Look hard. Sumela monastery is right in the center of the photo. Yes, that tiny beige spot on the side of the mountain, just visible when the clouds lift.
I OFTEN COMPLAIN about too much travel. 250 days a year on the road, more or less, for 23 years non-stop. At the same time though, I appreciate my great fortune to see the world. As our work bounces us around the globe, I’ve been able to visit the most wondrous and remote sites. Petra in Jordan is one of those. Luxor in Egypt, Nan Madol in Pohnpei, Ngorongoro Crater in Tanzania, and Kilauea on Hawaii are others.
While in Trabzon in the northeast of Turkey recently, I had a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to visit Sumela Monastery, about 30 miles on up the Silk Road. The orthodox monastery is ancient, miraculously built and carved into a barely-accessible mountainside, and covered with frescoes. The journey to reach it was arduous, as it is to most of the truly awesome sites I’ve experienced. Long, challenging travel is a prerequisite for rarely-seen beautiful or historic spots. It is why they’re rarely seen and still (relatively) unruined.
The trail through the forest is steep and slippery with extraordinary views.Ankle-twisting tree roots and enormous boulders help prevent sliding on the steep path.Getting closer, the cliff-hanging monastery appears grand and isolated.First glimpse upon entering the monastery.Brilliant frescoes badly damaged.Ceiling of a fully painted cave.A woman admires the painted cave.Structure surfaces are covered in brilliant frescoes inside and out.This interior space was very dark despite the light flooding into these small windows.A visitor takes a selfie.One of several salmon farms along the lower mountain road.After the monastery, Turkish pide, a hot, luscious bread and cheese dish, usually including meat.And of course a cup of strong Turkish tea.A word about security: at this restaurant in Trabzon, people hung their purses and backpacks outside the door, unguarded.
We took a bus most of the way, up the mountain, along rushing streams and waterfalls, past mosques and cement-pond salmon farms. When the road became too steep for the bus we stopped near a large rustic restaurant set back in the forest.
There we transferred to a small van able to carry eight people. The driver scrutinized his passengers and pointed to three, gesturing that they must get out because the vehicle was too heavy. Slowly then, the van wound up the steep and narrow road, we remaining passengers eyeing one another nervously as the engine strained. Pulling our sweaters and scarves over our shoulders, we climbed up through the darkening cloud forest until this vehicle too, couldn’t go any higher. There it stopped and we were expelled on the side of the road.
Sumela Monastery
It was a good photo op. The monastery appeared distant and unreachably remote, clinging to the steep side of a dark, forested mountain, deep, misty valley straight below. A strenuous hike followed, up crude stone stairs, clambering over giant tree roots and slippery dirt trails deeper into the cloud forest, where it rains 280 days per year. We were lucky! No rain. The path was tricky and difficult, and would be a muddy mess in rain.
It was not unlike the Cinque Terre trails, actually, minus the sea views.
It had been 86 degrees in Trabzon, below; now it was 65 degrees at the monastery, at an altitude of almost 4,000 feet. The structures, first begun in 386 AD, include natural caves in the side of the mountain, niches hacked into the cliff walls, and additional stone buildings erected in the following centuries. There’s a rock church, a small chapel, kitchens, a library, various living spaces, a courtyard, and lookout points. Nearly all surfaces are covered by brilliant 18th-century frescoes. The monastery has been repeatedly destroyed, restored, enlarged, ruined, abandoned, and defaced.
I loved bending low through four-foot high archways and entering the cool painted caves where it was both dark and blinding from the harsh natural light that pierced tiny windows. It was heartbreaking to see the frescoes so badly damaged; it was wonderful to see how much remained of the frescoes. The remoteness of the site limits visitors (and despoilers), but there is almost no control or security. Even now, visitors may wander where they will.
I’m lucky to have visited when I did. Lucky to have visited at all! It was one of those experiences that truly defines the word amazing, and leaves me feeling so fortunate to see the remote corners of the world.
