#i think it was trying to follow the rumor that he was a spanish civil war correspondent??(if you know please tell me i have Questions)

[quatregats]

Well, you sure did write some studies in psychology alright

[cartoonfangirl1218]

Antonio and Pablo Agama headcanons

Leoncio Renato Braganza-Olmos was a dashing cavalry officer, just recently promoted when he met Altagracia Luna Quelempan-Agama,a healer working in the army camp. It was during an army dance, this being the years before Shuriki, and the camp was celebrating its recent victory. Like a classic fairytale, their eyes met across the room. He introduced himself and bowed, they danced, and fell head over heels for each other. Their backgrounds were quite different with Leoncio coming from a long line of esteemed army men much like the Villalobos of Avalor City. In fact, the Villalobos family was one of their greatest rivals for the Olmos family wanted to move out of serving the borders of far away villages and achieve glory in war on foreign land or against dangerous malvagos that seemed to attack the city.

Altagracia was a mestiza, a mixed race girl of indeginous tribes that prided themselves from descending from the great Maruvians and of the more pure blood Spanish descent. Altargracia was very much inspired by her indigenous side, working hard with others to keep their culture and knowledge of medicines and textiles alive. Though, there was not much discrimination for her mixed blood, as many actually wanted to learn the secrets of ancient Maru, people still sometimes taunted them for their superstitions and outdated ideas. Both their families cautioned them from getting married, fearing that their backgrounds would be too different.

However, the couple did not care. Their backgrounds meant little compared to their love for one another. She wanted to support him in his army battles and patch him up in the privacy of their own home and Leoncio adored his at turns intelligent and fierce wife who may not be able to hold a spear but could verbally spar with the best of his fellow soldiers.

Though the life of following army camp after army camp was tiring, they leaned on each other and were thanful to have the other by their side. Eventually came the day when Leoncio got a sword through his thigh. It broke stright through the bone and sidelined him for nearly a year. He eventually healed despite fears that he’d have to be amputed, but he would live with a permenant limp and had to retire from his life of sword. It happened to be excellent timing for Altagracia was pregnant with their first child.

They settled into Altagracia’s home village where Leoncio was aimlessly lost at first, unsure that he had any skills for citizen work but with Altagracia’s guidence and help, he found his way to work as a part-time picker on pepper plantations while Altagracia continued to work and sell her weaving wares and herbal medicines.

Their first son, Antonio Lautaro Agama-Olmos was born at dawn, a loud and robust baby. A direct contrast to their second son, Pablo Sergio Agama-Olmos who was born at midnight, similarly loud but skinnier.

The family was small but happy. Leoncio being a particularly proud father, trying to teach his sons fighting tricks and boast of his great victories. However, one day, Leoncio left without a trace. Perhaps he left because life in a small village bored him, maybe he had found another woman, or maybe he wished to start over fresh in Avalor City without the burden of caring for a family or the hauntings of his former officer glory. It could have been any one of these reasons but no one would ever know for he left no note.

Altagracia received no sympathy from her family who had warned her that a wealthy man like he might get bored with her, warnings she blithely ignored. She had more help from the Olmos’ who pitied her and felt similarly abandoned for Leoncio sent no word either to them. Besides it went against their honor to abandon someone who was part of their family. They sent Altagracia an “allowance” of sorts monthly and Leoncio’s younger brother, Fernando even offered to marry her to make up for his brother’s grievous actions and give the boys a father. Altagracia politely refused, her pain was too strong and she  wished never to see any of her husband’s kin ever again.

Altagracia reluctantly accepted the money as she needed it for her sons, and packed up, took up her old name, and moved to the village over the plateau. (I imagine it to be very similar to Curicó in Chile. You know, mountains on either side, a central fertile valley for agriculture, humid and wet). She couldn’t stand the humiliation of everyone knowing her husband left her and wanted to start fresh even though the rumors and pitying stares still plagued her when she moved to the new village near Mesa Roja. Words traveled fast.

Despite the money sent to her, she couldn’t buy a house with enough space for all her weaving so she couldn’t open her own weaving shop. But Altagracia was determined to make do and used the stables that adjoined her home to house her looms and set to work by herself to create the most elaborate, quality ponchos, clothes and other items till she became the known as “la mujer de la telar.” The money the Olmos did sent them was set aside for special nonessential things like archery sets or a professional portrait since Altagracia decided any essential items like food or clothing, she would pay with her own work. Those luxeries Pablo proudly boasted about since it set them apart from their little less-off farming neighbors, and he’d often sell these goods for a price. That is until Altagracia found out and threatened to stop buying him things if he wasn’t going to use it himself.  

