| 02/18/09 05:52 AM |
#18
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Walter Vidaurre O.
Prison breakMost people would pay to escape prison but at San Pedro in Bolivia, the subject of a forthcoming Hollywood film, inmates charge visitors to get in. Vicky Baker reports
Vicky Baker The Guardian, Saturday 17 January 2009 Article history
In with the inside crowd ... curious tourists can pay for an, at times unsettling, tour of San Pedro prison in La Paz. Photograph: Vicky Baker
'Have you heard about the prison tours?" asked a wide-eyed, 20-year-old Dutch girl, sitting next to me on the bus to La Paz. Since crossing the border from Peru into Bolivia, I'd heard of little else. The current Lonely Planet guide to Bolivia states that gaining entry to what they once called "the world's most bizarre tourist attraction" has become harder than ever. When I checked its Thorn Tree online forum, travellers were talking of a bygone era. "Tours haven't been offered since 2003. If someone approaches you, it is a scam," wrote one user.
But word is, they're back. A couple of days earlier on a boat on Lake Titicaca, I had met backpackers swapping entry tips. Two South Africans were instructed to go to the plaza outside the prison and wait to be approached by a guy called Kenny. Another young Dutch girl said she'd just walked up to the main entrance. "Do you want to go inside?" asked the guard and, with that, she was in.
San Pedro is arguably the most notorious prison in South America. Inmates are expected to pay for their cells, the poor sharing hovels while the wealthier bag themselves rooms resembling studio apartments. The more enterprising might also practise a trade (barbers, carpenters) or become proprietors of internal restaurants. Whole families live inside, with prisoners' wives and children free to come and go. Grease a few palms and this unusual visiting policy can be extended to curious tourists too.
Word first got out on the backpackers' circuit through a British inmate, Thomas McFadden, who spent four years inside for drug smuggling between 1996 and 2000. Through a combination of charm and bribery, he was once rewarded with a chaperoned night's freedom in La Paz. That night, he befriended an Israeli backpacker, regaled her with jaw-dropping stories of life in San Pedro, and soon she insisted on seeing it for herself. After that, word spread through the hostels and, before he knew it, Thomas had started a tour business. Some backpackers even stayed overnight to take advantage of the dirt-cheap cocaine produced in the prison's makeshift labs. San Pedro became known as the best all-night party place in town.
One visitor was Rusty Young, an Australian backpacker, who befriended Thomas and went on to write Marching Powder, a gripping expose of life inside and the current must-read on the gringo trail. The film version, being made by Brad Pitt's production company, is set for release next year.
After Thomas's release, things got serious. Operations were taken over by a character known as Fantasma, who was inside for killing his best friend. There were rumours of backpackers being robbed and sold crack, while a former guide had to transfer to a high-security unit, fearing for his life after it was revealed that he was creaming off large profits from the tours for himself.
Before long, access was completely denied - although the persistent still managed to get in by claiming to be a foreign inmate's brother, sister or long-lost cousin. Had things really changed so much since then that you could now just turn up at the door? I decided to head to San Pedro Plaza to find out.
On the edge of a perfectly manicured square, just off one of the city's main commercial thoroughfares, lies the sturdy concrete building believed to house 1,500 inmates, most of them on drug charges. At first I positioned myself on one of the plaza's benches, but when no one approached, I decided to be more obvious and stand at the corner of the prison itself. And that was when I saw him: a stocky guy in leather jacket, talking into a mobile phone. "Waiting for someone?" he asked, smiling to reveal a gold tooth.
He introduced himself as Kenny, a former convict, now making a living through prison tourism. He told me a tour group had just started and, before I knew it, I'd handed over 250 bolivianos (around £25) and was walking through the front gate. In the past, you had to leave a passport at the door, but not any more. I simply wrote down my name and nationality. I was the 31st international visitor that day.
A typical day at San Pedro currently sees up to 50 travellers, each paying a £25 entry fee, plus an additional £5 for bringing a camera. This is big money in Bolivia, where a three-course meal can cost as little as £1.50. Those involved insist a share of the profits is being used to help inmates and carry out internal renovation projects, but all this is impossible to verify.
