"Hoja de coca no es droga." "Coca no es cocaina." You'll see these sentiments, which are indeed accurate, on T-shirts displayed throughout La Paz's tourist ghetto, which is centered on Calle Sagarnaga.

I should preface this post by saying I'm not a fan of recreational drugs (no judgement; I do live in Colorado, after all), so my recent trip to Bolivia had nothing to do with that. It's unfortunate, however, that a certain type of traveler has made Bolivia a destination to obtain cheap coke, because it's not doing the country any favors with regard to its reputation. But, if you know where to look, cocaine is available in abundance. If you know the right people, you'll also find it's the best-quality stuff available (sorry, Colombia). And yes, it's illegal.

How do I know this if I don't partake? Let's just say that I'm a journalist, and I read a lot and talk to a lot of people. I've also spent enough time traveling in South America to understand the difference between coca leaf– the raw ingredient– and cocaine, the manufactured drug.

For thousands of years up until the present, coca leaf has been an integral part of the cultural, spiritual and economic psyches of Bolivia, Peru and Colombia. A member of the family Erythroxylaceae, coca is native to the Andean lowlands and highlands of western South America.

For aforementioned reasons, the plant is considered a high-value cash crop because it contains trace amounts of alkaloids, including cocaine. It's important to note that ingesting the alkaloid is not the same as using the synthesized, concentrated form of the drug cocaine. Synthetic cocaine is, as we all know, a powerfully addictive stimulant that affects the central nervous system. Since this isn't an article about "Just Say No," let's get back to coca leaf, shall we?

Bolivia is the least expensive destination in South America, yet it has an increasingly efficient tourism infrastructure. Going now, especially to the remote southwestern part of the country, means faster, easier, more comfortable travel than in the past (although you'll still have to be prepared for your share of bus rides on rutted out, unpaved roads, depending upon where you're headed). In general, you won't find yourself tripping over tourists except for a handful of streets in La Paz.

In the remote Southwest (where the renown Salar de Uyuni, the world's largest salt flat, is located), you'll feel like you're in a vastly different cultural and geographic universe. Regardless of where you venture, Bolivia is a country of diverse and often harsh- yet starkly beautiful- environments; wimps and whiners need not apply.

You'll be rewarded for your efforts. Bolivia offers incomparable scenery ranging from towering Andean peaks and Amazonian jungle to crystalline lagoons, and high desert reminiscent of the American Southwest on steroids. Plus, there's world-class trekking, climbing, and mountain biking, gracious people, a thriving indigenous culture, and the kind of crazy adventure activities rarely found in industrialized nations. Bolivia is also politically stable, relatively speaking (there are frequent protests, but they're internal, and mostly in the form of roadblocks). Go now, before it becomes the next Peru and prices for guided trips hit the roof.

Since the invention of the camera, portraiture has been an important part of the cultural history of Mexico. Now, a new book, "Mexican Portraits" (Aperture, $85) curated by photographer and editor Pablo Ortiz Monasterio, beautifully captures the essence of this complex country's people.

The goal of Monasterio's book, however, is about more than mere imagery. According to CNN, the author was also interested in focusing on recurring themes, "such as lucha libre wrestling, or occupational portraits.

For anyone interested in Latin American history, black-and-white photography, or portraiture, "Mexican Portraits" is a striking, often haunting, story of a country rich in diversity, culture and humor, as well as defined by economic, religious and political instability.

Click here for a slide show from the book.

[Photo credit: Aperture]

I just returned from three weeks in Bolivia and Paraguay. In that time, I had 12 flights, five of which were required to get me from my home in Colorado to La Paz. Now why, you may ask, in this age of expedited air travel, does it take so many connections to travel 4,512 miles (or nine hours by air)? Budget, baby.

I'm also horrifically flight phobic, so for me to fly various Third World carriers from Miami to Bogota to Lima to La Paz (and then La Paz to Lima to Asuncion, and Asuncion back to Lima en route to Miami, followed by Dallas-Fort Worth to Denver), is probably the best example I can provide of just how much I love to travel. I really, really, really love it. I also really love having Xanax on hand when I fly.

One of the reasons I didn't mind my layovers too much is that I happen to adore most South American airports, especially Jorge Chavez International in Lima (so many cools shops, free snackies, great Peruvian food!). And since one of the things I most like to do in South America is eat, I used my downtime to see if there was anything worth writing about, foodwise. Indeed there was, and so I present to you my findings. Feel free to send me some Xanax in return (kidding! I'll take empanadas instead).

Miami International Airport
It's hardly a secret that the Concourse D location of Miami's beloved La Carreta chain rocks, especially in a sea of Au Bon Pain and Starbucks. Best of all, it opens at 5 a.m., so when I was rushing to make my 5:30 a.m. flight to Bogota, I was able to grab a jamon y queso sandwich en route. If time isn't an issue, sit down and feast upon Cuban-style roast pork, stuffed green plantains or fufu con masitas, or a medianoche sandwich.