Antonio had been 7 at the time, Pablo only 6, and if that one devastating event wasn’t enough. That was the same year that Shuriki came to power. Music and the old festivals were banned. Altagracia was one of the few people who was happy with this new arrangement since she’d much rather not be reminded of dances or anything happy like that. The boys however, were sorely disappointed by the thought of no more spring harvesting festivals with the children’s races or the games and such. And the addition of Shuriki’s guards patrolling the perimeters to quell any underground rebellions was an unnerving new normal to add to their lives.

Though the boys were too young to truly understand the full context of what was going on, they came today follow their mother’s mantra of “make do with what they have” and made their own fun without the festivals like marbles or pretending their were great trapeze artists like the traveling circus they saw or exploring their new home and the surrounding wild. Antonio’s particularly favorite game was pretending to find lost treasure which influenced his later career.

By the time Antonio was a teenager, he came to think of himself as the new man of the house. He saw how Leoncio’s departure affected their mother. She threw herself into her work, and doted on them more than ever. But she was so distrustful of others especially the rich who she now thought saw people like her as playthings or beneath them. He heard the rumors and taunts of other kids that “they” were the reason their dad ran away. And he vowed that he’d bring fortune to the Agamas name. They’d be known for something else than their disappeared dad.

The one obstacle to his big plan was his own brother. It seemed Pablo had inherited their father’s propensity for wanting glory and their mother’s sly tongue. He fancied himself as a poor man’s merchant (more accurately a con man) and had been cheating people out of their money with goods that he overhyped or stole from people for them to buy it back at exorbitant prices. Antonio often chewed him out for these things especially since it could reflect badly on their whole family but Pablo defended that they wouldn’t want their dear Mama to worry more than she had to, beside he was doing his part as a dutiful son to give her money any way he can. Even though he made plenty of enemies that way. Their neighbors, the Palomas, especially. 

Their mother did notice the tension between both boys and often had to drop subtle reminders and wise proverbs like “Family isn't an important thing. It's everything,” or “The important thing in a family is not being together but being united.”

But they both possessed the same stubborness and their differences grew anyway. Antonio was a studious student, paying attention in class while Pablo often skipped because he felt there was no point. Most people didn’t use the lessons on geometry or English in their daily lives, they learned their family trade and that was that. He much preferred to wager and make bets with the boys and flirt. Antonio had also entertained thoughts of marrying girls he had crushes on but he knew that would doom his dream. Once he got married, he’d have to stay settled down and he didn’t want that so he staye dcelibate though many women, allured by his muscular build, did try to tempt him much to Pablo’s disgust (Poor Pablo, he wanted to be tempted. That's all he wanted!). But Antonio was different. Their teacher, Professora Risquez thought Antonio had potential, he had a passion for history and the stories of treasure hunters so she told him about the field of archeology. It sounded like a dream to him! Being able to find lost civilizations that told them of where they came from and what they did just like the ancient Maruvians.

He couldn’t get the kind of education at home. Not there where the highest level was 12th grade. Professora Risquez offered to sponsor him to go to the University of Avalor. He would live with her parents in their house in the city and he could pursue a degree in archaeological studies. It was a perfect plan and Altagracia was thrilled for her son, and Antonio was similarly thrilled. He was getting one step closer to his dream of bringing fame to the Agama name.

The only one who was less enthusiastic was Pablo who thought Antonio was acting stuck up and superior to him which he kind of was. This led to their first major fight, leading them to never speak to each other for the next twenty eight years.

Antonio hunkered down on his studies, but it had been quite a shock when he first arrived in the city. They had so many more modern convencies like carriages instead of carts and shops for everything and the port brought all sorts of peoples and stories of distant lands that he could never imagine. He even saw a professional circus that put the traveling circus he saw in his childhood to shame.

 Then there was the actual university, the small school with its few teachers and lackluster substance had not prepared him for rigerous testing and academic tone of the unversity. But Professora Risquez’s parents had been former professors themselves and helped him with his study habits and time management. As for the kids, some were nice, some were snobs, a regular crowd of all kinds of people. Though sometimes those classist snobs sniffed at his “village peasant” accent and how fast he talked (Chilean spanish accents is known for being the fastest-spoken) so he learned to modify his fast to his slower, guttural sound. 

It got stressful at times but the one thing that kept him going was the passion for archeology itself. Each book he read, he yearned to know more, to learn more, to go out and explore and find the routes himself which he did every summer, even managing to secure his first glimpse of fame when he found the Heiroglyphic Staircase of Maru.