I passed through an iron-grilled gate and found a group of eight backpackers standing in a concrete courtyard. Our guide, José (not his real name) was a gruff-voiced, fiftysomething European. Like most inmates, he is accused of smuggling cocaine and, like most, he's still awaiting trial. He was smartly dressed in a jacket and well-shined shoes. "Only because my trainers got stolen," he pointed out.
The standard, two-hour tour is fascinating, if somewhat formulaic. We passed through the kitchen, the chapel and various wings, from the basic to the "five-star blocks", where cells are more like studio apartments. There was even the opportunity to buy souvenirs en route, such as some of the wives' home cooking, toy cars made from old oil cans, or a San Pedro bracelet, for around£4.
Being accompanied by inmate bodyguards at all times meant that I didn't feel physically threatened. But I did feel uncomfortable with the voyeuristic nature of the tour. Reality hit home when we visited José's cell: it was barely big enough for a bed and the "window" was a hole in the ceiling covered with corrugated iron. "Sometimes I open it for air-conditioning," he joked.
"It's not funny really," he added later, taking us to his favourite viewpoint, where, tauntingly, he can see across La Paz to the Andes beyond. "I just want to get out of here."
As José pointed out a chiselled hole in one of the concrete walls which once functioned as an escape route, we met some of the resident artisans, and climbed through a hole in a roof to see the bleak muralla solitary-confinement cells. Finally, José led us up to one of the more upmarket rooms. On a dressing table, bags of cocaine were scattered casually: a dusted mirror and credit card poised for action. The backpackers shifted awkwardly. "I think we've seen enough," they said, rising nervously.
By all reports, not everyone shows the same restraint. On the way back to the gate, the surprisingly fresh-faced bodyguard made the universally recognised sniffing signal in my direction. I politely declined again. "It's the finest in the world," he added, with a "your loss" shrug.
Before long, we were back at the main gate. "So, did you enjoy the tour?" asked José. Without doubt, it was the most interesting thing I've done for some time, but I wouldn't say I enjoyed it. In fact I wondered if I should have come at all. And, of course, I wondered where my money will go.
I tracked down author Rusty Young in Australia and asked him what he thinks of the tours now. "It would be hypocritical of me to advise people not to go," he added. "But if you do, it's important to do it with respect. Don't take photos without asking for permission, and give something back - perhaps food, medicine or books for the children. And be sure to hand them in to the delegates' offices to make sure they get to the right people."
One group of New Zealanders were so affected by their visit they sent a box of medical supplies for the under-funded clinic when they got home.
Thomas, who is now working in a hotel in Tanzania, agrees that tourism can have benefits and insists that money wasn't his original motivation. "I didn't even charge people at first. I did it to meet people because I didn't have any family out there. I ended up getting hundreds of letters from around the world and I'm still in touch with lots of the friends I made. For me, it was primarily about meeting people and sharing stories. Now it's much more like a business."
Back at my hostel, travellers were swapping San Pedro stories. One downtown tour operator told me that he's sick of being asked about it. "I wish it would stop again. I won't go myself. It feels like a zoo." He told me how one operator put together a tour package with a map. Fake guides have also been reported hanging around outside the prison, promising tours and running off with money.
Will San Pedro's unofficial tourist business be allowed to continue once a blockbuster film shines an international spotlight on it? It seems unlikely. Kenny, who has made a fulltime job out of recruiting backpackers from the plaza, has no plans to stick around for the inevitable crackdown. "When the film comes out, I'm out of here," he says. Luckily for him, he now has a choice.
• Flights from Heathrow to La Paz via Miami with Virgin and American Airlines, booked through Journey Latin America (020-8747 8315, journeylatinamerica.co.uk), cost from £678 rtn inc tax. Hotel Rosario (00591 2245 1658, hotelrosario.com), has doubles from £41 B&B. The hotel contributes to a range of social projects and employs 90% of its staff from Aymara or Quechua indigenous communities. Marching Powder by Rusty Young is published by Sidgwick & Jackson at £7.99.
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