Mugged...again - a tale from Guatemala
Bullets and Burgers
When I first visited the Philippines in 1991, my first impressions were that it was like Latin America in Asia. That may have have been a little bold, as back then, I had yet to visit Latin America! However, it was what I imagined Latin America to be - lots of U.S. and Spanish influence, given the similar political histories of the areas, and more (I'm struggling for the right word here), vibrant/alive/dangerous than the rest of Asia, while still retaining it's own very unique identity.
I remember being very affected by the sudden change in culture: on my second or third day in the Philippines, I posted a letter home to friends detailing some of what I'd experienced in (the then capital city), Manilla. I signed the letter, "Love from amongst the Bullets and Burgers". My instincts were confirmed, to my understanding at least, when I finally got to travel throughout Mexico and the isthmus of Central America from 1994 to 1997.
Spanish lessons in Antigua
I'd first visited Guatemala in 1994. A fascinating country, packed with lots of places and people to see within its borders. One essential though, is the ability to speak at least a little Spanish, and lots of travellers come to Antigua for just that reason. The town is beautiful, with lots of colonial architecture surviving from the days of Spanish rule. It's compact and easy to get around on foot, and has a glorious romantic setting, surrounded by three active volcanoes easily visible from the centre of town. The weather is described as 'eternal spring', and is indeed just about perfect all year round. The towns altitude ensures cool, clear nights; fresh, bright mornings; and warm, sunny days most of the time. Add to all that, the presence of indigenous Guatemalans in traditional dress as an ever-present and vital part of the day-to-day community, and you have an ideal spot to park your bags for a week or two, settle down and learn some Spanish.
The town has an abundance of Spanish schools, the majority of which conform to the standard method of teaching in the country as a whole: full immersion. Pay a fixed fee, and you receive 4 hours per day one-on-one tuition in the mornings for five days, have the afternoons to study, (you are usually expected to back up the school work with between two-four hours study/homework per day), and the evenings to relax, while utilising your new-found Spanish skills all the while. Your fees include a 'homestay' arrangement with a local family for seven days. Ideally, you use Spanish all the while, especially with the family. But as the homestays are more often than not, actually more like pensions, sometimes you don't see a lot of the family as such, and you should therefore be using your Spanish with the other students who have come to learn the language. In reality, an evening in the bar, and everyone is speaking the travellers 'lingua franca' the world over: English.
A great system which is intended to not only benefit you as a pupil, but the community as a whole. Local families get to operate a side business accommodating students, all the businesses in the town benefit either directly or indirectly through the extended stays of the tourists/travellers, and cultural relations are improved through increased communication. There are always some who feel sidelined or excluded though, and jealousies develop unnecessarily.
My first two trips to Antigua were great. Owing to being a very diligent student(!), I learned a good deal of the languagein a very short space of time, and enjoyed the relaxing, laid-back atmosphere of the town. The third time I came, I enrolled in the same school in which I'd enjoyed some success previously, settled on the same homestay I'd thought a little gem the year before, and was all ready for a pleasant and fruitful week.
On the way into Antigua from Honduras (a trip of several days), I'd heard some bad rumours about Antigua: it wasn't the same as before; you had to watch your step, there had been muggings and so on. I'd heard this sort of thing in many places throughout Central America, but generally put it down to the type of careless person who left their wallet lying loose on the table, or flashed expensive articles around without too much due care and attention. Either that or they were just Urban Myths thought up by bored travellers.
I wasn't too worried until I met a Japanese guy who told me a first-hand story of how he'd been mugged on the street in Antigua just a few days previously. He'd been cycling down one of the main streets at about 9 or 10am, and had been pulled from his bike and robbed. We shared a dinner table in a small restaurant in Copan Ruinas. He told me his tale with no undue gloss or glamour, only a palatable relief to have left Guatemala and made it into Honduras. I was inclined to believe him. Even so, lightening never strikes twice, and all that - does it?