Hopefully, by the time Sumela Monastery reopens, Turkey will be peaceful and travel warnings will be lifted.
Could be you after following Mike Richard’s advice.
Steal. Drink and snack from the hotel mini-bar, the unethical blogger advises in his unethical December 10, 2014 article. Go ahead and have a beer and a candy bar, then deny it at check-out. You’ll get it free!
Swindle. Use a depleted debit card to buy drinks on a plane. Free booze, yay, worth committing fraud for!
Cheat. Walk into a luxury hotel you’re not staying in and take advantage of guest services like free breakfast, the concierge, and luggage storage. They’ll never know!
After-effect of using a knowingly depleted debit card to buy drinks on a plane.Unethical blogger’s advice will likely get you handcuffed.Was the free beer worth it?
Lie. Tell the airline gate agent you have a peanut allergy and need to board first to wipe down your tray. Yeah, get that overhead bin space before the honest people get there!
Scam. If your “expensive” item breaks prematurely (an iPad is hinted), go buy a new one, repackage the broken one, and return it for a refund. Sweet dreams, if you can sleep after that one.
And on and on. Like, buy travel gear and return it for a refund when you’re done with it, the unethical blogger advises. Take an empty first-class seat on a plane and try to get away with it. Pay $20 to have your tires rotated when you need parking in a high-priced city.
Unethical blogger
Some people should not be journalists. Some journalists should be decommissioned. This guy, this Mike Richard, is one of them.
I’m not in the habit of slamming other bloggers. But it is my custom to report thefts, cons, scams, and the fraudsters who commit them. Mike Richard may or may not use the methods he espouses; he does call them “useful travel hacks.”
I try to live by a simple little motto: “What if everyone did this?” Would I want that world? If everyone shouted, littered, took a stone from someone’s yard, lied, cheated, stole…. Just…try to be decent.
I grew up with several versions of The Golden Rule. Simply put, treat others as you’d like to be treated. Reciprocity. It makes the world go ’round.
I have little issue with paid placement presented as personal opinion—that’s the way of the world. The way of blog-whores. But this unethical blogger will apparently say anything for money. He calls it paid advertising. No wonder his blog has only one advertiser, despite his plentiful pleas for ads. Well, he has three if you count Anthony Bourdain and a quick-print service.
Unethical and illegal. Steal. Cheat. Lie. Commit fraud. But sure, Mike Richard says, they are, “entirely useful… for shameless budget travelers”. I must not be the only one who finds this to be irresponsible journalism. And not the only one to find it repugnant.
Sometimes an exhausted traveler just has to give in and conk out. You can intend to be productive. You can try to be productive. You can even be productive—for hours.
Eventually though, the slog, the discomfort, the lack of comfort, the waiting, the lines. and the sheep-herding, dull the mind, wilt the spirits, and invite fatigue.
And you simply have to crash.
Airport survival
I travel loaded with productivity tools but very few articles of comfort. Zero whimsical items. Perhaps it’s time for a change.
Tony laughs nervously on the tram when asked to return Bob’s stolen wallet.
Coffee with Thieves
An August Sunday in Naples. Holiday time for all of Europe and most shops were shut. We bought bus tickets at a kiosk with our last coins, dodged the wild traffic, and crossed to the narrow center strip to wait for a crowded bus. I carried a small video camera in my hands and wore a fanny pack containing my other camera. Bob had a hidden camera, its guts stowed in a shoulder-bag he wore across his chest.
A number one bus arrived, jammed. I didn’t think we’d be able to get on. The doors jerked open and a few passengers tumbled out like crickets escaping from a child’s jar. Bob and I shuffled forward with the mob as the people onboard compacted like empties. We would never voluntarily join such a scene were it not for the call of research. This was highly unpleasant; beyond funny.
“No way. Let’s wait for another,” I said to Bob.
Tony the pickpocket would rather stay on the bus than go for coffee with his victim.
