Leaving Everett in America

Those who know me best (or maybe this characteristic isn´t as hidden as I would like it to be) know I can be a bit of a pistol. I believe my Mom once described me as ¨the spirited one¨, which is a more fattering way to put it, more than I probably deserve. My friends and I joke it is the ¨Everett¨ in me. I fight for the principle and for those that might not fight for themselves. No one likes a bully.

Well, I made it exactly one week before being mugged, or more appropriately stated - attempted mugging. On my way into the new part of town, there is a nice two-way walking/biking path, running slightly above the busy street below, which I always take. This weekend, I was about a half a mile into the walking path when I noticed 3 young guys (maybe my age) walking and talking behind me. At this point, they are still a good 50 yards behind me. I wasn´t carrying a bag and quickly put my camera away in my zipped coat pockets. I turned and glanced over my shoulder twice - no change, but by the third time, the men were running. One grabbed my shoulders, the others pawing at my pockets, and shoved me up against the iron guard rail. I can tell you what was about to come out of my mouth even scared myself, a scream so loud and frightening. They looked a little stunned (go girl!) and began to back away, but not before pushing me down to the ground.

I picked myself up and tried to regroup as quickly as possible. I could turn around and walk the half a mile back to my house when they very well could turn around and come after me again at any point. Or, I could follow them another 50 yards, keeping them in my eye sight, to the busy street corner ahead. I chose to walk behind them, passing a man and woman, who clearly had to have heard my screams, yet, they do nothing.

Mugging tourists is a way of life for many in Quito. I know it has a lot to do with the poverty that surrounds them and I realize people resort to acts they may not otherwise engage in if it is a way of survival, yet, I struggle with the principle, honesty, that is broken repeatedly each day here. However, I know Dorothy isn´t in Kansas anymore, we need to put the pistol away and leave Everett in America. I no longer walk on that path, I´ve stopped listening to my iPod when walking on the street, and I´ve bumped up my mandatory Taxi time to 6pm.

I caught up with the men at the crowded street corner and they turned one last time to look at me. I couldn´t help myself, just this one time - I smiled, gave them the widely used American middle finger, with the ever-so-popular verbal salutation to follow. I then crossed the street and began jogging the rest of the way, making it about one block before the tears started to stream. I am totally ok, I promise. I blame the adrenaline and my tears were quickly dried by the end of the next corner.