I've always had a deep love for decrepit colonial or colonial-style buildings; in fact, I appreciate decrepitude in many things, such as classic cars, port cities, barns and houses (but not men). Even after a week in Paraguay, I'm still constantly reaching for my camera to capture shots of Asuncion's seemingly endless restored and crumbling historic buildings (many of which are also gothic in style).

I have no idea what most of these buildings are; some are governmental or municipal, others are abandoned or private homes. In a sign of the times, some house modern shops or (god help us all) fast food joints on their bottom levels.

Asuncion is one of the oldest cities in South America, and while all of these 19th and early 20th century reproductions are treasures, there's just something about the ones that have fallen into disrepair that I find irresistible. Long may they stand, Whopper-free.

Gallery: The Colonials of Asuncion

Australia and New Zealand are generally accepted as having cornered the market on bizarre adventure activities, especially in urban areas. Unsurprising, then, that Alistair Matthew, the Kiwi founder of La Paz's ginormously successful, groundbreaking Gravity Assisted Mountain Biking, has brought a bit of the Antipodes to Bolivia's capital city.

A year ago, inspired by a similar enterprise in Melbourne, Matthew launched Urban Rush. The sport, also known as rap jumping, entails rappelling – preferably face-first – down the side of a 17-story building in central La Paz (the view, FYI, is spectacular; it's across the street from the colonial stunner that is the San Francisco Church), and provides views of the tenaciously perched brick houses of El Alto. The kicker, however, is that the final six stories are in free fall (that's me, above, about five stories before taking the plunge).

It's not as sketchy as it sounds. In addition to your own power (meaning you have a brake and a guide hand), there's an experienced guide belaying you from below, and another controlling you from the top. So even if you were to let go completely, you've got two ropes as backup.

The aforementioned building is the Hotel Presidente, La Paz's finest. That only makes for more fun, as costume-clad, thrill-seeking, dirtbag backpackers traipse through the stylish 15th floor restaurant and bar in order to access the small penthouse space where suiting up and training take place.

Costumes? Si. In addition to the standard bright orange jumpsuits, you can leap out of the hotel dressed as Spiderman, Captain America, Santa Claus or Cat Woman, masks included. Why? Who cares?

Ever notice how die-hard travelers tend to compare places to other places? Like, constantly? It may be annoying, but it goes beyond mere aesthetics. It's often a reference point; a way to describe not only the feel of a destination, but the spirit of its people.

I arrived in Paraguay (yes, you'll need a map) at 4 a.m. yesterday. Despite having traveled much of South America over the past decade, I confess that until six weeks ago, the only things I knew about Paraguay were that it's often confused with vacation hot-spot Uruguay, and that no one appears to go there.

The question of why Paraguay gets dissed by travelers is one our Gadling editor, Grant Martin, wanted me to explore. And while I've only been in the country for roughly 36 hours, I've already been asking myself the same thing. What on earth is keeping Paraguay from being the new Brazil? This place is amazing.

Paraguay is roughly the size of California and is sandwiched between Brazil and Argentina. To the north lies Bolivia. The country is divided into departments, and the Rio Paraguay snakes up the central half of the country (its waist, if you will). The river has traditionally been crucial to economic trade and transportation, given the country's monsoonal climate. Now, however, new roads are being created or paved, and it seems the era of the riverboat may eventually come to an end in Paraguay. Based upon my brief experiences traveling here, however, let's just say the age of modern transportation hasn't yet arrived. One sees many horse carts in the streets of Concepcion, besides cars (although scooters are the main form of transit).

Given its location, comparisons to parts of Brazil are inevitable. Paraguay is very flat, and has a similar sweltering climate and verdant tropical countryside that includes plantations and cattle ranches. The lively capital of Asuncion, with its flowering trees and crumbling colonial decadence bring to mind both Rio and Hanoi.

Many of the villages I passed during an 11-hour bus ride yesterday reminded me of Thailand, because of the late-night buzz of scooters and street food vendors. Every Paraguayan drinks bottomless quantities of yerba mate and tereré (cold mate tea, often spiked with medicinal herbs, above), more familiar to those who have spent time in Argentina. Yet the empanadas, a staple here, make that country's version look woefully anemic.

There's a certain breed of traveler who will, often to their detriment, go to extreme lengths to avoid looking like a tourist. I know, because I'm one of them. Whatever spawned this phobia is anyone's guess, but I really, really, really dislike standing out in a crowd, especially if that crowd is foreign, and I'm eating.

