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SAN PEDRO PRISON TOURS

It depended on which officer was on duty and how strictly the guards were cracking down, at the time. If something had ever happened to one of the tourists, the major would have lost his job. But for a few extra dollars, he usually considered that to be a worthwhile risk. He always asked that I keep visitors in my room to prevent them being seen by too many people and to minimise the risk of any incidents. This limited what we could do, but it didn't stop us from enjoying ourselves. For most tourists, it was the excitement of being able to spend the night in a third-world prison that mattered. That's one experience that very few people in the world get to have. It's something they would remember and tell people about for the rest of their lives. Besides, at the going price, with all the modern conveniences, including a private room with comfortable mattress, television, electricity, running water, cooking, washing and laundry facilities, and a wide selection of quality restaurants, San Pedro prison was one of the better-value accommodations for backpackers in La Paz. And with no police around and a constant supply of cheap, pure cocaine, it was one of the best places to party in South America.

Usually, I would cook a meal and get the spare mattresses and sheets ready for when we wanted to sleep. Then we would buy some more beers or a bottle of rum and more packets of cocaine, and maybe some marijuana to bring us down at the end of the night. But always, there was cocaine. Outside, people normally take cocaine when they're at a club, drinking and dancing. That wasn't an option in jail, so the main thing we did on cocaine in San Pedro was talk. We talked a lot. Once I'd had a few lines, the stories I had stored up from seven years of international drug trafficking would flow and the tourists would sit listening, spellbound.

I also enjoyed hearing my visitors' stories about their travels. There wasn't enough space in my room for more than five people to sleep, so if a whole group wanted to stay, we would have to stay up until morning, doing coke, drinking and talking.

One night, five or six backpackers were sitting around my table at three in the morning, completely drunk and high on coke. They were from various countries and no one could stop talking, least of all Jay, an American, who had studied anthropology at university. He was explaining something about the Incan empire, which I was finding interesting, but everyone else had become bored.