Two clean-cut middle-aged men who’d gotten off the bus were now behind us, corralling the doubtful like sheepdogs. Somehow, with their encouragement, we all got on, filling spaces we hadn’t known existed. The good samaritans kept us from bursting off the bus in the pressure while one yelled “chiude a porta, chiude a porta,” close the door!
My chest was pressed against a vertical pole. A wiry man in front of me had his back to the same pole. Glancing down, I saw his hand behind his back, blindly trying to make sense of the zipper tabs on my fanny pack, which I’d paperclipped together. I watched, half amused, half outraged at his audaciousness.
Pickpockets in Naples, Italy
We’d already made half a dozen or so tram trips that morning and had been pickpocketed on most of them. We hadn’t yet seen the same thieves twice. By now it seemed a certainty: riding a crowded bus or tram in Naples meant intimacy with a thief. Well, let me qualify that to specify buses and trams on lines that tourists might travel; specifically those stopping at the ship and ferry terminal, the archeological museum, and the train stations. Looking at the protective behavior of local passengers, bus-bandits seemed to be an accepted fact of life, as if there’s one in every crowd.
The disembodied hand couldn’t solve the puzzle in its fingertips. It dropped, or crawled away of its own accord. No success, no accusation.
Bob suddenly reached for my camera and held it high above the compressed mob, pointing down.
Pickpocket Mario, Tony’s partner, convinces Tony to go with us for coffee.
“Give back the wallet,” he said quietly. “There’s no money in it.”
“Okay, okay,” said one of the good samaritans. He handed it back with a sheepish grin below ultra-cool wraparound reflective sunglasses. In the video, you can see him lower the wallet to his thigh and check its contents.
“Come talk to us,” Bob said in French as the doors popped open. “Just talk—and coffee.”
“Café? Café?” He raised an invisible little cup to his lips, pinkie outstretched. “Okay.” But when the doors opened there was a cat-and-mouse game as we all four hopped off and on the bus with opposing motives. They were trying to ditch us. Finally Bob and I were on the ground with one of the pair while the other hung in the doorway of the bus, reluctant. “C’mon,” we all yelled to the last guy, and he finally joined us.
The men led us into a bar across the street and as we entered, I realized we had no money with us. Horrified, I pulled the last note from my pocket, not even enough for an inexpensive Italian espresso.
“No problem, you are my guests,” said the Italian who spoke French, with the hospitality of a Neapolitan. He ushered us in with the same warmth and efficiency he’d used to herd us onto the bus. He ordered three coffees, four glasses of water, and one almond milk.
“Bambi and Bob,” we introduced ourselves.
Mario, a high-end pickpocket who steals credit cards on trains to Florence, Paris, Monte Carlo.
“Mario,” said the one who spoke French. He studied us quizzically, as if he’d never been invited for coffee by a man whose wallet he’d just swiped.
“Tony,” said the reluctant other, and we all shook hands.
Mario was trim, 50ish, with smooth skin, curly salt-and-pepper hair, and a receding hairline. He wore a crisp white t-shirt tucked into blue shorts secured with a leather belt. With a watch, gold ring, cellphone, and snazzy shades, this was no lowlife, drugged-up desperado. Mario looked respectable, like anybody’s brother.
Tony was a little rounder, and clearly the junior partner. He squinted under a blue baseball cap, and—did you ever want to know where a pickpocket keeps his wallet?—in the pocket of his blue button-down shirt. It was Tony who’d first tried to take Bob’s wallet on the bus, but Mario who succeeded and slipped it to Tony.
Unlike most of the other cities we’ve visited, pickpockets in Naples are homegrown. They’re not immigrants, handy to take the rap, or despised illegals doing what they can for their very survival. These are Neapolitans practicing an age-old profession without, as far as we can tell, a shred of shame.
Serendipitous finds are one of the joys of travel. In Venice, the rule is wander, get lost, and head away from the unbearably crowded tourist areas. Doing just that, I found Moulaye Niang’s tiny glass studio by accident, and what a gem! If handblown glass is the embodiment of Venice, these glass beads are the perfect, beautiful (and affordable) way to take home a piece of the fragile island.
