Peru by Lauren Back
¡Alguien robó mi mochila! - Peru
By Lauren Back
¡Alguien robó mi mochila! I don’t know if that’s even the right way to convey that my bag was missing. But the loud cursing in English didn’t seem to be having much effect on the sleepy-eyed passengers unloading from the bus, either. From the moment my hand grabbed air when I reached under my seat, I knew that my life was about to get a lot harder.
It was still dark out when Emily and I left the bus station and made our way to the Plaza de Armas. Several businesses were still open and you could barely hear the music and see the colourful lights spilling out of cracked windows and doors. We walked through the quiet plaza.
Two policías stood at the far end. It was cold enough to see their breath. We asked if we could wait with them until the police station opened. The four of us talked, I wish I remembered what about. My fleece had been stolen and I was wearing one of Emily’s sweaters. One of the policemen took off his black gloves and gave them to me. I thought about the baby blue knitted mittens stuffed at the bottom of the backpack my homestay family had loaned me. How I had worn them up to the top of the island in Lake Titicaca. How I had posed with my friends and a purpling sky and full moon in the backdrop. And my camera with all my memories from Chile, Argentina, Brazil and Peru stored in it. The tango dancers at Buenos Aires’s Plaza Dorrego. The Norwegians at the hostel in Palermo, when I was stranded in Argentina, left behind by my group, and waiting for a visa. And Lapa, the block party in Rio that ended in singing and dancing in the rain at sunrise.
We listened to the sounds of the sleeping ancient city. As twilight bathed the stones of the old buildings, several drunk tourists spilled out into the streets. We said goodbye to the policemen and exchanged email addresses with them. I gave back the gloves. I still remember the warmth that I felt from that small gesture.
We hadn’t known how careful we should have been on that bus. A lost passport, a wallet and a combination of other valuable belongings certainly provoked me to wonder how I could have planned that weekend trip better. But I know this to be true—my trip to South America was that much more fulfilling because of that experience.
Later on that day, as I dialled long distance numbers, cancelling credit cards and trying to reach the consulate, the Rodriguez’s had a knock at the door. Emily stood there with her homestay little sister, whose eyes were filled with deep concern and fixed on the ground. “My father died,” Emily said.
There are some moments that stick out in my life – ones that have slapped me on the face with irony and clarity. This is one that I’ll never forget.
My journal was not in the bag I lost. Writing this story three years later, I am so thankful for that. And for the man who lent me his gloves on that cold morning as I waited for the police station to open.
Lauren has a B.S. degree in Journalism and Mass Communication from the University of Colorado. She is the Associate Producer for On Air Promotions at HDNet Television Network.