Pablo stayed at home, helping his mom with selling her wares and occasionally take odd jobs about town. Eventually, he got bored with the poor provincial village and decided to set out for his own. Altagracia gave her blessings since she had enough money to get by on her own with her work and the allowance from the Olmos. Besides she felt that maybe it would encourage Pablo to grow up a little especially now that he was out of Antonio’s shadow. He offered his services as a salesman to various small businesses but often quit when he felt ready to wander again or because he wanted a larger cut than his employers were willing to give him. He also decided to do his own version of treasure hunting and find items from the trash or wild or sometimes laying around someone’s backyard and sell them, often adding they belonged to some famous royal or legend or had magic properties. Then splitting town before his angry customors found out they were tricked.

Meanwhile, as Pablo scraped by, Antonio was sending money and letters to their mother with each new discovery he found. He had gotten his biggest dream as a result with the fame and universities begging him to come vist and give lectures. He did so especially if Professora Risquez asked, but he found the fame wasn’t as appealing as he thought it would be. Lectures, especially preparing them, were boring and he didn’t sell his items rather he gave them to museums to study. He much preferred the thrill of the adventuring and the excitment of finding treasure than anything else.

Then came the day he ventured to Obsidian Island. He had been so sure of himself, having sort of bought into his own hype, and that this would be his greatest find yet. But he had not anticipated for the gecko curse to be real! He freaked out when he was first transformed finding his brain sharing the instincts of a gecko’s and he’d often be distracted by his gecko instincts. Which he had stayed in that form for years.

Meanwhile, Pablo had come home from his itenerite wanderings after his mother wrote to him to come back. He had been 5 years since she had last heard from Antonio. Pablo had no information to give her on that front, but it didn’t matter because she needed him now that her arthritis was acting up and it was harder for her to move. Eventually, she had stopped moving completely and needed to move around in a wheelchair. Pablo cared for her during her final days and then Antonio came back.

He finished his adventure at Obsidian Island, and no longer a gecko, he had to apologize and explain to everyone he had known what had happened. His first trip was to his dear mama who had wept with joy seeing Antonio alive and well and that he had not abandoned her as she had thought. Pablo was put-off. Finally, he had time with their mama but once again Antonio, the golden boy outshone him and “saved” the day.

The next day, Altagracia died, seemingly ready to move on after seeing her son again. Pablo and Antonio tersely arranged the funeral together, maintaing some politeness to each other. But that all exploded after the funeral. Pablo made some comment of how nice it was for the famed and renowned Antonio Agama to find time to visit and how he had done all the work when Altagracia was ill and Antonio made her think he had left them just like Leoncio. Antonio shot back that he didn’t mean to not contact them. He was a freaking gecko! Those were exnuating circumstances, and it wasn’t like Pablo was so concerned about his welfare since he hadn’t written him so much a letter since Antonio left for college. This left them in fury and they refused to talk to each other again.

Until the will came and both were given parts of that treasure map aka The Family Treasure. After the events of that episode and Elena’s song getting stuck in their head thus reminding them, they decided to patch up their relationship and spend more time with one another with Antonio even inviting Pablo to his next archeological adventure so they’d have plenty of time to talk or find more things to fight about, but they’ve come to sort of like it that way.

[geek-patient-zero]

Part 1, Chapter 2

Or: McCann Reads His Mail

Blood War: Masquerade of the Red Dead Trilogy Volume 1

Dire McCann returns to his office, in “the heart of the tenderloin district.”

Big, bold, black letters on the door proclaimed, D. McCann, Investigations. Beneath his name, in much smaller print, was the disclaimer Consultation by Appointment Only.

I guess even Dire knows his first name’s a little odd and abbreviated it. Who’d want to give work to a guy who looks like they’re trying to give themselves a nickname.

There’s several paragraphs describing the office. The outer office/reception area has a coffee table with old issues of Sports Illustrated and three red chairs, like a doctor’s office with an even more limited selection of outdated magazines.

It wasn’t much, but he didn’t require any better.  Recently, his only clients had been the Kindred, and none of them worried about his taste in furniture.

Not to his face, anyway. Vampires are like suburban parents that way.

The office proper, or his ”inner sanctum” as the narration calls it, is pretty standard; huge oak desk, “an elaborate telephone answering machine,” a table with a fax machine, PC, and printer on it, some metal cabinets, and more red chairs. It was also mentioned to have an “outrageous” rent that was almost worth it for the building’s cleaning lady.