Arriving in Antigua, the atmosphere was distinctly different from previous visits. Many of the foreign-owned bars had disappeared, there seemed to be a curfew of sorts in place, directed mainly at preventing the locals from hard extended drinking, but also at curbing the bad influence that these establishments had been having on the local youth. No-one seemed to want to talk too much about it. The end result as far as tourism goes though, was that the town was virtually empty compared to my previous visits; which led to knock-down prices at the Spanish schools. I got a very good deal, had a days rest, and started school on Monday.
All went well: I got a good teacher, who very quickly ascertained my strengths and weaknesses, and laid out a study plan for the week to address these. He gave me homework for the first day, and, having done most of it in the afternoon, in the evening I decided to treat myself to a bevy or two in a laid-back local cafe-bar. The early-closing rules meant that I was not able to sink more than a couple of bottles before they shut. I didn't really meet anybody to have much of a chat with, and since I'd taken my school work with me, I was ready to impress the following day.
El Camino Largo
The emptiness of the place really struck home on the walk back across town in the dark: it was eerily empty. Once past the town plaza, there were very few folk about; those that were seemed to be walking very quietly and quickly to get home. I started to feel that I should do the same. Another ten minutes walking, and I was feeling decidedly nervous. Before the junction of every block, I was slowing down and listening. If I heard voices, I would take a cautious peek around the corner. If I was at all uncertain about who or what I saw, I would take a different route to avoid them.
It got worse with every block: the way was darker and I was more paranoid. I'd probably walked twice as far as was necessary, and was wishing that I'd taken a taxi from the plaza in the centre of town. Anyhow, after many doubtful steps, I finally reached the final street in which lay my homestay.
I turned the corner and took a few steps, and immediately got a very bad feeling. Call it instinct, sixth sense or what you will, but it exists, and felt it coursing through my blood like a pressure-cooker about to blow. I could hear nothing, I could see nothing, but by God I knew something was very wrong. I very nearly turned around, but had a very real fear of turning my back.
At the end of the street, no more than about 50 metres away, the lights of a car flashed on; the engine fired, revved and roared; the tyres screeched, and it headed for me at speed. No doubt - this was for me. Instinct took over - I turned and fled in the other direction as fast as my shaky little legs would carry me. Of course, it doesn't take long for a car to cover 50m; It reached me in matter of seconds.
Throughout life, I had always told myself that if ever I were to find myself in such a situation, I would never run away. No point: give them all you've got, and hope for the best. Ninety percent of the time, they just want your money. Run away and you'll just invite more trouble. Trouble is, there is just no accounting for instinct: as soon as those lights had flashed on, I knew that I was in trouble, and my legs didn't stop to ask my head for directions. A few seconds in though, and it seemed like I had all the time in the world to have a chat with myself.
"What the **** are you doing Danny?!"
"That car is going to be on top of you in a matter of seconds"
"This is a narrow street - it could mow you down and leave you for dead"
"You could have a bullet in your back any second now, if you don't stop - they're going to catch up with you anyway; they've got a car for God's sake!"
I pulled up short just as fast as I'd started. Stuck my back up against the wall, shot my hands up in the air, and - in my now-excellent local language skills - told anyone who cared to listen, that they could take what they liked.
The car had pulled up level with me, and most of the occupants had jumped out. Must be plenty of space in these old bangers, I randomly thought, as it seemed like there were about eight, including the driver. I was really only concerned with three though; primarily the one standing across the road with a gun pointing at my head. Another two or three moved quickly toward me, two of whom had some kind of knives. I again told them to take what they wanted, which wasn't absolutely necessary, as I get the feeling they had the idea that this was pretty much taken for read.
They pulled the daysack off my back, containing my Spanish homework and my 'Rough Guide to Guatemala' (some kind of irony there?!), then emptied my pockets of all the remaining Quetzales I had on me (about US$10-$15-worth). Satisfied that they had fleeced me of all that I was carrying, the general consensus seemed to be to beat it. Something with which I was in full agreement.