Moulaye sits at his little worktable blowing small miracles. When I came in, he popped up and dragged me out into the sunlight, spinning a freshly molten bead on a metal rod. It was black and smoking. Watch, he said, turning the rod. Blue began to emerge, then streaks of red and swirls of yellow. Within minutes, the black blob cooled and metamorphosed into a gorgeous work of art.
Moulaye Niang at work in his Venice studio.Glass bead maker’s raw materials.One of Muranero’s creations.Moulaye Niang’s necklace: “two possibilities.”Moulaye Niang’s necklace: “two possibilities.”
Back inside, it was hard to choose among the strung necklaces. Moulaye’s partner is responsible for designing necklaces with his beads, and her combinations are stunning. But there’s also a big tray of unstrung beads. If you can pick one, she will string it into a necklace of her design—or yours.
Many of the necklaces have “two possibilities,” as Moulaye put it: in a short style, or a totally different long style. I’ll let you visit the shop and see for yourself what that means.
Venetian glass beads
Moulaye, from Dakar, studied glassblowing with the masters on Murano. His Venetian glass beads are inspired by nature. They are exquisite, and very affordable. Not cheap. They’re the perfect Venetian takeaway or gift that will be prized forever. All you have to do is find the shop!
Muranero: Salizada del Pignater 3545, Castello, Venice.
It’s 2014 in the airport of a state capital and this is the luggage scale.
Here it is, 2014, and we are in the airport of Springfield IL, the capital of Illinois. I’m amused to see the actual, in-use, antique airport luggage scale at the check-in counter.
Springfield Il airport
We are leaving Springfield. Landing here, less than 24 hours ago, was remarkable. The Skywest jet’s wheels hit the runway hard and—nose up—we immediately took off again, bumpily. We were in row 2, so clearly heard one of the flight attendants exclaim “oh my god!” No explanation came from the captain. Just silence.
The whole plane was silent. Deadly silent.
We rose higher and banked steeply, overlooking the green-green-green of Springfield’s farms. Finally, many minutes later, the captain came on over the P.A. It was gusty, he said, with severe wind sheer on the runway. He’d try to land once more—otherwise, we’d go to another airport.
I looked down at the trees—we weren’t very high—and didn’t see any movement at all. No swaying branches, no bending poplars. He’s probably just a bad pilot, I thought. He botched the landing.
We circled once more, then aimed for the runway. Any white-knucklers onboard must have been beside themselves.
It was bumpy, but we landed. The clothes of the tarmac personnel whipped about their bodies. I descended the airplane stairs certain I’d be blown down them with my hand luggage acting as a sail.
Springfield Il airport. More interesting than I expected.
Two pickpockets look back at their angry intended victim.
When in Prague, Czech your Wallet
We hit the cobblestones as soon as we had dropped our bags and admired our room in King George’s House hotel, an atmospheric 14th century building in Prague’s Staré Mesto district. The late-summer crowd of budget tourists absorbed us into their mass migration. We surrendered to their pace, joining pudgy, reddened, middle-aged German men in sleeveless t-shirts and Birkenstocks with socks, tattooed skinheads wearing studded collars, and dizzy-eyed long-hairs whose sole employment seemed to be wrapping strands of hair in multi-colored thread.
Since pickpockets operate where tourists congregate, we allowed the happily drifting crowd to sweep us along the narrow lanes. It wasn’t easy to peel our eyes away from the intriguing marionette shops, enticing beer joints, and the renaissance-costumed concert touts. But our mission meant scrutinizing people, not souvenirs and architecture. We disciplined ourselves to study the throng and began to get used to the faces, rhythm, and tempo around us.
When we emerged into a sunny clearing, we found ourselves at the foot of Charles Bridge, a magnet for tourists. The many graceful arches of this medieval bridge step across the broad Vltava River to the Mala Strana area. Mala Strana is a popular pub and restaurant district, and a little further up the hill is Prague Castle. So Charles Bridge is heavy with pedestrian traffic all day and late into the night. Nestled among its 18th century statues, artists and craftsmen ply their wares and musicians play everything from classical to klezmer. The bridge is a destination itself.
