One Night in a “Biotope” B&B in Bolivia’s Urban Jungle

Welcome to One Night In, a series about staying in the most unparalleled places available to rest your head.

When I visited La Paz, Bolivia, in June, I expected high-elevation concrete-and-brick chaos in the highest capital city in the world. That’s mostly what I received. But I also wound up finding an alternative vision of urbanism, where trees serve as kitchen ceilings, water is recycled, and sunlight pours through an artificial forest canopy, in a renovated house turned bed-and-breakfast outside the city’s bustling center.

Bolivia is among the most biodiverse countries in the world, ranging from the Amazon jungle in its north to the cold, dry central Andes, and its forests and mountains are home to hundreds of native animal and plant species. Yet it’s also threatened by environmental destruction, climate change, and economic instability. Deforestation jumped to a rate of 32 percent in 2023, four times that of Brazil relative to population, and food security is a major issue throughout South America’s poorest country. 

Lindsay Tellez began learning about these issues when she worked in Bolivia’s mining industry and traveled to small villages throughout the country. "I saw and had a look from very close how destroyed it was," she says. Years later, when she became a practicing architect, her experiences inspired her to create the Biotope Boutique House, a natural refuge within the sprawling city. She describes the renovated concrete home ensconced in exposed wood and greenery as "a prototype to show communities how it’s possible to have a sustainable way of living."

"In the Andes, in every culture that settled in Bolivia, we are very close to Mother Earth," she says. "Everyone on this planet, I think, wants to have a good place to live."

I learned about the Biotope by coincidence, after renting an Airbnb from Tellez in the central neighborhood of Sopocachi. I’ve always been fascinated by natural architecture, from earth homes to bamboo structures, but I hadn’t expected to find a greenhouse harnessing sunlight while wedged between buildings. I wanted to see for myself how a small lot in a dense residential neighborhood can begin to reclaim a connection to nature.

Thursday

3 p.m.: I arrive by bus to the residential area of Calacoto, which is welcomingly lower and warmer than the center of La Paz. The Biotope property is unassuming from the outside: a giant metal fence offers small glimpses of the on-site cafe and the lush greenery that lie within. I open the gate and walk inside.

Upon entering, there’s a foyer and a small working space, but my attention is drawn to the greenhouse, visible behind large glass windows in harsh juxtaposition to the existing concrete and brick walls that govern the interiors. It features a towering vertical garden with sun filtering through from above, perhaps the closest thing you’ll get to a forest without heading more than an hour outside of the city.

The greenhouse has served multiple purposes over the years, Tellez tells me in a later interview. She has recently used it as a nursery for native plants, aimed at helping biologists focused on reforestation efforts in the country’s disappearing forests. It took more than a year to successfully cultivate seeds, she says, and staffers regularly drop in to maintain the planters when Tellez is out of town.

5 p.m.: Since the property is tucked between other residential lots and a handful of newly towering high-rises, only certain parts of the house receive direct sunlight, especially in the winter. The rooftop terrace is one of them. When I climb to the top, I can see sweeping views of the surrounding mountains and rock formations, such as nearby Valle de la Luna, as the late afternoon sun prepares to disappear.

I also get a panoramic view of the rapidly booming development of Calacoto. The Green Tower, Bolivia’s tallest skyscraper, dwarfs the residential low-rises scattered in all directions around it. In the distance, one line of the city’s cable car system—the backbone of its public transportation—traverses a nearby mountain, connecting the district to the city center.

Before the pandemic, Tellez often hosted tours for students who would observe how the house works and invariably end up on the terrace, looking out at the skyline growing in stylistic contrast to the small world of the Biotope. La Paz developed in concert with the steep valley it inhabits, but modern structures, from mountaintop residential buildings to a gleaming sign advertising a cell phone provider, are beginning to dominate it. "It’s like we are trying to exist in a city that is doing it in a different way," Tellez says.

7 p.m.: I decide to cook dinner and head downstairs to the kitchen, a highlight of the home’s biophilic design, which instantly becomes my favorite room. Beneath a glass ceiling is a canopy of vines, their entangled roots covering one of the walls; the room feels like an experiment in giving nature free rein to run amok over the built environment that once replaced it. Occasionally, leaves fall onto the counters as I prepare food.

Bolivia has been impacted by food security issues caused by extreme weather and economic instability. Farmers often find it more profitable to sell food to Peru, causing domestic prices to rise and the government to tighten border controls. Shortages of essential items, such as eggs, rice, and cooking oil, are commonplace. 

Tellez has also used the vertical garden to grow vegetables and teach visitors about food security. Shortly after I stayed in the Biotope, she told me how during the pandemic, she worked with local programs to distribute food boxes around the countryside.

10 p.m.: I walk back upstairs to the Biotope’s second floor, where there is one permanent guest room, two if Tellez, who frequently travels, is out of town, as she is today. The temperature in Calacoto drops to near freezing at night, and there’s no way to prevent this house from getting cold as well. In the late 2010s, Tellez began renovating and adding onto an existing structure built largely of concrete, and the new skyscrapers block direct sunlight that could have heated the home. But there’s a space heater, hot shower, and piles of warm blankets.

Friday

8 a.m.: I head downstairs to the kitchen and find sunlight flooding into the nearby laundry room. When I quickly wash and hang some of my own clothes, they dry almost instantly. The sun has also begun inundating the greenhouse. The Biotope, I learn, uses solar power and recycles its water, using graywater for the vertical garden and the plants and trees throughout the house.

The Biotope was completed at a time when Bolivia’s upper class started creating identity through radical, sometimes controversial forms of architecture. In El Alto, a working-class community overlooking La Paz, architect Freddy Mamani has designed ornate cholets (a portmanteau of the Indigenous term "chola" and "chalet") that nod to the country’s Aymara Indigenous history, but have also been criticized as shrines of wealth. Fellow architect Santos Churata designs buildings in a similar style, but with resemblances to robots from the Transformers series.

For Tellez, completing the Biotope changed her perspective as an architect. "I really can’t imagine just constructing and designing normal buildings, concrete buildings," she says.

9 a.m.: Tellez tells me later that the area in front of the greenhouse used to serve as a coffee shop, a space that created an opportunity to "invite people to come and see what was happening inside." The cafe has been closed on most days since the pandemic, as Tellez has lacked the time and staff to keep it open, but she has plans to host more tours of the space. For many visitors, seeing a home that harnesses nature for energy, food, and quality of life is a new experience. Once, a couple visited the vertical garden with their young child, who started picking spinach and lettuce that was growing. "The little kid just started to eat from there, like a little sheep," Tellez says.

"The parents said ‘No, don’t eat that!’ And I said, ‘Sure he can,’" she recalls. "It was really nice that a little kid can just take something and take it to their mouth and be happy."

11 a.m.: I leave through the front terrace. When Tellez holds tours, she intentionally makes this the last stop. Initially, the area was barren, just a cement walkway surrounded by untouched soil. But when birds began visiting the other plants and trees surrounding the cafe and the rest of the property, they dropped seeds that left the terrace covered in greenery. Tellez now uses that anecdote to tell a larger story, one that she hopes will linger with visitors and influence the future development of her country. "We can say to the people that if we work for nature, nature will work for us," she says.

Top photo by Ryo Ohira, courtesy Lindsay Tellez.

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