La Paz

We had been told about the amazing view just as you came over the hills into La Paz, with the city sprawling out in front of you as far as the eye can see. However, as we got in at 5am, we were all sound asleep, and in any case the sun had not yet lit up the cityscape.

We drowsily jumped in a taxi and dropped off Deb at her hostel. Luckily our hostel let us check in and get some kip - they even fed us breakfast when we eventually managed to crawl out of bed.

Grabbing a map, we set about walking through the bustling city. The bumpers of the mini buses and cars were stuck together in gridlock, exhausts spewing out black smoke from their old, worn out engines and horns trumpeting in vain. The pavements were overflowing with both young, fashionable Bolivians and their older, more traditionally dressed counterparts, as well as plenty of gringos, creating a strange kaleidoscope of people.

The main road runs through the bottom of the city like a dried up river, with the connecting streets rising either side like tributaries running off the steep hills. We walked right along the length of the main street, marvelling at the mish-mash of buildings, and found our way to the San Fransisco cathedral where we bumped into Deb. She was going to San Pedro prison that afternoon, and so we though it would be a good idea to go too.

After having a further mooch about the city, we made our way to San Pedro Plaza (just outside the prison), where it seemed like half of the gringoes in the city had congregated. We met up with Deb, and was ushered around the corner by a shifty looking guy who promised us a "tour". We knew that the tour was officially illegal, but we didn't realise just how cloak and dagger it all was.

Two by two we were called into the prison, as apparently a steady stream of gringoes looks less suspicious than one big group going in together. As there was about 50 of us trying to get in this was quite a long process. When it was our turn we scooted around the corner, trying to look inconspicuous, passing the heavily bribed police outside, and in through the imposing front gates. We were in a bit of a daze, as we weren't sure where to go, with inmates clawing at the gates shouting out various things in Spanglish. We were crammed into a tiny, dark room like cats in a sack (thank you Elbow), with the stench of urine stinging our noses. Here we "registered" by giving our names and passport numbers, paying our money and getting our arms signed by one of the guards.

We were split roughly into three groups of fifteen. Our tour was done by one of the inmates, and we were "guarded" by a further four inmates from the rest of the prison's population. They took us around the various neighbourhoods of the prison, each with it's own distinct indentity. It was such a surreal experience for us to be walking amongst murderers, rapists and other criminals. What was even stranger was that their familes, both women and small children, were also with them, and that they had shops, streets and bought/rented cells of varying class. We had not read the book, but Marching Powder is set in this prison and is apparently a very graphic portrayal of daily life in San Pedro.

Two and a half hours went by, and we had had a very extensive tour of the prison. Finally we were ushered into a tiny cell where they offered to sell us coke and/or weed. This process seemed to take a very long time, and what we didn't know was that they were stalling. Eventually they told us that the press were outside and we had to wait until they had gone before we could leave.

Some 45mins later we were lined up in the courtyard ready to leave, only to be taken to another, larger room where we were reunited with the other groups. Here we waited for a further hour, with various stories flying around. One minute they said the press was there because of a politician being locked up, then it was because there was a dangerous criminal they wanted to make sure was behind bars, but finally they settled on the fact that it was because they wanted to "pap"gringoes coming out from an illegal prison tour. It was now around 7:30pm - at this point they told us that if the press had not gone in half an hour that they would transport us to a large communal cell an hold us until midnight. By now we were getting fed up, hungry and thirsty.

They moved us once more, this time we had to crawl through dimly lit back passages to sit outside the warden's office. Here we stayed for another hour or so, until eventually we were given the all clear. Before we were ferried to the back gate we were told that due to the troubles this would be the last tour of San Pedro. Single file, we made a dash out of the iron exit and to our freedom, running down the road away from the threat of the press. We have heard from various sources that the since that night no gringo tours have operated and the warden has been sacked.

