Monday 08 September
2008, San José, Costa Rica
Tourist learns A Few
Safety Tips The Hard Way
By Karl Kahler Mercury
News
PLAYA Del COCO- I
felt safe enough
strolling the beach
alone past midnight in
this resort town - I was
right in front of my
hotel, there was a
police station two
blocks to the right and
there were several
people hanging out on
the beach.
Of course, those were
the people who were
about to mug me.
I turned to the left,
where a little, gray
footbridge crossed a
marshy area between two
roads. That was my first
mistake: Don't go where
the police can't drive.
Four shirtless, barefoot
men came up behind me
silent as wraiths,
grabbed my body and
slammed me face down
onto the hard, splintery
boards of the bridge.
I'm a fit 45-year-old, a
former boxer and
wrestler, and (when four
men are not on top of
me) a decent runner.
I've traveled alone in
places a lot more
dangerous than Costa
Rica, including
post-genocide Rwanda and
rebel-held Congo. I've
sometimes thought, "I
pity the fool who tries
to mug me." But on this
one night, when I let my
guard down, I was the
fool.
I tried to fight, but I
couldn't — I was pinned,
my arms and legs crushed
under the weight of four
tough guys. All I could
do was scream.
"HELP! SOCORRO! AYUDAME!
HELLLLP!"
Nobody heard me, though
my hotel was only 50
paces away, with a guard
in the front office and
the five guys traveling
with me fast asleep. (My
excuse? Insomnia.)
My clearest memory of
the attack was looking
up and seeing a rangy
man raising his heel and
then stomping it into my
nose. As I learned in my
boxing days, a blow to
the face doesn't hurt
all that much in the
heat of battle, but it
does rattle your brain a
bit.
"HELLLLLP!" The stomping
didn't silence me, but
now I felt a hand clamp
over my mouth, a
disturbingly intimate
touch. And as it also
covered most of my nose,
I felt the panic of
asphyxiation. I went
silent, thrashing as I
struggled to breathe.
I heard a muted voice:
"Es todo." That's all.
And then a strange thing
happened: They let me go
and quietly slipped
away. This was oddly
surprising, as if I
expected them to go on
stomping and smothering
me all night.
I rolled under the rails
of the bridge and
staggered back to the
hotel. I noticed that
the left pocket of my
REI shorts had been
ripped open for half a
pack of cigarettes and
an orange Bic lighter,
while the zippered right
pocket had been emptied
of two Costa Rican bills
worth $12.
Es todo. I had stashed
my wallet and passport
in my hotel room.
"You were lucky. They
could have killed you
for lack of money," said
Peter Tarlow, a Texas
A&M professor who has a
doctorate in tourism
security and lectures
globally on the subject.
"People should never go
out in the street
without 25 bucks in
their pocket. It could
save your life," he
said, citing cases in
which robberies turned
into homicides because
the victims weren't
carrying enough money to
satisfy their attackers.
Another expert on travel
safety, Ira Somerson,
said: "You had a good
instinct to leave your
wallet and passport
safely in your room.
Why? Because you
unconsciously understood
the risk you were taking
by going out for a walk
alone!"
Somerson, who is
president of Loss
Management Consultants
of Pennsylvania and has
30 years' experience as
an expert witness and
professional consultant
on security issues,
said: "First advice:
Trust your instincts —
it should be the first
thing you listen to
besides the advice you
may get before
traveling. You may
choose to ignore the
advice of others, but
never ignore your
instincts."
Crime against tourists
is "very common," Tarlow
said, even in countries
you would think of as
safe. Unfortunately, he
says, those who contact
him for travel safety
information are often
people who have already
been victimized — people
like me. The time to
think about the issue is
before it's too late.
Tarlow says the most
common victims of
tourism crime,
counterintuitively, are
single men ages 18 to
30. Why?
"Because they don't take
precautions, they walk
alone in dark places,
they don't get medical
care."
Guilty on all three
counts.
My hotel guard, alarmed
to see a crazed, bloody
tourist staggering into
his lobby, refused at
first to call the
police, telling me I
could walk two blocks to
the police station
myself.
My brother and our sons,
18 and 21, doubly
alarmed to see me with
cuts all over my face
and liberal splashes of
blood on my shirt,
watched as I showed the
guard how they stomped
my face — and he wanted
me to go back out there
so they could do it
again?!
A young cop finally
showed up on a
motorbike, listened to
my story, jotted a few
notes and said it wasn't
a good idea to walk in
dangerous places at
night. Then he rode back
to his police station.
Big help he was.
Tarlow says most
victimized tourists
never contact the police
— and in fact, depending
on where you are, it may
be unwise to do so. In
some places, the
underpaid cops are as
bad as the robbers. If
you are robbed in
London, by all means
call the police. But if
you're in Angola, think
twice.
My second mistake was
not immediately cleaning
all my wounds and
scouring them for
splinters, gray paint,
mud or anything else
that didn't belong
inside my body.
I had close to 30 cuts
on my face, hands,
elbows and knees.
Nothing was broken,
though my nose was red
and swollen and bled for
two hours. The inside of
my lips were purple, and
there was a big, weird
spot of blood in my left
eye.
The next day we drove to
Monteverde, the cloud
forest that is Costa
Rica's biggest tourist
attraction. I felt sore
in lots of places, but I
figured it would pass.
The day after that, I
woke up feverish and in
pain. Three wounds were
infected. I could barely
walk because of shooting
pains in the knee, I
couldn't use my right
hand and I was
practically delirious
with fever.
So did I go to a doctor?
No, and that was my
third mistake.
Why not? I was hurting
so bad, and I was so
feverish, that I would
have had a hard time
getting out of bed if
someone told me the
hotel was on fire. Also,
I had no idea how to
find medical care, I
feared it would cost me
hundreds of dollars and
I doubted it would be
much help. I decided to
wait until my return
home.
Bad call. Getting
medical care is like
trying to find a
bathroom when you need
one — waiting doesn't
help. Tarlow advises
contacting the local
U.S. consulate
beforehand for the names
of trustworthy doctors.
I stayed in bed all day,
eating nothing but
aspirin and
over-the-counter
antibiotics that my son
brought me. I finally
dressed my wounds
properly with antibiotic
ointment.
We spent the next two
days getting home,
arriving in the Bay Area
late on a Friday. Not
until Monday, six days
after the attack, did I
see my doctor, who gave
me a tetanus shot and
daily doses of
antibiotic injections
and oral antiobiotics
for 10 days.
My doctor said the same
thing Tarlow said: "You
were lucky."
With luck like this, who
needs misfortune?
While I nurse my wounds
(and my wounded pride),
I leave you with some
sage advice from
Somerson:
"Be prepared, learn
about the environment
you are visiting,
understand that any
traveler will be obvious
in a different culture
and therefore
vulnerable. Never be
alone at night in a turf
you do not know, but
most importantly listen
to your instincts and
avoid the potential
dangers you perceive." |
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