The Death Road, Bribery and Swimming With Crocodiles in The Amazon Rainforest

Deciding whether to swim in crocodile-infested water was the easy part

For the last few days, I had been scanning the murky Amazon River for the enigmatic, elusive, majestic pink dolphin. Our guide, Carlos, kept on telling us if we were fortunate enough to see pink dolphins we could jump in and go for a swim. At first, I thought he was joking. After all, we were in crocodile-infested waters.

But, the pink dolphin is the crocodile’s sworn enemy. And, if you’re lucky enough to see them, you can ‘safely’ swim in the water, with the comfort that the dolphins have your back. So Carlos kept on telling us, anyway.

On our last day of the tour, soaking in the beautiful wonders of the jungle, a shriek jolted me to attention.

“I saw a pink dolphin!” a girl at the back of the boat cried in delight.

In an instant, Carlos stopped the boat and smoothly circled round. The water in the river is so murky that once something goes below the surface, it disappears into the abyss.

Everyone was on high alert, darting our eyes from left to right, desperately hoping to spot a dolphin.

And then I saw it. The vivid pink of a dolphin, looking so alien in its surroundings, poked it’s head out of the water and popped it back down again. And then I saw another one and another!

“There’s a pod of four or five dolphins” Carlos beamed with delight. “Who’s got the cajones to jump in?”

No one was sure what to do. Carlos wasn’t joking, I thought. Because there’s no way he would be encouraging us to dive into crocodile-infested waters if he knew it wasn’t safe. Having watched Carlos expertly manoeuvre around the river for the last few days, I had grown to trust his judgment. Everyone was looking at everyone else to make the first move.

“Better be quick,” he said, “they won’t stay for long!”

The pink dolphins are an endangered species. To see them is rare, to be able to swim with them surrounded by crocodiles is a once in a lifetime opportunity.

I got up gingerly, determined I would take the plunge. I looked up the shoreline, and there were crocodiles as far as the eye could see. Am I really going to do this? This is insane, I thought to myself. As I was standing there, deciding whether to take the plunge or not, I had a flashback of the last few days. After everything I had been through to get here, did I have the cajones to dive in, or not?

A bundle of weed

To understand my determination to dive into the water, we need to take a step back. I had been working in the bar of a hostel for the last few weeks in La Paz, Bolivia’s capital city.

Since coming to La Paz, I was set on visiting Rurrenabaque, a small town bordering the Amazon Basin. From there you could book riverboat tours to immerse yourself in the rainforest. I had met TJ at the hostel I was working in. TJ was the most un-accountant like accountant you could ever hope to meet. Cool as a cucumber, his Brummie accent shone through whenever he spoke.

TJ had also planned to go to Rurrenabaque, so we decided to join forces. Transport wise, we had two options: a two-hour flight, or an 18-hour bus journey on The Death Road. The road, as the name suggests, is dangerous. With vertical drops of more than 1500 feet (500 meters), if there is an accident and you fall off the edge, you’re plummeting to your death. At one point the road was responsible for 300 to 400 deaths a year.

Given the options, most people choose the flight. But, we were up for an adventure, so we opted for the bus.

We started to doubt our choice when we heard the horror stories of others who had been on the journey. As soon as they heard the words Death Road, their eyes shuddered at the thought of the experience. One girl suggested that whatever we do we should bring some valium as it would help us survive the relentless bumps in the road.

We heeded the advice and bought some valium from a local pharmacy — while illegal back in the UK; valium was legal to buy in pharmacies in Bolivia.

We would both be coming back to the hostel in La Paz after our trip. So rather than take all our stuff with us we took a small backpack with clothes to last for the six days we would be away.

Since coming to La Paz, knowing I would be here for a while, I had managed to get some weed with the help of a Brazilian girl I was seeing. I had given her 200 Bolivianos (around £20), expecting it would get me a quarter of an ounce (7 grams) of weed. Having asked her a few days before, we were at her apartment when she took out a package, turned around and casually handed it to me. I looked at it, half in amazement, half in horror.

It was a thick A4 sized wad of weed. There must have been 2 ounces (57 grams)! For the price, it was a ridiculous amount, and by far the cheapest I had spent since travelling in South America.

Considering how much weed I had, and the fact I would be in the Amazon Rainforest, it would have been rude not to bring some with me. So, I took around an eighth of an ounce (3.5 grams) of the stash and placed it carefully into some newspaper. Wrapped it up and stuffed it into the top of my bag. I also put the valium into my toiletries bag, knowing they would be a godsend when we started our bumpy journey to Rurrenabaque.

