La Paz

Next stop and final destination La Paz. We had to disembark from the truck to cross the Peru - Bolivia boarder. There was a rather chaotic money changing and visa application process before finally going through custom control. The guard on the boarder flicked through my passport and noticed all the entry/ exit stamps for Estonia, although I understood very few of the words i ascertained what he was saying he asked his fellow guard in Spanish where Estonia was, and the response Eastern Europe. Given Bolivia’s finest export he eyed me curiously, and asked me a question, I guessed what it was, but played dumb, and even if I did give the explanation in English would he have understood? We set of to walk the couple of meters across the border. There were armed guards everywhere, I was struck by the fact that I was about to walk into what is often referred to as one of the most lawless corrupt countries on the planet with its main claim to fame being its cocaine production. Behind us there was a commotion as a Peruvian woman started to run and then fell dropping her two bags the contents of which sprawled across the tarmac, several Bolivian soldiers stood around her point their rifles at her as she lay on the ground, we walked on.

We checked into our hostel and arranged to go for beers at Olives Travels. We met up and had a beer or two when somebody found a room that they use for the fancy dress parties they sometimes hold, unfortunately there was no fancy dress party that night, but it didn’t stop us.

The next day we were up early to cycle 65kms down death road. I have to be honest at first i was not keen, its called death road for a reason. To give it its correct name Yungas Road is officially the most hazardous on earth descending more than 11,800ft from the Andean mountains into the Amazonian jungle. Local people pray before using it and the nearest hospital is a two-hour drive away. In 1994 there was a fatal accident every other week, Bolivia’s worst ever road traffic accident occurred here killing over 100 people. To put it another way its so dangerous the Bolivian government spent millions of dollars to build another road because it was so dangerous, and trust me they are not big on health and safety in this country. Also other than Machu Picchu the other major attraction for me was San Pedro prison, and I initially thought that I didn’t have to do both, unfortunately after checking the itinerary, I did. So we all met up at the tour operator who gave us our bikes, crash helmet bib and gloves. I was not sure how the orange bib was going to protect me from sheer drops on the side of the road. We set off in a fleet of jeeps, mountain bikes on their roofs, whisked us to the start of the ride and, with safety briefing done, we set off. The first 20 kilometres were asphalt i took it easy looking rather nervously down the side of the mountain onto the top of the cloud formations below. But there is something about the human condition about how quickly you adapt to your surroundings and quickly i was barrelling along, jockeying to get to the front of the pack, all laughter and wind-squeezed tears. It is nearly all downhill apart from a couple of kms at the end, where im ashamed to say a mixture of altitude and being un fit got the better of me and I walked the bike up hill. At a place called Unduavi, though, the road splits. We stopped and our guide explained that the road changed at this point to a winding muddy track littered with loose stones slicing across the jungle gorge. In places it was no more than 10 feet wide, and waterfalls cascaded either onto the road or directly into the void below, a drop of 500 metres, not a safety barrier in sight as the mist swirled in the jungle canopy below. Bouncing in the ruts, riding our rear brakes hard, we started to pass shrines every couple of minutes names, dates and fading flowers, for those who had fallen victim to the road, I started counting but gave up. The guide was excellent stopping us regularly to tell us what was coming up, so there were no surprises. There were no accidents but many hairy moments, the worst being when I was cycling behind John, he rode over a stone which flew up and hit my front wheel, I tried to swerve to avoid it, and lost my balance momentarily before regaining control. It only takes a second, and it could all be over. The whole thing was an adrenaline rush and I was glad to make it to the end alive where they kindly gave us a free beer. Although this is undoubtedly dangerous i have to give praise to the tour operator, the bikes were excellent, they even had bikes with the back break on the right, like in the UK, because apparently it most counties its the other way around. We were always informed what was coming up and they split us into groups so everyone could go at a speed they were comfortable with.


