entered the room where Butch and Sundance had been barricaded all night during the shootout they found two dead bodies, Sundance had a gunshot to the forehead, Butch had a gunshot to the bottom of his head. The conclusion: Butch had first put Sundance out of his misery before turning the gun on himself… The pair was buried in the San Vicente cemetery where they lay resting to this day–- Sounds legit, right?

Share The World According to Pilgart Explores

Since that fatal shootout in 1908 the speculations about what really happened that night has been many. Were the two dead bodies actually the bodies of Butch and Sundance, or had they managed to escape the law one final time by staging their own death?

When a team of investigators lead by Dr. Clyde Snow, a celebrated forensic anthropologist went to Bolivia in 1993 to excavate the supposed grave of Butch and Sundance; they found that the bones in the grave couldn't be matched with the identities of Butch and Sundance. So what really happened that night? Did Butch and Sundance die in Bolivia or did they live out their lives in peace after one last heist?

Leave a comment

So sings Grian Chatten, lead singer of the Irish punk band Fontaines D.C (look them up and thank me later), in the fourth verse of their song Favourite– my favourite track released in 2024. As a world traveller who has called quite a few places home during the past 10 years I can relate to these lyrics on so many levels.

It just so happens that I recently came back to La Paz, Bolivia– a city I used to call home. But so many things about the city has changed. Most notably with old friends of mine.

Some old friends have turned out to reveal themselves as crooks, and you guessed it, some of the people who had been painted, in my mind, as crooks– well it just so turns out that they have revealed themselves as the good guys. I’m reminded of Warren Buffet’s line: Only when the tide goes out do you discover who's been swimming naked. The time away from La Paz has given me time to reflect on my two and a half years living here. The time component acts as the tide in Buffet’s great quote– Allowing me to filter through all the noise and focus on what is real. Or should I say who of my old friends were the real friends and who were the crooks– swimming naked all the time.

Subscribe now

My Story with La Paz

I first arrived in La Paz in 2018 as a 22 year old boy looking for a place in South America to live. La Paz was where I met my wife. La Paz is where I bought my first business– a pub in the tourist area. La Paz is where I learned to deal with corrupt city council workers. La Paz is in many ways where I grew from a boy to a man.

Fast forward to December 2024 as I’m back in the city for the first time in two years. Walking the colourful and chaotic streets of La Paz, brings back all the memories. The street corner where a young naive Sebastian bought his first gram of pure Bolivian Marching Powder– That shit will pick you right up by the bootstraps, but do to proceed with care, I don’t have enough available fingers to count the amount of people who I’ve seen lose their lives to the Marching Powder of Bolivia. If you aren’t careful it will become the only thing you live for.

I jump on a cable car– La Paz’s metro system which flies across the city, up and down the mountains, connecting all neighbourhoods with the city centre. I head to what used to be my local park and viewpoint. This is where I would always come to read a book or listen to podcasts whilst enjoying the stunning view of Illimani– the mountain guarding La Paz. Most importantly this is the park where I made my first move to kiss my wife.

The former community leader who vanished

The main thing I think about as I re-explore my old neighbourhoods is; what happened to my old friends and acquaintances? Together with the other restaurants in the tourist area we used to have a football team organised by a true community leader, let’s call him George in this story, the team was called Chocos Locos– The Crazy Blondes, we were a mix of European expats, exchanges students, NGO employees and some local Bolivian friends of ours. George was the guy who tied us all together. He knew everyone– their birthday, what football team they supported, what drink they preferred etc. George would look out for everyone, he would make sure to organize birthday parties, even for the quiet ones in our group. George had his values set in the right place, he demanded a high standard from everyone on and off the pitch. In exchange we would look out for each other, cover for one another if we were in trouble. You know like the Marines, we would leave no man behind.

As I’m now back in La Paz most of my former friends and teammates are no longer around, George included. Their restaurants are closed and new ones have emerged. Some have left due to the recent years of political instability in Bolivia, others have mysteriously disappeared. What happened to them?

In May 2024 I received a message from George saying our friend and teammate, let’s call him Juan, was in intensive care in a hospital in La Paz, after suffering a near death accident. Juan’s family needed help to cover the treatment costs. Like the true community leader George is, he took it upon himself to reach out to all present and former teammates and friends of Juan, asking us all to pitch in, with whatever we could to support Juan’s treatment. I didn’t think much else of it and sent across €100 to support Juan. As I later came to learn, the story was something else. The real story revealed George’s true identity.

This is the story of a real captain, a true community leader, who turned out to be a scammer. But how did George turn into a scammer who used the near death accident of a friend and teammate, to scam just about everyone who had ever met Juan into donating money to help Juan’s family pay for the intensive care in hospital, only to run off with all the money donated– approximately $4000 USD?

Perhaps the answer was there in front of our faces all along? I recently listened to a podcast with Andrew Bustamente (a former CIA spy, known as Everyday Spy on YouTube) in the podcast Andrew mentioned that most people who come off as highly empathetic, people like George, aren’t actually as highly empathetic as they seem, in fact such people despise almost everybody else.

I now ask myself did George actually use the community and our football team the whole time. Were we funding his life in La Paz all the time? George told us he was working online as an English teacher. Now I ask myself who George really was.

Leave a comment

See you all in 2025

It’s mind blowing to me, how time removed from a former favourite city helps us see our time living in said city with such clarity… What really happened? Who were the good guys? Who were the bad guys?

