Unfortunately, this all changed in La Paz, the Bolivian capital, back in April 2006. K and I spent two weeks during our Easter vacations to travel through this exceptionally beautiful country, and it has a lot to offer adventure travelers. I´m particularly interested in the wide variety of indigenous peoples, not common in many South American countries due to the rampant and brutal Spanish colonialism of the continent.
indigenous musician Time is short, and I am keen to explore as much as I can during the limited time available. Having spent time already on Lake Titicaca on the Peruvian side in 2005, we swiftly head south to the Altiplano. This barren, wind-swept desert in the South is totally surreal, and the magic of the vast salt-flats are completely breathtaking.
massive lake of saltWe time our journey to perfection, and we plan to take the overnight bus from Uyuni back to La Paz, spending an additional night in the capital before returning back to work in Bogotá. We have even booked the Rosario Hotel who are expecting our return.
The bus station in Uyuni tells us the bus is safe, tourist friendly, and due to depart at about 8pm. It will arrive at about 9am the following morning. The journey is bumpy and rough, and with my 2 metre long legs, I am unable to fit in the seat let alone grab 40 winks. Of course, whilst saving money on an extra night´s accommodation, there is nothing to see out of the windows.
The bus zooms along nonetheless, and we hit the outskirts of La Paz in complete darkness at about 3.30am. Pulling into the bus station, it is quiet and eerie. We grab our rucksacks and flag a taxi to take us up to the Rosario Hotel.
It´s about 4.15am when we arrive at the hotel, and not surprisingly, we are unable to check into our booked room until 10. Although really tired, we´re both really hungry, but the hotel restaurant doesn’t open to 7am.
We´d discovered a nice café on our arrival 2 weeks before, and decide to wait till first light and then head the 800 metres down the road for sustenance.
We hang out at Reception for more than an hour, and as the first few stall holders arrive outside to put up their wares, we put our large rucksacks in the left-baggage area and head onto the street to satiate our hunger pangs.
I light up a cigarette, so K walks about a metre in front of me up-wind. I am aware of a young man in a red and black anorak walking up towards us with the hood over most of his face.
Suddenly K. screams “Help!” as I become aware of the anoraked guy running toward her, arms outstretched. I try to run forward, but everything has suddenly gone very black.
I gain consciousness for a moment. We´re now not on the street, but in some shop door-way, down a back alley off the roadside. I see K. on the floor and a flurry of men swiftly moving around us both. I immediately clench my right and try to swing out wildly, but i fail to make any contact with anything, and i´m unconscious again.
Darkness. Cold… I am aware that I am lying on cold marble and my eyes begin to focus on a single light-bulb. I desperately try and work out where am I and why am I lying on the floor? After several moments, I am still haven´t worked out the answers, so I continue to lie where I am. I hear K´s voice calling out and I jump up with a start. My throat feels like it has been punched as I stumble over to her.
We´ve lost pretty much everything - passports, money, air-ticket and digital cameras, and worse for K her SLR which was in her day-pack. We´re in some back alleyway with a few locals now looking on at us.
Scarily, we have no idea how long we have been unconscious or indeed what has or hasn´t happened to us during the unknown time period. K reports a similar problem with her throat and indeed we are both heavily marked with red marks around our windpipes. One of the on-lookers describes 5 men. Two carried K, whilst 3 had attacked me from behind and then dumped us in the alleyway.
This helpful witness flags a taxi down and tells the driver to take us to Tourist Police station. I explain that we have absolutely no money. “Tardes! Tardes!” says the taxi driver and we´re down with the Tourist Police in about 20 minutes.
Very routinely, and without any shock or surprise, they collect our statements and advise us to go to our Embassies for full assistance. There is a British Embassy in the city, but K being Singaporean, has no Embassy or Consulate in the whole of South America. Her nearest port of call is in Washington DC.
They tell us that this robbery is fairly standard – there is a well-known pressure point on the throat that karate experts use to render their opposition unconscious, although it can be fatal if not executed accurately. At least our muggers were experts. Indeed, it is a not uncommon form of mugging in the more touristed areas of South America, and we subsequently here of a colleague (who stands at about 2 metres!) who had received the same treatment in Cusco, Peru.
We head back to the hotel with our helpful taxi-driver still in tow. The hotel staff are both kind and supportive. They tell us not to worry, pay off the taxi-driver and allow K to call her consulate in Washington. There is no-one in the office, so she leaves the hotel number and a brief explanation on the answer machine. Meanwhile, i contact our school in Bogotá to explain the situation.