Now you may think I was taking a risk, and sure, if crossing a border, it would have been idiotic. But, I had been on buses with weed countless times travelling from town to town within a country, and not once did I even come close to having a problem.

The Death Road

As we boarded the bus, I had mixed emotions. Excited about the prospect of visiting the legendary rainforest, but also apprehensive about travelling on The Death Road.

La Paz, at 3640m, is the highest capital city above sea level in the world. So whenever you leave, you have to wind down mountainsides. Through the many stories we had heard about the road, we knew the vertical drops didn’t start until a few hours after leaving the city. So, I sat back and dozed.

After a couple of hours of winding our way down the beautiful mountainside, the bus came to a sudden halt. We had reached a checkpoint. A man who we couldn’t see said something to the driver, who then instructed everyone to get off the bus, bringing their belongings with them.

I didn’t think anything of it. As everyone formed a queue to get off, I noticed the policeman at the door of the bus was asking each person for identification. When a Bolivian showed their ID, he pointed to the left. When a foreigner revealed their passport, he pointed to the right. Odd, I thought.

Including myself and TJ, there were seven foreigners on the bus. With our bags on our backs, the policeman asked us to follow him, and we all obliged.

Into the fire

A thick cover of fog surrounded the checkpoint, which made for an ominous atmosphere. The policemen led us towards a small room; we were all huddled outside as he opened the door. It squeaked open slowly, to reveal a massive Alsatian lying underneath a table. Once it saw us, the Alsatian got up, ready to do its duty.

As soon as I saw that dog, my heart skipped a beat. I had a horrible gut feeling this was no ordinary checkpoint.

We filed in one by one.

To the left of us were three other policemen. One of them cracked his knuckles as we trundled in as if he was preparing for action.

“Take your bags off and leave them on that table” the policeman barked at us as we entered.

Once everyone had placed their bags on the table, he ordered us to stand in line, like the accused waiting for a witness in a police line up.

The policeman started walking up and down the room, saying nothing at first. He finally came to a halt.

“If anyone has anything they shouldn’t have on them, then let us know now. Because we’re gonna find it,” the policeman said abruptly, with malice in his voice.

The policeman was short with a round plump face. His small little eyes had a viciousness in them, which exposed him as someone who seemed to take joy out of making other people’s lives miserable.

Knowing I had the weed at the top of my bag, there was nothing I could do. I mean, all you had to do was open the bag, and it was there, staring you in the face. Clearly, others who had the misfortune of being stopped at the checkpoint took wiser precautions, hence the sniffer dog.

There was no point in begging innocence or waiting for them to find what I had in my bag. In fact, looking at the menace in their faces, I thought it better not to mess them around, so I went over to my bag, opened it, and took out the weed.

“Ohhh, what do we have here then gringo?” the head honcho said with a tone of delight.

The policeman passed the weed to one of his colleagues with a gesture that suggested they had been here many times before.

The head honcho talked and acted like the leader of the pack. The other three were the knuckleheads, who carried out the dirty work. It was an organised operation.

The five phoned Colombian

The three knuckleheads started to inspect the weed with supple care and due diligence. As if they were inspecting the weapon at a murder scene. I hadn’t told TJ I would be bringing the weed because I saw no reason too. As I took my place back in the line, TJ looked at me with eyes gawking, as if to say, you have royally fucked up.

And I knew I had. But there was no going back. My mind was racing, but I rationalised given the amount I had, it was unlikely I would be in any trouble, that’s what I kept telling myself, anyway.

But then my mind drifted to the stash I had lying in my bag in La Paz.

What happens if they start asking questions? I thought as I swallowed hard with nervousness.

The potential danger I was in started to dawn on me.

For now, the head honcho started searching each person with the help of one of his knuckleheads. The group of four germans on the bus were clean. He then moved to the skin headed Colombian. Upon searching him, there were five phones on his person. Now, I don’t know about you, but I’ve never met anyone who carries five phones, and the head honcho was immediately suspicious. He started questioning him about why he was going to Rurrenabaque.

The interrogation lasted a few minutes. Afterwards, they felt it necessary to put him in handcuffs.

By this point, the four Germans were told they could leave. They walked out, looking a little shaken by what was happening. TJ stayed by my side, offering support.

The knuckleheads had continued inspecting the weed the whole time. After the four innocent Germans left the room, one of the knuckleheads looked at the weed and then looked up at me and smirked.