Thiefhunting
The two women at left are pickpockets. The two boys at right are their stalls. The woman at center was the intended victim.
We realized at once that the square at the foot of Charles Bridge offered a unique opportunity for pickpockets. A street of wild traffic and speeding trams separates old town from Charles Bridge. Everyone wishing to get from one place to the other must cross the street here at a stoplight. Crowds of a hundred or more people, mostly tourists, quickly accumulate on both sides of the street. Pickpockets have ample time to locate a mark, get in position, and work them while they cross.
Pickpockets in Prague
An affectionate couple on the street corner caught our attention in a big way. When the light changed and the traffic paused, they crossed the busy street among a mob of gawking tourists. But three quarters of the way across the street they abruptly turned and crossed back to where they had begun.
In the “matador” position, the pickpocket (left) slings a coat on her shoulder when she’s ready to work. The coat blocks others from seeing her handiwork.
There they stood, again waiting to cross with the next gathering crowd. The man’s hand casually rested on the woman’s right shoulder. The woman had a blue blazer hanging from her left shoulder. They were better dressed than any of the summer tourists, but somehow didn’t quite look like local business people, either.
The woman sidled up to a man waiting to cross. The light changed. The pedestrians stepped off the curb and surged around the nose of a tram, which had come to a stop in the crossers’ territory.
The man shifted his hand to the woman’s left shoulder, where he anchored her blazer. The woman used her left hand to extend the blazer, completely shielding her work. As we all reached the opposite curb, I fought through the crowd and tried to speak with the elderly gentleman who was the woman’s target.
In Prague at the Charles Bridge crossing, pickpockets block their marks as they cross the street to slow them down.
“Where are you from?” I asked him.
“Greece,” his wife said. The man was old and hard of hearing.
“Does he have his wallet?” I asked.
The wife didn’t understand.
“Portofoli?” I asked, pointing to the old man’s pocket and hoping I remembered the correct Greek word for wallet.
The wife felt her husband’s pocket and looked up at me in alarm. I looked wildly around for the affectionate couple but they were gone. Thinking frantically for the Greek word for pickpocket, I tried Spanish and Italian. Finally, klepsimo. The woman understood, but why not—the wallet was gone. She hurried away from me before I could say anything else, as if I were the thief.
Wait—I’m not saying that all baggage handlers are thieves—of course not. But when you put low-paid workers alone with the belongings of the privileged (those who can afford to fly), things are gonna go missing—sometimes.
We’ve all read the frequent reports of luggage theft at airports: by TSA, by airport baggage handlers, by airline employees, by outsiders entering baggage claim areas. When our luggage is out of our personal control it’s at risk. When we check it, when we send it through TSA checkpoints, when we put it in the overhead storage bins on planes, the risk of theft is there in some degree. There’s little we can do about it—but not nothing.
6 luggage security rules
I travel a lot* so I will use myself as a model from which you can modify to suit your style and habit. I travel with three bags: a large one which I check; a roll-on which I expect to take on the plane with me, and a shoulder bag which is always with me, no matter what.
1. The more valuable the item, the smaller the bag it travels in. Cash, jewelry, laptop, smartphone, passports, and keys go into my shoulder bag. I don’t leave this bag anywhere or entrust it to anyone. I alone am responsible for its safety and security.
2. Other valuable and necessary items go into the roll-on. The airlines have trained us: do not put valuables into your checked luggage. Their responsibility is limited. Checked bags do not always show up when and where they should, so the minimal things I must have in order to do my job (and enjoy my trip) go into the roll-on, along with valuables too bulky, heavy or secondary for my shoulder bag. Examples: paperwork, camera, backup hard drive, appropriate work clothes and shoes, computer power cord and plug adapters, and the minimal items necessary for a hotel overnight.
