Uh-oh, part of me doesn’t want to write about this but, at the same time, I can’t describe my day without making reference to it. In fact, I’m still shaking a bit, so I can’t ignore it… I’m afraid I’ve had my first nasty experience here in Mexico, as a guy tried to snatch my bag this afternoon here in Oaxaca and I got into a bit of a struggle with him. Thank goodness nothing too terrible happened and, in the end, all he got away with was the keys to the hostel I’m staying in at present. It was a small miracle considering... I grazed my knee slightly when I fell over in the scuffle but apart from that I’m unscathed. Well, I don't know... I guess he stole a bit of my confidence and peace of mind. It's the same kind of feeling I had when my flat in Hackney was burgled a couple of years ago, and that’s what I resent the most - someone stealing my self-assurance and making me nervous. Oh well, I suppose I couldn’t imagine my trip passing by without anything unpleasant happening. If this is the worst that happens to me I will have done OK – but I do still feel fearful…
Anyway, I will tell the story in its fullness in a bit. I arrived here in Oaxaca at about 7 this morning after a freezing overnight coach journey that prevented me from getting much sleep. The ‘Bambabus’ experience was a bit of a disappointment, actually, as all it turned out to be was an ‘OCC’ bus (a regular bus company here) with over efficient air-conditioning - not exactly the special sociable bus full of like minded travellers that I envisaged. Maybe Puerto Escondido to Oaxaca was just a less popular route contracted out to another bus company though. We’ll see when I make the next stage of my journey on Monday.
Jesus’ phone numbers still weren’t functioning when I tried yet again to call him this morning, so I had to give up on my plans of Couchsurfing here (one of the numbers got me through to a very perplexed sounding woman who didn’t seem to know him, the other ended up in an annoying recorded message – ‘este numero no existe, por favour verificarlo’). Maybe I wasn’t using the right code or something, who knows? Or maybe Jesus is just a tricky guy to get hold of on the blower! I decided to check myself into a hostel at least for tonight, and the one I found seems passable - even if there’s some rather grotty mould in the corner of the room, and the staff weren’t overly sympathetic about my bag snatching drama.
It was after checking in, unpacking my stuff and relaxing a bit, that I decided to go and have a wander around the city. It was a hot and oppressive afternoon here in Oaxaca (although not as humid as Barra De Navidad and Puerto Escondido, which is a relief) and, when I walked around the market, I saw (and I’m afraid still wimped out of) lots of chapulines. They are considered something of a delicacy here, and are sold by toothless grinning women by the basketful - quite a sight to behold. And, er, quite a smell... Now I’ve got up close to so many of them (the baskets are piled high all around the market here and you can't avoid them), I’ve realised they really do pong - a nasty fishy kind of niff, which I’m afraid has put me off trying them even more.
Anyway, after stopping off for a refreshing fruit salad, and also avoiding being plied with mescal (which I will try, but which I couldn’t quite face in the heat of the day – especially not with a worm in the bottle!), I decided to walk up to the ‘auditoria’ here. This is a park overlooking the city with particularly special views, and I fancied a bit of a hike. Nothing in my guide book warned against going up there alone and, in the afternoon sun, although it seemed quite deserted, there were a couple of other people stood at the top – women selling ice-creams and drinks and stuff.
It was at the top, when I was taking a photo of the view, that I noticed a shifty looking man staring at me. My first reaction was along the lines of ‘here we go again’, and I turned on my heels to leave, not feeling in the mood at that point to diplomatically get myself out of another chat-up situation with a local lothario. I thought I’d shaken him off, but it was just around the corner, when we were out of the view of everyone else, that his steps caught up with mine and he muttered something about my ‘bolsa’, pointing at my handbag. “No”, I growled, daring to look him in the eye and exchange glances with him. He must have seen the fear in me, but I was putting on a front. Thank goodness I don’t think I saw hatred or the intent to do violence in his eyes, but they danced around and suddenly fired up in a surge of determination as he made a grab for the bag anyway. It was then that I realised that the situation was going to be a lot more horrible than I had first imagined.
