The Distorted Reality of Cocaine Tourism

In a bar, a woman discretely leaves for the toilet from time to time. When she is back she seems rejuvenated– fun, talkative and enthusiastic. We are now going to a place where discretion is no longer necessary, Route 36. Possibly the world’s most famous cocaine bar.

Rumours of this illicit place had raised my expectations but when we walk through the unimpressive door of a rundown apartment building I am disappointed: the interior is tacky, perhaps suitably so. Bright orange and green sofas form a tasteless ensemble; neon lights lead us to a distorted world.

A colourful mixture of people surrounds us: alpaca-jumper-clad backpackers mix with hipsters and provocative women. A group of Australian couples in their thirties are sitting next to us. On the dance floor they bend and buckle around, jumping and singing to the mix of mainstream music. This enthusiasm is only shortlived, after a few moves they leave the dance floor - back to what they are really here for - consumption. The dance floor will remain empty for most of the evening.

Route 36 epitomizes a rapidly growing trend across Bolivia - cocaine tourism. The people who visit here are not regular cocaine users; they see Route 36 as another experience on their tourist trail of South America- Machu Picchu, Death Road, Route 36. The bar moves every few months to avoid being shut down, so its location is passed on through word of mouth in backpacker hostels. This is a world made up entirely of tourists, a gringo heaven, there are no Bolivians in Route 36 (aside from the owners), mainly because they wouldn’t be allowed in. This is both for security reasons and so that the bar maintains an exclusive clientele.

An important source of tourists’ fascination with the infamous cocaine industry is the book Marching Powder by Rusty Young. The book describes the tale of a British drug smuggler, Thomas McFadden, who was imprisoned in the notorious San Pedro prison. McFadden began to run prison tours for tourists and describes how ‘during the first year and a half all my visitors were backpackers aged in their twenties who were looking for adventure’, also recounting how the best cocaine in the country could be found inside San Pedro. The book can be found on the bookshelves of many hostels, being passed between travellers, eager to read this bizarre and gripping testimony.

Today The Lonely Planet, the backpacker bible, strongly advises against visiting the prison, stating that tours are illegal and warning readers that the danger of visiting it to buy cocaine cannot be overstated. There is no protection or guarantee of tourists’ safety within the prison and the Bolivian authorities have been cracking down on prison tourism: in 2009 in order to solve the problem they restricted prisoner visiting hours, a change which resulted in riots in the prison. However, with places such as Route 36 it is clear that cocaine tourism continues to flourish. McFadden famously claimed that San Pedro was the best place to party in South America and it is clear that backpackers’ desire for this type of adventure hasn’t waned despite the crackdown on visits to the prison.

Yet cocaine tourism is but a facet within the long and diverse history of coca leaf products. The coca leaf in its natural form is an integral feature of Bolivian culinary and medicinal traditions, grounds on which the current government defends the right to grow it. Nonetheless, it is no secret that the highest profits derived from coca come from activities associated with cocaine production. This market is perverse as is it is subversive, for while Bolivia is the second largest producer of cocaine in the world (just behind Colombia), it is not a significant consumer. Bolivian cocaine usage is confined to small segments of the elite classes and tourists, a negligible business compared with the export industry: the cocaine produced in Bolivia is exported to 174 countries, of which North America and Europe, make up 67% of global cocaine consumption, according to the United Nations Office of Drugs and Crime statistics 2008. Nevertheless, tourists continue to seek the thrill of cocaine at its source for two reasons: cost and purity. The further cocaine travels the more expensive it becomes, costing $108 per gram in Europe and North America versus $11 for the same amount in Central and South America. Once it has made its way across the trafficking routes it is also more likely to be cut with other products and chemicals, such as baking powder, meaning that there is an implicit guarantee of purity in Bolivian locales like Route 36.

Cocaine tourism may have made a name for itself in the country, yet it represents only a speck in the global context, in which Bolivia remains predominantly a producer. Meanwhile, the highest consumption rates worldwide are in North America, UK, Spain and Italy, while cocaine in Bolivia, cheap by international standards, still remains financially out of reach for most Bolivians, and has not become a widespread part of popular culture in the way it has elsewhere. Where Eric Clapton croons of the drug -‘she don’t lie, she don’t lie, she don’t lie; cocaine’- Bolivians are more likely to be found singing ‘hoja verde de la coca...compañero de la vida’ (green coca leaf... my partner for life) or ‘coca no es cocaína, coca es la hoja sagrada’ (coca is not cocaine, coca is the sacred leaf). This reality is often lost upon tourists who believe that route 36 might offer an authentic experience. While it remains niche, Bolivian black market entrepreneurs are tapping into tourists expectations for drug availability and selling an experience that allows tourists to feel they’re getting the real deal in what is ultimately an illusory setting.

Band interview

If you have been to TTKOS, Parque de las Cholas or Tercer Festival Intercultural del Amor these last two months you may have come across the reggae-hardcore fusion act that is Matamba y Zion. Although originally from Buenos Aires, Juan Carlos Chiorino Basurco (Matamba) has been living in Bolivia since the age of ten and is firmly rooted here, with musical links in both La Paz and Santa Cruz. Matamba has accompanied many established artists such as Shakira, The Black Eyed Peas and Los Pericos and on the 21st of September will kick off his international tour in Tacna, Peru.