As I look to settle into a new hometown in 2025 (more on that in future newsletters) I will keep in mind my lessons learned from revisiting La Paz. I will be able to spot who are the charlatan’s and who are the genuine good guys– or at least so I hope.

As I warm up to a Holiday season with family from both Denmark and Bolivia I wish you all a great Holidays, remember to be grateful for your family and those who are your real friends. Show them love. Cherish your time with them. Let me leave you with the lyrics to the final verse of the fantastic Fontaines D.C song Favourite:

Ah, makes sense when you understand
The misery made me another marked man
And I'm always looking over my shoulder
And each new day
- I get another year older
Shoulder bound to the frame of a door
Tuned into shape like a stone on the shore
But if there was lightning in me
Then you know who it was for

I will see you all in 2025. God bless you all.

Sebastian

If I could go back a decade to tell a 19 year old me: “In 10 years from now, you are going to go out on a saturday night, spontaneously with your wife, to a religious festival featuring gospel music and religious preachers, AND, you are going to be perfectly fine with it. That same 19 year old atheist me, would roll his eyes in disbelief and laugh me out the room. As a kid, brought up in a very non religious Denmark, to whom the yearly church visit for the Christmas mass, was my idea of hell on earth, it seems unfathomable that I’m now a 29 year old man with a fairly close relationship to God. Whatever that even means. How did I end up here?

My Atheist Life and Upbringing

I am rebellious by nature. I absolutely despise the notion of anyone dictating how I have to live my life, telling me what I have to think. Having to console the Bible for the answer to all my dilemmas still, to this day, seems ridiculous to me. I mean, who swears by any book to such a degree that they would blindly turn to it, for consultation on every issue in their life? I used to be one of those annoying atheists who completely dismisses the existence of anything, but their own mind and consciousness. I used to say things like: “Religion is a tool for brainwashing, manipulation and the cause of all evil in the world” and “Religion creates wars not inner peace.” Uhh, and my personal favourite atheist line: “If a God really does exist, then why is there so much evil in this world?”

I’m sure you’ve heard these lines rattled off before– or maybe you, yourself spew such sentences, from time to time? Well let me tell you, they are all very convincing one-liner arguments, to a rebellious young man like me. So how did I come to “see the light" as they say?

What is God?

Over the past decade of travelling the world I have come to realisation, that God isn’t this construct of the Bible or the Quran or whatever flavour of holy script you subscribe to. You know, this all-seeing creator of life itself, who judges every single decision I make.

God, to me, is this inexplicable energy between me and the universe at large. God is this ever present energy which we all feel, but can’t quite put our finger on. It’s the energy that drives me to create, everyday– the energy that made me sit down to write this. It just feels right, like a calling– like I must write this story. That same energy made you read this. God is me. God is you. God is in everything and everyone you see around you. We are all mere images of God because we all create life where there previously was none. And we do it every single day, 24/7, all day every day.

Have you ever experienced the feeling that someone you’d never met showed up in your life, for a brief moment, to deliver you a message, a piece of advice or a nudge in the right direction? As if someone had sent them specifically to you? As if someone was listening to your thoughts? Let me tell you– I have had many such experiences in my life.

When I Met God

Let me give you an example. The year is 2018. It is early April. I’m sitting in a hostel patio in Buenos Aires, a cigarette in one hand and a one litre Quilmes beer in the other. I’m in disarray–split in my mind and with seemingly no goal to pursue.

I had been travelling for about a year. I had originally set out, with the goal of finding somewhere in South America, where I’d like to live for a few years, while becoming fluent at Spanish. But during my travels I had lost sight of my originally stated goal. I had instead come to think that I would go back to Denmark and study photojournalism. I had even bought a ticket back to Denmark. That’s why I was in Buenos Aires, to catch my flight back to Denmark in a couple of days. I know, what the hell was I thinking?...

A few months earlier during Carnival 2018 in La Paz, Bolivia, I had met the most interesting, gorgeous local Bolivian girl. She had showed me around La Paz everyday for the two weeks I was there. We talked for hours on end, at cafes, restaurants, and, at night, in bars or at viewpoints across the city. I would walk her home every night, or that is to say–as close as she would let me get to her door. She didn’t want her family to see us together–not yet.

After I left La Paz to keep on travelling, we stayed in contact. We would text each other at least every other day. She was clearly interested, so was I.

As I sat in this hostel patio in Buenos Aires, I got to know Marco, a Venezuelan man in his 40's, who had recently escaped the horror show that is Maduro’s Venezuela, in search of a better life in Argentina. One night, over many beers and plenty of cigarettes, I layed out my situation to Marco. I told him, I was in disarray– that I didn’t know what to do? Should I give up my original plan of living in South America and learning Spanish, to go home and study? What about the girl? I couldn’t take my mind off of her.

Marco lit a cigarette, leaned forward, and looked me in the eyes. It was at this moment he said exactly what I had been thinking all the previous days. He said ”Son, isn’t it obvious what you have to do? I see you texting this girl everyday. She is interested, and so are you. You said you planned to stay and live in South America. If you are serious about that plan, then get your ass on the next bus back to Bolivia and figure out how you can live there”.