Our saving grace is that K has her credit card, which unusually she had stored in her rucksack. The hotel feed us, and organizes another taxi to make the 40 minute journey to the British Embassy. They tell us the Embassy will help with not just passports, but funds and doctor check-ups as well. Sounds perfect!
There is an elderly British couple in front of us who have just had their belongings pick-pocketed and I try to wait patiently. We´re still both shaken and our throats are burning fiercely.
Eventually I get my chance to approach the counter. The Bolivian woman behind the sealed plexi-glass is both rude and abrupt, and I take an immediate dislike to her. I try to explain what has happened and she really is not interested at all. I ask to see either the Ambassador or another official, but she insists that I will only deal with her.
I try again. I explain that we were mugged, knocked unconscious twice and had all our money, air-tickets and passports taken. She only hears (or understands) that I need a new passport.
Yes, she is prepared to put the wheels in motion providing I give her US$65 and two passport-sized photos.. I explain for third time that I have lost everything including my cash and credit card.
“Then I can´t help you,” she informs me pleasantly with a thin smile. At this point i´m positively seething and spitting venom.
K hands over her credit card. Our delightful new friend scoffs at it. This is no good. Apparently payments have to be made in Bolivianos to US$ equivalents. Helpfully, she informs us that there is a bank that will give cash payment on credit cards only about a kilometer up the road.
K and i both feel very apprehensive to walk on the streets, but we have no choice. Fortunately we sort both the photos and cash within two hours and rush back to the British Embassy. It´s now closed for lunch. Not wanting to head back onto the street unless completely necessary, we hang out at the gate and wait as patiently as possible.
At last the gate opens up and we head back upstairs armed with photos and cash. Unfortunately, it´s still the same woman behind the counter. We hand over the photos and a huge bundle of Bolivianos. Argh yes! There is a problem. I have to pay the exact amount. All or bills are large ones. No worries, I tell her, we´ll donate the extra (all of about US$6). This is not acceptable to this bureaucrat. I ask her if she has change herself. She pulls out a safe-box and explains she does have the key. If I want a passport to be processed, i´ll need to hand over the exact money. Time to head back to the street again, having to wave a large bank-note around to get change. I roam from store to store in desperation to get this pathetic problem sorted.
Within 20 minutes I return to the Embassy triumphantly. The woman looks somewhat disappointed. She now has to let me fill in the forms, and can´t come up with any more excuses to delay the process further. She informs me that it should take between 3 – 7 days to process. I tell her we are staying at the Rosario, pass her the number and ask her to call as soon as she knows the time of collection. We are told the Embassy don´t provide such a service. I am a completely non-violent person, but at this point i´m tempted to check the properties of plexi-glass.
It´s about 4pm by the time we return to the hotel. By contrast to the hell of the British Embassy, the Singaporean Consulate in Washington has been frantically trying to contact K all day. They show genuine concern for her plight, offering her both money and medical attention. They will assist to get a pass from the Bolivian officials to ensure she can depart Bolivia and will inform Colombian officials that her new passport will be sent DHL to our home in Bogotá.
K refuses to leave the hotel, and i am very wary, but feel it´s important for me to get out and about, even if just to explore the surrounding streets. I even manage to walk past the scene of the incident. It kind of feels somewhat surreal, but I only have to swallow and my throat reminds me of the horror and nightmare that we endured.
It takes just four days for my passport to be issued and with the help of the school and not least Willy from Reyes Tours in Bogotá, we finally are able to travel back to the comparative safety of Colombia.
I´m so angry and disappointed about the treatment of the British Embassy, (especially when compared to their Singaporean counterparts), i write a letter of complaint to the Consulate General and copied it to The Sunday Times who publish a half page article the same week. Within three days I receive a full letter of apology from the Ambassador inviting me to visit him La Paz. Merci beaucoup Mr. Ambassador.
Despite this violent episode, I still hold Bolivia as one of the most interesting and beautiful countries in South America, and would recommend it. Muggings, brutal or otherwise, occur in so many regions of the world. We can´t stop our lives and live in fear. Of course with La Paz being the highest capital city in the world at about 3700 metres, you are more likely die of AMS at the airport than fall victim to a violent attack in the country.
the beautiful high altitude wind-swept deserts are not to be missedYou can check out some more photos from the trip by clicking here.
A word of advice however. If you see me in the street, please don´t come running up behind me – I freak.
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