After what felt like days, changing in Miami since 9/11 brings with it heightened security through connecting flights. Finally arriving in Quito after no sleep since London as 22 hours had passed, I reached my hotel. Tired and exhausted I open my room door past midnight to be pleasantly surprised by the comfortable arrangements. But still the curiosity of the city, a new humid country full of culture forced me into the shower to clean up and head out for a brief hour. Ready to leave I decide not to bring much, with $50 and some smokes I venture out from the hotel to flag a taxi, a couple stop with a smile and ask where I’m going, I replied smiling “comer y cerbeza” – food and beer – which lifted their smiles higher. Stopping to let me out at a small lit stall I asked how much, they said $2, I replied “yo prefer $5”.
After 2 beers and chorizo with chips I flagged a taxi, the driver had an average build although distinctly coughed flem and spat out the window. He drove past what I found in my few hours of stay to be familiar. Before stopping and asking again the name of my hotel; Inca Imperial. I later found this to be a somewhat of an unknown hotel, possibly due to the high competition engrossed in a centre mass of side streets, he phoned his friend and spoke softly only raising his voice to show the name of the hotel, a recognition to me that he was taking me there. We went left, he stopped and ask to see the name of the hotel on my key, once given he tooted the horn, I held out my hand to return the key, he turned and looked at me as though looking straight through me, glazed and distant but somewhat focussed. The stare felt like hours before both doors to my sides flew open. I struggled and the man on my right held his body weight heavy on my inside arm. The man on my left the same but different. Either a knife or screwdriver pressed against my left throat, pulling both arms back in a crucifix position the driver sprayed my entire face with what I found later to be tear gas foam.
After 2 beers and chorizo with chips I flagged a taxi, the driver had an average build although distinctly coughed flem and spat out the window. He drove past what I found in my few hours of stay to be familiar. Before stopping and asking again the name of my hotel; Inca Imperial. I later found this to be a somewhat of an unknown hotel, possibly due to the high competition engrossed in a centre mass of side streets, he phoned his friend and spoke softly only raising his voice to show the name of the hotel, a recognition to me that he was taking me there. We went left, he stopped and ask to see the name of the hotel on my key, once given he tooted the horn, I held out my hand to return the key, he turned and looked at me as though looking straight through me, glazed and distant but somewhat focussed. The stare felt like hours before both doors to my sides flew open. I struggled and the man on my right held his body weight heavy on my inside arm. The man on my left the same but different. Either a knife or screwdriver pressed against my left throat, pulling both arms back in a crucifix position the driver sprayed my entire face with what I found later to be tear gas foam.
I was being robbed.
And only been there for 5 hours.
Pain surged through my face opening my eyes once fuelled agony shooting further behind my eyes, it was horrible. The silent man on my left moved the sharp edge into my ribs, the man on my right looked for one clean connecting blow shouting loud for “dinero”, when I spoke he replied with “KAYATE puto de madre” “KAYATE” . As we drove on what must have been 10-15 minutes of rummaging through my pockets and shoes followed with more punches the man on my right stood up knee to knee, moved me to where he was, opened the door and out I went from the moving car.
Pain surged through my face opening my eyes once fuelled agony shooting further behind my eyes, it was horrible. The silent man on my left moved the sharp edge into my ribs, the man on my right looked for one clean connecting blow shouting loud for “dinero”, when I spoke he replied with “KAYATE puto de madre” “KAYATE” . As we drove on what must have been 10-15 minutes of rummaging through my pockets and shoes followed with more punches the man on my right stood up knee to knee, moved me to where he was, opened the door and out I went from the moving car.
I was standing in a slum crossroad which could only be described as a favella.
I shouted “policia” to be answered only by 20 or more dogs barking from all sides. Went on the northern road, running blind to find nothing, stopped. Focused. Separating the barks from the noise of engines. South. Now a race to get back to the hotel before they did with the key. Holding my hand out I was blind, exhausted and in a race. Literally jumping onto the motorway with eyes closed waving both arms a man stopped, did'nt really need to say anything.
The police showed little concern; they laughed and made jokes thinking a gringo would never understand. Opening my room back at the hotel to find it as I left it bright a sigh of relief, a mischievous side of me smiled and thought:
The police showed little concern; they laughed and made jokes thinking a gringo would never understand. Opening my room back at the hotel to find it as I left it bright a sigh of relief, a mischievous side of me smiled and thought:
I’ve been hit harder by a girl
Enjoy your $37
Bitch.
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