Thinking about what it means to be a hero...

I am now safely in the US, and am happy to report that I managed to 'escape' from South America without being robbed. I survived my first continent unscathed, something which I definitely didn't think was possible after my first week. That week I encountered so many people with stories of being mugged or pick-pocked that I was sure that it was unavoidable.

Interestingly, it was the first and last places I stayed that I think were the most dangerous. I met three people in Quito who had been mugged and the Lonely Planet warns that certain areas of Quito have high levels of crime, in particular the new town, or the Mariscal, also known as ‘gringo town’ where most of the travellers end up. I read this and decided that I wasn’t going anywhere near the place, and decided to go to the Old Town instead. But on the bus on the way to Quito, I met a couple of European exchange students based there, and the girl that I sat next to told me that her host mother had warned her that she shouldn’t go to the Old Town on her own because it is so quiet and the streets are empty at night, which makes it dangerous. She told me that the Mariscal could be dangerous too, but was generally okay if you stuck to the busy streets. I felt a little overwhelmed because everywhere I was planning to go sounded dangerous, but in the end decided to go with gringo town, trusting the local knowledge over the book.

I liked the area a lot, actually. It was conveniently located near lots of travel agencies, internet cafes, coffee shops, and a lot of cool bars and restaurants, and I walked around there quite happily both day and night, despite the myriad warnings. The robberies that I learnt about all happened in the Old Town. I felt so safe in the Mariscal that on my last evening there before heading to on my jungle excurstion I decided that I was going to walk to the bus station rather than taking a taxi. It was only eight blocks or so, and it seemed silly to catch a cab and pay when walking would have been free. Sure, the Lonely Planet advised to take a taxi after dark in the Mariscal, but I hadn’t once felt at risk, and so I figured if I stuck to the main streets, where there were lots of people and lights then it shouldn’t be a problem.

So I set off with my bags packed for the jungle trip, but I hadn’t even gone two blocks when I heard a loud yell, ‘Help! Help’ in a loud American accent. I looked over towards the voice, and less than 5 metres from me, in the middle of the road there was a group of 4 or 5 local youths, and a guy writhing on the ground. Some of the local boys were holding him down, while the others searched his body, supposedly for a money belt, wallet, or cash, and all the while the man kept screaming 'help, help!'

I stood, paralysed with fear, feeling totally powerless to do anything but watch. I kept thinking ‘if I try to do anything, they may attack me,’ and so I just hid behind a car and watched. I wanted to help, and I thought about what I could do to help, but other than calling the police I couldn’t think of what else to do and I didn’t even have a cell phone to do that. So I yelled from behind the car ‘Stop it!’ in Spanish, but I was so nervous it came out more of a squeak. The attackers didn’t pay me any attention anyway. I looked around, and noticed that there were at least 10 other people in the area, all watching the man being assaulted and nobody DOING anything about it. I couldn’t believe that with so many witnesses, in such a lit-up, public area that they would even consider it. And I couldn't believe that everyone was just letting it happen. Finally a car turned into the road, and pulled up just behind the youths. The car honked its horn, and the driver started to get out of the car, presumably to intervene, and the boys ran away. The American shakily got to his feet, muttering ‘they tried to mug me'. I saw that he was unhurt, so left quickly, making my way to a more public space, my heart racing the entire time. I decided right then and there that I would pay whatever the taxi driver wanted for that ridiculously short drive, but I was not taking another step at night in the Mariscal!

I was so shaken afterwards, I couldn’t get it off my mind. I remember feeling that I had a small sense of what people must have felt around Hitler. Wanting to do something, but feeling so afraid and therefore helpless to stand up for what was right. I kept wondering what I could have done, realistically, to help. I came up with a couple of things. I figured that I could have got out my camera and taken some photos, to have evidence to be able to identify the attackers and assist the police. This was a fairly safe option, that didn’t involve a lot of personal risk. Unless, of course, I was observed taking the photos, then my camera quite possibly would have been stolen or destroyed, and I might be hurt in the process, but I figured that it was definitely a justifiable risk.

