It ain’t over till it’s over – Bogota

If there is anything locals and visitors to a ten million (plus) Colombian capital city,  Bogota, can always count on; it is: 

1. The sun only shines in Bogota in the mornings – before 1 p.m.
2. Each Sunday morning and early afternoon Ciclovía takes place in the city – a reclaim the streets type of event attracting up to 2 million bikers, runners, and skaters. (The event is also organized during public holidays and in other cities.) 

The Sunday of March 18th wasn’t any different from other Sundays. The sun was shining (it was only 12 p.m.), Cyclovia was underway and the city center was filled with attendees, their supporters, tourists and plenty of “regular’ people. Armed police were everywhere, both city police and tourist police, keeping an eye on the event and the city at large.

After some two hours of shooting the newly restored Centro Historico, I found myself at the Bolivar Square – the main square of Bogotá.

The square was jam-packed with people, both tourists and locals alike, and millions of pigeons. The kids were playing and passers-by were feeding the pigeons. The herd of bikers was cycling on a bike path leading to/from the square almost overrunning tourists unaware of the event. There were so many of them that the whole procession looked like a pilgrimage or an army of ants working the path to/from their colony.  They were all going to/from one direction. Thinking there might be an interesting event going on around the corner I followed the bikers.  And yes (as I found out later), during Ciclovía, there are many sporting events like yoga organized on numerous plazas and in parks across the city.

I couldn’t have walked more than a block, one and a half at the most and was just about to turn back when I felt as if someone walking behind me ‘tapped’ my shoulder. Not very hard but it was a tap/hit, nonetheless. Instantly and without any confirmatory visuals, I KNEW exactly what it was. All my senses went on the highest alert and I remember thinking; “Oh no, this is not happening, it can’t be. No way”. But it was.. this is exactly what was happening…

On a bright sunny day, at noon, in the middle of the city full of people, in the presence of an army of policemen – I was about to get mugged.

Bogotá was not on my itinerary at all. As a rule, I avoid large capital cities of Central and South America. The larger the city the more poverty and consequently the more problems (read danger), especially for a female solo traveler. In fact, not only Bogota but also Colombia was not on my itinerary either… until one day. The day I happened to see a photograph of Cartagena. From then on Cartagena had become my travel destination number one. Cartagena was all I could think of. I had to see Cartagena. Period. So I went. Via Bogota, as direct flights to Cartagena were crazily expensive.

And there I was, in Bogota, I never wanted to visit, right in the city center, maybe 100 meters from Bolivar Plaza, amongst thousands of people and police on every single corner yelling for help in broad daylight.

There were two of them. They must have been following me. They saw me taking pictures and putting the camera into a shoulder bag made of cloth that was ‘nonchalantly’ hanging on my right shoulder. An easy target. Silly woman “giving papaya” (local slang for an easy target). Just grab a bag and run – they must have thought.

They grabbed the bag (the tap on the shoulder); the bag tore and its content fell out. But not the camera. It stayed put where it should. On a sling across my body.  This is how I always carry my camera in less friendly countries – on a sling across my body. The bag is only a ‘camouflage’, a hiding pouch so that I don’t need to have it on full display when I am not shooting.

This must have put them off guard. The easy target (snatch and run) wasn’t so easy after all. 

All victim accounts I read say the same thing: “I had no idea what hit me. I didn’t see it coming. I didn’t even have the time to blink my eye, everything went so quick.” This was not my experience. On the contrary. Ever since the very first contact (shoulder tap/hit), all my senses went on full alert. and I knew exactly what was happening; I knew exactly what I was doing, and I was even having discussions with myself as to how to proceed. It is amazing how many different thoughts a human mind can process during “a blink of the eye”. 

Once the thieves understood what had happened they tried to pull the strap off my body. My strategy was to hold on to the sling and yell for help. Buy time. After all, there were so many people around,  someone must hear/see and come to the rescue. The seconds were ticking but none came. The thieves (undoubtedly) picked the best timing possible. When nobody was around.