3. Be prepared to hand over your roll-on. Every once in a while I have to part with the roll-on, for example on a small plane where it must be checked or given up at the jetway. Therefore, I also keep a lightweight folded nylon tote in my roll-on. That way I can remove and hand carry some items I may want or need; my computer power cord, hard drive, papers I’m working with. I also carry a small supply of plastic cable locks in case I want to secure the roll-on’s zippers. Not that locking zippers is foolproof, but it’s a deterrent. Better than nothing.
On the left: Bob’s rig. A strip of white tape is just a spare piece, used to secure checked bags. On the right: Bambi’s set-up. Not aluminum, but still like new after five years of hard use.
4. Roll-on with security OR convenience. My roll-on is full of outside pockets for convenience, and big enough to fold in a suit or dress on a hanger. Bob’s is a lockable aluminum hardshell—very secure but sacrificing convenience. See He Packs, She Packs. I appreciate the convenience of my bag much more often than I miss the security of one like Bob’s. However, one single theft from my roll-on would probably turn that preference upside-down. Security and convenience are always a trade-off.
5. Choose your checked luggage with security in mind. At least think about the security of your checked bag. On its route through the airport, through security screening, onto luggage cars, as it’s loaded onto the plane and packed into the cargo hold, as it changes planes, and finally reverses these steps, it will be handled by dozens of employees. Most of these people are trustworthy; much of this time your bag will be in view of many workers, supervisors, and surveillance cameras. But sometimes your bag will be handled by a rotten egg—perhaps in a dark space without witnesses.
If that rotten egg—that thief—has a free moment to poach from a bag, which bag will it be? Firstly, it will be a bag that happens to be near him (or her) at the opportune moment—happenstance. Secondly, it will be the easiest to get into. Zip, plunge in the hand, grapple, grab, stash, and on to the next bag. Fast-fishing-treasure-hunt.
So, how does your bag fasten? Latches? Zipper? TSA locks? Luggage belt? Cable ties? Plastic wrap? As with pickpocketing, longer access time means more security (and less convenience—there’s that compromise again). I’m concerned enough to affix duct tape to the entire seam of my hard sided case—always. It’s ugly, for sure. But it doesn’t take long to put on and seems to be a good deterrent. So far, so good.
We’ve all seen those videos showing how to open a zipper with a ballpoint pen (here’s one, below). How often is that method used by luggage thieves? I don’t know… but I’ve seen enough exploded bags on the carousel to be afraid of zippers anyway, at least without an added bag strap or luggage belt. Addressing both those zipper threats, Delsey makes luggage with a supposedly secure zipper that has two rows of teeth. I haven’t tried it.
Sure you want to trust luggage with zippers?Delsey makes luggage with a double zipper.
Locking the zipper tabs together with a padlock or ziptie may be of some help, but it’s nothing for a determined thief to twist off a zipper tab. (Or to plunge a blade right through the canvas. But we can’t be that paranoid.) Put the lock or ties through the zipper loops, if they exist, instead of through the pull-tabs.
As my readers know, Bob and I prefer hard-sided luggage. We use aluminum bags. They’re heavy and expensive but, as I’ve said, we travel a lot. Honestly, they’re not for everyone. We do recommend hard-sided luggage though; if not aluminum, one of the new polycarbonate materials.
The airport baggage handlers exposed in this week’s ring did not require secret spaces or privacy. Apparently, they were opening and searching bags at large sorting platforms, presumably in full view of other workers. This concerns me, but is nothing new. When TSA security officer Pythias Brown was arrested a few years ago for stealing from passengers’ luggage, he described the airports’ culture of theft. “It was very convenient to steal,” he said, “It became so easy, I got complacent.”
The airport baggage handlers exposed in this week’s ring are not alone. Individuals and groups continue to pilfer at LAX and other airports. The world will always have thieves. Luggage security is nonexistent. Therefore:
6. Pack as if your bag will be rifled. Conventional Wisdom tells us to leave at home whatever we can’t bear to lose. I don’t know if Conventional Wisdom has ever lived a life. For the most part, this is impractical advice. Many situations call for travel with precious and/or valuable things, and sometimes we have to check those things and hope for the best.
