Mugging

Three weeks ago, I got mugged. Don’t be horrified and imagine a rough gang emerging from a bush to beat me up at gun point in a desperate bid for everything I own. The entire experience was a disconcerting one for a number of reasons but as muggings go, fairly tame.

I was walking, in a customary Sunday afternoon hung over and sleep deprived state, through the suburb of San Telmo. We were on our way to the nature reserve to lie in the sun. I had just broken my 10 peso note for a carton of juice and was strolling along, dozily sipping. Opposite, there was a football match going on, and someone had parked a car on the side of the road which was blaring out loud salsa music. I had just about taken in my surroundings, for this was a part of town I’d not been to before (nor do I feel inclined to return), when all of a sudden I looked up to find two boys in my path.

They looked rough as hell, one of them looked like he had recently been in a fight and they both had the hard, unkind faces of people you most definitely wouldn’t want to invite round for tea. Before I knew it, the uglier, rougher of the two (though it was a close call) had advanced upon me, like a particularly nasty animal closing in on its prey, so that I was against the wall of a building. When his face was so close I could smell his breath, he said: “dame tu cartera”

This was a confusing request. Cartera means purse or bag, what exactly was it he wanted? All that flashed through my head was: “Am I being mugged?!” but not being entirely sure if that was what was happening, I asked for clarification: “que?”. He asked again, more insistent this time and playing with his trousers, opening and closing his jogging bottoms in a way which I can only assume was supposed to make me think he was hiding something sinister.

He wasn’t actually showing me anything though, so I felt it disinclined to give him my stuff without a fight. This boy was only about 17, it was embarrassing! I said “no”, clutching my bag.

This clearly wasn’t quite the reaction he’d hoped for. I’m pretty sure he thought I’d be an easy target. In fact, he seemed unsure what to do, his friend didn’t offer him any advice or backup and so he resorted to swearing at me, (I didn’t fully understand his particularly grotesque insults, but I gather they were some reference  to my mother and her female parts). I remained undeterred, and for a moment it looked like they were just going to go away.

I looked to my boyfriend for help. Yes, he was there, though it looked like it was just an exchange between mugger one and I whilst Gary and mugger two were simply passing the time on the street together. They could’ve been doing anything; waiting for the bus, having a chat, talking about the weather. It felt like we were in some kind of weird slow motion film that was pausing for an ad break. We’d already established I wasn’t going to give mugger one the bag, and no-one seemed about to stab me, so what next?

My plea for help got me the advice of “give them the bag Rosie”. I was thinking of my epipen, wondering whether to give them my purse and phone, knowing that my anti-nut injection was more valuable than anything else. Whilst I pondered this dilemma, and two muggers and a boyfriend awaited my decision, mugger two got bored and demanded that mugger one get on with it. Eventually my bag was grabbed, its strap broke and both muggers ran away, taking what they wanted and chucking my bag with my keys in it on the corner.

They definitely weren’t professionals, clearly thinking that all my money would be in my purse, they didn’t bother to look in the pocket of my discarded bag, where 5 lonely pesos was sitting, probably pleased with itself for staying in cleaner hands.

This incident was a weird one, particularly because it took place in the middle of the day, and brought up a number of questions for me. What should I do in that kind of situation? Is it better to give muggers what they want? I mean, I didn’t know that they weren’t about to pull a knife out of their bag or punch me in the eye for not cooperating (I had a job interview the next day so that really would’ve been a slap in the face). Should my boyfriend have done the “manly” thing and saved me? Should I have run away? Chucked my purse on the floor and bolted in the opposite direction? Was it my fault for not spotting them earlier? Was I stupid to be carrying a bag in the first place?

For a while after this incident, I was scared to walk around alone, and felt my heart beat faster anytime a stranger came near me. But these things wear off, and life continues much the same. The only change is that I bought a new, even crappier phone. I also go out without my bag, my valuables are now stored on various parts of my body. Money and key without its key rings, live in my deepest pockets. A new (very expensive) adrenaline injection lurks in my boot, knocking my leg as a constant reminder of both its life saving ability and very irritating shape. Just in case.

