Shell Shocked in Bolivia - The Death Road

THE DEATH ROAD 


One must ask themselves, when, with fingers cramped shut over brakes, and eyes on stalks with fear  'why am I doing this? And why did I PAY to do this?'

The Death Road, a precarious dirt road more famed for the lives its claimed than for its magnificent setting and stunning scenery high in the mountains of Bolivia is a 64 km downhill track clinging precariously to the cliff side, descending a cool 3500 mtrs through the clouds into a stunning valley of lush forest and rivers.  .

When faced with the real possibility of death the brain goes into total overdrive, concentration overrides all other senses and adrenalin takes over. 
Having not ridden a bike in at least 13 years, I was nervous (to say the least), and having donned helmet, knee and elbow pads and goggles, I tottered slowly round the car park getting the hang of balancing, braking and changing gears.

The first stretch is a smooth down hill tar sealed road, exhilerating and a nice easy way to get to grips with handling a bike again, neverthless it is a steep downhill with some hair pin corners that threatened to claim the knees of most of us!
Upon reaching the second part, most of us had overcome our nerves and were feeling somewhat smugly confident...a feeling that was quickly overcome by fear and utter dread as we set off on the second part of the ride...the famous Death Road itself...the gravel, slippery, narrow, hairpin hell of a road.

For three hours we skated and skidded and slipped our way down the gravel road, hands and fingers numb from clasping the brakes, and necks and shoulders rigid with concentration, however, nothing compares to the rush you feel as you navigate the road, all the while watching the jaw dropping mountainous scenery go by.
From numbing cold at the top to a tropical forest at the bottom, the Death Road is perhaps the most spectacular road I have ever seen...and an experience that is quite possibly the most mentally challenging, fear overcoming and physically exhausting I have ever done!!

Shell Shocked in Bolivia #1

SAN PEDRO PRISON

Once again, all I knew, all I thought I knew, my perceptions of what should be, and the reality of what is have been shattered...San Pedro prison...has left me utterly shell shocked, numbed and stunned.
Having read 'Marching Powder' 11 years ago, I was intrigued to see the life and institution that is San Pedro prison, curious from a sociological perspective, my internal lay psychologist itchy to get a grasp on what defies all that I know about the judicial and penal systems.  Nothing could have prepared me for it...
A mini city, 7 separate communities overseen by a community president (elected by the inmates once a year), complete with 500 children, families and businesses (to use the term loosely) all operating inside the prison walls, no government assistance, insulated from the outside world, yet curiously operating as a world in itself...murderers living next door to petty criminals, the only segragation being who has money.

A thriving real estate industry reliant on prisoners moving up and into newer nicer cells, restaurants and shops...defying what I thought a prison 'should' be...yet the dark, sinister danger lurks in the corridors, the reason for gates being locked at 10 pm, prisoner justice the only operation to continue weeding out the 'dangerous' from the non.
Children amidst it all, playing, innocent...unaware, and protected, yet heart breakingly influencable, potentially the next generation of inmates.  Sitting in the prison plaza watching them play, drinking a coke and enjoying the sun whilst chatting to our guide, I forgot where I was...was this really a prison? Were these people truly capable of murder, abuse, armed robbery?

Our guide and bodyguards are three hardened criminals yet all that I had anticipated, all I had thought I would feel in the presence of these people was missing...I am still struggling to reconcile it all. It was like visiting a favela, yet safer given our companions...however, the demonic, evil element was palbable and the terror set in when we were shown into the kitchen.  The kitchen, a dark room locked and padlocked behind a huge wrought iron gate, is the residence of the rapists.  Men too dangerous to have in the rest of the prison, who literally sleep next to the ovens on the concrete floor, never allowed out...yet we were allowed in.  Despite our protection and the company of my male friends, I have never felt so vulnerable, so utterly aware of the evil intentions inhabiting these ghost like empty men.

My heart is full of sadness for the children, yet the experience left me initially feeling pity toward those inside...compassion...because unlike visiting men locked in cells, obvious signs of a life misspent, this felt like visiting a slum, families trapped with nothing, the raw fight for survival...
Yet compassion and pity is wasted is it not? These are people who chose their paths, who are incarcerated (despite the community like setting) to protect the community from them...people, who through making their own rules are now in a 'society' whereby they are in charge of all the rules. 
Initially I thought that this type of prison establishment was a positive, rehabilitative way of treating criminals, yet today, seeing their freedom, the way in which they are literally outside of 'societal laws' and free to ajudicate as they see fit...

At the feet of the Inkas

I climbed the ladder of the Gods
Steps climbing toward heaven
Treading the path of the creators
Souls in stars overhead

I knelt on the footstool of their legend
I breathed in their greatness
And basked in the sun 
Eclipsed by such majesty as none can describe

I sat in the seat of my soul
In serenity and solitude
All encompassing wonderment
And the spirits splendidly marched by
Eternity will never erase
Such ethereal legacy and imprint
That which remains will forever overawe
Overwhelm and overshadow that of today