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Location: Cochabamba, Bolivia, South America
Overconfidence can be a dangerous thing. Unfortunately I
didn’t recognize this as I was walking confidently around
the Bolivian city of Cochabamba with an Argentinean
friend, named Pablo, whom I had recently met. Being a Sunday
the streets were quiet but that abruptly changed when a man
approached us.
The man asked to see our passports after informing us that
he was an undercover cop working for immigration and flashing
his identification. I handed him my passport but Pablo didn’t
have his. Still wielding my passport in one hand, after flipping
through it, he hailed a taxi and told us to get in so that
he could take us to their office. Pablo and the man had a
short discussion after which Pablo motioned me to the taxi
assuring me that it’s okay and so we got into the back
while the officer took the front passenger seat.
My Spanish was lacking and the dialogue was fast but Pablo
was there to speak for us. We hadn’t driven very far
when the officer suddenly yelled at two others on the street
to get in the car. They got into the back, one on each side,
having the two of us trapped.
One man claimed to the officer that he was a Peruvian tourist
while the other was introduced as the officer’s partner.
As they were checking our arms for drug needle punctures the
car was taking all sorts of turns that made it impossible
to discern where we were. Suddenly we were in a quiet neighbourhood
with hardly a soul on the streets. Not good. These cops were
now searching through everything we had. They returned my
belongings and I began verifying that everything was there
but they warned me not to and made a motion to mimic a throat
being cut. Eventually we were allowed to exit the car and
they drove off leaving us a bit shaken but intact. All my
money was gone. Fortunately they were “generous”
enough to return my passport.
It was a set-up from the beginning and they were all working
together. None of them were cops or tourists. Pablo and I
had time to talk about it during the 45 minute walk back to
our hostel. He told me that they were not bad people but that
this was a form of employment in Bolivia. Bolivia is the poorest
country in South America. Somehow his reasoning failed to
comfort me, as this was not the way I planned to support the
Bolivian economy. The experience did teach me to be watchful
and not to carry everything of importance with me. I shouldn’t
have got into the car to begin with but since he had my passport
it was difficult not to. This convinced me to carry a photocopy
of my passport, instead of the real thing, more often. Fortunately
it did not discourage me from travelling through stunning
Bolivia, as that would have been a real crime; after all,
one robbery during my nine months of South American backpacking
is not so bad, especially if it helped their economy!
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