Cathy Alexander, formerly of the Burnie Advocate, now in Quito, Ecuador.
A gang of thieves got more than they bargained for when they tried to steal Cathy Alexander’s backpack in Ecuador. They might have been more successful had they tried a different type of yoghurt.
IT happened outside a phone centre in Quito. I should not have been surprised. Quito is rumoured to be one of South America’s most dangerous cities for tourists; besides which I think the name has an unpleasant ring to it. It sounds like mosquito, and who likes mosquitoes?
I had put my unwieldy backpack on the ground and my day pack on top of it, and was rummaging through the day pack for one of the trillion items which live there. A man, marching by at a rapid pace, threw a carton of yoghurt on my large backpack. He marched on without looking back.
The first thought that pierced my travel-frazzled brain was that the yoghurt would never come out of my backpack, and it would stink forever as it nestled into my sweaty back. The second thought, which greatly fuelled my outrage, was that the yoghurt was strawberry, which is far from being one of my favourite flavours.
I was furious. Keeping a close eye on my possessions, I yelled at the man in rude Spanish. What was going on? Why had he done that? I roared that he was stupid. I lapsed into English to swear at him, then lapsed back into Spanish and ordered him to come straight back and clean my backpack. He didn’t stop walking, but did turn around and shrug his shoulders before disappearing forever.
It was as I turned around that I noticed a group of about six men drawing in around me. One smiled and handed me some toilet paper which he just happened to have close at hand.
The penny dropped. The first offender was not just a careless yoghurt fan — he was a thief and these were his cohorts. This is a well-known trick in South America. Thieves spray you with ketchup or even bodily fluids, then in the ensuing confusion your belongings vanish. They were trying to distract me then pinch my stuff. MY stuff!
I snatched the toilet paper, gathered my bags and carried on yelling. I really hit my stride at this point. I told them they were thieves, I told them they had bad manners, I told them to go away. I yelled not just for myself but for every tourist who has had stuff nicked in infamous Quito.
I retreated into the phone centre, enlisted the help of the kind assistant, and glared at the men. We cleaned my pack up a bit and I came back out, ready for another round. I had worked on some new phrases in the interim and was keen to share them with the thieves. However all the men had disappeared.
I suppose the main reason I did not have anything stolen that morning was that I was so outraged and made such a spectacle. And the reason I did that was largely because the yoghurt used was strawberry, which I dislike. Had the thieves chosen apricot, to which I am partial, I would not have been so furious and they might now be gloating over my plane ticket and sleeping bag.
