20 Years On: The Day I Faced Death on Bolivia’s Infamous Death Road

How a Land Rover Launch Led to a Fight for Survival on Bolivia’s Death Road

Twenty years ago, Land Rover unveiled the Range Rover Sport. For me, that milestone also marks the only time I’ve ever feared for my life while driving. The celebration was supposed to be a high-speed preview of the new SUV on Bolivia’s infamous Camino del Muerte—the Death Road. But the road itself wasn’t the threat. It was the armed coca farmers surrounding our vehicles.

How did I end up there? The answer is still hard to believe, even two decades later.

The Journey Begins: La Paz and the Thin Air of Altitude

After months of planning, I landed in La Paz. The moment the plane doors opened, my chest tightened—not from nerves, but from the thin air. La Paz sits at nearly 12,000 feet above sea level, where oxygen is scarce and every breath feels like a struggle.

Waiting for me was a team assembled for survival: Hugo Berrios, a local guide, medic, and mountaineer; Rickard Beckman, a Swedish adventurer and former G4 Challenge competitor; and Paul Dubock, a Land Rover technician. They brought a silver Range Rover Sport and a bright orange ex-G4 Defender support vehicle—one that would later save my life in ways I couldn’t yet imagine.

On the Death Road: A Path of Peril and No Return

The Death Road drops over 1,000 feet across just 40 miles. It’s a rutted gravel track winding through rainforests and under waterfalls, with no guardrails, constant landslides, and a reputation for deadly accidents. Before we set off, I met Captain Henard Romero of Police Rescue, who shared grim statistics: “In eight years, I’ve responded to about 30 accidents involving roughly 250 people. We’ve rescued around 100. The death toll is so high because overloaded trucks and buses frequently go over the edge.”

At the time, a new road was under construction, promising safer travel. But it wasn’t open yet. The Death Road remained the only route between La Paz and Coroico, a tourist town surrounded by coca plantations.

The Coca Farmers’ Blockade: A Confrontation with Armed Protesters

Coca farming is legal in Bolivia. The leaves are used for tea or chewed to ease altitude sickness. But the real money comes from the drug trade, and the U.S. DEA wanted it stopped. A new police garrison near Chamac had angered local coca farmers, who had spent nine days blocking the road with logs and vehicles.

When we arrived at the blockade, we tried to negotiate with Walter Espejo, a coca farmer leading the protest. But as a crowd of machete-wielding, alcohol-fueled farmers gathered, retreat was our only option. There was another way to Coroico—but it meant a grueling detour through untamed terrain: muddy high plains and deep into the rainforest.

A Detour into the Unknown: Survival Against the Odds

At first, the detour went smoothly. But soon, the road deteriorated into a muddy, barely passable track. The orange Defender became our lifeline, pulling us through the worst sections. Without it, we might not have made it.

Twenty years later, I still ask myself: How did I survive that day? The answer lies in preparation, luck, and the courage of a team that refused to give up.

“In eight years I have attended maybe 30 accidents involving about 250 people. Of those we have rescued around 100. The reason that the death toll is so high is because the trucks and buses that travel the road are overloaded with people.”