There’s an argument for using the best luggage available, despite it being pricey and conspicuous. There’s an argument for using unremarkable low-end luggage, even if it means replacing the bags frequently. In terms of luggage security, both theories have their merits. Do luggage thieves prefer to plunder Louis Vuitton and Tumi bags? Do they loot whatever bag presents an opportunity at the right moment, regardless of brand and condition? Since I believe both situations exist, I prefer to make mine just a little harder to open, crossing my fingers that the thieves will loot a more accessible suitcase.
*Bob Arno and I have been on the road around the world approximately 250 days per year for the past twenty years without respite.
Carving on a snack cart.Guatemala City corn-on-the-cob with condimentsGuatemala City corn-on-the-cob with condimentsGuatemala City women at Parque CentralWoven cotton for sale at Guatemala City’s Parque CentralTostadas for sale in Parque Central, Guatemala CityTostada-maker, Guatemala CityStrawberry cake, Guatemala CityLet a bird select your destiny in Parque Central, Guatemala City
Parque Central
Before I speak about the horrendous street crime in Guatemala City, I’d like to dwell on the pleasant aspects of the city. We spent Sunday afternoon in Parque Central. It was teeming with people and not a gringo in sight. Lots and lots of children, and women everywhere breastfeeding babies without prudish concerns.
If I felt like a giant among little people, how must Bob have felt, at six feet five? The Mayan women, all under five feet tall, looked so elegant with their long, glossy, black hair and colorful dresses.
I was entranced by the gorgeous woven cotton that all the Mayan women wear. Not dresses, they are sarongs fastened with a belt over tucked-in matching blouses. I wanted to buy a length of the fabric but was shocked that the opening price at each stall I visited was US$150. This was not a credit card type of market and, since our mission was thiefhunting, I had very little cash. It’s just as well—I would have had an impossible time selecting just one of the colorful patterns.
Surrounding the fabric stalls, everything else was for sale, too: bootleg DVDs, heaps of clothes piled on spread-out blankets, hair-do contraptions, inflatable Spidermen, jewelry, toys, underwear, earphones, puppies, remotes, and, thankfully, wallets. Our prop wallet was stolen for good—a rare occurrence, as we almost always manage to get it back after a theft.
And what’s a market without food? Boys at wooden carts worked with giant machetes preparing coconuts to drink. There were mountains of peanuts, trays of white, spiral-peeled oranges, flabby chicken sputtering on charcoal grills, and festive corn-on-the-cob-with-complicated-condiments. The tostadas looked mouth-wateringly good; the fly-specked strawberry cake did not.
A boy sat behind four bathroom scales lined up on a cloth that marked his territory. A few coins were arrayed on the cloth, too. Why four scales? Was the boy often busy with simultaneous customers? Does a customer flip a coin to select one of the scales? Or take an average weight of the four?
Other questions arise for the men whose birds will select your destiny. Are the tiny printed fortunes marked? If you pay more, can you be sure the bird is given only good futures to choose from? Are there any bad ones?
Street Crime in Guatemala City
Parque Central is a quaint and charming sliver of Guatemala City, but violence lurks in its very shadows. I’ve already written of our own experience with pickpockets there; no potential visitor should be unaware of the serious warnings about the country’s crime scene. On February 1, 2014, about the time we visited, Wikitravel’s Guatemala Travel Guide said (among many warnings):
Guatemala has one of the highest rates of violent crime in the world. Guatemala experiences much violence; its citizens live in a world of violence and tourists will be no different. Use extreme caution if traveling to Guatemala. … If you are mugged, carjacked, or approached by armed individuals, cooperate. Do not make any sudden movements, and give whatever belongings or money that are demanded. Citizens and tourists have been shot and killed for resisting muggers. … Do not use buses at night in Guatemala City, as buses are frequently robbed by gangs.
