You step out of El Alto airport and the air pushes back—thin, clear, a physical reminder that you are already high in a city that grew vertically along a ravine. The cable cars—Mi Teleférico—slice like colorful threads between ridgelines, and below them La Paz unfurls: plazas crowded with vendors, the Basilica de San Francisco’s carved stone face, and the Witches' Market where bundles of herbs and llama fetuses wait as offerings. This ten-day private itinerary moves with the same deliberate pace as the landscape: fast on the maps, slow in the body.