“You’re gonna go to prison, hombre,” he said, pulling his head back to let out a laugh.

At the same time, another of the knuckleheads drew his wrists in together in front of him, like they were being handcuffed. They were trying to intimidate me, and it was working.

The three knuckleheads stood over the weed, continuing their inspection.

I was thinking, why are they looking at the weed so intently? They would pick up a bit, sniff at it, look at it as if they were inspecting a diamond, and then put it back.

The head honcho strode over, landing dramatically on his feet to make himself appear as intimidating as possible.

The interrogation

“We’ve got ourselves a problem, hombre,” he said with a wicked look in his eye. “Do you have anything else we should know about, hombre?”

“No, that’s it,” I said, trying my best to be as cooperative as possible.

He brought my backpack over and started inspecting every item. As he unzipped my toiletries bag, he took out the valium.

“What’s this hombre? I told you to get everything out of your bag?” He barked.

“They’re valium, we bought them in a pharmacy” I answered, confident that there was no issue with us having them.

“You got the receipt?” he said.

“No,” I replied, not sure where he was going with the line of questioning.

“Well then, these are illegal hombre. You can’t travel with valium unless you got the receipt. You’re in real trouble, hombre. We caught you red-handed.” He said with a smile on his face.

The three knuckleheads in the back kept on putting their wrists together, just to crank up the intimidatory tactics.

The only part of this squad of jokers who was acting professionally was the Alsatian, who watched every move intently in the corner of the room.

I kept on comforting myself with the knowledge that because I had such a small amount of weed on me, it was likely these men were after a bribe.

Once the head honcho had stopped talking, he folded his arms, and that seemed to be my cue to make him some kind of offer.

I looked into my wallet at how much money I had, and there were only 300 Bolivianos (£30). That’s not gonna cut it, I thought.

The hustle

“TJ, how much money do you have on you?” I asked him, trying my best to remain calm and collected in the situation.

“I’ve got the same as you, 300 Bolivianos” he replied, as he gave me the cash to help with the bribe.

I had the wad of cash and offered it to the head honcho saying, “All I have is 600 Bolivianos (£60).”

To put that into perspective at the time 600 bolivianos was the average monthly wage in Bolivia, it was a lot of money.

“That’s not gonna be enough, hombre,” he said with a look of disdain in his voice.

“We want 2000 Bolivianos (£200)” he replied. Seemingly having decided long ago how much money he would try and fleece me for.

Now, if I could, I would happily have given them the money to get out of a tight situation. But, we were in the middle of the mountains, there wasn’t a cash point for miles.

The only option I had was to bargain with the few possessions I had on me.

I had an old silver Casio watch. A digital camera, and my prized joy, an 80GB iPod. The reason I adored it so, wasn’t so much for the iPod itself, but the music on it. I had dedicated hours, painstakingly adding music. It was a treasure trove of over 10,000 songs from an array of artists.

Let’s go for the worst option first, I thought.

“I’ve got this watch”. I said as I started to unclip the buckle.

He took the watch and within moments gave it back to me.

“No, that’s not gonna work.”

Okay, I rummaged through my backpack and took the camera out.

I passed it over to him, again he gave it a quick look and gave it back.

“No hombre.”

As soon as he passed it back, I bent my head forward with my eyes closed, resigned to what I was going to have to do.

My iPod was in my pocket. I could feel my hand starting to shake as I drew it in to grab the thing I held so dear to my heart. It was still shaking as I took it out of its protective cover.

Once he saw it, his eyes lit up.

“Ohhhhhh!” he exclaimed as he greedily grabbed it from my hand. He turned it on and went over to the knuckleheads to inspect the iPod.

With a few swirls of the wheel, he came back over.

“Okay, we’ll take it, but we want the money too.”

My mouth opened in disbelief. They’ve taken my pride and joy, and just to rub salt into the wounds, they’re going to take all the money as well? But what could I do in the situation? They had caught me red-handed, and it was very much a rock and a hard place situation. Clearly, the deal was far better than the thought of going to jail for the evening.

There wasn’t any other option but to agree.

Once I handed the money over, I thought that would be the end of the whole torrid affair, but the head honcho wasn’t finished quite yet.

The photoshoot

For reasons unbeknown to me, the head honcho took out a camera and handed me my passport, which he had taken for safekeeping. He asked me to flip to the photo page and hold the passport up in front of me. Snap, he took a photo.