Incidentally, on my second night in New York City, I had the opportunity to test my theory of what I would do in such a situation. I had just come out of Barnes and Noble Bookstore in Union Square (by far the most amazing bookstore I’ve been in in my life) when I heard a cry for help. ‘Help! Help!’ yelled an American accent. I couldn’t believe it was happening again! This time, though, instead of hiding behind a car, I turned and ran towards the incident, deciding that this time I wasn't going to do nothing. So as I ran towards the incident, I was already reaching in my bag for my camera. There was two men beating up a third, again in the middle of the street. While I was snapping off shots, another man approached them and tried to calm the situation. He first tried to reason with the attackers, pleading with them to consider the number of witnesses, telling them that they didn’t want to do this.

When I looked around, I found that he was correct, there would have been at least 50 people gathered watching. The two guys wouldn’t let the third go, so the guy said that he was calling 911. ‘Go on, call the police! I’m the good guy here!’ He yelled. He stopped hitting the other man, but still wouldn’t let him go, even going to far as try and cuff him with some handcuffs that he happened to have in his pocket. I wondered whether maybe he happened to be an undercover police officer or something, but something about that didn't fit. Maybe it was the way that he had slammed the other guys head against the car, but despite the cuffs I didn't think he was a cop.

I looked around and noticed that at least 4 or 5 people in the crowd were already on their mobile phones, and I guess that they were all calling for help. Some other people had the same idea that I had, because I saw a number of flashes go off. When he noticed the flashes, the not-police-officer-guy went a little bit crazy. ‘Who's f*^%+ng taking photographs?’ he yelled, looking into the crowd. ‘Don’t you dare take any mother-f*^%$ng photos of me!’ I quickly hid my camera. Although I hadn’t used the flash, I was afraid if he saw my camera he would come after me!

Thankfully, the 911 messages must have gotten through quickly, because it didn’t take long for 3 NYPD officers to be on the scene. They took control of the situation and it turned out that the guy being attacked had stolen a pen, been caught in the act, so the two guys beat him up. I have to confess that this somewhat disappointed and disgusted me. I couldn’t believe all that violence was over a PEN!

Unfortunately, when I reviewed my photos I discovered that most of them were so blurry that the people in them were not identifiable anyway. As my photos were so bad I figured they wouldn’t be very useful as evidence, and the police had all of the people they needed in custody, so I left and went on my merry sightseeing way. In the end, my plan was a bit of a failure, and I wasn't very helpful. I pondered that maybe a better idea might be to use the video function instead. But I did feel a sense of satisfaction that at least this time I hadn’t sat idly by, even though my photos weren't really needed.

At least that is how I felt until today, when I decided to visit the World Trade Centre. Seeing Ground Zero was something that I had definitely wanted to do from the first moment I decided to visit New York. 9/11 was such a traumatic event for the whole world, and I was no different. I still remember vividly the call from Amber, turning on the television, and watching through the night, with one ear pressed to the phone. We lived only a few minutes walk from each other, but neither of us wanted to leave the television, so we stayed on the phone while we watched the unfolding drama together, and saw the second plane crash live, followed by the collapse of both towers. I’m sure I’m like most other people when I say that I couldn’t think or talk of anything else for days.

So visiting Ground Zero, the site of the former World Trade Centre Twin Towers in New
York was such an emotional experience, and an incredibly rewarding one. If I had the choice again, I wouldn’t choose to go when it is -10 degrees, but I would definitely like to go back to see what the memorial is like when they finish it. At the moment the area is simply a huge construction site, pulsing with activity, but in a very different way to how it used to.

Although the proposed memorial isn’t finished, there is a small area in a building in a neighbouring street, known as the World Trade Centre Tribute. It seems mostly to be designed for remembrance and reflection. Rather than providing a comprehensive account of the incident, it was an eclectic compilation of pictures, videos, artwork, words, stories, and seemed more emotional than factual. The first hall showed videos of what the WTC was like before the attack, with people talking about how it felt to work there, the sense of community that came with having so many people working in offices in the same building. The voice-over was comprised of memories of people reminiscing about taking their kids to the cafeteria, watching bands at lunch time, their first day of work, and so on. From there was a collection of items pulled from the rubble, from a window of one of the airplanes, plaques from the elevators, police radios from police cars destroyed in the collapse of the building, to a small teddy bear found in tact in the arms of a dead policeman. There was a reproduction of the posters that frantic family and friends posted on a wall after the event, while they were still trying to determine whether their loved ones had lived or lied. There were images and short anecdotes of people, survivors and victims. You could listen to actual radio recordings from police officers and fire fighters while they were inside the building, as well as listen to accounts from survivors and witnesses after the event. I doubt that anyone could get through it without shedding a tear. I have to confess that I was sobbing like a baby, although hopefully with a little more dignity!