The only advice ever given to victims in my situation is: 

1. Don’t surprise the thieves as they may become unpredictable (I have already done that – the sling) 
2.  Let “it” go. They may have a gun, or worse. It isn’t worth it. 

It was worth to me. More than you can imagine. Had I only had another second or two... Weighing all the pros and cons,… I had “upper hand”, I sat on the ground, it is easier to pull from below sitting than from above standing, just give me one more second… but what about that guy behind me, I couldn’t see him, he was also pulling the sling. I wasn’t scared at all. I’ll hold on for as long as it takes. A plan. I thought. Simultaneously, ‘other voices’ were talking to me, trying to convince me to be ‘smart’ and follow the ‘good advice’.

Unwillingly but consciously I began to let go – slowly, very slowly, inch by inch, shopping for time to the very end, while debating with myself whether it was the right thing to do.

They run off. With my camera. Watching them disappear into a narrow alley I also seemed to have noticed, from the corner of my eye, a biker chasing after them. Strangely, this only made me angry. “Now? It is too late now. You should have been here 1 second ago”. But, perhaps it was only my imagination playing tricks on me. I couldn’t be sure. 

The strangest thing of all… while warching them disappear with my camera I didn’t feel that killing emptiness and razor sharp pain one feels when losing beloved… anything really… but felt more like an observer watching a movie. Even though I was abolutly sure that was the end of the story… I was an extra in a movie. 

Still stranger, before leaving my hotel I took more precautions than ever. As if my gut feeling was trying to warn me. Left my cell and everything else I didn’t need. I even wanted to switch the lens to one that was less visible and cheaper (which never happened before). Unfortunately, I didn’t bring the kit lens with me (I am trying to travel ‘light’) and had only 50 mm prime as a backup – not so great for the cityscape shots.

All these extra preaucations as if I felt something was about to happen. All I had with me was maybe 10 USD in local currency, umbrella and a bottle of water. And a camera. 

So now WHAT? To put insult into the injury, I had my camera cleaned in Cancun only two days before and two weeks prior had the faulting zoom in my lens repaired. Collecting my camera from the repairman (yet another gut feeling) I was thinking… If anything is to happen… now is the time.  And so it was. Indeed.

Two days later, I let it all go. Perhaps I shouldn’t have. Perhaps I shouldn’t have listened to that other voice. Perhaps I shouldn’t have been so smart. Too late now.

Shamed by my own stupidity (my first mugging) with a tail between my legs I began picking up contents of my bag (umbrella, water bottle) that was scattered on the ground and was just about to head back to my hotel to not-sure-what-to-do when a young female biker approached me. 

She thought I should report the incident to the police which ironically was only 50 meters away. Police? She must be joking. What can they do? Do they even care? The thieves are far away and the camera is sold a long time ago. But not having anything better to do and feeling like a fool I flowed her. The policeman directed us to a police booth located further down the square.  Once again, I hesitated… what a waste of time. But then again I thought – what’s the alternative? Sitting alone in my hotel room sulking about the lost camera? I went. 

After the initial confusion (we communicated through Google translator) I understood they caught someone. Aha? What that someone had to do with me? I couldn’t see any connection. They didn’t know anything about the camera though. Once I told them they began to interrogate the guy. After only a few seconds not only the connection was established but he also confessed to stealing my camera (???!!!). However, he didn’t have it, nor did he know where it was. He gave it to the other guy, he said. Of course, he didn’t know who the other guy was. 

Why did they catch him and on what grounds did they arrest him I will never know. But maybe I shouldn’t be asking.  It appears, however, that the biker I thought I saw from the corner of my eye was real and it was him who must have caught the thief. (Imagine if I only held on to the sling for two more seconds.)

