La Paz, Sucre...a robbery... Sucre, La Paz

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Sucre is a real breath of fesh air after La Paz: smaller, cleaner, warmer and more attractive. However we didn´t have the best introduction to Bolivia´s constitutional capital due to the fact that we were robbed on the overnight bus there from La Paz.

The last overnight bus that we took was in Peru where they have combated the previously popular sport of robbing tourists on buses by making them super-secure. Not only do you need to present your ticket and passport to board an overnight bus in Peru, you are also finger-printed and videoed, just to make you feel that extra bit secure (though according to some this procedure is really used to make it easier to identify the bodies in the event of a fatal crash - try not to think too much about that!)

Anyway, we weren´t videoed or finger-printed when we boarded the bus in La Paz, but they did check our tickets and gave us vouchers for our big packs before they stored them under the bus, so it all seemed pretty well organised. We settled into our semi-cama (reclining) seats for the 14 hour journey and off we went. For half an hour. Then we stopped. For an hour. In El Alto. This is where things started to go wrong.

El Alto (as the name suggests) is the highest part of La Paz. You have to go up in order to get out of Las Paz and consequently most buses pass through El Alto on their way to other Bolivian destinations. El Alto is one of those places that is exciting and interesting in a ´make sure your doors and windows are locked´kind of a way. It´s great to watch the madness from the safety of a bus or taxi but you certainly don´t want to be wandering the streets with a white face, that´s for sure.

Anyway, the bus stopped there and people started getting on and sitting down. With tickets, or so we thought. For safety we both had our day packs under our seats (rather than in the overhead storage) but we were more concerned at the time with keeping watch out of the windows to make sure no-one was making off with our big packs from under the bus. It was while we were keeping this vigil that Al (who was in the aisle seat) had his bag whipped out from under him, unawares.

It was when we realised that there were all kinds of food, drink, newspapers and portable radio sellers were packing onto the bus that we checked our small bags and realised that Al´s had gone. Also gone were the Bolivian couple who had been sitting behind us. They had looked legitimate enough when they got on, checking for their seat numbers etc, but that´s why these people are known as ´professional´thieves. Lord alone knows how they managed to get his bag out from under the seat and off the bus without us realising, but I guess that´s why they´re so good at what they do (and in a country where the police carry guns and have a policy of ´shoot first, ask questions later´I suppose you have to be good to be a successful thief).

Needless to say nobody on the bus had seen anything, the couple and the bag were nowhere to be seen and the driver just wasn´t interested. So we spent the next thirteen hours of our journey lamenting the fact that not only had Al lost his new Camelbak and his swiss army knife, chess set and other items necessary for successful travel, we had also lost the passports and the bank card. Shit.

Still, it could be worse we thought. We were still in possession of the credit card, which we could use to withdraw money and we were on our way to Bolivia´s capital city where there´s bound to be a British Embassy who could advise us on replacing our passports.

We arrived at Sucre´s rather small and unassuming bus station at around 8.30am and immediately sought out a police officer to report the crime to. He invited us into his office/cupboard and made a great show of writing down the details of the incident in a big black book, including a list of the items contained in the bag (he didn´t speak any English so we muddled through with the Spanish dictionary and appropriate hand gestures). He then explained that he couldn´t actually do anything and that we would need to speak to the Tourist Police who have an office in the city centre. He asked us to wait in the office and went off to ´sort things out´.

Forty minutes later I discovered him in the carpark chatting to the taxi drivers. I told him that, having been on a bus all night, we needed to find a hotel and some breakfast. This seemed to spur him into action and with a hearty "Vamos!" he leapt into a taxi with us and the three of us headed to the Police Headquarters.

The Police Headquarters in Sucre is a beautiful old colonial building set in a quiet, tree-filled square, something that we fully unappreciated at the time. Our man pounced on the young officer at the desk who clearly had been off-duty the night before, judging by his pink eyes, sleepy demeanour and the alcoholic fumes that were emanating from his entire being. Clearly not in the mood to face freshly robbed gringos he gladly allowed our man to type up our report on the antiquated computer. This took a while as neither of them seemed to have the first clue how to use a computer, or a keyboard for that matter, and the scene became vaguely reminiscent of the part in ´Zoolander´where Derek and Howard are trying to get the files 'out' of the computer! Finally they managed to print it out, on a printer the likes of which I haven´t seen since primary school, they both signed it, found the appropriate rubber stamp and then Sargeant Hangover asked us for a 25Bs 'administration' charge!!!

