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THE AUSTRALIAN'S WALLET

It may sound strange, but I had never had friends like the tourists I met while in prison. I had always had friends on the outside who were ready to party whenever I turned up with a few kilos of cocaine in my suitcase. But where had they been when I needed them? Who had sent me money when they had heard that I was stuck in a Bolivian jail? Who had bothered to find out where I was?

Doing time is a real test of friendship. None of my old friends passed that test. Maybe none of them had even noticed that I was missing. To me, that made it even more special that people I had never met before came to visit me and did stick by me.

Most of the travellers who had visited me were just passing through La Paz and couldn't visit more than once or twice. However, many of them stayed in contact by letters and email. I glued the postcards they sent me from all over the world onto my wall. I received mail from the United States, Australia, Canada, Germany, England, Israel, Turkey and Japan. Whenever I felt sad, I would read what the tourists had written to me, and I would soon feel better again.

Even though I only met many of these people once, I knew that they were real friends. You know how? I had nothing to give them. I couldn't give them money, I couldn't give them status, I couldn't take them to fancy places and buy drinks for them. All I had were my stories and who I was, and that was enough for them to want to stay in contact. For the first time in my life, that was enough.

However, many of the tourists did a lot more than just remain in contact – they came back to see me a third or fourth time. Some even postponed their travel plans in order to stay with me. In fact, one group of backpackers actually seemed to get stuck in La Paz, coming