The Closest I Get to Crying

My daypack has been stolen. It contained 300 quids worth of gear and it´s all gone. My Ipod, fleece, sunglasses, swiss army knife, first aid kit,  even my Lonely Planet Guidebook, the lot.

Four of us were sat in a cafe having lunch, the bag was on my right but slightly behind me. I even thought about dragging it forward and wrapping a strap around my leg but decided that it wasn´t necessary. But clearly it was - someone who had been eating in the cafe obviously just pulled the bag towards themselves, picked it up and just waltzed right out of there. All this without any of us seeing them - it´s an astonishing thing to get away with, but they managed it.         

Marie has just left with another traveller, an Australian girl named Josie to catch a bus for Peru. Tomorrow, Andy and I will also cross the border. I don´t want this to cloud my memories of Ecuador too much, the last three weeks has been an astonishing experience, but right now I´m as low as I will hopefully get on this trip, almost as if I´m in a mild state of shock.

I´m angry with the thieving bastards who took the bag but, even worse, I´m furious with myself for letting my guard down. I´ve heard the stories, I´ve been paranoid about constantly hanging onto my stuff and watching the locals closely, even if they seem to be friendly, but I wasn´t vigilant enough.   

So, to other travellers in South America: beware - you are a target and it takes only a second for you to lose a hell of a lot.