When and why did you call yourself Matamba?

It’s a nickname I was given when I was still in school in Santa Cruz. There was a footballer there who was dark skinned like me and he had the last name Matamba. As well as this, a ‘matamba’ is a palm tree. I’m very tall and thin and had curly hair, which made me look like a palm tree.

What was the inspiration for you song ‘Favela’?

In Latin America we have a lot of ghettos; in some places they’re called ‘villas’, in Chile they’re called ‘poblas’ and in Brazil ‘favelas’. Here in Bolivia they’re called ‘villas’. These are marginalised places where people don’t give a damn, people live there because they’re drug addicts, part of a gang, bad people in society… these people get labelled slum dogs, outcasts. For example in an office if something goes missing and someone from a villa is working there, the first suspect will usually be him.

So the song is meant to eliminate stereotypes?

Exactly. This is why the lyrics say “Favela nao da para ficar triste”, ‘The Favela isn’t a reason to be unhappy’, it’s like a gift. The people of villas are born fighters because in a villa life is much more complicated.

Do you have Portuguese connections?

I have family roots in Salvador de Bahía so I can speak Portuguese.

Do you think that it is difficult to be a young artist in Bolivia?

Yes. The struggle never stops, the fight is on all sides. There are stereotypes about music, you are always perceived as having some sort of drug or alcohol problem, or are called bohemian or a ‘good for nothing’, the type who sleeps only with his guitar wherever he can. So people don’t take many musicians seriously, they treat them badly. You often smoke weed, so yes, it’s a problem. And then there’s financial support – often people support other types of artists, there are other cultural worlds too. I don’t have anything against this, I’m just saying that people support other things, fashion shows, models…what do I know…flesh sells more than one’s soul.

How does the music scene in La Paz differ from that of Santa Cruz?

I think both are growing at the moment. In La Paz, yes they’re taking risks and trying new things, supporting music, and this makes me very happy. They really support art and alternative music in La Paz, so there’s not too much cumbia or too much reggaetón, for example. However in Santa Cruz there’s also a good music scene so it’s not all that different.

Would you say there was more hardcore in Santa Cruz, or here in La Paz?

It’s in Santa Cruz where I first did hardcore. Hardcore has grown a lot but it has also declined a bit in Santa Cruz; while there are still hardcore bands, a tropical scene has developed in Santa Cruz, for instance there’s been a lot of influence from Brazilian music, pojo and reggaetón.

Apart from hardcore, which aspects of KERUX and Contracultura influence your music today?

Hardcore is a very strong influence in my life, it makes up half of who I am. Reggae and hardcore. These are always my influences as I’m a hardcore roots man, and of course, as they defined the first band that I formed, they had a lot of influence on my music. Now we are creating ‘dread style’, which means a reggae sound from this part of the world, a mix of reggae and hardcore. We want to show the musical world another sound because so many metalcore bands are similar. So creating something new is really important.

The political origins of reggae are Jamaican, do you think that Bolivians can relate to these origins?

Today we live in a time very similar to that of Marley. When Marley was around there was an internal political problem in Jamaica, problems between the two parties that meant they took up arms. This is very similar to here, where people have invented problems between people, they’ve invented a socio-cultural problem between cambas and collas. This problem has grown and people are forgetting that they are brothers in our same country, just with different accents. This accent doesn’t mean that their blood is different, that they no longer have two eyes, a nose, a mouth, fingers…so I believe that in this way Jamaica then is similar to Bolivia today. Is there hope? I believe so. There was in Jamaica then, and I see hope here today.

Does politics influence your music?

I’m not a politician, I’m social but I’m not political. Because in politics you have to be part of one political party or other. And I won’t be part of one, Rasta people can’t be.

In English in Rasta language there are expressions like “I and I” – do these expressions exist in Spanish Rasta language?

Yes because “I and I” is no different from “yo y yo”. “Yo y yo” is a transparent mirror of me and you, however the image the I see in it is of you, it’s as if I were you…if you hurt an unknown person then you are hurting yourself. “Yo y yo” is a biblical idea, it’s to love your brother as yourself. It’s “me and father Jah”. “Yo y yo” is a concept, a way of life, it’s how people should learn to act and live, isn’t it?

Because language is formed by your way of life…

Of course. Rasta as a principle is like writing, culture, it’s applies to and is in everything. Rasta doesn’t just mean that you have dreads…So I keep fighting, and I’m only flesh and bone, I’m sad, but I’m also annoyed and everything, but I try…

In the lyrics of your songs?

That’s right.

A fare-changing game

Urban lore has it that you’ll find a taxi driver roaming the streets of La Paz at night who will challenge you to a game en route to your destination. He typically gives you a green hardcover book - the 2012 Universal Almanack. “Ask me any question from that book”. The rules are as follows: for every question he gets right your fare increases by Bs.1 and for every question he gets wrong, it goes down by Bs.1 accordingly.

