August 31 – September 28, 2024.
After Otavalo, we arrived in Quito, Ecuador’s capital. It’s the second-largest city in the country, with an estimated population of 2.8 million. Located in the Andes at about 9350 feet, the air is thin, and beer comes out of the taps all foamy. It is thought that the area was first settled sometime between 4400 and 1600 BC, long before the Inca Empire left its mark. The city was in ruins when the Spanish discovered it, so they founded a new one in 1534. Today, much of Quito is modern, with high-rises, distinctive architecture, and a plethora of shopping malls, but its old town remains full of well-preserved colonial buildings. In 1978, Quito became one of the first UNESCO World Heritage sites.
But we didn’t come here for all that; we came to learn Spanish.
Our original plan was to spend 4 weeks taking Spanish classes. But out of the handful of schools we reached out to, only one replied. And they wanted to sell us private classes instead of group classes. After a disappointing experience with private classes in Medellín, we didn’t want to spend the extra money. And after some thought, we decided that we could save even more money by teaching ourselves.
We settled into the cute, privately owned apartment in the Floresta neighborhood. We subscribed to a handful of websites that focused on different aspects of learning Spanish and started studying 3 hours a day, 5 days a week.
I found a language exchange at a brewpub called VIVA Cerveza! in the La Carolina neighborhood, about 1 3/4 miles north of where we were staying. We could easily walk there in the afternoon when the streets were busy and bright. The meet-up was well organized, the participants, both gringos and Ecuadorians, were all gregarious, and the beer was excellent. Everything was so good that we were always among the last people to leave. Back out on the street, everything was eerily quiet, dark, and eerie. We always took a taxi home.
We were enjoying the rhythm of city life and feeling like a local. But by the end of that first week, we were ready to take a Saturday off, give all the Spanish studying a rest, and be tourists.
The old town, El Centro, was farther than we wanted to walk, so we decided to take the bus.
At the bus platform, we studied the posted system map. We were trying to figure out which stop would let us off closest to the vegan restaurant I found for our lunch. A young woman approached us and asked in English if she could help. I explained where we were planning to get off, and she said the stop was too dangerous. She suggested another route that involved transferring to the metro (subway) and a longer walk to the restaurant. Once she left, Greg and I continued to consider our options. I didn’t want to deal with having to find the Metro after we got off the bus or a longer walk. “How dangerous could it be?” I asked. The direct route just seemed easier. We decided to stay with our original plan.
When we exited the bus platform at our stop, I pulled out my phone to look at Google Maps and see where we needed to go next. We crossed the street to a busy sidewalk crowded with pedestrians walking in either direction. Vendors sat along the sidewalk’s edge, their wares spread out on small blankets. As we made our way down the street, I snapped quick pictures of this somewhat chaotic and fascinating scene. A passerby told me to put my phone away. But I needed it to follow the map to our restaurant. I pulled it close to my chest. We turned a corner, and everything quieted down as we left the busy scene behind.
Inside Los Padmito Vegan Restaurant, we felt like we were in some funky eatery in Western North Carolina. Mismatched wooden tables and chairs were surrounded by old cabinets displaying antique crockery, books, and musical instruments. Relics were stacked on shelves, and aging mirrors and paintings were displayed on the walls. The food was great. I took some pictures of it before we dug in.
After our meal, two children (I assume progeny of the proprietors) alternated playing an old piano. They were excellent. Greg took a turn, too. I documented everything with my camera phone.
We left the restaurant and walked a few more blocks towards the plaza. We needed cash, so I looked up an ATM on Google Maps. The line was long. As it moved forward, I noticed a man standing off to the side, maybe 30 feet away. His phone was raised to take a picture of a group of people who were sitting on some steps about 15 feet past the ATM. He stayed that way, with his phone raised the entire time we waited. Was he covertly taking pictures of the ATM? He made me feel uneasy.
I thought about one of the scams I had read about in an Ecuadorian expat group on Facebook. Someone comes up to you and tells you that they saw a bird poop on your back. Under the pretense of being helpful, they help you clean it up while an accomplice robs you.
Once we had our money, we continued to the Plaza Grande. It was super crowded. But all the old architecture was so impressive. There were so many photos to be taken. As we walked around the buildings, I waited patiently for people to move out of my way so I could stretch out my arm with my camera phone to the best angles. I gripped my phone tightly and always pulled it close to my body after I had gotten my shot. I didn’t want to lose my phone again as I did in Medellín. I thought about putting it away and using my “big” camera, which I mainly use for wildlife photography. I carried this camera in a small black camera bag I had bought before we began our South American adventure. I had chosen this bag because it was inconspicuous, had a nice, wide, thick strap, and I thought it could pass as a purse containing less value than a bag with a pricey camera. My “big” camera also has a wide, thick strap, which I always had around my neck when using it, but I worried that more expensive equipment would make me more conspicuous.
Ultimately, I just wasn’t comfortable, so we decided to move on to a quieter place. We ended up at Parque Bulevar 24 de Mayo, not so much a park as a long, wide pedestrian thoroughfare with some statues, trees in stone planters, and occasional places to sit. Despite a small festival at one end of the park, it was much quieter than the busy area around the plaza. As we walked up the thoroughfare and away from the festival, we didn’t see many people at all. Colonial buildings stood on either side of the park, and I found plenty of interesting views to photograph.
We strolled up to the Monumento al Agulia. We had already decided to leave the area, but I wanted to take just a few last shots looking back on the thoroughfare. Greg was standing behind me. I lifted my phone, and then it was gone. Somebody ran up behind me, grabbed it, and kept going, disappearing between two buildings across the street. I ran after him, knowing I couldn’t catch him, yelling dollar amounts: “cien (100) dolares!” Then upped it: “doscientos (200) dolares!” I didn’t want to have to go through the trouble of replacing my phone again; I would rather give a thief $200. But he was gone. There were a few people around, but they didn’t even look up at the crazy gringo lady yelling dollar amounts. I asked them if they had seen a man running, but no one had an answer. As I rounded the corner of one of the buildings back towards the park, someone kindly pointed at a cop on a Segway. The Segway cop pointed me to a police substation about 100 yards away.