Perhaps in a normal state of mind a corrupt, drunk, South American policeman, with a gun, demanding money would be an intimidating prospect. However, by now it was 11.00am and, as I´m sure you can imagine, we were in no mood for this sort of carry on. We had already explained (several times) that we had no money and that our bank card had been stolen, so Al instructed me to take the report (which I did with my sweetest smile and several muchas graciases), we picked up our packs and we walked out! I half expected to hear gun fire as we walked away and to be either shot or arrested on the spot, but in fact nothing happened! Not that I´m saying you should always defy the police in South America; obviously different situations need to be weighed up individually, but as long as you haven´t actually done anything wrong, then it´s worth bearing in mind that they are not supposed to demand extra payments for doing, what is after all, their job.

With this sorted we checked into (not the cheapest) hotel, had a few hours sleep, woke up ravenous and set off to treat ourselves to an enormous meal and a few beers at the end of a rather harrowing day. Or at least that was the plan. Until the credit card wouldn´t work in the ATM. Or any of the other ATMs around the main square. In a slight panic I called Marks and Spencers credit card helpline and spoke to someone in Dehli. I´m sure that if I´d been wanting to check my balance or make a payment then this person´s English would have been more than adequate. Unfortunately the problem of being unable to withdraw money from a Bolivian ATM was completely beyond them. I was assured that there was no problem with the card, but if there was a problem (there clearly was) then I would need to speak to someone during office hours. At that point office hours in England were about 11 hours away. The only option for now was a takeaway pizza and an early night.

Things got even scarier the next day when I had called M&S twice, been assured that the 'stop' they had placed on the card had been lifted, and the credit card still didn't work. By now we were down to 42 bolivianos (less than 3 quid!) and the realisation struck us that we were in the middle of Bolivia with no money, no passports and no means of escape (oh yes, in the meantime Al had called the British Embassy in La Paz - turns out that Britain is the only European country not to have a consulate in Sucre - and had found out that we would need to return to La Paz to get new passports). There was only one thing to be done in this situation.... Call Mutha!

Thank god for mothers and thank god for Western Union is all I can say! What a marvellous system. In typical style mum dropped everything and raced to the rescue to the nearest Western Union branch on Gossie High Street. She handed over a load of cash then we were able to walk into Western Union half a world away, show the appropriate ID (thankfully we had photocopies of our passports) and they gave us the cash. Simple as that!

We spent the next couple of days chilling out in Sucre and relishing the prospect of another 14 hour bus journey back to La Paz. This time we decided to treat ourselves to the super-dupa luxury coach which, although twice the price, would be quicker, safer and more comfortable. And indeed it was. Until it broke down. In the middle of nowhere. At 3.00am. Here we go again we thought. Luckily though, before any bandits arrived to rob our remaining stuff, the driver and his mates managed to fix the bus and we made it back to La Paz, a few hours late, but without any further major incidents.

Our next challenge was to organise replacement passports so we headed straight to the British Embassy from the bus station and arrived half an hour before any of the staff. After explaining our plight to the man on the front gate (in Spanish as he didn´t speak English) he allowed us to wait in his office until whoever was going to deal with us had arrived, had their morning coffee, checked their emails, caught up on the latest gossip and been to the toilet. Once we were allowed in we handed over our completed forms, photos, photocopies of our stolen passports and the appropriate fee. The lady behind the counter checked that everything was in order and then told us that we would have to come back at 10.00 as they deal with visa applications between 9.00am and 10.00am and passports between 10.00am and 11.00am.

However, either because she had no other customers or she sensed she was about to witness a couple of nervous breakdowns, the lady behind the counter took pity on us and offered to process our paperwork there and then. Bless her. After that things went surprisingly smoothly. It took only three working days to get our new passports (70 quid for a temporary passport that only lasts one year - the moral being don´t get your passport nicked) and before we knew it we were back on that bus to Sucre. Yippee.

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