A Tale Of Trouble

My first week in Colombia has been heavy on the research. My investigation of the country, the conditions, and the attitudes/feelings of the Colombians concerning violence and the drug trade is plowing ahead full steam. More on all of that action in future posts. For now, a tale of trouble...

After my eye opening visit to the National Police Museum in Bogota, I was feeling like a bit of exploring needed to happen. Off I went, deeper into the city, taking a turn here, and a turn there on a whim, basically just heading towards whatever looked interesting. I should have learned by now that a strategy like that can get me into bad situations. And it did.

Me and my affinity for wandering into parts of a city that can only be referred to as "Rapeville", is a skill that I rather I never developed. But I did. And its a thing I do. Usually not on purpose. Like this day.

Finding myself waist deep in a gringoless part of town that I clearly had no business being in, I kept my head up, moved with a purpose, and acted like I new where I was going and what I was doing. That is pretty much my standard mode of operation when finding myself in these situations and I've never had a negative experience to report. Until now.

I walked by a particularly sketchy looking side street that emitted enhanced levels of rapeyness and immediately decided that would be a poor route choice. About 3 steps later, I discovered the problem with walking with your head up - this prohibits you from seeing that ill-placed chunk of pavement sticking up in an effort to trip you. And let me tell you, it was a good trip. Like the kind that really sends you flying forward, complete with arms flailing in some poorly executed attempt to keep you from falling. Lucky for me, an unsuspecting gentlemen's back interrupted my less than graceful sprawl. Then I became unlucky. Quite quickly. Like, immediately when the gentleman turned around.

Im still not sure if this was the same dude I saw chasing another guy down the street my first night here with those insane, sharpish, metal nunchucks, or if carrying a weapon like that is just commonplace here. I'm thinking it was just the same lunatic. Either way, even after some back pedaling and my best Spanish apology, he rushed at me, weapon whirling.

Even though I've never fully seen those metal nunchuck things in action, I wasn't about to stick around to see how they worked. My flight instinct instantly kicked in and I booked it down the closest side street in an attempt to get away from the psycho. Unfortunately, that side street also happened to be named something that is roughly translated to Super Rape Avenue, the same street I had just decided NOT to go down.

Somehow, this tight, crowded street was darker than any of the others despite it being near noon. I'm not sure if it was the tarps hanging over each of the booths or if the ominous atmosphere literally blotted out the sun, but it definitely made dodging pedestrians, vendors, and random fruit stands all the more difficult. While no one made an effort to get out of my way, they had no problem clearing out for the nunchuck wielding crazy person behind me. So, while he was gifted with a clear path, I had to unleash a variety of athletic maneuvers that ranged from sleek ballerina spins to avoid women, children, and donkeys, to showing off my linebacker skills by straight up bowling over the dude carry lots of bread.

After a couple blocks of these stereotypical chase scene shenanigans, I had put at least a more comfortable distance between me and my pursuer. Time to ditch the fool. As soon as I hit the next block, I hung a quick right disappeared beneath one of the first stands I encountered. Peering from behind a pile of rip off Nikes, I was able to watch as the guy ran by, glimmering nunchucks swinging away. I was actually glad he had been twirling those stupid things the whole time as it wasn't very conducive to a proper running form.

I looked up from my hiding place and the lady tending the stand just sort of game me an understanding look that invited me to stay as long as I liked. I accepted her hospitality for another couple moments to make sure the guy was gone, and then I booked it out of there to double back the way I came. I'm not sure I stopped running until all of Rapeville and it's ridiculous Nunchuck Man were at least a full zip code behind me.

Back at my hostel, I reviewed these recent events and had to laugh at the absurdity of it all. Except for the whole metal nunchuck thing, it was a classic foot chase through a dodgy part of town that I thought only happened in movies set somewhere in the Middle East. I have no idea what that guy would have done had he caught me, which of course was highly unlikely given my superior speed. He might have just been playing a harmless joke or he could have been a legit crazy person who meant to give me a nice slash or two. Either way, I'm pretty happy with never having to find out.

Travel moral of the story: Yes, it's one we all probably already know, but be smart and refrain from going into parts of town that are obviously infused with excess rape danger, well, unless you'd like to see how you fare against Nunchuck Man!

Fingers crossed that my next post features a significantly less potential for harm.

Lovsies!