Leave a comment

I am God. You are God

It felt as if Marco had been sent to that hostel, all the way from Venezuela, just for me. To tell me what I needed to hear and stear me back on track–towards my stated plan. The plan I had told the universe, or God, when I had left Denmark. Marco was an extension of God, presenting himself in my life for 5 days that April in Buenos Aires. The next day I went to Recreo, the central bus station in Buenos Aires. I ordered a ticket for the next bus to Bolivia. A few days later I arrived back in La Paz, as a surprise to the girl.

For the whole trip, I thought about what to say to her when I saw her again. I told her: “You are going to be my girlfriend” she smiled and said “Lets see about that”.

We have been together ever since. She is now my wife. She is an extension of God in my life, just as I am an extension of God in hers.

Marco is one of many examples of where a person I hadn’t known previously has carried an important lesson for me. Most of the time the lessons are good, sometimes they are hard lessons. What all the lessons have in common is: they are always lessons that have presented themselves to me, through that inexplicable energy between me and the universe at large. Lessons born out of my own stated will to God.

I am God. You are God. We are all God. We all create our own lives.

Where to go. Where to stay. What to eat and what to do

If you clicked on this Ecuador travel guide expecting to read about the Galapagos Islands, well then I’m sorry to disappoint you!
This is my exclusive travel guide to Ecuador. Whilst The Galapagos Island are a magical, no doubt. Ecuador has so much more to offer. That is what this travel guide is all about. It’s about the hidden gems- Where to go. Where to stay. What to eat and what to do, and one place to skip- This is Ecuador According to Pilgart Explores.

Quito

Quito, one of my favourite capital cities of South America. In my book it’s right up there with Buenos Aires and Santiago. Buenos Aires feels very European. Santiago has an American feel to it. Quito… Well Quito feels like proper South American, it has a similarity to Cuzco, just bigger and more developed. I think it is that perfectly balanced mix of Incan and Spanish influence. The historic centre with it’s buildings that tell so many stories, as they roll up and down the Andean foothills, through the valley in which Quito sits. Surrounded by towering mountains, inviting me to go out and explore what they have to say.

Where to stay

• The budget option

  • Centro, cheap hotel or hostel

  You will be close to the historic centre with all the touristy things nearby, at night it’s a different story though. At night the historic centre is pretty dead, the zombies come out and you don’t want to be strolling around late in the evening.

  The World According to Pilgart Explores is a reader-supported publication. To receive subscriber only posts and support my work, consider becoming a paid subscriber.

• The unique

  • La Floresta neighbourhood

  I booked an AirBnB in La Floresta, a local middle class area, located just south of Quito’s top neighbourhood El Batan, as well as within walking distance to the historic centre. La Floresta itself had a few small hip cafes & restaurants and plenty of shops for me stock up, on everything I needed for cooking at my AirBnB. I will highly recommend staying in La Floresta.

Read more

Food is about more than nutrition

I’ve sat down to meals across the world, from the loud, bustling markets of an Andean town to a quaint French countryside brasserie. At first glance, these experiences may seem worlds apart. But dig deeper, and you’ll notice that both meals are simmering in a deep cultural broth, seasoned with passion and served with love for its tradition and roots.

To me, food paints a picture of the society in which it is made. When I’m eating a dish, the food tells a story about the people who created it. It provides answers to questions like no person ever could.

When I sit down to order from a menu offering stews brimming with freshly picked herbs and vegetables, roasted meats from animals raised nearby, and fruits plucked directly from trees, I am filled with excitement. It is hard to decide what to order, as the smell from the kitchen glides by, I can’t wait for the first bite. 

Leave a comment

Veganism: A Diet Born of Industrial Convenience

The further away I travel from global metropolitan megacities, the clearer it becomes: veganism is a diet born not of nature but of industrial convenience. It’s not a lifestyle that embraces the flourishing of the planet or humanity. Instead, it relies on factories to transform soybeans and chickpeas into something they were never meant to be—human food.

The more I explore the world, the more I realise veganism isn’t about connecting with nature; it’s about reshaping nature to fit a modern utopian fantasy. A fantasy created in a global metropolitan life, where everything looks, feels, and tastes the same—whether I’m in London, New York City, or Kuala Lumpur.

Try crossing the Namib desert on a vegan diet. You’ll turn back before the first day has gone, desperately hungry and searching for the nearest vegan restaurant—nowhere to be found. You’ll face a choice: Do I want to cling on to this utopian fantasy of what’s "natural," or do I eat the delicious food nature has already provided in abundance?

Game meat is plentiful in this serene, natural environment, as are fruits like melons, dates, and oranges. If you’re lucky enough to meet one of the nomadic Himba tribes who roam this vast desert, you might even be able to trade your way to goat. Out here, in the real world, nature won’t present you with a tofu tree or soybean plant.

It’s almost as if Planet Earth is sending us a message: eat what’s readily available, what doesn’t need heavy processing to become food.

The Soybean Assembly Line

The irony of veganism lies in its branding—as a natural, healthy, and environmentally friendly choice. Clever marketing, but utter nonsense.

Soybean farming, a stable of vegan food, is one of the leading contributors to deforestation in the Amazon, alongside gold mining. Vegan advocates might argue that most soybeans are used for industry and animal feed, but they conveniently overlook the inherently unnatural nature of soybeans as human nutrition.

For instance, producing one litre of soy milk requires 300 litres of water. Add to that the seed oils, artificial colorants, flavors, textures, and E-marked chemicals listed on vegan meat and cheese ingredient labels. Barely anything about vegan meat or cheese is natural. It’s a synthetic symphony—carefully assembled in factories, stripped of the raw nutrients found in real, whole foods.