The glow of a nearby streetlight gave the room an eerie, ghost-like interior.[...]No cheaply framed photos with hearty endorsements or tacky paint-by-numbers artwork hung on the walls. McCann believed in a strictly functional workplace. Besides which, it made a better impression on potential clients.

McCann sits behind his desk and reloads his submachine gun.

Considering what had happened already tonight, it seemed like good policy to stay ready for trouble.

For all the good it did him, but good thinking I guess. Proper paranoia helps in the World of Darkness.

Then he checks his answering machine. Two of the messages are for “divorce work.” That kind of stuff “didn’t interest” McCann, but there’s another detective in the building who specialized in it, and McCann trades him leads for favors, so he writes down the names and phone numbers. Another message is trying to sell him health insurance.

McCann grinned. Considering his present circumstances, he wasn’t sure he could afford the premiums.

Finally, McCann gets around to checking the mail he was carrying around during the first chapter. After separating the junk mail, he’s left with the small box, which was from Switzerland, three letters from Venice, Italy, another from Australia, and the last from Peru. He starts with the mail from Venice.

Dated approximately a week apart, the letters contained detailed records for financial deals made during the previous seven days.  The facts and figures covered hundreds of major business transactions throughout Europe and the United States. The detective scanned the documents carefully. There were no unusual expenditures or unexplained finances. Not that he expected to find any. The masterminds of the Giovanni Clan were the greatest financial wizards in the world. They kept a tight watch on their investments. McCann merely wanted to make sure no one other than him was skimming the profits.

Interesting. Despite doing work for the Camarilla, McCann also has connections to the independent Giovanni Clan, or at least is stealing money from them, and in a way that even their “financial wizards” can’t detect. There’s an even more interesting reveal at the end of the paragraph.

The longer he lived, the more cautious he became. And, though he appeared to be in his mid-thirties, Dire McCann lived a very long time.

Huh. The summary on the back cover describes him as “mortal.” Then again it also misspells his surname as McCannan, so...

Next he opens the latter from Darwin, Northern Territory Australia, which contains a newspaper clipping. Recently, “nomadic” Aborigines fled their reservation in the Tanami Desert and set up a shanty town outside the city. Officials tried to get the “troublemakers” to go back, “but with no success.”

No one could offer an explanation for the natives’ unexpected migration. Nor were the unwelcome Aboriginals willing to discuss why they had abandoned their primitive shelters and made the long trek to the coast. Their only reply was to point in the general direction of the Macdonnel Ranges and utter the word “Nuckalavee, Nuckalavee,” over and over again.

The hell’s a mythological Scottish demon doing in Australia?

Unfortunately, no one other than the natives understood what the term meant.

Have they tried asking a Scottish person? Maybe someone from the Orkney Islands? This is like Native Americans fleeing from the Loch Ness Monster or a kappa.

For those of you who’d never heard of it, or had never played The Bard’s Tale, the Nuckelavee is this big horse with the upper torso of a rider growing out of the middle of its back, and it has no skin.

The story ended with the mayor promising city residents that the shanty town would be gone shortly.

Australians being shitty to the Aboriginals. What a surprise.

I know, hypocritical coming from an American. But still.

McCann grimaced. He understood why the Aboriginals had fled. But he doubted that the government officials in Darwin would believe his answer. Or care. Mentally, McCann noted that he should request that his clipping service search for any follow-up stories. Or reports of unusual disappearances in the Northern Territories.

It’s a minor spoiler, but not an unsurprising one given the setting, but the World of Darkness version of the Nuckalavee is a vampire; a Nictuku, the name for a fourth generation Nosferatu. Father Naples mentioned them during the prologue when he was talking about the Nosferatu, remember?

“A few of their fourth-generation progeny are rumored to be grotesque monsters, known as the Nictuku.”

But whether it’s the mythological Nuckelavee or a vampire character based off of it, it’s bizarre that Weinberg took a mythological creature from one culture, transplanted it to a completely different one on a different continent, and act like it was always a part of that culture. Even in 1994, before Wikipedia, anyone familiar with Scottish folklore would know better. Hell, check that fan wiki page I linked just now. The reference used for the page came from VTM: Clanbook: Nosferatu. It came out in 1993, and it’s most likely what Robert Weinberg used for information on Nuckalavee too. If the information on the wiki is accurate to the book, then the book straight up says that the thing is Scottish. Even if the vampire migrated at some point, more people should know about it, at least as a legend, than some scared Aboriginals.

