If I had a camera, this is where I would post some photos of Bocas del Toro. Imagine: Caribbean islands covered in dense jungle. Brightly painted huts with thatched or zinc roofs on stilts over the water. Coconut palms and wooden boats that you take between islands. I would also probably put up a picture of my feet with their pebbled texture from so many mosquito bites. The problem with tropical paradises is that all the fauna wants to eat you.
The main town of Bocas is on Isla Colon and is based entirely on partying. After a few days of that, I ran away to Isla Bastimentos which is much quieter. There are no roads or cars and I adore it. I could gush about this place all day long.
The problem now is where do I go after this? I've been traveling on and off with a group of about 8 kids I met a few weeks ago. But the Canadians and Americans are leaving soon and the English guy is traveling north to Honduras, stopping back in Tamarindo to sell a surfboard. I'm not particularly excited about heading back to Costa Rica right now, and especially not Tamagringo. But here's the admission: I'm scared to travel alone right now. (Gah, how embarrassing! This feeling goes against everything I stand for!)
The idea of taking a boat back to the dirty port town on the mainland and getting in some half broken-down taxi and going to a bus station, and taking that bus to some new city where I will arrive with no idea where I am and will then have to get into another dodgy taxi and then.... blah, blah, you get the point. Point being, it scares the shit out of me. But that's the thing about traveling here: you are always arriving in strange cities looking just as lost as you feel and you have to trust strangers to get you around, to give you directions and to not rob and kill you.
So do I follow the kids back to Costa? Do I find a new group that is planning on staying in Panama? Or do I suck it up, take a deep breath and get in that taxi by myself?
Friday, April 22, 2011
Thursday, April 7, 2011
A shitty day.
I was robbed in Managua, Nicaragua. This is a difficult story to tell. Although the fear I felt for days afterwards has dissapated, the hot, sick humiliation of helplessness remains.
After a lazy week in Granada, I had deceided to head to the Corn Islands on the carribean coast. It was going to be an arduous 2 1/2 day journey on a combination of buses and boats. My friend Marcus and I were supposed to leave from Managua on Monday night, but I wanted to get to the city earlier to check it out. I knew it was supposed to be a poor, dirty, potentially dangerous, centerless sprawl of a city, but I figured, hey, I grew up in LA. I´m used to that sort of thing.
We arrived on Saturday afternoon. There was some sort of demonstration going on that day and our bus had to take side streets in an attempt to avoid the traffic and blocked off streets. We got to the bus station across from the university and hailed a cab. On the way down the street, several more people piled into the car. A couple in maybe their early 40´s and another young guy. This was more obnoxious than particularly alarming, as taxi colectivos are common here and one of the guys explained that the busses weren´t running regularly because of the demonstrations.
Then the cabbie started turning off onto side streets, supposedly taking short cuts. Again, it didn´t seem overly odd, as our bus had done the same thing earlier. We were in an area with dirt streets. The houses were no more than shacks, and there were piles of burning trash around. I joked that we were getting the scenic tour.
Suddenly the car stopped and all four of them fell on us. It was a moment of shocking violence and confusion. I was pinned down by the man on my right, who was punching and choking Marcus. The younger guy in front had pulled a knife. We struggled for a moment, but we were outnumbered, unarmed, surprised and scared. I remember saying ¨Stop it, stop it. We will give you what you want. What do you want? What do you want?¨ in a voice that sounded strangely calm to my own ears.
It´s hard to say exactly what happened next or for how long it went on, but then they had us both pinned down and it seemed like they were all yelling at once. The car started moving again at some point and after some more struggling, they had bound Marcus´ hands with plastic ties. They made us close our eyes. The man on my right kept yelling and punching Marcus. He told me later it was because the other guy had the knife right in front of his face, and he kept reflexively opening his eyes to keep track of it.
They went through our pockets, through our bags. They kept pushing my head down and my neck is still sore from it. But at this point I had gone entirely still and silent. Some retarded survival instinct told me to make myself as small as possible, and maybe I would escape notice. They had our wallets and all our cash and cards. They were demanding our PIN numbers and became violent again when Marcus kept giving them the same numbers for all the cards. They spoke no English, and his Spanish is limited to a few weeks of classes. They couldn´t understand that all the cards had the same PIN, and suspected he was lying to them. I whispered, ¨Son los mismos, son los mismos,¨ the only words I spoke besides when I gave them my own PIN.
I think this is when they pulled out the gun, although I can´t be sure. The man on my right, who seemed to be running the show, made it very clear that if the cards didn´t work with the number Marcus gave them, then they would shoot me. It was such classic bad guy dialogue: ¨If we find out you are lying to us, the girl gets it! You wouldn´t want anything to happen to her, would you?¨ But in Spanish, and real, and utterly terrifying. I fervently hoped he hadn´t been lyimg.
The car started and stopped, people got in and out. I had no idea where we were or what was happening, but at some point I figured they had got their money, because they seemed in a better mood, and I started to catch some conversation about where to take us.
I felt like I had been in the car for an eternity. Sweat was dripping down my face, but I didn´t want to draw their ire by moving my hands to try and wipe it away. I thought strange thoughts, alternating between mundane and morbid. I hoped that they would at least leave us our bags of clothes, as there was nothing of value in them, but I was thinking of the emergency cash I had hidden in my toiletry bag. I wondered if they would take us somewhere and kill us. I wondered if I would beg for my life or stay silent. My flipflops had fallen off, and I hoped I would be able to grab them before we were dumped because I didn´t want to walk around Managua barefoot. I thought, ¨I am getting really bored with this whole getting robbed thing.¨ I wondered if they would rape me.
