The first thing you realise when you arrive in La Paz is that they obviously don’t own a CCTV Smart Car. Vehicles park anywhere and drive anywhere, traffic lights are not obeyed, pedestrians are ignored and horns are used liberally. It is certainly an assault on the senses. As is the smog and pollution. Being in the world’s highest capital makes it pretty hard to breath anyway, without the foul smelling exhaust fumes of thousands of clapped out motors making it worse.
We were torn between two dare devil trips in La Paz, either bike the world’s most dangerous road, which is responsible for hundreds of deaths a year, or to go to visit one of the world’s most dangerous prisons, which is also responsible for tons of deaths a year.
We opted for the prison, thinking it was safer. We were wrong.
San Pedro prison is a mad house. The prisoners run it completely themselves and pay the guards to turn a blind eye. It’s actually illegal to go in but you pay off the prisoners and they show you round – the guards pretend you’re not really there and don’t check bags.
Prisoners carry guns, knives, and copious amounts of drugs which they try to make you buy.
We were shown round by a chain-smoking Portugese drug runner called Luiz Phillip who looked like something out of the Godfather and was twice as hard. We were given two body guards – also prisoners serving time for drugs and murder, very reassuring.
Luiz Phillip tried to reassure us we were safe by telling us that at one time 20 people were killed in the prison a week, including visitors, but now it’s only a few a month. The problem is that life on the outside is almost worse than life on the inside, so many inmates want to stay in for as long as possible. Killing someone earns them just one extra year inside, so they may as well kill a few.
When after a few intense hours of a tour, in which we met rapists and murderers, we thought it was time to leave we were very much mistaken.
We were taken to a cell and locked in with two burly men standing guard by the entrance.
Luiz Phillip then brought out copious amounts of cocaine, which he tried to get us to buy. When we refused he tried to get us to give him money so he could bribe the guards to release him. They let us get away with a ten quid tip and an apology. We made our break for freedom and got out of that prison as fast as our legs could carry us.
Time for something a little more sedate, how about a weekend break on Lake Titicaca?
As a bit of an adventure we decided to arrange for a stay with a local family on one of Lake Titicaca’s many islands. Catching a boat across the world’s highest navigable lake was certainly relaxing. Perched on the roof of the small vessel we watched as reed island after reed island drifted by. These floating bundles of reeds are home to whole communities who live on them with their animals and even manage to grow veg. They probably wouldn’t pass a Medway Council planning meeting but they seemed quite sturdy and safe.
Arriving at a more solid natural island we were met by the local community, all desperate to put us up for a night. A young looking girl who we found out was called Erica said her mother would be more than happy to look after us, and so we set off to make the long climb to the top of the rocky, mountainous island to her house.
We arrived to find a roaring stove and a cup of mint tea waiting for us as well as our “Mum” for the night Elisabetta and her small sons Saul and John-Brett. Little John-Brett, aged only four, took an instant liking to us, wanting to hold hands and have a hug. He was even more excited when he discovered we had brought the family a football as a present and ran out to their small garden to play with his brother as soon as he got his hands on it.
That afternoon saw a football match of a slightly different nature. The local islanders challenged their guests to a game on their concrete five-a-side pitch. A scratch team of Spaniards, English and Australians was picked (including us) and we set about our challenge. All was fine at the start, but then the natives’ secret weapon kicked in - The altitude. Playing a slogging match on concrete at 4000m is probably one of the most tiring things ever. After 45 minutes or so our side had completely given up and we settled for losing 5 - 4 to the local side. But the physical exertion didn’t end there. That night the guests on the island were invited to the town hall for a dance. A group of locals had got together with a drum, guitar and pan pipes as a band and wanted to entertain us. It was made very clear we had to go to the dance properly dressed, so men were handed woolly hats and ponchos while the women donned bum enhancing voluminous skirts and shawls.
A dance we thought, not very hard. Little did we realise the native dances lasted at least 15 minutes and required plenty of energy.
When we eventually made it to bed that night we were well and truly shattered and drifted off to sleep. If only we had known what the boat ride back held for us we might not have slept so soundly.
Boarding the tiny vessel the next morning we noticed the lake was more than a little bit choppier than the day before. As we set off the boat began to pitch and roll wildly, there were screams, scared faces and more than a few queasy passengers. As we journeyed along it only got worse. People began throwing up.
By the time we arrived at the Peruvian side of the lake we were more grateful to get off the boat than we have been to get off anything in our lives. But before we could explore the Inca treasures of Peru we had to wait a few days to get our land-legs back.