The hypocrisy is striking. The vegan industry presents itself as the solution to climate change, yet its reliance on resource-heavy, industrial processes undermines that very claim.

Why Do They Want You to Eat Vegan?

So, who’s behind this "veganism good, real meat bad" narrative? Look no further than the architects of the climate change agenda—organisations like the World Bank, the IMF, the World Economic Forum, and companies like Beyond Meat and Impossible Foods. Investors like Bill Gates, through initiatives like Breakthrough Energy Ventures, also play a significant role.

These are organisations and individuals who operate without principles like open debate in search of truth, instead they don’t like to be challenged on their believes, they are afraid to engage in public discourse, like podcasts and freedom of speech based platforms like Substack. These organisations expect you to buy into their message, fall in line and don’t ask questions - The most outrageous examples are ESG policies and carbon credits - a giant coercion machine designed for those in the know to profit off of the actions they coerce individuals and businesses to perform. Do take that as investment advice if want…

As I see it, the most horrifying example of what the ambitions behind, vegan lab food and the climate change agenda is. Is the article published by the World Economic Forum titled “Welcome to 2030. I own nothing, have no privacy, and life has never been better”. I can’t help but wonder if in 2030 we will all be eating vegan lab food, driving electric cars and living in urban areas, whilst being completely dependent on an internet without any privacy. In this dystopian future, it will be possible to turn any disobedient citizen off with the click of a button. Governments will have complete control of all lives, like an all seeing super God. They will control what you eat and at the click of a button, suddenly your computer won’t work, your money won’t transact and your car won’t drive. Just because you had a differing opinion.

The luxuries of the real world, being in touch with nature, experiencing nature in its beauty and magnificence will be for the few. The luxury of travel or living a self sufficient life, will be for the ultra few - The few that told you to eat vegan, move to the city and never step foot on an airplane, because an airplane destroys the planet. 

Remember if your opinion is based on the annihilation of other opinions you don’t agree with - then you have no opinion at all. 

Cultural Disconnect: Food and Identity

I travel to experience different cultures, to better understand cultures, that are different from here I grew up. I travel to broaden my perspective on the world and the people that make up this wonderfully crazy planet, that we all call home. I also travel to enrich my taste-pallet. I love food. Food is a window into a society’s traditions, history, and identity. When I sit down for a flavourful Paella at restaurant in Valencian side street, I am eating a dish that tells me about Spanish history. The aromatic sweet saffron known as red gold, that gives the paella its distinct taste, came to Spain with Arabic tradesmen that conquered large parts of the Iberian peninsula. The tomatoes arrived on my plate from the Andean mountains in South America, brought back to Spain by the conquistadors of the Spanish empire.

The paella is history lesson in itself. The Paella tells the story about the territory that we know as modern Spain. The Paella tells me, that Spain was once dominated by islam. Which hints at why the famous Spanish Flamenco music, has so many sounds, that sound oddly familiar to the music of the Arab world, I heard when I was travelling around Turkey. The Paella also tells me about Spain’s history as a global empire reaching far beyond the shores modern day Spain. Food is about a connection to culture and history. Food is able to build connections between different cultures. 

Food Connects Cultures

It was a hot autumn afternoon, I was walking around Diyarbakir, the capital of Turkish Kurdistan. In the background the local mosques were calling for prayer, but I wasn’t heading for the mosque to ask for forgiveness for my sins, I was on the hunt for some food, some local food. I thought to myself “hopefully I can meet a local and establish a connection”. It was my second day in Diyarbakir, so far I had mostly communicated with the locals via hand signs, google translate and the sort broken English of a five year old, I find myself opting for, when ever I speak to someone who barely knows how to say “how are you?”.

  My eyes caught two young men in the midst of installing a projector in the covered terrace area of one of the local restaurants. Inside there was a handful of tables with men drinking Turkish çay tea and smoking shisha pipes. They all looked at me with a welcoming smile and a facial expression of general puzzlement of my presence. Not many European foreigner venture to the southern parts of Turkey, where the Kurdish people live. The area is near the Syrian border and Kurdistan has long been painted as terrorist area. 

As I approached the restaurant the waiter pointed me to a table, handed me the menu then with broken English and few hand gestures, he signalled for me to wait. I proceeded to investigate the menu, of course all in Turkish, I had managed to pick up some the basic words necessary for ordering food during my travels. I wasn’t completely lost in translation. The waiter came back with another young man, my age, Bawer. Bawer sat down in front of me with his cigarette in one mouth and his ashtray in the other. He offered me  a cigarette, I politely accepted, then he said “How are you?” “Do you need any help?” His eyes lit up when I said I had my eyes on the Saç Tava, a Turkish stew with tomatoes, vegetables, chilies and mouthwatering tender lamb, and asked if he could recommend that? Bawer said “It’s my favourite dish but be careful it’s spicy”. I offered to order for him as well but he said no thanks. I ordered food for me and pot of tea for us to share.

  This was how I met Bawer, Bawer spoke great English and was able to answer all my questions about Kurds and Kurdish identity, the historic fights between Kurds and the Turkish government. The next day I met back up with Bawer and two of his friends, they gave me a tour of the city, told me all about life as a Kurd in Turkey. In the evening they even invited me to a Kurdish wedding from one of their friends, but these are stories for another day. 