The car kept going and I could tell we were getting out of town. It got quieter and I felt that we turned onto dirt roads. I think I was the most afraid at this point, because I knew the car would stop soon and I didn´t know what would happen then. There was a gun pressed against my thigh.
They dumped us and drove away, still pointing the gun at us. What would we have done? Marcus eventually got his hands free and I found that they had left my dinobag, complete with passport and wallet, in the dirt a ways fown the road.
A man approached us eventually, saying ¨What are you looking for? This is a very dangerous place for you guys to be walking around¨. I could have laughed. He gave us a ride in the back of his pickup to the highway.
And so I made it out safe, although without my backpack, clothes, no computer or camera and ipod, etc., and with a bank account that is about $550 lighter. But hey, it makes for a good story, right? And I still got my sense of humor.
After a lazy week in Granada, I had deceided to head to the Corn Islands on the carribean coast. It was going to be an arduous 2 1/2 day journey on a combination of buses and boats. My friend Marcus and I were supposed to leave from Managua on Monday night, but I wanted to get to the city earlier to check it out. I knew it was supposed to be a poor, dirty, potentially dangerous, centerless sprawl of a city, but I figured, hey, I grew up in LA. I´m used to that sort of thing.
We arrived on Saturday afternoon. There was some sort of demonstration going on that day and our bus had to take side streets in an attempt to avoid the traffic and blocked off streets. We got to the bus station across from the university and hailed a cab. On the way down the street, several more people piled into the car. A couple in maybe their early 40´s and another young guy. This was more obnoxious than particularly alarming, as taxi colectivos are common here and one of the guys explained that the busses weren´t running regularly because of the demonstrations.
Then the cabbie started turning off onto side streets, supposedly taking short cuts. Again, it didn´t seem overly odd, as our bus had done the same thing earlier. We were in an area with dirt streets. The houses were no more than shacks, and there were piles of burning trash around. I joked that we were getting the scenic tour.
Suddenly the car stopped and all four of them fell on us. It was a moment of shocking violence and confusion. I was pinned down by the man on my right, who was punching and choking Marcus. The younger guy in front had pulled a knife. We struggled for a moment, but we were outnumbered, unarmed, surprised and scared. I remember saying ¨Stop it, stop it. We will give you what you want. What do you want? What do you want?¨ in a voice that sounded strangely calm to my own ears.
It´s hard to say exactly what happened next or for how long it went on, but then they had us both pinned down and it seemed like they were all yelling at once. The car started moving again at some point and after some more struggling, they had bound Marcus´ hands with plastic ties. They made us close our eyes. The man on my right kept yelling and punching Marcus. He told me later it was because the other guy had the knife right in front of his face, and he kept reflexively opening his eyes to keep track of it.
They went through our pockets, through our bags. They kept pushing my head down and my neck is still sore from it. But at this point I had gone entirely still and silent. Some retarded survival instinct told me to make myself as small as possible, and maybe I would escape notice. They had our wallets and all our cash and cards. They were demanding our PIN numbers and became violent again when Marcus kept giving them the same numbers for all the cards. They spoke no English, and his Spanish is limited to a few weeks of classes. They couldn´t understand that all the cards had the same PIN, and suspected he was lying to them. I whispered, ¨Son los mismos, son los mismos,¨ the only words I spoke besides when I gave them my own PIN.
I think this is when they pulled out the gun, although I can´t be sure. The man on my right, who seemed to be running the show, made it very clear that if the cards didn´t work with the number Marcus gave them, then they would shoot me. It was such classic bad guy dialogue: ¨If we find out you are lying to us, the girl gets it! You wouldn´t want anything to happen to her, would you?¨ But in Spanish, and real, and utterly terrifying. I fervently hoped he hadn´t been lyimg.
The car started and stopped, people got in and out. I had no idea where we were or what was happening, but at some point I figured they had got their money, because they seemed in a better mood, and I started to catch some conversation about where to take us.
I felt like I had been in the car for an eternity. Sweat was dripping down my face, but I didn´t want to draw their ire by moving my hands to try and wipe it away. I thought strange thoughts, alternating between mundane and morbid. I hoped that they would at least leave us our bags of clothes, as there was nothing of value in them, but I was thinking of the emergency cash I had hidden in my toiletry bag. I wondered if they would take us somewhere and kill us. I wondered if I would beg for my life or stay silent. My flipflops had fallen off, and I hoped I would be able to grab them before we were dumped because I didn´t want to walk around Managua barefoot. I thought, ¨I am getting really bored with this whole getting robbed thing.¨ I wondered if they would rape me.
The car kept going and I could tell we were getting out of town. It got quieter and I felt that we turned onto dirt roads. I think I was the most afraid at this point, because I knew the car would stop soon and I didn´t know what would happen then. There was a gun pressed against my thigh.
They dumped us and drove away, still pointing the gun at us. What would we have done? Marcus eventually got his hands free and I found that they had left my dinobag, complete with passport and wallet, in the dirt a ways fown the road.
A man approached us eventually, saying ¨What are you looking for? This is a very dangerous place for you guys to be walking around¨. I could have laughed. He gave us a ride in the back of his pickup to the highway.
And so I made it out safe, although without my backpack, clothes, no computer or camera and ipod, etc., and with a bank account that is about $550 lighter. But hey, it makes for a good story, right? And I still got my sense of humor.
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