This story took place in October 2023… We – my mom, my sister, and I – arrived at the La Paz, Bolivia airport around 2 am.  We flew from Columbus, OH to New York to Bogota, Colombia, and finally to La Paz, Bolivia.  We fumbled through the immigration process as immigration officers took our pictures and payments for our 30 day tourist visas. We stepped out the door of the airport and found a taxi who drove us into the city.  I had arranged for a two bedroom apartment in the heart of La Paz and advised the host that we would be arriving late.  He confirmed that it was no problem and that a key would be inside a lockbox which would be locked securely on the fence near the building.  He sent pictures of the lockbox with a video on how to open it, and directions on how to get into the apartment. Our driver was young and friendly.  He found the high rise building that we were staying in and patiently waited as we searched for the lockbox.  I sat in the backseat of the car, not wanting him to drive away until we were securely inside.  La Paz, Bolivia is certainly not the safest city in Latin America, and I didn’t want to be standing outside in a neighborhood I as unfamiliar with at 3 am. My mom and Natalie searched and searched, looking at all of the fences near the building.  They could not find it.  They searched in bushes and around the corner.  Nothing. I messaged our host on WhatsApp but got no response.  Our driver was getting impatient, naturally, because his meter had no way to charge us now that were at a standstill.  He eventually insisted that he needed to leave and started to unpack our luggage from the car.  I paid him and gave him a generous tip for his patience.  But now we were standing on the sidewalk, in the pitch black of the night, three American woman with luggage and valuables and nowhere to go.  I tried to call our host but there was no answer.  Of course there’s not.  It’s 3 am! I thought to myself. We stood near the entrance to the building and I pulled up Google Maps.  There was a hotel around the corner and we decided this was our best option.  We’d squeeze into a small bed if we had to.  At this point, we just wanted to be inside where we knew it was safe.  Plus, it was only about 40 degrees Fahrenheit and we were not dressed for the weather. We walked just a few minutes and turned the corner.  The street was lined with lamp posts, many which were not working.  There was a hotel but it’s lobby was dark and it’s door was locked.  The other stores and restaurants were all closed too.  There were few people and it was incredibly eerie. Thanks for reading Wheels Travels! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work. I remembered the name of a hotel I almost booked before I found the apartment.  Hotel Europa.  It was a very nice hotel and, according to Google, it was still open.  We didn’t know what else to do, so as soon as a taxi drove by, we flagged it down and I told him, using my limited Spanish, where we were going.  We piled in the backseat, holding our bags as my wheelchair had taken up most of the trunk space. I followed the map as we moved away from the city and saw that we were driving into the countryside.  I started to wonder why we weren’t turning left at every intersection.  My map clearly indicated that we needed to go left.  And we needed to go left several blocks earlier. I asked the driver, again in Spanish that I had only been learning for four months, why we weren’t going towards the hotel.  I pointed this time at the map and he nodded, shaking his head with a bit of a smile.  He mumbled something under his breath and turned around.  Whew!  I thought.  Where were we even going? About 15 minutes later, he pulled up to a very nice building, probably the nicest building in La Paz.  He turned the corner towards the main entrance and I saw a dark lobby.  Crap!  I thought.  What are we going to do?  We have now