Conclusion

My point is: In this utopian fantasy world of the future, where we are all vegans. All food will be produced in labs and factories. All food will taste the same, no matter where you go in the world. If that becomes the reality, then this experience and countless others just like it, would never happen. Local culture would slowly die, so would beautiful spontaneous meetings, with strangers over food in some foreign, far away place. 

If that is where the world of tomorrow is going, then I’m glad I got to see it beforehand.

Leave a comment

Bolivia my second home

Bolivia, a country that I consider a second home, a country that is near and dear to my heart, unfortunately Bolivia is arguably also South America's Most Troubled Nation.
When Evo Morales won the presidency in 2005, Bolivia experienced a short lived economic boost, in large parts due to a global boom in commodities prices around 2008-2012. Evo Morales made sure to take take the glory for this, when in fact his communist policies and nationalisation of most industries, particularly the natural gas industry has led the country to become the economic basket case that it is today.
Bolivia is running out of natural gas and has become a net importer, despite having huge natural gas reserves. Bolivia's central bank is close to going bankrupt, it is running out of US dollars and foreign currencies for trade. Bolivia sees huge lines outside petrol stations, just to get 5 Litres of gasoline.

-This is the context as I hit the road to go explore, what is really going on in Bolivia these days.

On The Road - Through a Troubled Bolivia

“AIQUILE! AIQUILE!” The girl who sells the bus tickets yells the destination into the Bolivian morning air. “AIQUILE YA SALE!”
I will never grow tired of the feeling I get, when I buy a ticket with one of these minibuses to a destination that I barely know anything about. If I could find a way to put that feeling in a pill, it would be that next drug to take over the world. Of that I’m sure, this is my definition of adventure.
As we head out of Sucre, Bolivia’s capital city towards Aiquile our destination the landscape becomes ever more impressive. Deep valleys with no end in sight. At the bottom of valleys it’s hot, we most have dropped about 1000 meters in altitude. A few mountain goats stroll around by the dry river bed in search of water. A street dog runs out in front of the minibus. Our driver beeps his horn like a mad man, the dog just kinda stands there looking at the approaching minibus, as if to say “I’m the boss here”. 10 meters before the sure death of the dog it makes the sensible choice, running to the side.

We pass a spot where the mountain side looks to have caved in, rocks and mud is still on the road, making our driver slow down, he has been riding like he stole the bus so far. “There were roadblocks here just last week” the driver says to me. So this isn’t the results of last weeks mudslide, this is a result of the political unrest going on in the country at the moment.
For the past month Evo Morales, a narcotrafficker and former president of Bolivia, has been setting up roadblocks with the help of his supporters, all over Bolivia at critical infrastructure points. The aim… To starve the people of Bolivia. To cause hardship and chaos. Ultimately the aim is to become president of Bolivia, once again. But this time he won’t be leaving, this he will become a dictator - that is of course if Evo Morales is successful in his mission to force the hand of the current government, which is formed by his own part MAS (The Movement To Socialism).

Evo Morales & Bolivia: A Love Story Gone Wrong

The Bolivian Constitution says an individual can be president for a maximum of two terms. Evo Morales has already managed to be the president of Bolivia for three terms. Well how did he manage that then? When he was first elected in 2005 Bolivia was called Republica de Bolivia (the Republic of Bolivia) and during his first term Evo Morales changed Bolivia official name and the Constitution to the name of Estado Plurinacional de Bolivia, which means something like: The Multinational State of Bolivia. This was done to give more recognition to the indigenous culture of the country, at least that was how it was sold to the Bolivians at the time. Little did they know that Evo Morales most likely had other plans in mind already back in 2005.

Evo Morales then won his second term, then when he came to the third term Evo wanted to run again but the opposition here in Bolivia said “No you can't do that” but Evo was able to defend why he was able to do so by saying:

“Hold on! We changed the constitution and the country's name so technically I was in my first term I was president in the old country of the Republic of Bolivia and I've been president now one term in the new country of the Plurinational State of Bolivia so I should be able to have two two consecutive terms as president of the pl national state of Bolivia”.

Subscribe now

A claim Evo Morales was able to defend so when Evo Morales ran for president for a third time he won again.

In 2019 when it was time for elections once again Evo Morales didn't want to accept that he needed to pass on the torch to someone else. Evo Morales once again decided to run for his 4th term (third term under he new constitution) but this time there was election fraud in the picture. Evo Morales had been heavily contested by huge demonstrations from the growing opposition in Bolivia. They were fed up with his antics and wanted him gone.
I was living in Bolivia from 2018 to 2020. I owned a restaurant & pub in Bolivia governmental capital La Paz. The 2019 election went down something like this: It was Evo Morales against a man called Carlos Mesa. During the election night when the results were coming in, they were neck and neck, 50/50, very even. Then suddenly out of nowhere the election results stopped coming in. People got very skeptical and over that night demonstrations erupted all over Bolvia. The people already knew what Evo Morales was up to.

Sure enough! The next morning when the election results came back online, Evo Morales was magically winning the election. This as you can imagine led to further massive demonstrations in all of Bolivia, tear gas thrown everywhere including on me and into the restaurant.