I spend at least an hour and a half (including a ride in a police car to my hotel to get the passport) in that tiny police booth. Some five, six policemen on duty were the nicest and friendliest people imaginable offering me water and chocolate all the time and generally making sure I was okay. At one point they showed me a knife and asked if I was ever threatened with one. I am not sure if it was just a knife they showed me or the knife they found on the thief. They also told me I have ventured into a no-go zone. A no-go zone right next to Bolivar Plaza? Hmmm, I remembered someone trying to warn me just when I was about to enter the area but I didn’t understand. I don’t speak Spanish. 

Next stop was a real police station.  For me and the thief. I had to make a statement and he was to be booked. 30-40 minute ride in two separate cars. Upon arrival, I was greeted by Patrullero Jeison Florez. 

Patrullero Jeison Florez

Patrullero Jeison Florez with Tourist Police in Bogota spoke English and didn’t leave my side during the four-hour stay at the station. Not that I have any experience with the police, Colombian or otherwise, but he must be the nicest and gentlest and most carrying policeman in the world. He desperately wanted me to like Colombia and to understand that majority of Colombians are just like him. Generous, friendly, giving and carrying. 

At one point he went to the thief to speak with him. The thief stuck to his story. He didn’t know where the camera was nor who the other guy was. Patrullero Jeison gave it a bit of time and tried again. After the second attempt when the thief understood it may cost him two extra years in jail, he suggested calling his sister. She may know who the other guy was, he said. And she did. Not only did she know the other thief she also found him, succeeded to recover the camera and was now on the way to the station to return it in the belief that once she has done so her thief brother would be set free. 

No. No Way. I don’t believe you. Impossible. Things like that just do not happen, not in Colombia, not anywhere in the world, I said to Jeison. Yes, it’s true – he replied. I didn’t want to get my hopes up and refused to believe him.

But it was. A few minutes later the sister came with my camera. And the sling. Intact. 

I left a statement. Even recorded a short video thanking Colombian Police for their efforts and amazing job in recovering my camera. Don’t remember exactly what I said but something about the impossible becoming possible. We hugged after that, said our goodbyes, and someone drove me back to the hotel. I am to contact Jeison right away should I need anything. Friends for life? Everybody was happy.

Everybody but the thief. He is in jail awaiting trial. He will get two years. Hadn’t the sister returned the camera he would get four. Don’t know if they ever caught the other thief. 

How Am I?

Glad you asked. To tell the truth – I don’t really know. Not yet. I am pretty much alright teasing myself “well done, you survived Bogota exactly two hours“, or, maybe I am in denial of some sort but my primal instincts are back on the radar (so do not come near me or touch me unexpectedly); I no longer take the camera wherever I go; neither do I shoot spontaneously but choose my objects/subjects with more care; not that I did it before but today I display the camera even less. My camera feels kind of dirty – not as pure anymore. My love for photography got bruised.

11 days have passed and I still haven’t mentioned the story to anybody. 

From the very beginning to the very end I was, without really knowing or expecting it, (unconsciously) waiting for a happy ending… though I knew there cannot be one. Things like that simply never happen. And definitely not in Colombia, the (former) number one most dangerous country in the world where no one cares about petty theft like that. (I hear additional funds were given to the police, and hundreds of extra policemen were put on the streets of Bogota to fight the crime.  The efforts have begun to give results.)

There is one thing I am absolutely sure about. The story wouldn’t (couldn’t) have a happy ending hadn’t I followed the bike lady to the police as I already had said goodbye to the camera the moment I let go of the sling. I must remember…

Never give up…  It ain’t over until it’s over. 

The (almost lost) Images of Centro Historico – slideshow

Murals in Centro Historico, Bogota

Murals in Centro Historico, Bogota

Murals in Centro Historico, Bogota

Centro Historico, Bogota

Centro Historico, Bogota

Murals in Centro Historico, Bogota

Murals in Centro Historico, Bogota

Bogotá, view from Centro Historico, Bogota

Centro Historico, Bogota

Centro Historico, Bogota

Centro Historico, Bogota

Centro Historico, Bogota

Centro Historico, Bogota