cision to lead us directly to his own
home in El Alto, where we could
quickly conceal the jeeps and motor-
bikes behind garage doors and a high
mudbrick fence. In defying the no-
drive dictate, these two brothers had
put their own family’s safety at risk, a
point which was not lost on our now
visibly shaken adventurers.
We took stock of our predicament,
and of our immediate environment.
The living conditions of our two driv-
ers, who had become our friends over
the course of the past three-weeks,
was an eye-opener for all of us.
An adobe mud-brick house of low
rooms and very primitive facilities,
in the heart of the poorest nation in
South America, this was just slightly
above what would be called a slum
in many other countries. Typical-
ly, it housed an extended family of
three generations. In an area cov-
ering about half the size of a tennis
court we now had two cars, nine
bikes, ten foreigners, about 12 family
members and five mangy, flea-bitten
dogs. The family responded magnif-
icently to the occasion, and rapidly
produced food for us and prepared
to house us for the night. We could
hardly complain at being crammed
five-to-a-room, two-to-a-bed, since
they crammed themselves in a simi-
lar fashion for these foreigners who
did not even speak Spanish.
Later that day, the gunfire began.
Running street battles raged in the
area. Throughout the night, between
the police and the compañeros. It
was obvious this was becoming much
more.
A large proportion of the com-
mon-folk rebel movement was rep-
resented by the cocaine cartels,
providing ready access to arms and
munitions, and many thousand red-
neck miners who have access to dy-
namite and gelignite! Explosions
rocked the surrounding suburbs. We
didn’t get a very good night’s sleep.
Little did we suspect that we were
to remain holed-up here for five days.
The international airport was
closed, to close to El Alto to be con-
sidered safe. All foreigners immedi-
ately came under suspicion.
Not recognised in a nearby neigh-
bourhood, Roberto even had the
tyres on his bicycle slashed. He'd just
been searching for food for his 'house
guests'.
As the country lurched towards
civil war, the price of all commodities
skyrocketed, food supplies rapidly
dwindled. Still no motorized trans-
port was allowed, all gasoline sup-
TRAVERSE
51
plies had long since dried up, it mat-
tered little anyway.
If anyone had known our two hid-
den jeeps were carrying drums with
150 litres of spare gas, it’s certain we
would have immediately been under
siege.
On the third night, the raging street
battle passed down our street, right
by our rooms. Our little windows
only looked out upon the internal
courtyard, so we couldn’t actually see
the goings-on, but it’s a very edifying
experience to hear machine-gun fire