Finally there was a room where you could sit and read how the day had changed other people’s lives. There were cards to fill in, where you could write your own thoughts about 9/11, and countless folders full of the words of others, for you to read. I read through every single folder, which took hours (it helps that I can speed read). Finally, I felt like I had been through an emotional roller coaster, but I also felt to touched and inspired to write my own message. It made me think about the things that had happened to me in the past few weeks, and the nature of heroism. The fire fighters and the police officers, and the others who risked their lives to help someone else that day were truly heroic. It made me realise just how cowardly my plan was, to take a video in order to help someone who needed it. As if that was actually going to help! At best I might end up with a recording of a crime, an assault, maybe even a murder... and while it might be useful in prosecuting the guilty, it wouldn't help the victim at the time. The WTC tribute made me think that if we had more people in the world who were willing to run into danger and help others, heedless of the danger to themselves, the world would be a much better place. I'm not saying that I'm planning on becoming a masked crime-fighter or anything, because at heart I'm a big chicken and a weak one at that, but the memorial definitely made me think about my life, and my experiences, especially over the past few weeks. And so, while sitting at the table in the reflection room, this is what I wrote:

"Twice in the last week I have been petrified, frozen with fear and unable to do anything but watch as I witnessed two separate incidents in which a victim cried for help as they were being attacked. I discovered that it is so easy to do nothing out of fear for oneself. To me, those that ran into the burning buildings on Septemper 11th, 2001, to rescue people stuck in the towers are the greatest heroes in the world. They shine the light that inspires an entire generation, a nation, all the people of the world. Although they may be gone, their legacy lives on. To the true heroes, those that sought to save others despite their own fears, I want to say thank you for your strength, your courage and your sacrifice. May we all learn from your example."

Miscellaneous thoughts about Ecuador

One of the first realisations that I had when I arrived in South America was the increased level of personal security that I was going to have to take. But nowhere has that been more apparent than the last few weeks in Peru and Ecuador. In Peru, at the start of each bus ride a representative of the bus company takes digital photos or video footage of each passenger in their seat. The first time it happened I was fascinated by the process, and I speculated why this could be. I am a little embarrassed to admit that my first guess was that it was for promotional footage! However, I later found out it is in case of a kidnapping or hijacking, so there are records of exactly who was on the bus. I think this has duel purposes, firstly it identifies the victims if required, but at the same time if any of the passengers on the bus are involved as co-conspirators in the hijacking, their faces are also on record. When I learnt of the reason for the photos, I couldn’t decide how I felt about it. On the one hand, the fact that the process was necessary was a bit frightening, but on the other if it was going to deter similar crimes then I was happy to have my photo taken along with the rest.

Heading to the border of Ecuador, before I boarded the bus I had to have a mug shot taken, my finger printed, as well as show my passport! I remember thinking to myself, ‘Where on earth am I going?’ And arriving into Ecuador, nothing has made me lessen my guard. This first bus I took, a five-hour bus to the largest city in Ecuador, Guayaquil, had an armed guard complete with big mamma gun and bullet proof vest! And when I asked for directions on how to get to the centre of the city by bus, the lady at the information booth looked at me sceptically and said ‘Are you sure you won’t take a taxi?’ When I assured her that I was determined to go by public bus she told me to take the number 57, because it is ‘goes through a safe neighbourhood, and hasn’t been robbed very much.’ So I took the number 57 bus, and discovered that there was a metal detector just in from the door, so in order to get to the seats in the bus you need to pass through it! I was a little freaked out by the combination of factor, and my first few hours in Ecuador consisted of me trying desperately to look like I didn’t have anything of value and composing action plans in my head for if I were robbed at gunpoint! Despite my initial fears, though, I haven’t found Ecuador to be any different to any other place in South America, and now I look back and have to laugh at myself being so worried on my first day.

Guayaquil was a city with nothing much to recommend itself in terms of tourist locations, but I kind of liked not being in a touristy place for a day. It did have a fantastic park in the city centre with free-roaming iguanas that people can (and do) get frighteningly close to. I was charmed by the iguana park, and spent quite a bit of time sitting watching the people interacting with the iguanas. Everyone seemed to want to get a photo of themselves touching an iguana. The most disturbing moment was when a young local boy picked up one of the iguanas by its tail! And when I looked up into the trees, there were dozens of them just resting on the branches. Another thing that Guayaquil had going for it was the weather. I had to get within 2 degrees of the equator, but I finally found the tropics! It was hot and humid in Guayaquil, regardless of the time of day, and whether the sun was shining or not.