After hard fought protest and lots of tear gas Evo Morales eventually fled the Bolivia, via Mexico to his communist brothers in Cuba. In the aftermath of Evo Morales fleeing the country back then, there was an interim government put in charge. They were supposed to run the next elections. This interim government was from the opposition so you might say; didn't they achieve exactly what they wanted?
No they didn't. The interim government started becoming very very heavy-handed on some of the indigenous people here in Bolivia, lots of heavy-handed military arresting opposition party members, throwing them in jail etc.

The consequences of this was felt in subsequent 2022 elections. Evo morales's party, MAS, won back the presidency. This is how a man called Luis Arce is now the president in in Bolivia. When Luis Arce, the current president and party member of Evo Morales's party the Movement Towards Socialism, won the elections in 2021 Evo Morales saw saw his opportunity and came back to Bolivia.
Evo Morales was obviously expecting to manage this Luis Arce as his little puppet but Luis Arce had other ideas.

Luis Arce now wants to be the president in Bolivia, Arce is not much different than Evo Morales just that he's not a narcotrafficker as well, but he does like the power.
As Evo Morales figured out he couldn't manage Luis Arce as his little puppet, problems and discussions and eventually roadblocks blocking the whole country erupted within the party of the Movement Towards Socialism. This is the situation in which we found ourselves today here in Bolivia. A country that is being kept hostage by it’s former president, who wants to become a dictator to secure his business as a narcotrafficker, mixed with his former friend, his former Finance Minister Luis Arce, who wants to stay in power and keep managing the country as a communist state.

The only issue with this for Luis Arce is; Bolivia has become a classic story of a communist government, that has been hostile to foreign capital and foreign investment leading the country into near bankruptcy. There's now no longer enough US dollars in the central bank's bank account to be able to purchase Diesel and petrol from in the global market. There's not been invested any money into producing more natural gas, nat-gas used to be the main way for Bolivia to get dollars into the country. By exporting their gas to Argentina and to Brazil, the neighbouring countries here in the region, but nowadays as I said; Bolivia is running out of gas, Bolivia is running out of dollars, it can't buy petrol, it can't buy diesel and inflation is starting to rise. Bolivia has seen the rise of a black market for dollars in the country and it is growing.

Share

On The Ground in Aiquile, Bolivia

We have made it to my destination Aiquile. A little indigenous Bolivian village, most famous for being the homeland of the Charango, a sort of Ukulele like guitar, famous in music across the Andean Mountains, from Colombia in the north to Argentina and Chile in the south. It is a little guitar with 10 strings, capable of producing the most exquisite high pitch notes in the hands of a charismatic Andean singer song writer, who manipulates the 10 strings with precision, as he tells passionate stories of life, love, corruption and longing for green pastures to an attentive crowd.
The mission is clear to me as I step out of the bus and into the streets of Aiquile. I am starving! So set off in search of the local central market, in Bolivian villages the central market is always were you find the best food, forget about restaurants. Restaurants in places like this only serve terrible fried chicken, with potato chips that are about as soggy, as my socks after a long day of walking.

There is an army crickets in the trees making a right racket. The Central Market is busy, the Bolivian ladies race around the market area. Some earn their living as vendors others are here as housewife’s shopping for lunch ingredients. All of them are dressed in wide colourful skirts, woven shirts and bowler hats resting on top of their heads. Legend has it that the Bowler hats made it to Bolivia in the 1930’s, when the Bolivian railway company ordered a batch from a hat maker in Manchester. When the bowler hats arrived in Bolivia, they were to small to fit the heads of the men working at the railway company. Quick on his feet and English director of the Railway company instead convinced the local Bolivian women that small Bowler hats floating on top of the head, was the latest fashion in Europe. Shortly after all the tiny Bowler hats had been sold and many more batches had been ordered.

In Aiquile I was surprised that I would struggle to find any outspoken supporters of Evo Morales. Aiquile after all is a small indigenous village, of the sort in which Evo Morales used to enjoy massive support. Nowadays the mood seems to be one of indifference at best and outright animosity towards Evo, at worst.
One man says to me: “They must find a solution through conversation - We can’t keep going on like this, roadblock after roadblock”. Another tells me over his corn soup: “I don’t support any of the two”. It was when I entered a shop to buy myself a beer to wash down my lunch, that cold shivers of disgust and fear for Bolivia’s future started running down my spine. The shop lady told me that the roadblocks around the country aren’t conducted by locals of each place, in support of Evo Morales. No, in fact it is Evo Morales using guerilla tactics, sending his supporters from his home are of Chapare, Bolivia’s Cocaine producing region, to the rest of the country to block strategically important infrastructure points. This discovery left me disheartened, as I sat sipping on my beer waiting for another minibus to take me back to Sucre that afternoon.

Things are not looking pretty for Bolivia, I prey with all my heart that Bolivia won’t become South America's next Venezuela, but I fear Bolivia might and so do many Bolivians.

Leave a comment down below with your thoughts and reflections, maybe you have been to Bolivia or you might want to go someday, feel free to ask question in the comments section below.

Leave a comment

Introduction

As I approached the Santa Marta Favela, I couldn’t help but feel a mix of excitement and trepidation. Famous for housing a Michael Jackson music video, this favela is a common tourist attraction, but I was here to witness the raw, unfiltered reality of daily life. Little did I know that my adventure would involve a Brazilian gangster as my guide, offering a side of the favela that few have seen.