I don’t know if it was a wise move to struggle so much, and I certainly wouldn’t have done so if he had had a knife or anything. However, he was a skinny little bloke, not much bigger than me, and my sense of indignation got the better of me. I grabbed the bag back, and started to scream. Unfortunately, at that point, I lost hold of it, fell over and, I’m actually not ashamed to say (although it was rather embarrassing), I wet myself in response to all the terror that was coursing through my veins. The guy ran off and started to scale a nearby fence, but, having got this far, I wasn’t going to give up. I scrambled up and chased after him, hollering at the top of my lungs and, in a last rather pathetic attempt to stop him, chucking my ‘Rough Guide To Mexico’ (the only thing I still had on me) at his head! I think it shocked him a bit, that I was putting up such a fight, and I saw him lose his footing slightly. However, he swiftly vanished from sight and appeared to have got away with it.
I turned around crying, and dejectedly walked away, although, by this point, a small crowd had gathered. I have to say, I wasn’t quite sure how they’d react – might they secretly side with the robber, pretend not to have seen, and treat me with a veiled kind of contempt reserved for silly foreign tourists who go wandering off the beaten track? Although, looking back, it took them a while to come to my aid, they were, in the end, extremely helpful and kind. Plus, it was when one of them led me through to the garden the thief had tried to escape into, that the miraculous discovery was made. Scattered all around, but pretty much undamaged, were all of my belongings! At first I just saw the empty bag, and figured that the guy must have grabbed the goods inside and run. No, though – beside it on a tuft of grass was my camera, then, a few inches away, my purse with all my money and cards still inside. So strange… I wonder if he’d just taken fright and prioritised getting away from the scene above pinching my stuff. Part of me hopes, though, that he was shocked into shame by my struggle, and that he perhaps even saw the little puddle on the ground behind me and felt a deep sense of disgrace that made him alter his plans. Who knows? I don’t despise the guy, but I do hope that he feels a very thorough kind of remorse for having put me through that.
So before I knew what was happening, a lovely Mexican schoolgirl who must have been about 14 or 15 was giving me the hug that I needed more than anything else at that point, and my tears were staining her school uniform as various housewives and shop keepers gathered round. Two policemen scooted up on a motorbike and jotted down some very preliminary details of the incident on a small notebook with a cartoon character on the front. I don’t think officialdom or efficiency is the forte of the Mexican police force (and my Spanish was wavering at this point as I tried to explain exactly what had happened). However, they were very chivalrous and, after all the fuss had died down, they gave me a ‘police escort’ back to my hostel, riding slowly beside me on their motorbike as I walked back the couple of hundred yards or so back.
So here I am, back at the hostel, safe and generally unharmed (I’ve showered and taken my peed-upon clothes to the local laundrette!). However, I'm undoubtedly a bit shaken. I feel hugely fortunate when I think of all the ways in which the situation could have unfolded (I certainly ended up with the best possible outcome). I'm also pretty hurt, though, and am questioning what the future holds for me on my travels. Mexico is, in my mind, and from what I have read, one of the safest couIntries that I am due to be visiting and now I feel a bit daunted about what lies ahead. It's definitely going to take a while for me to recover the confidence that has perhaps protected me up until now (walking with my head held high, looking like I know where I’m going). However, with time, I hope it will return. Perhaps this incident was a blessing in disguise – a kind of warning to remind me to always be prudent and to never let myself get out of sight of other people, even in broad daylight.
As I said, the hostel staff could have been a bit more sympathetic (I’ve just been issued with a new key, and told sternly ‘not to lose this one’, even though I gave them a sob story about what happened!). The other people in my dorm have been really kind, though, and a whole run of stories about similar incidents and mishaps have been shared since I started to tell people what happened. I’m now about to go out for tacos and beer with three of the guys I've met here and I think that’s very much what I need – just to unwind and try to forget about it for a bit while I lick my wounds and try to get back on track. When I think about it, I've lived in the badlands of Hackney for 6 years without getting mugged, so maybe this was just the place and time where my luck was due to run out. Anyway, all the fear and drama has left me ravenous so I'm going to call it a day for now and go off to eat...
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