But I’m sad to say that my strongest memory of Guayaquil has to be the hotel that I stayed in. I seriously think that I discovered the most horrible hotel on the planet. The toilet didn’t have a seat, and it didn’t flush. I repeatedly asked for it to be repaired with no success. The shower did not have hot water, which wasn’t such an issue because of the heat, but what was bothering was the lack of a faucet! The shower just kind of spurted water from a hole in the wall! Also there were literally hundreds of baby cockroaches crawling up the walls and on the floor. I gave up trying to wave them away from my luggage. On top of this, the glass window was broken, and backing onto the loudest road in South America! I’m not a bit squeamish about insects, so I dealt with the cockroaches okay, but I never again want to encounter the smell that was coming from that bathroom after a day and night without the ability to flush the toilet!

Needless to say, I was incredibly glad to leave Guayaquil, and particular, that hotel room, and travel to Cuenca. Only five hours away from Guayaquil by bus, Cuenca is located in the highlands, at about 2800 metres above sea level. It sometimes makes my mind boggle when I think that I’ve spent about half of my time in South America in towns that are higher than our tallest mountain in Australia! It was a visually spectacular trip, going from the coast to the Andes, and Cuenca itself is a gorgeous Colonial town, with lots of pretty churches and old buildings and cobbled streets. I stayed there a couple of days before setting off from Cuenca to a town in the jungle called Macas, which is nearly at sea level again, but on the other side of the Andes, with a completely different set of flora and fauna and weather patterns.

And that is another thing that is quite distinctive about Ecuador – the diversity. It is a very small country, the second smallest in South America, apparently, but it has such a dramatic range of climates, and associated with that, different cultures. There is such a range of people here in Ecuador as well, with most people being some sort of mix between Spaniards and indigenous, but there are also quite a lot of descendents of African slaves brought out by the Spanish conquerors. I like watching people on the streets and noticing the range of colours and faces that I can see in the one street.

But my favourite thing about Ecuador so far has been the refreshingly low numbers of tourists, especially when compared with Peru. In Peru I couldn’t sit in the main square of any city without being hassled by people trying to sell postcards, artwork, lollies, tours, or something or other. It got to the stage where I just didn’t bother sitting in public, I would always go to a coffee shop to read the paper, because there I would be hassled less. But here in Ecuador I’ve been able to sit un-hassled pretty much everywhere. From the moment that I crossed the border there was a difference in the atmospheres of the towns, which was like a breath of fresh air after touristy Peru. Even in the most touristy parts of the old town in Quito and Cuenca, the only times I have been approached have been by people wanting to chat with me and find out where I am from, not by people wanting to get money out of me. It's quite relaxing to travel here, and I find myself wishing I had more time to enjoy it. But it's not to be. I'm heading off to the jungle lodge in Cuyabeno National Reserve tomorrow to play with piranhas and monkeys, and then leaving South America for good to fly to Miami.

New Years Eve at the BEACH!

I have never really been a big fan of New Year’s Eve… I passed most of my early twenties when my friends were out boozing a teetotaller, so New Year’s Eve, if I bothered to go out at all, often consisted of me holding friends heads over the tops of buckets as they puked their guts out! So I never bothered to celebrate the holiday much in the traditional sense, although I have been in some memorable locations for New Year over the years: Tian’anmen Square in China, Khaosan Rd in Thailand, Krakow in Poland, a few in Japan, one in Cairns, as well as the countless I’ve passed in Melbourne… This year was special, not only because I can add another country and continent to the list, but because I had one of the most fun nights-out that I’ve had since I left Australia.

I was determined to spend New Year’s Eve at a beach somewhere… After months of travelling in the mountains, I’d missed the ocean and I was hanging out for some tropical warmth that I’d figured would come with the fact that I was smack bang in the middle of the tropics… So I decided to head for a beach town of Huanchaco, about 500km north of Lima... I’d heard better things about Mancora, a town further north near the border of Ecuador, but I discovered it was seriously booked out and over-priced for the week over new year, so decided to go with my second-choice beach town of Huanchaco (pronounced ‘one-chuck-oh’ for anyone that cares).