The Initial Challenge

Initially, I was denied access to film anything beyond the iconic Michael Jackson statue and the breathtaking view of the city. Armed gangsters stood guard, making it clear that they had the final say in what I could capture. Frustrated and unsure of what to do, I decided to break the ice by buying them some beers. As we sipped on our drinks, I shared my previous videos and explained my passion for documenting the stories of ordinary people. To my surprise, one of them lowered his weapon and offered to show me around, granting me a glimpse into a world that most tourists never get to see.

Subscribe now

The Guided Tour

As we ventured deeper into the favela, it became clear that my guide was well-connected and respected by the locals. He laid down the ground rules: certain things were off-limits, like the drug dealers and heavily armed gang members. While I was initially apprehensive, I soon realized that this was an opportunity to gain a unique perspective on life in the favela. He introduced me to the kiosk owners, street vendors, and everyday people who had called the favela home for decades. These individuals shared their stories of violence, police confrontations, and community resilience, painting a picture of life in the favela that was far from the stereotype of a place where the poor live.

The Police Station and the Question of Control

We ascended to the top of the favela, where a police station sat prominently. As we approached, I couldn’t help but wonder how much control the police really held over this complex network of streets and alleyways. Were the police and the gangs working together, using the honest, hardworking residents as pawns in their illicit activities? My guide, sensing my curiosity, shared his insights on the delicate balance between the police, the gangs, and the residents. He explained that while the police may not have complete control, they do work together to maintain a certain level of order, often in exchange for bribes or protection fees.

Share

The Everyday Heroes of the Favela

As we explored the favela, we encountered a wide range of individuals, each with their own unique story. There was the kiosk owner who had lived in the favela for over 30 years, running his small business and raising a family. He shared his experiences of witnessing shootings and confrontations with the police, as well as the importance of community and football in the favela. We also met a local street vendor who had turned to selling goods to support his family after losing his job. Despite the challenges they faced, both men spoke with pride about their community and the resilience of its people.

The View from the Summit

As we reached the summit, the view of Rio de Janeiro’s skyline took my breath away. It was a poignant reminder of the dichotomy between the beauty of the city and the harsh realities of life in the favela. My guide shared stories of community churches, local football teams, and the unwavering spirit of the residents. Despite the challenges they face, the people of Santa Marta Favela have created a community that is both resilient and vibrant.

Leave a comment

Conclusion

In conclusion, my journey through the Santa Marta Favela was an eye-opening experience that challenged my preconceptions of this complex and misunderstood place. It’s a world where gangsters, police, and everyday citizens coexist in a delicate balance, where community and resilience thrive in the face of adversity. As I left the favela, I couldn’t help but feel a newfound appreciation for the strength and spirit of the people who call this place home. And a question of who is really in control here?

Welcome to Mendoza, Argentina — a city where rich culture comes to life through an incredible fusion of flavours, traditions, and vibrant history. As someone passionate about exploring the diverse layers of Argentine identity, I recently embarked on a journey to uncover how immigration from Europe, the Middle East, Africa, and beyond has shaped the spirit of this remarkable country. From bustling street markets brimming with unique spices and traditional crafts to iconic asados where people gather to share meals and stories, Mendoza offers a colorful tapestry that truly embodies Argentina’s multicultural essence.

A Melting Pot of Immigrants

Argentina, much like the United States, is a country built on immigration. Starting in the early 1800s and continuing until the early 1900s, Argentina welcomed millions of immigrants, primarily from Italy and Spain, with smaller numbers from Germany and other European nations. This wave of immigration not only transformed the nation culturally and economically but also introduced a plethora of culinary delights that are now integral to Argentine cuisine.

In modern times, Argentina continues to attract immigrants, mainly from neighboring Latin American countries such as Bolivia, Peru, Paraguay, and more recently, refugees escaping the turmoil in Venezuela. This ongoing influx of diverse cultures has enriched Mendoza’s social fabric, making it a dynamic hub of international influences.

Exploring Mendoza’s Street Food Markets

One of the most vibrant aspects of Mendoza is its street food scene, a true reflection of its immigrant roots. Walking through the bustling markets, I encountered a Bolivian man navigating the stalls filled with food from various countries that have contributed to Argentina’s culinary landscape. These markets are a microcosm of Argentina’s multiculturalism, offering everything from traditional Spanish paella to Venezuelan arepas and Uruguayan empanadas.

Tasting Spanish Paella

To kick off my food adventure, I indulged in a traditional Spanish paella. The dish was a stunning array of fresh seafood — mussels, shrimp, and squid — combined with lime, capsicums, and fresh parsley. The vibrant colors and rich flavors were a testament to the enduring influence of Spanish immigrants on Argentine cuisine. Breaking into the shrimp and mussels revealed the succulent, hand-peeled seafood that connects diners directly with the food, creating a beautiful interaction between the eater and their meal.

Venezuelan Arepas: A Flavourful Delight

Next, I sampled Venezuelan arepas, a staple brought by recent immigrants fleeing Venezuela’s crisis. These sandwiches, made from cornmeal dough and filled with shredded meat, beans, fried plantains, cheese, and guacamole, were nothing short of spectacular. The combination of textures and flavours made each bite an unforgettable experience, highlighting the vibrant culinary traditions that immigrants bring to Mendoza.

Uruguayan Empanadas and Beyond

My journey continued with Uruguayan empanadas — pastries filled with a mix of beef, chicken, and pork, complemented by a glass of robust red wine. These empanadas, whether baked or fried, showcased the diverse influences that shape Argentine street food. The blend of herbs, garlic, and cheese created a rich, savoury filling that perfectly balanced the crispy pastry.

