Attacked at knifepoint

I got up this morning and spent a bit of time at the marina office where there is free internet chatting on facebook and reading my e-mails, came back to the boat and ate breakfast with HS who was watching the lastest CBC news broadcast (bus accident in BC and snow storms in eastern Canada and hockey woes) then put on sunblock, gathered up my camera, and went out for a walk.

My express goal was to find a tourist information office and get a map of the area and some information on recommended things to do. I started out along the waterfront, walking on a busy sidewalk beside a four lane one way road, because HS had said he thought the bus terminal was in that direction, and I thought a bus map might be a good addition to the tourist map I didn’t yet have. There certainly were busses galore, and stops like literally every 50 metres, street side stalls selling sunglasses or ice cream or things to drink. It wasn’t really a tourist area but it was pretty busy and I have to say, I felt completely safe. It soon became obvious that if the bus station was nearby I had missed it and I was going in the wrong direction for almost anything else. I was sort of in one of those old industrial zones full of dead warehouses that you see in scary movies – should been my first hint. But even as pedestrian traffic thinned out I kept on going hoping that something more interesting would materialize. A tourist traffic sign said that the Church of Iglesia or somesuch was 3 miles ahead, I could see it up on a hill in the distance, and I thought I might walk there, sit in its square, have a cold drink, and then figure out how to catch a bus back. Then… well, let’s just say I didn’t make it to the church.

A kid came running up from behind me, a young teenager, maybe 14 or so, and slowed down to a walk just in front of me. His behaviour seemed suspicious, I have to admit, but at the time I really didn’t think anything of it. I noticed that he was barefoot and his clothes filthy. Not much else. There were lots of people about, pedestrians on the sidewalk on the other side of the road if not on my side, and cars and busses going by on the busy street. And then a whole group of young teens, brandishing large knives, came rushing up from behind. “Tudo! Tudo!” they were saying, which I took to mean, ‘everything’. I’ve never been threatened by a group of teens with knives before. I don’t know if they would have actually attacked me or not. In retrospect I assume not, that they were just threatening. But they certainly were threatening. They held the knives in two hands above their heads and brought them down in slashing motions towards me as if to do real damage. “Tudo! Tudo!” they chanted. I wasn’t carrying a handbag, a wallet, or even a money belt. I just had a few dollars tucked into an inside pocket, enough for a cold drink and a taxi home if I got lost. And my camera, of course. My lovely lipstick camera. I guess I should have stepped out into the street, yelled for help, done something, anything. Instead I was just so shocked that I stood there, quite scared actually, holding my empty hands up to show I had nothing. (I started taking a self-defense course for women in Deep River last year but only went to one session. I just couldn’t imagine, at all, a situation in which I would be in dire fear of being beaten or raped. Maybe I should have continued going.) Eventually they grabbed my camera bag, tore it off me, and ran back the way they had come.

For a minute or two I just stood there.

An older gentleman, who had witnessed the whole thing from the sidewalk on the other side of the street, came across to talk to me. I convinced him to walk with me back to where it was safe. In the end he walked all the way back to the marina with me. We talked non-stop the whole way. He would say something in Portuguese, who knows what, and I would reply, ‘I know, it’s all my fault, I should have realized that it wasn’t a good neighbourhood.’ Then he would say something else in Portuguese and I would reply, ‘Thank you. I really appreciate you walking with me. I ‘m actually feeling quite shaken at the moment and I feel much safer with you beside me.’ On and on like this we went walking at a fair clip for about 45 minutes and talking endlessly back and forth to each other.

When we got to the port he took me and talked to a security guard, who told us to go and talk to a policeman, who pointed off in another direction. But by then I just wanted to go back to the boat. What good would reporting the crime do? There was no way I could identify the teens. I was, actually, just glad not to have been slashed at with a large knife or two. I tried to give the gentleman the money I had in my pocket. ‘Obrigado’ which means ‘thank you’ is one of my few Portuguese words and I tried to convey that I just wanted to thank him for having walked me back. But he would have none of it. He really wanted me to do whatever it was the police had said but, by then, shock was setting in and I was, a bit belatedly, getting panicky. I shook his hand several times, gestured that I would like to hug him, hugged him. And came through the gate into the safety of the marina.

I loved that little camera. I’d only had it for a couple of months and it cost me less than a day’s pay but I was pretty attached to it nonetheless. I had been considering moving up to a better quality one when I got home and had wondered how I would justify buying another camera when I had so recently bought one. At least now I have a reason.

Mostly I am concerned at my lack of action or reaction when accosted by the teens. I was on a sidewalk beside a four lane road, traffic must have been going by, surely if I had stepped out on to the edge of the road and yelled for help someone would have stopped. I don’t know. Would the kids just have run off, or slashed at me first before they left. They seemed pretty determined. I guess a camera, even a red one, is a pretty good days haul for them. I wonder how much they can sell it for on the black market?

So. I am still a bit shaken. I think I’ll go and post this now. This afternoon I might go back up to the upper city tourist zone. I scoffed at it merely yesterday as being too artificial but it is looking pretty good at the moment. By good I mean safe. I think I’ll buy some post cards, find a seat in one of the many squares where local musicians are playing, get a cold drink and maybe one of the many exotic treats available, sit back and chill, safe as can be.

(Or, perhaps, I’ll stay online a bit longer and look for a flight home.)

Happy New Year!

Stuck in the Tourist District

What continent am I on?

First we were in Europe. OK, I get that. Cobblestone streets and architecture from a number of different centuries. Then we went to Africa, not the mainland but the coastal islands, and they were Africa but with heavy European influence. Now we are in South America, the city of Salvador, to be exact, of which our guide book says, “This is Africa transported, complete with all its ancestral traditions, culture, colours, music, and mysticism, brought here in times past by African slaves.” But it also seems very European, it is after all the city of 365 churches, one for every day of the year. And, though I haven’t personally counted them, I believe this statement; there are churches everywhere, like Starbucks in the states, sometimes you can see three or four around a single square. You wonder why they would ever need so many. But, more to the point, they were built in the 15^th to 18^th centuries by the Portuguese colonialists so the whole place looks very European to my eyes too. (The African slaves of course did the actual work to build all these churches being forced to ‘moonlight’ moving huge stones about after their normal work in the sugar cane fields all day!) So which continent is it exactly?

And is it safe here?

Our guidebook also says, “The visitor is instantly struck by the fascinating character of the city and the warmth and the welcome of its people…” which may be true but is hard to judge. I tried to walk around the ‘lower city’ yesterday but kept getting turned back by, what looked to me, to be homeless people. Though I speak very little Portuguese it was very obvious that they were saying, ‘No. Don’t go here, it is too dangerous. Go back.’ And who, I wondered, is going to attack me if you, who look so dubious, are being so solicitous. Eventually I gave up and went to explore the ‘upper city’. I successfully wandered a six block tourist region, complete with shops and restaurants and museums and market stalls galore, but, if I tried to venture out of this very artificial neighbourhood, populated almost exclusively by other tourists and those with something to sell to them, I met, at every possible exit, and I tried quite a few, armed guards, who, just like the characters in the lower city, said, very clearly, ‘No. Don’t go here, it is too dangerous. Go back.’ So? What? The people are warm and welcoming but yet it is too dangerous to even walk the streets by day? I don’t get it.

We may well be in Salvador for several days. HS is going to try and fix at least one of the auto-pilot systems before we move on and we have both a weekend and then a couple days of New Year’s holiday which will get in the way of his ordering new parts.  What he really wants he thinks he will have to get shipped from Australia. If so I should have the time to get this place figured out!