I turned up in the early hours of the morning on the 31^st and was incredibly lucky to find a dorm bed free in the first place that I tried… So I crashed for a couple of hours, and when I awoke I discovered that I was sharing a dorm with the two English guys that I met and spent a few days with during my first week in South America, way back in Chile. Paul and Jeff were great fun, friendly, lively and I’d been following their travels through facebook, hoping to meet them again. I’d known that they were possibly going to be in Huanchaco for New Year, and had hoped to meet up with them, but I didn’t expect that I would find myself in the same room! I’d expected to have to spend the day chasing them down, but I was rapt to have found them so quickly.

However, I have to say that the weather in Huanchaco was somewhat of a disappointment. Blazing hot while the sun shone, as soon as the sun went down the weather turned cool, and I needed three layers to keep warm in the evening! And don’t get me started on the water! The water in the ocean was absolutely FREEZING! At 8 degrees south of the equator I expected that the water would be tropical and warm, but water comes up the coast of South America directly from the Antarctic, and hence, despite the tropical location, neither the weather nor the water could be classed as tropical. I still don’t properly understand it, but for whatever reason the rules that govern weather in South America are different from the rest of the world, and that’s all there is to understand.

Anyway, the hostal we were staying in, a charming budget place called Naylamp, were providing a fire for the celebration, but we had to provide the meat for the barbecue ourselves… So during the day, Paul and Jeff and I, along with a lovely German girl called Anne, went shopping for meat, salads, and wine to share. Jeff was the designated cook and made our plain meat seem like a gourmet meal… After the meal we headed to the beach for the midnight countdown to let of the fireworks that Jeff had purchased with the excitement of a five-year old in a toy shop. The beach was packed with thousands of groups of people each having their own private celebration.

We were seated near a Peruvian family who were celebrating in style, dancing together from the young children to the grandparents. I think it might have been the alcohol induced fuzziness, or perhaps just the spirit of togetherness that I felt because of the celebration, but I saw nothing wrong with joining in on their celebration and dancing with them… They had peruvian salsa music pumped up loud from their car, and had a crackling fire, and they looked like they were having so much fun, and I was cold and bored with our party after we’d finished the fireworks… Rather than thinking ‘get this crazy, drunk foreign lady away from us’ which they would have been well within their rights to do, they were so warm and welcoming and seemed overjoyed to have us dance with them. Importantly, they shared their champagne with us (we had champagne to toast the new year with, but it was so bad that it was almost undrinkable, which is what happens if you pick the cheapest thing in the supermarket!)…

After a bit of dancing, the others went off to bed, but I was having so much fun that I stayed, and the family took turns dancing with me. After I’d danced a few dances, during which the lady who appeared to be the head of the family had been watching me, she turned to me and announced in a kind of official tone, ‘you know, for a gringa, you can dance’. I seemed to have passed her test, but I couldn’t help laughing at the qualification ‘for a gringa’ and took it up as a challenge to show what I could really do! So I decided to show off a little, and let my hair down and move! My favourite dance partners were the grandmother, who had hips that moved like she was still a teenager, and the matriarch’s son Luis, who at age 10, had moves that I don’t see from some of the most experienced salsa dancers in Australia. He knew exactly how to lead, and had a sense of rhythm that is so innate it just can’t be taught, and pushed and pulled me around the sand like we were in dirty dancing! After a few dances, Luis’s mum said ‘I was wrong, you can move better than most of us! Where did you learn to dance?’ She didn’t believe her when I told her I’d only learnt in Australia!

Getting close to 3am I was getting tired, and kept trying to leave, but the family wouldn’t let me go. They would appoint someone new to dance with me, and I couldn’t say no. But they didn’t look like they were going to stop! They were still cooking food on their barbecue, and looked like they were going to start eating AGAIN! I have to confess that they all outlasted me, and sometime a little after 3 I pulled myself away and headed to bed. But that one interaction completely changed the way that I’d felt about Peru. Before that night I was still ambivalent about the country. I’d felt that it was too touristy and I hadn’t yet found anything that made me absolutely love it. Dancing with the Peruvian family while listening to Peruvian music and eating Peruvian food until the early hours of the morning, and being so thoroughly welcomed and embraced by them, was one of the highlights of my trip so far. The night will be what I think of first when I think about Peru... the memory will surpass even the view of Machu Picchu as my defining image of the country, that I ended up falling in love with after all…