The next day Ian, koke and I set of for one of the highlights of the trip to South America, San Pedro prison, which is the setting for one of my favourite books, Marching Powder. Marching Powder is the story of Thomas McFadden, an English drug smuggler who was arrested in Bolivia and thrown inside the notorious San Pedro prison. He found himself in a bizarre world, the prison reflecting all that is wrong with South American society. Prisoners have to pay an entrance fee and buy their own cells (the alternative is to sleep outside and die of exposure), prisoners' wives and children often live inside too, high quality cocaine is manufactured and sold from the prison, and all the police from the governor downwards can be bribed. Under the surface is a frightening level of violence - Thomas's life was often in danger and one of his friends was murdered by the police when he threatened to expose the corruption in the prison. Thomas ended up making a living by giving backpackers tours of the prison - he became a fixture on the backpacking circuit and was named in the Lonely Planet guide to Bolivia. When he was told that for a bribe of USD5000 his sentence could be overturned, it was the many backpackers who'd passed through who sent him the money. Unfortunately since the book has been published the tours have officially been stopped, you have to remember that this is a South American prison not a tourist attraction. I did hear on the grape vine however that they still going on. As we got closer to the prison, the ludicrousness of the situation, was I really about to try and blag my way into a notoriously dangerous South American prison? The prison is a reasonably nice building, allocated in prime real estate in central La Paz, overlooking San Pedro Plaza, with its lush grass, statues and benches, it takes up an entire city block, there are no signs, no barbed wire, just a couple of police men dressed in green guarding a red door through which people constantly pass through.

We kept our distance and observed what was going on, first thing we noticed was that we were not allowed to take photo’s we spotted one western tourist being finned and forced to delete his photos. So we kept our distance and used to rather spectacular zoom on my camera. He second was that although the tours were officially over they still took place, however you had to be organised, and get the number of an inmate before arriving and arrange to visit him as normal, then he would take you on a tour. We were not that organised, as we arrived there were a couple of westerners talking to the guards, it appeared that had done some preparation as although the guards originally kept shaking their heads, they then took them aside and went through their bags, then the most senior guard took out his mobile phone and made a call, and then told them that they would not be allowed in. I had mixed emotions, one of sadness as these people had clearly prepared and had not made it in and one of joy as the idea of entering one of Bolivia’s most dangerous prisons scared me witless. Using the zoom on my camera i managed to take a photo through the prison gates and into the court yard, Im sure that the figure in the centre of the picture is Lucho, who is Thomas’s body guard in the book.


We headed off, and headed for the Witches’Market. La Paz, Bolivia is a bustling city of more than one million. In its heart, you could almost be forgiven for forgetting its third world status. Amongst the high rises you can apparently even find a McDonalds. But the illusion of first world grandeur is quickly shattered once you step into the side streets. High-rises give way to haphazardly assembled stalls laden with everything a witch could desire. Surrounded by the plethora of shrivelled animal foetuses, a quarter pounder with cheese is the last thing you'd expect to find. However, if it's dried frogs, Bolivian armadillos, ceramic figures of naked couples or dried llama foetuses that you're after, you've come to the right place. The untidy place looks like something out of a horror movie. Mounted animal heads glare at me with unseeing eyes, feathers and potions adorn the tables, herbs spill from their dirty bags onto the wooden floor as a dog sniffs the powerful smells. I examine the items in no particular order as the girl offers them. For luck with a new business enterprise I can buy a llama foetus burnt on a plate of sweets and herbs - too big to pack. The love amulet is to get married - hopefully I wont need that one. An amulet of a naked couple embracing to improve the sex life - hhhmmmmm. Dried frogs for more money, armadillos to prevent thieves from entering the house, love potions, magic charms, animal skins, medicines and remedies used in Aymara traditions are all for sale - what should I choose? I decide instead just to buy a small statue/vase, with no magical powers.

My flight is at 5am, so I decide to go for a few beers but nothing to messy, I stumble home at 1am, to be picked up 2 hours later. I drunkenly walk through the departure lounge, remembering the chapter in Marching Power of how Thomas McFadden walked through this vey terminal with 5 Kilos of cocaine before being arrested. From his description and the airports appearance it would appear that the airport has had a makeover in the last decade or so. The Flight over was reasonably uneventful, I had a few hours to burn in Miami Airport, so in the spirit of cultural entanglement I ordered the biggest burger I could find, while watching a game from the European Championship, and called it football, not soccer, I didn’t want to accidently become American. I landed in Heathrow where my Taxi picked me up, and drove me home, on the way I had to call the bank to explain that my credit card was missing, and that the last place I had seen it was in La Paz, Bolivia, while drunk last night, and now I was in London.

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