While I also sneak looks at maps and guidebooks on the DL when I'm lost, the thing that really troubles me is being clueless about local or national etiquette while dining, especially when it comes to street food (my raison d'être). I always research beforehand – learning, for example, that in Thailand the spoon is the primary eating utensil; it's abhorrent to insert a fork into your mouth and chopsticks are only used for noodle dishes and primarily in the North. But it's sometimes impossible to know local custom until you're actually in the moment (above, Bolivian lustrabotas, or shoe shine men, eat on the street)

I'm pretty sure it was a long-ago trip to Vietnam that scarred me. I'd been in the country all of a couple of hours, and was eating my first meal. I was sitting at a miniscule table on the sidewalk in coastal Nha Trang, happily wolfing down báhn cuon. That is, until the young Vietnamese guy next to me, who unfortunately spoke some English, informed me that I was eating it the wrong way, and making something of an ass of myself (yet providing entertainment for our less vocal tablemates). I was mortified, and sure enough, I noticed the snickers and giggles due to how the silly round-eye was eating her rice noodle roll. To be honest, I can't even remember how to eat bánh cuon, but at the time, it was clearly emotionally challenging.

When I left my hotel yesterday morning to go investigate La Paz's famous Mercado de Herchería (also know as the Mercado las Brujas, or Witch's Market), I didn't know what to expect. Would it be covered, dank and creepy, like the one in Quito? Would it sell freaky and endangered animal parts (please, god, no)? Would anyone kick my ass if I took stealth photos?

As it turns out, the Mercado de Herchería consists of a couple of gloriously decrepit cobblestone streets (Calle Linares and Jimenez). They're lined with stalls selling folk remedies and objects designed to bring good luck; wealth; love; health; long life; or, in the case of one shop, a lasting erection. It's fascinating, but not repellent. I've thoroughly enjoyed employing my crappy Spanish to ask shopkeepers what various objets are used for. I'm also fascinated by the cholitas (indigenous women from the highlands who live and work in the city); their elaborate costumes of tall bowler hats, voluminous skirts and alpaca shawls, embellished by waist-length twin braids, are stunning.

I'm also pleased to report that I saw no nearly extinct critters, just sea urchins and starfish in need of some reconstitution. I've also read that various creatures – probably very low on the evolutionary scale – are sometimes used in potions prescribed by the local yatiris, or witch doctors. The dried llama fetuses, however, are probably single-handedly responsible for putting the market on the map. As ghoulish as they appear to us, they're used by the indigenous Aymara and other cultures as an offering to Pachamama (Mother Earth). You're supposed to bury one beneath a cornerstone of a new house to ensure good fortune.

There's nothing scary about the market, but it's one of the most lively spots in the city, due to the number of hostels, budget hotels (mine, Hotel Fuentes, is adorable, cheap, and, it turns out, in the heart of the market), cafes, boutiques and souvenir shops. It's a tourist spectacle, true, but tourism in Bolivia is of the most mellow kind. The mercado is also a true slice of daily life in La Paz. Who knows what you'll end up lugging home?

Stay tuned for an account of my forthcoming visit to a local yatiri; I'll be having my fortune told and my soul cleansed. I hope she has a sturdy scrub brush.

Gallery: Mercado de Hercheria, La Paz

[Photo Credits: Laurel Miller]

Whether you're a beach-bound college student or a middle-aged couple headed to the Rockies for some end-of-season snow, spring break presents the same health risks every year. Fortunately, they're all easily preventable by using common sense and following a few basic rules.

This year, here's hoping your only souvenirs are great photos and even better memories.

Hangover helpers
You could just watch your alcohol consumption, or try drinking a glass of water in between drinks, but I hear you laughing. Try to maintain, especially if you're in a foreign country, traveling alone or at altitude. If I wake up with a hangover that not even a truckload of Tylenol can cure (it's also not good for your liver when taken in combination with booze), I swear by coconut water, which is loaded with electrolytes. Don't forget to consume regular water, as well, and get something in your stomach that's full of complex carbs and protein, not grease (sorry).

Adjust for altitude
Regardless of your physical condition, altitude sickness can strike anyone. Give yourself a couple of days to acclimate, hydrate frequently and take ibuprofen, aspirin or even Diamox if you're really feeling bad. Watch your alcohol consumption! One drink has the effect of two (see above if you ignore this advice).

Prevent food- or waterborne illness
Far be it from me to tell anyone to avoid street food, unless they have a compromised immune system, or are very old or young. You can safely enjoy street eats in foreign countries, as long as you know what to look for. If a stall or vendor doesn't have a line, or their sanitation practices are poor, give it a miss; the same rule applies to restaurants (just because gringos flock there doesn't mean it's safe). As for water, I avoid ice cubes in rural areas and from street vendors, and always check bottled water in developing nations to make sure the seal isn't broken. Don't forget to travel with Imodium, because nothing is ever foolproof.

Save your skin
Yes, you need to wear sunscreen, even if it's cloudy, rainy or snowing, and you need to reapply it thoroughly every two hours. Wear a minimum SPF 30 broad spectrum product. Ask your dermatologist for referrals; not all brands are created equal.

Be self-aware
Being drunk n' sloppy is never attractive, but it can also be downright dangerous. Know your limit, stick with you friends if you're not traveling solo, and if you (ahem) get separated, maintain phone contact, let them know where you are and who you're with, and when they can expect you back. We've all had a spring fling, but safety should always come first.

[Photo credit: Flickr user dbrekke]@