As they all jumped in the car to make good their getaway though, some bizarre part of my character decided to make an unbidden entrance, and I began to implore them to let me have my Spanish homework back. Even roaring down down the road, I was asking them to throw my homework out of the window. As with my previous fight or flee instinct though, I quickly realised that this was not perhaps the cleverest thing to do, and made a beeline for my homestay - without running - while praying that someone else wasn't in waiting for me.
They weren't, and despite some panicky fumbling with the key, I got back safely. I didn't sleep too well.
The next day, I explained the situation to the director of the Spanish school, telling him that I no longer felt safe in Antigua. He very kindly gave me a refund on the unused portion of my pre-paid studies and homestay, and bade me well. I took the lead of the Japanese guy I'd met in Copan, and fled the country, back by the same route toward Honduras. Much safer, eh?
Honduras-on-Sea
Two or three days later, Honduras felt much more safe; more western in a way; more day-to-day, if that makes any sense. My girlfriend was out of town when I got back to La Ceiba, and I had to put up in a guesthouse along the beach, down by the discos. Never the best part of town anywhere, but beggars can't be choosers, and at least I was out of danger now.
I knew La Ceiba well, and was comfortable enough with it. There are good and bad parts of any town. I wasn't staying in the best, but it wasn't a problem in the daytime, and I wasn't planning on wandering around alone at night anyhow - especially given my recent experiences.
After a relaxing first day back in La Ceiba, spent doing next to nothing at all, I decided to round off the day with a visit to the recently-revamped cinema. I don't recall what I saw, but it was something easy to digest. The walk from the cinema to my guesthouse was no more than about 5 minutes and was harmless enough. It was still daylight and there were people around - no bad vibes or sixth-sense like feelings here. Why would there be?
I got to the little bridge fording the scummy canal which fed into the sea. There were a couple of scraggy-looking teenagers sitting on the side of the bridge on the other side of the road.
"Hey man": The older teenager, a black kid about 19. Most of the blacks preferred English to Spanish, though usually spoke both equally well.
I ignored him. I'd had enough with being mugged at gunpoint and knifepoint a few days before. I didn't need some cocky kid having a go at me now.
"You got any money?"
What?! f*** off will you? I still ignored him and carried on walking.
"I said 'you got any money'?"
I had a furtive look around and couldn't belive that this was the only 10 metre section of road where I was alone. "No", I answered him.
He jumped up and was after me. No way, not again. He was scrawny and his mate, a 'Spanish' kid, I now realised was probably more like eleven or twelve. Surely I wouldn't have a problem with these two?
He reached my side, drew out a long blade, and pointed it threateningly at my ribs: "You sure?"
Jeeesus, I was in the Honduran version of 'Crocodile bloody Dundee'
"Oh! Yeah, well look, yeah, take it: it's all I've got", I reached into my pocket and pulled out all the cash I was carrying. The change from the cinema amounted to 10 lempira - about US$1 at the time. It was all I had on me - apart from my room keys.
To my surprise, he took it, and with his nasty little friend in tow, sauntered back across the road, counting it! Jesus, he's bound to come back wanting more, I thought. Worse, he didn't stop, but carried on walking in the direction I was going. I either had to turn around and come back later, or I had to follow the guy! It was almost certain that he was going to turn around; surely $1 wasn't going to satisfy him? He hadn't searched my pockets or anything: just accepted what I'd given him. Now he was even going to know where I was staying.
As it happened, he just carried on walking, seemingly happy with his ill-gotten gains, never turning around once. I got to my guesthouse, $1 lighter, but with all organs whole and undamaged. Not particularly frightened, but more than a little surprised.
This was turning into quite a trip: I couldn't wait for tomorrow.
Tale last updated: Monday, April 5th, 2010