We eventually arrived back at the hostel at 10pm. We were gutted that the San Pedro experience had eaten heavily into our St Patrick's night drinking time, so we ordered a beer each and toasted to our release whilst getting ready. The night that unravelled was pretty alcohol fuelled and hilarious. The three of us plus a couple of English lads from our hostel started at Wild Rover (Deb's hostel), and when this closed at 1pm we continued to a really cool club called Mongos. Here both gringoes and locals danced and drank together and we all had a great time.

It reached about 4am and it was time for this place to close, so we all jumped in a taxi and went to an "after party" club called Blue. When we got there we weren't sure that it was the right place as all we could see was a roller shutter, but before we could say, "St Paddy" the shutter lifted up to reveal a blue-lit room with a bar. We only stayed in there for about an hour before we decided that we'd had quite enough excitement for one day and went back to the hostel.

We awoke the next day feeling a bit fuzzy around the edges, and so the two of us along with the two English lads went to an English pub where I had pie and mash and James had bangers and mash. OK, so maybe not the most cultural thing we've done so far, but it was very much needed. Later we topped the night off with a further Peruvian cultural experience by having a curry, which was pretty bloody delicious!

Next morning we had a saunter down to the witches' market and did a bit of shopping for Alpaca clothes. We also managed to book our bike ride down "Death Road" for the following day. I was starting to feel decidedly dodgy in the tummy region, but carried on as normal.

There is a great park in La Paz, which is quite a trek to get to. We meandered up there, and walked along the top enjoying the cracking views it had across the city. The park also houses an excellent and rather large childrens' playground, which many of the local children and parents were taking advantage of.

We later met Deb out for some Swiss Fondue, which was totally delicious, but I think this was the straw the broke the camel's back and my stomach took a turn for the worse. By the time we went to bed I was resigned to the fact that I probably wouldn't be able to make the bike ride the day after.

James got up at the crack of dawn to try and rearrange the trip for the following day, which he was able to do. Whilst I spent the day between the bedroom and the bathroom, James spent a frustrating day trying to upload photographs on a very slow internet connection. By the evening I was up again and we went to a Thai place where James had a delicious meal, and I had rice - I was just glad to be able to eat food.

We got up for the bike tour early, and made our way to a cafe where we met a couple of English guys and a Kiwi lady. We were given breakfast before being picked up by our guide, and jumped in a mini bus to pick up the rest of our group. It took around two hours for us to climb to our starting point, where we were issued our padding and waterproofs, along with some kickass bikes. There, in the cold and rain, we were given a briefing, outlining safety measures and road conditions. Then, off we set.

The first part of the ride was pretty safe. Sure, there were no barriers to stop you plummeting over the edge and into the cloudy abyss, but the road was wide and smoothly paved. We were able to pick up pace and get through this in no time.

Then, the official "Death Road" started, which apparently over ten tourists have died attempting to do this very ride. We were warned that the first half an hour of this was the most trecherous, and they weren't wrong. The first section of the road, which snaked around the side of the mountains, was narrow, extremely steep, littered with slippery stones and had perilous 500m+ drops.

The road then became slightly less dangerous, although the crosses still lined the roadside with some frequency. I think we all became more confident, and with this confidence came more speed. James said he was surprised just how fast I was going, especially as I told him beforehand that I would be going at snail's pace.

We stopped for quite a few stunning pictures along the way, as well as having much needed snacks. Although the weather was much drier and warmer due to our quick drop in altitude, we were still managing to get wet as we rode through large streams and small waterfalls; it was just so much fun.

Then, about five minutes before the end, my concentration slipped and so did I. Luckily the shin and elbow pads protected me, and I managed to escape with only a few bruises here and there. We rode into our destination 4 hours after setting out, pretty tired but immensely satisfied, stripping off our clothes and sitting in the sun with cold beverages.

We then spent the rest of the afternoon at a local hotel, having a filling lunch and relaxing in and by the swimming pool. We were dropped off in La Paz that evening, free "Death Road Survivor" T-shirts and photo CD in hand. We hooked back up with Deb for dinner to exchange Death Road stories (she had been the day before with the same company, Vertigo). We all agreed that it was well worth the money and that we'd recommend it to anyone.

We got to bed relatively early in preparation for our short bus journey the next day to Lake Titicaca.