Checklist for a good city

Anyone who has travelled to Buenos Aires (BA) can tell you about the abundance of tango, the delicious steaks and the national obsession with football. These things are not to be knocked, and should be explored and appreciated by any visitor. But for me, someone settling into a new life here, there are other, more subtle factors to be considered, and these are what make BA a place really worth sticking around in.

Direction Dilemmas

You can be utterly lost; frantically turning your map upside down, inside out and cursing the fact that being on the right road does not mean you are remotely near your destination, and there is no need to panic, help is at hand! Ask anyone on the street and they will try their absolute best to help you out, I have had people take the map from me for a better look, ask their friends to check and even better, their directions are correct! If you find, (like me) that you have an inability to remember directions however helpfully they are given (I am sure when someone is giving me directions a little bird flies into my head, buzzes around for a few minutes before going on its directionless way) there’s still no need to despair, there’s bound to be another friendly local just waiting to help you out at the next corner. Just don’t ask for coins for the bus, when it comes to change, you are truly on your own.

Parks

In a city as huge as Buenos Aires (around 13 million) you would think that the city would feel suffocating, huge and ready to consume you greedily at any moment. In actual fact, unless on the subte (underground), it does not feel like this, the streets are wide for one thing, and there are plenty of pretty squares, parks and green spaces in which to go and find solace. The squares tend to have some kind of fancy centre piece such as statue of an important Argentine figure, are often scattered with dog walkers (plus rather large quantities of dog pooh) and are great places to observe local life. The funniest thing about BA’s green spaces is that they are often just next to a busy road, one minute you are about to be run down by traffic coming at you in all directions, the next you are sat on the grass watching a football match.  Who know the path between motorways and pleasure was so small?

Waiters

The waiters in Buenos Aires tend to be incredibly helpful. For example, you can ask them what is in a particular dish and they will actually give you the entire list of ingredients. This quirk, albeit a slight information overload when all you want to know is if a dish contains nuts, means that you do tend to know exactly what you are getting. The menu is often similarly helpfully labelled. A salad of egg and potatoes, is in fact just that, egg and potatoes. The waiters are also courteous; they give you little bows or a respectful nod of the head when you leave. They appear to take pride in their jobs and they do them well. Of course, I have no idea what they are really thinking, perhaps they are secretly willing all their customers to be obliterated by monster hailstones (actually likely to happen here), if they are, they hide it well, and BAs waiting association (they should definitely invent one if they haven’t already) could easily hand out several Oscars for such convincing acting skills.

Markets, dancing and community

The other day I went to my local market, it was, essentially, a jumble sale. Full of piles of unwanted clothes, a place where fishing rods are sold next to old adaptor plugs and the occasional gramophone. For any lover of junk-rummaging it was a gold mine, and there were bargains galore. But this market held more than just cast-offs; I got the sense that it was a very strong part of the local community. All the vendors helped each other out by looking after each other’s stalls when one popped off to buy a piece of homemade cake or something from the bbq. There was also a “music corner” with hoards of old records, a band playing folklore music and people dancing. I love folkloric dance, where else do you see people waving around handkerchiefs and clapping along to rhythms that everyone knows. Several people had even brought deckchairs to watch this event and everyone seemed to know each other. The folkloric music/dancing seemed to be mainly for the older generation. Later on I saw what the young people were up to, a group of drummers and dancers were practising in another park down the road.

People coming together to sell junk, eat homemade cake, dance and play music seems like an excellent idea to me. The more time I spend in South America the more I think that Latinos really do know how to have fun. Porteños (people from BA) can also give directions, have green spaces and nice waiters. Maybe I should write to the Lonely Planet and tell them I’ve come up for some new criteria to judge cities. Perhaps they could include them next to the “dangers and annoyances” section. I have a feeling this section is large in the BA guidebook and it might help to balance things out a little.