Theft, armed robbery, and carjacking are the most common problems encountered by American citizens. No area is immune to daytime assaults, including the upscale shopping, tourist, and residential areas of zones 10, 14, 15, and 16 in Guatemala City. There have been numerous reported incidents of bank patrons being robbed outside banks after withdrawing large sums of money, suggesting possible complicity of bank personnel on the inside. A particularly troubling trend is the use of motorcycles for armed robbery. Typically, two men on a motorcycle accost the driver of a car and demand the driver’s cell phone. Armed robberies to steal a cell phone have turned violent. In May 2009, a new law mandated that only the operator is allowed on the motorcycle.
The report goes on to describe highway robberies perpetrated by uniformed police or pseudo cops; the rising threat of robberies from occupied vehicles, including those stopped at traffic lights; armed security guards who exist “for decoration only;” violent bus bandits; and carjacking, even on main roads in broad daylight. The report also warns arriving visitors:
Minimize time spent standing outside in the airport passenger pick-up area, and do not walk out of the airport with valuables in plain sight. Carry laptops inconspicuously.
I shudder to think of my mistakes, though they were unavoidable. Our scheduled driver did not show up at the airport. We waited 40 minutes in total “outside in the airport passenger pick-up area.” We were not allowed back inside the airport to look for assistance or official transportation options. Therefore, in full view of many gawkers, I had to take out my laptop “conspicuously”—a massive 17” MacBookPro—to find the phone number of our Guatemala City contact. I should have had it available on paper. Instead, I was forced to flaunt my valuables.
Persons carrying laptop computers and expensive cell phones are often targets for armed robberies. Visitors should avoid using a laptop in a public place, such as a cafe…
…or airport pick-up zone. Had I only read this before my arrival! No, we weren’t robbed, but that might only be due to our very early morning arrival. We got into a hotel shuttle which, according to reports, is just as prone to armed attacks as anything:
Private vehicles, taxis, and shuttle buses have all been targeted. Typically, assailants steal money, passports, and luggage, and in some cases, the vehicle as well.
We were safely dropped at our hotel where, after a nap, we began our research of street crime in Guatemala City. Of course it would have been wiser to read up beforehand, but our hectic travel schedule doesn’t always permit such luxuries (reading about every destination before arrival).
Visitors should avoid using a laptop in a public place, such as a cafe or in wireless zones. Areas that offer wi-fi computer services have been targeted. Several individuals have been killed and their laptops taken upon departure from these establishments after they were seen using their computers in public.
Had our hotel not had decent internet access, it’s very likely that we’d have taken our laptops out to find wifi elsewhere. I can just imagine reading the quote above (from the U.S. Department of State on Guatemala), not to mention the rest of the warnings, most of which I have not mentioned, while sitting in a Guatemala City cafe with wifi. I’d be petrified to leave!
One of the first (horrific) statistic-riddled reports I read, “Guatemala: Violence perpetrated by criminal gangs…” published by the Immigration and Refugee Board of Canada, focused on violence by criminal gangs. 183 bus drivers were assassinated in 2010 for refusing to pay gangsters’ “protection fees,” and these numbers have continued. Ninety-some percent of crime goes unpunished (depending on whose figures you read). There are said to be 14,000 gang members in the country and most communities are affected.
No wonder the police are ineffective. Many are not even high school graduates, their training may be as short as six months, and they get a salary of under $600/month. Bribes are a way of life. Drug cartels have pretty much taken over the country.
We met two 50ish British women in our hotel lobby. They’d come to Guatemala City to learn Spanish, unaware of the crime scene. They learned quickly though, and by following the rules had no incidents. They carried nothing at all of value. No purses or handbags or cameras. They stayed together. They didn’t go out at night. They avoided the known danger zones. They only used taxis from the hotel; they did not flag cabs in the street.
Our visit to Guatemala City reminded me of the importance of research before travel, even if you only read a little. Because don’t we all read up on the weather, the restaurants, nightlife and attractions? Let’s not forget to seek out crime and safety reports, too. The U.S. Department of State maintains excellent, current reports.