The Heart of Mendoza: Mercado Guaymallén

No exploration of Mendoza’s food scene would be complete without visiting Mercado Guaymallén, a sprawling market that serves as both a wholesale hub and a public marketplace. Comparable to warehouses of major supermarkets in Europe and the US, this market is where immigrants often start their new lives in Argentina, working in distribution centres that supply fruits, vegetables, and other essentials to the city.

At Mercado Guaymallén, I witnessed the daily lives of Bolivian immigrants selling bananas and other produce, their presence a testament to the enduring connections between South American neighbors. The market is a vibrant blend of cultures, with vendors from Bolivia, Peru, Paraguay, and even Korea and India, each contributing their unique offerings to the community.

Subscribe now

Embracing Diversity: Argentina’s National Day of Immigrants

Argentina’s celebration of immigration is deeply ingrained in its national identity. The country hosts a national holiday dedicated to honoring the immigrants who have shaped its history and culture. This day is marked by parades, cultural performances, and communal meals that celebrate the diverse backgrounds of Argentina’s residents.

During my stay in Mendoza, I had the opportunity to immerse myself in these celebrations, experiencing firsthand how Argentina’s spirit of unity and diversity drives its future. From the lively discussions about immigration’s role in fostering cultural richness to the shared enjoyment of traditional foods, it’s clear that Argentina embraces its immigrant heritage with pride and joy.

Final Reflections: The Soul of Argentina

My journey through Mendoza was more than just a culinary adventure — it was a deep dive into the heart of Argentina’s multicultural soul. The fusion of immigrant traditions with local customs creates a unique and vibrant culture that continues to evolve. Whether it’s savoring a steaming plate of paella, enjoying a hearty arepa, or exploring the bustling markets, Mendoza offers a rich tapestry of experiences that highlight the beauty of cultural diversity.

Argentina’s welcoming attitude towards immigrants and their contributions ensures that the country remains a dynamic and thriving nation. As I reflect on my travels, I am inspired by the resilience and creativity of the people who call Mendoza home, and I am grateful to have witnessed the ongoing story of Argentina’s cultural melting pot.

For those interested in experiencing Argentina’s vibrant culture firsthand, Mendoza is a must-visit destination. From its historic streets to its lively food markets, Mendoza encapsulates the essence of Argentina’s multicultural heritage, offering a unique and unforgettable travel experience.

Subscribe now

Bolivia’s Day of the Dead, or Día de los Muertos, is a celebration that offers unique insight into the country’s blend of indigenous and colonial heritage, and I recently had the opportunity to experience it up close in Potosí—a city known for its beauty, resilience, and haunting history. Potosí’s story is unlike any other; once one of the world’s wealthiest cities, it rose to prominence in the 1500s, when the discovery of silver in Cerro Rico drew countless miners and transformed it into the jewel of the Spanish Empire. But beneath this prosperity lay hardship and loss, creating a cultural tapestry that continues to influence life and tradition here today.

A City Built on Silver and Sacrifice

In the heart of Potosí, you can almost feel history in the air. During its peak in the 16th century, it’s said that enough silver was mined here to build two bridges from Bolivia to Madrid and back. Standing in the main plaza, you’re surrounded by architecture and remnants of colonial grandeur, but also by the stories of the miners whose labor fueled this wealth at great personal cost. With Potosí’s mining legacy comes a darker association: it’s one of Bolivia’s deadliest cities, and even today, the dangers of Cerro Rico’s mines loom large over the city’s identity.

Celebrating Día de los Muertos in Potosí

On Bolivia’s Day of the Dead, Potosí’s bustling energy shifts as families gather to honor and remember their loved ones. This celebration has a unique approach; here, it’s about connection rather than mourning. I joined locals at the city’s cemetery, where families set up colorful altars, known as ofrendas, with offerings of the deceased’s favorite foods, drinks, and personal mementos. Each grave becomes a personalized tribute, mixing indigenous Bolivian customs with the influence of Spanish Catholicism.

The smells, sounds, and sights were captivating—from the traditional pastries like tantawawas (bread dolls made in the likeness of the deceased) to the vibrant orange marigolds adorning graves. I sampled some local treats too, including api morado, a warming spiced drink made from purple corn, and salteñas, Bolivia’s beloved meat-filled pastries. Both were offerings meant to welcome the spirits of loved ones and were also shared freely among visitors, reflecting the deep hospitality of Bolivian culture.

Watch My Video From Potosi Here

Share Pilgart’s Substack

Embracing the Depth of Bolivian Tradition

For anyone visiting Bolivia, experiencing the Day of the Dead in Potosí is essential to understanding the country’s cultural depth and resilience. This city isn’t just defined by its silver mines or deadly history—it’s also about community, remembrance, and a unique take on life and death.

My journey through Bolivia’s most famous mining town left me with a profound respect for the people of Potosí and their way of embracing both hardship and celebration. Through the lenses of history, food, and cultural ritual, I gained insight into a side of Bolivia that’s as rich as its past and as resilient as the city itself.

If you’re interested in travel, culture, or history, don’t miss the full story in my video, where I take you deeper into the heart of Bolivia’s fascinating Day of the Dead festival in Potosí.

Subscribe now