A good day gone bad

Well, it´s fair to say that today I reached an all-time low in my traveling career.
It´s 3.30pm and I have just left the police station after making a statement.
But let me start at the beginning.....

It began as a great day - slept the best I have all trip (body clock finally nearing South American time. Yay!) Breakfasted early, and then hit the streets of Quito for my first look around since arriving late last night.

Having read all the conflicting information about the relative safety (or otherwise) of the New Town versus Old Town, I decided to stay my first night in the New Town. It seemed there was no avoiding the risks (muggings, assaults...you know the deal), so in the end it was a practical decision - I just added another night to my already-booked Galapagos tour accommodation.


Thinking it a good way to see the lie of the land and take in some Ecuadorian city life, I took a walk from New Town to Old. The new city is quite unremarkable - dodgy 70s architecture, lots of touristy hotels and cafes... But the Old Town is something quite special. It´s full of winding cobbled streets lined with brightly coloured colonial buildings, wide open plazas, and enormous cathedrals dating back to the 1500s. All this set amongst towering volcanic mountains which seem to rise up from behind the buildings. Muy bello!

All in all, I had a fabulous morning taking photos, wandering the streets, and sampling the street food. Discovered a fantastic sweet which consists of shredded coconut and vanilla-flavoured toffee, rolled into a ball. Less of a hit was the Empanada Verde - apparently authentic Ecuatorian food, but not sure where ´verde´ comes into it since there was no green, just cheese inside (phew).

Anyways, the sun was shining and all was good in the Spanish-speaking world (as far as I could tell, being merely a spectator). It was about 1315hrs, and I had just paid a visit to the Monastario de Carmen Alto and was impressed with the vast array of healing waters, honey and religious vestments for sale in the store on site. I was standing under an old archway, admiring the view up the street to the mountains, when suddenly I felt something wet on the backs of my calves. I looked down and saw bright green....something?? on my trousers. Before I had time to even ascertain what the substance was, a man in his 40s approached me and told me I had something on my legs. I had no idea what it was and was asking him. I´m sure he said ¨toilet¨ in response, which I took to mean that it was something quite disgusting, as you can imagine. He offered me a tissue and a quick smell-test convinced me it was....mustard. Bizarre. I looked around for some kids who were guilty of the practical joke on the poor tourist, but didn´t see any looking suspicious. I used the tissue the man gave me, but it did very little, given the extent to which I´d been hit with said condiment. He led me to a nearby toilet, which was part of a dodgy old restaurant (not a restaurant as we know it - more like people sitting around in a mechanic´s workshop eating at plastic tables).

We go into the toilets, the man gives me a few more napkins and I try to splash water on my lower trouser legs. It´s at this point that the man starts wiping my backpack and trying to get it off me. Unbeknowns to me, it was also struck by the mustard gun. He takes my camera from around my neck as it´s impossible to get my pack off otherwise. I show some reluctance in letting him remove my camera, but I think to myself "Why do I need to worry about him? He didn´t have to help me when he saw me out on the street covered in green... He must have genuinely good intentions or he wouldn´t have offered to help me...Just trust the man for once..." The man places the camera on the floor near my feet and I look up. He suggests I go into the toilet cubicle - I´m not sure why, and I´m distracted by this strange suggestion. Within 5 seconds, I look back and my camera bag is gone.
I am hysterical. Devastated. Disbelieving. And other unflattering things all at once, at that moment. The phrase ´howling like a banshee´comes to mind when I reflect on it. I run for the door, following the man who had lead me in there in the first place, crying "My camera! Thief!" I grab the man by the shirt and he just shrugs and ignores me, so I run back into the toilets thinking I might be going crazy, but of course I´m not. The camera is gone.

At this moment, I feel physically ill. I can´t believe what´s happened. I´m crying out of anger and frustration and the obvious loss of my photos (a camera is just a camera after all, but the memories are all gone...) The toilet and the restaurant-cum-mechanics workshop was full of people at the time of the robbery and still, yet everyone is silent. I am really crying now, and all these people are just standing around watching me. Some of them I know witnessed what happened.

After some more hysterical running around on my part (it wasn´t pretty, I assure you), an old man walks me around the corner to a police station. Sitting on the steps are a couple in their early 40s, and clearly speaking my language. My story comes spilling out - a barrage of anger and frustration and, dare I say it, defeat. I suddenly feel so defeated by this experience. What a ridiculous idea for me to come to this place on my own... I know it´s only a camera, but the stress is unrelenting. The constant looking over my shoulder, wondering if I´m safe, not being able to trust people.... At that moment I feel as though every last ounce of my will to continue on this trip has been sapped from me. I have never known such a feeling of defeat, at the hands of one of my own aspirations...

As some bitter sweet reassurance it turns out I was not alone in falling for this scam. The Aussie woman on the police station steps is waiting to make a statement about an almost identical incident yesterday (the most obvious difference being the attacker´s choice of weapon - in her case, mayonnaise). So together we sit and give thanks for the fact that we still have our health, in between feeling incredible frustration and anger about what happened.

The police at this station didn´t speak English, so eventually a police car arrives and takes us to another police station in the New Town. It´s a long, convoluted journey and I am exceedingly grateful for the company of my fellow Aussies. At the station we make a statement - a long, detailed document (good), which we needed to complete twice (bad) as evidentally there are no photocopies and both the police and myself needed a copy.

The inventory of lost goods looks like this:
Camera (big, fancy digi-SLR, love-of-my-life camera)
Crumpler camera bag
Ixus camera case
Camera accessories and memory cards
Internet banking security code generator device which I need to do internet banking
USB containing various important documents for uni applications (a major loss)

All in all, it could´ve been much worse. After all, I still had my new little IXUS in my pocket (major win). And more importantly, I´m physically OK.

Official business aside, I´m now nursing an incredibly shaken sense of purpose. And, dare I say it, an equally fragile will to continue. My tour to Galapagos starts tonight (leaves Quito in the morning), so it will be a nice chance for me to chill and take stock. Will reassess plans for the future while I´m away...

At times like this, travelling solo really sucks.