At the substation, they told us that we needed to see the tourist police. The tourist police were on the other side of the park on a side street. Two cops rode over there on motorcycles, and we followed them on foot. The Tourist Police substation was closed, so we needed to go to yet another police station. This time, we each hopped on the back of one of the motorcycles. We rode down the street, turned back towards the Plaza, and then turned onto a pedestrian walkway, zooming past people, many who had not been robbed, looking at their phones. I so wanted my camera phone to document this little adventure.
At the next station, we were finally able to make our report. Afterward, we flagged down a cab for a quick ride back to the apartment. On the way, I was already trying to solve my new problem.
I felt like a failure not just as a tourist but as a traveler. I knew better than to do tourist stuff on the weekend when the crowds are bigger. I knew there was a possibility of theft. I let my desire to take copious amounts of photos make us targets. And I wasn’t aware enough of my surroundings or who might be watching us.
My new problem was not only about how to replace the phone but what to do about taking pictures. We would be in South America for more than another 8 months. I couldn’t NOT take pictures. The first thing I did back at the apartment was to remotely lock my phone and wipe its data. Then I started doing research. I still had my big camera, but I was less comfortable using it in big cities. A small camera was easier, quicker, and less conspicuous for the more casual photos I liked to take. I thought about getting a cheap camera for snapshots and keeping my phone secured in my bag. But I wasn’t finding any suitable options at online camera stores. I thought about ways I could keep my phone safe. Perhaps if I had a glove, some glue, and some tape, I could make a contraption to bind my phone to my hand.
But first I had to replace it. I thought I could hire a mule to bring one from the US. Then, after searching online, I found that Samsung had an Ecuadorian website. But it wouldn’t take my foreign credit card. More web searching yielded a few places in town that sold Samsungs.
We went back and forth numerous times on the bus to La Carolina, where all the big malls were, to cancel my current plan, report the phone stolen with the phone company, Claro, and look for a replacement. Eventually, I found a place that offered a good cash deal on the exact same phone I had. After a visit to an ATM, we just needed to visit Claro again to set up service. To secure the phone, I ended up buying a case with a slot for a credit card or ID. I threaded a shoestring through the slot, tightened it, and attached the other end to my camera bag. When I pulled the phone out, I wrapped the shoestring around my wrist. Someone could still steal it, but if they tried, they’d have to bring me with them. I figured dragging an old gringo lady kicking and screaming would at least slow them down.
Once the phone problem was settled, we went back to studying Spanish and living like locals. We didn’t go back to El Centro. We didn’t visit any of the historic churches, go to any museums, or ride the teleferiQo. And all the pictures of the street vendors, our lunch, the children, and Greg playing piano, the wonderful architecture of El Centro, the festival, the long visual lines of Parque Bulevar 24 de Mayo were just gone.
I am thankful that neither of you were injured! Is it possible there is an international theft policy at a reasonable rate? Maybe cheaper than the $200 you were offering. I’m just glad he didn’t come back and demand the money and keep the phone. However, I have often thought that if a purse snatcher grabbed for my purse that instead of pulling away I’d tackle and push into them. Probably not a good idea. Afterall, material things are replaceable – of course the photos are not, and are usually not repeatable – but memories are forever. This sounds like a memory that will remain long after this new phone is replaced with a new model for the right reasons – simply updating!
Keep enjoying life to it’s fullest! Hugs from South Carolina!
Debbie
Do you use your android for Google Pay and mobile banking? If so, were they able to use those? Did you have to cancel any cards you had associated with the phone?
Oh Duwan, this is such a horrible story. I’m so sorry this happened to you – twice. I’m sure you’ll always be kicking yourself for wanting to take that “one last photo”. The saddest thing – and what would bum me the most as well – is losing of the photos that were still on the phone. Do you have a cloud backup now? Was there any way to track where the phone “ran off” to?
When my phone was stolen in Cusco, I had the same issue – losing photos and wondering how to get a replacement. Luckily, I pretty much only use my phone to take photos. I don’t even have a SIM card. Like you, I reported the theft, but nothing ever comes from that, especially in South America.
It sounds like a you have a good solution now, regarding securing your phone (I saw you using it in Paraguay), so hopefully no more stolen phones or other robberies. By the way, if you’d like to have some photos of Quito as a memory or for your files, just let me know and I’ll send you mine via We Transfer. Xox
So thankful you weren’t hurt. Years ago we traveled to Ecuador. Quito is the only place we’ve ever traveled that people, even teenagers, didn’t have phones out. We also were told, repeatedly, by locals to stay away from certain areas and to put away our little point and shoot camera. And all backpacks were carried on the front. As we were waiting for a tour on the sidewalk outside a youth hostel someone came along and ripped Annie’s earrings right off her ears. Thank goodness she wasn’t seriously hurt, but you can imagine how frightening an experience it was. We never felt unsafe outside of Quito although in some places the police seemed to follow us all around – we thought for our protection. It’s sad to think it hasn’t gotten any better.
Stay safe,
Steve
So the cops’ motorcycles were streetworthy dirt bikes. I was able to anchor my feet on the push-out pedals, but (not wanting to wrap my arms around a guy half my size) I held onto the seat below me. We rode behind Duwan and her cop at top speed weaving through a crowd of people. I’m pretty sure my cop had never navigated with such a heavy load behind him. Wish I’d had a GoPro camera on my forehead.