The head honcho then got the weed and scrunched it up into a ball, while placing it into a side pocket of my backpack.

Once he had, he called the Alsatian over. The dog sprang to its feet and came to sit by my side for a photo. Snap.

He then barked another order at the Alsatian who proceeded to put it’s nose down to the weed as if to sniff it. Snap. Another photo.

I couldn’t understand what was going on. The whole affair had been such a rollercoaster of emotions that I was happy to do as the head honcho said so I could get out of there as soon as I could.

The head honcho went over to the bundle of weed, unwrapped it and asked me to hold it in my open hands: Snap, another photo.

Once the head honcho put the camera down it was a sign the impromptu photoshoot was over.

He walked over to me, happy with the deal he had cut.

“Don’t tell anyone what’s happened here hombre, we’ve got evidence, so if you do, you’re gonna be in trouble. Do you understand?” He said in a hushed tone.

“Yes,” I replied meekly.

“Okay, you can leave,” he said simply.

Once we got out of the room after what had felt like hours, I greedily swallowed the fresh mountain air, relieved the whole affair was over.

As we made our way back to the bus, I started to well up with anger. It felt like I had been bent over a barrel.

TJ understood how I was feeling.

“Don’t think about it too much, there’s nothing we can do.” He said in a matter of fact way, and he was right. They had shafted me, and there was nothing I could do about it.

As soon as we got on the bus, all eyes were drawn to me. Considering how long we had been away, the other passengers must have known something suspicious had happened.

I have no idea what happened to the Colombian, but 20 minutes later he shuffled onto the bus. I imagine they had cut a deal with him, also.

The fact the police officers who seemed to operate more like a gang, had also taken the valium, meant TJ and I stayed wide awake as we traversed The Death Road. The journey as it turned out, wasn’t that bad. On the bus, you couldn’t see how far the road plunged into an abyss.

The bumps were no exaggeration. And a combination of the incessant bumps, while playing out what had happened in my head over and over again, meant I barely slept.

But the Death Road was a decidedly better place to be then in a jail cell. And that thought alone relaxed me, even though we could very well plunge to our deaths any moment if the driver made a mistake.

The leap of faith

It was with mixed emotions that we arrived at Rurrenabaque. But as soon as Carlos cranked the engine on the boat and we drifted upriver, the resentment I had started to feel towards the head honcho drifted away.

The rainforest was a sight to behold. It was bursting with life and was a kaleidoscope of colours, sights and sounds. I was in my element as I took in the wonders around each corner.

And after four days in a state of blissful contentment, travelling up and down the river, there I was, surrounded by pink dolphins.

My feet were on the edge of the boat, still not fully committed to taking the leap of faith.

It’s now, or never, I thought.

With one giant leap, I made the plunge. As soon as my head went underwater, I was clouded in darkness. The murkiness of the river meant you couldn’t be sure if the dolphins were even there shielding you from the crocodiles. Every few minutes, a dolphin popped its head up to reassure me. But as soon as they disappeared underwater again, I kept on anticipating a crocodile biting down on my ankle and dragging me under the water.

As others jumped in from the boat, no one was exactly swimming for joy, lets put it that way. There were crocodiles 10 meters away on the shore, looking at us intently. Usually, crocodiles are docile and don’t move all that much, but with so many humans in the water, there was a hive of activity.

While treading water, I watched as one particularly big crocodile caught my eye. When a crocodile looks at you, its as if it grabs hold of your soul, such is the intensity of that stare. The lock our eyes had on each other was broken suddenly as he darted into the river. Nope, I’m done I thought, as I swam with a slight sense of panic back to the boat.

“You see,” Carlos said as I struggled back onto the canoe, “I told you, you were safe with the dolphins”.

I didn’t feel so safe, but the crocodiles had stayed away, so Carlos had been right about that.

The majesty of the rainforest made up for the horror show I had experienced on my way to the jungle. If something good came out of it, it was that I refused to smoke weed anymore after that (I gave the stash away to someone as the hostel in La Paz, to their delight), because I was so appalled that a plant had got me into so much bother.

And as we made our way back to the town for what had been a majestic last few days, there was the comfort of having an 18-hour journey back up The Death Road to La Paz. Lesson learned: travel in South America, and definitely go to Bolivia, as it’s a fabulous country with a joyful spirit. But don’t travel with drugs. If you do, expect to be bribed, or worse, be thrown into a prison cell. The risk far outweighs the reward.