It’s on, Mr Durán. “What’s the capital of Burma?” I ask. “Burma, also called Myanmar. The capital used to be Rangoon, now it’s Naypyidaw. Do you want me to tell you the surface area and population?” He proceeds to quote them to the last digit, missing the surface area by a few kilometres. “I have a margin of error of 1%, it’s sometimes hard to remember the last few numbers”.

Mario Durán is a bespectacled and softly spoken man in his 60s who works the night shift in a pretty ordinary-looking taxi. He can often be found driving up and down the steep streets of Sopocachi, on occasion frequenting the Honguito fast food hangouts on the Belisario Salinas where he receives a discount in exchange for giving the workers a cheap ride home at the end of the night. “I work the night shift because I’m too old to put up with the traffic and social protests of the day time”.

Mario Durán knows the exchange rate, capital, population and landmass of every country in the Almanack (though he bitterly points out that in the latest edition, the surface area for 105 countries has changed in relation to the previous version, sometimes by as much as two digits). He also knows an ungodly amount of information about local and international football, sometimes to unthinkable levels of granularity. “The Bolivian Football league was inaugurated on the 23rd of August 1977 at 21:47 at the Radisson Hotel”. He continues: “Bolivar won the cup 17 times, followed by the Strongest who won it 9, then Blooming and Wilstermann, who have 5 championships each [he goes on listing teams and cup titles]”. His general knowledge is also impressive. “You can ask me any question”, he requests with a certain eagerness. I proceed to ask him to list the 7 Wonders of the Ancient World, which he patiently enumerates, with some hesitation towards the end. He knows he’s not infallible, and this is part of his charm and humanity.

“I am deductive. I inherited this trait from my mother. She was even more deductive than me, she could predict the future”, he says, not suggesting for a second that she had supernatural powers, but rather explaining that this ability resulted from being able to reach logical conclusions based on a set of facts. “I am also very analytical...numbers are my friends”.

Upon meeting him, people often wonder how an individual with such a prodigious memory and ease with numbers might not have been able to build a career as something else – a statistician or geographer, perhaps. Mario Durán  always knew he had a gift for remembering facts, even as a small child. “At school I was always in the top set of the class. One year I was even the best student – though I never dropped below fifth place”. However, due to financial difficulties he was never able to finish tertiary education. “My life has always been work. Right now my life is only this taxi – I have to work for 10-12 hours a day so have little time to expand other interests”.

Through some chance encounters, he is sometimes able to project his life beyond the taxi which he drives for a living. “One day I picked up Evo Morales – this was back when he was only a member of parliament”. He went through the routine with him; Evo picked China from the Almanack. “He congratulated me when I got every question right…and you know what? I knew he was going to be President”. How could he have known? “It’s because I’m deductive. I could see it coming through everything happening around me: the way people think, the situation with the country’s hydrocarbons; it was obvious really […]

I should have told him ‘You’re going to be President’. Maybe now I would be part of his team of advisors, or working for his government in some way.

Without displaying any conspicuous traits commonly associated with superhuman mental abilities (such as a lack of social awareness), Mario Durán is certainly a savant of sorts; the main evidence being, perhaps, his inability to explain how he does what he does. When prompted, he begins to talk about how he sorts countries by regions, and then associates them based on the last digit of their total population. It’s all very unclear. Most remarkable, perhaps, is his apparent inability to remember faces. “People are surprised when I don’t recognise them […] it’s interesting how people are born with different types of intelligence”.

I ask him who he admires. After some thought he mentions Gandhi, but quickly qualifies his answer with digressions that take him into a universe of facts and figures about India (how many languages are spoken there, the size of it’s territory, etc.), returning after several tangents to explain what a challenge it must have been to unite a country so vast and fragmented. It’s clear numbers and facts occupy a much larger part of his mental vocabulary than do ideologies. He also looks up to Angela Merkel, yet immediately relates this to how he admires the orderliness and dedication of the German people. Similarly, when I ask him which famous personality he would like to meet, he spends some time in thought before saying, “It’s hard to say, the probability of meeting them is so low it wouldn’t make sense to choose someone”. It is answers such as these that reveal how things work in Mario Durán’s brain. Things either are, or they are not, with limited room for what they could be. One wonders whether the subjunctive tests the limits of his mind more than the innumerable facts he keeps.

What does he hope to get out of this peculiar routine with passengers? “I want to encourage people to learn more, to become better prepared.” He tells me of the time he was treated by a bad doctor who charged him without curing his ailment, lamenting that individuals like these are symptomatic of the country’s lack of social and economic development. “The country can only move forward through knowledge. Of course, doing what I do also makes these journeys more interesting, and that is good. Bolivia is far behind other countries in the region. In terms of development indicators we’re 30th out of 33 countries. Worldwide we’re 136th. The country needs more knowledge”. He turns round the corner of the 20 de Octubre to leave me at my destination. “Why do I do this? Well some people tell me it’s the best taxi ride I’ve ever had in my life.” Mario Durán smiles. “I like that.”

Mario Durán can be reached on 725 65424