Speaking of... I’m no expert on Aboriginal cultures, living on the opposite side of the Pacific and all, but I’m sure they can communicate better than pointing at some mountains and grunting a monster’s name in fearful tones like some old Hollywood tribal character. At least enough to say “there’s something life threatening by our reservation and we’re getting away from it.” The story’s sympathetic to them at least, but that part rubs me the wrong way.

Next, McCann opens the envelope from Peru. It contains a photo and a handwritten note from a member of the Explorer’s Club. The photo makes McCann “swallow hard”. More bad news.

Scribbled in black ink around the margin of the photo were the words, “Found at entrance to huge cavern, Gran Vilaya ruins, Peru.” The picture showed a massive stone statue of a crouching demonic figure with a misshapen, bloated female body and the face of a snarling jaguar. Circling her feet in a ring were a dozen stone heads. Judging from the size of the skulls, the demon stood a least fifteen feet tall.[...]It fronted a huge network of previously unknown caves that honeycombed the Andes for miles. No one knew for certain the purpose of the underground warren. Several members of the expedition thought it might have served as a ritual burial ground for the mysterious Chachapoya civilization due to the numerous skeletons found scattered all through the tunnels. Which would therefore identify the demonic figure as the guardian of the dead.

Credit where it’s due, Robert Weinberg didn’t just make up the Chachapoya. Little’s known about their ancient civilization, and some of what we do know come from the Inca that conquered them and the Spanish, which aren’t what you’d call unbiased accounts. They even lived in the kind of “fog-shrouded region” or “cloud forests” that Gran Vilaya was described as being found in.

The writer ended his note with the hope that McCann felt his research money was being well spent.

McCann used money from a “secret Giovanni slush fund”, which of course none of the Giovanni clan elders know about, to fund the expedition. McCann feels the cost was justified, but would’ve preferred it it if they’d found nothing.

The statue was not a representation of the spirit guardian of the dead Chachapoyas. It showed their murderer..

Not sure why the Spanish had to build underground catacombs for the Chachapoyas to die of disease and poverty in when- No, wait, he’s talking about a vampire.

A creature who abhorred all life, she was named Gorgo, the One Who Screams in Darkness. And the empty caverns in Gran Vilaya indicated that once more she walked the Earth.

Turns out she’s another Nictuku, like Nuckalavee. One with a kickass title. It looks like some very old, very powerful vampires are waking up, and McCann is not happy about it. He opens the box from Switzerland. It came from “an old friend.”

Inside were photocopies of more than three hundred pages of hand-written memos and high level classified documents. They were a mixed selection from a half-dozen different European security agencies. All were marked TOP SECRET.

But we readers don’t get to learn what they say, because McCann checks his watch and learns he’s gotta be at the Club Diabolique to meet Alexander Vargoss in half an hour.

McCann’s preparing to leave when his phone rings. Remember his “elaborate telephone answering machine?” It’s got some spiffy futuristic tech in it like a “caller ID feature” and the ability to record phone calls. Stuff that only someone secretly skimming money from the Giovanni can afford. But seriously, I enjoy reading old stuff and seeing things that are common today described as rare and amazing. Hell, I didn’t know caller ID was a thing in 1994. My family’s middle class and we didn’t get phones with caller ID until the 2000′s.

Unfortunately, none of his phone system’s features come in handy in this case. He doesn’t recognize the number, but McCann answers the phone anyway.

A man whose voice McCann didn’t recognize spoke in clear, crisp tones. “Lameth,” said the stranger, “beware of the Red Death.”

Without another sound, the man hung up, leaving a stunned McCann holding the receiver. Lameth, the speaker had called him.

Nah, Dire, despite his clear, crisp tones the mysterious caller still has a bit of a lisp. He was actually calling you “lame-ass.”

It was a name from the dawn of history, one that McCann believed long forgotten. A master schemer, the detective did not like unexpected shocks. Especially ones of this magnitude.

McCann certainly has the connections and resources to be a master schemer. Still, I’d of liked to have seen him actually scheme before the narration straight up calls him one.

He tries to listen to the recording of the phone call, but turns out it didn’t record. The caller ID screen is blank, and even the phone number it picked up earlier disappeared. This is starting to sound familiar.

Luckily, McCann memorized the number despite his previous confidence in technology. He calls the local police station, specifically a cop named Harry. He asks for a favor due to him for a bottle of wine he sent Harry for his birthday; the location where his phone call was made from. Turns out, it’s from a booth in the front lobby of his building. One that’s been out of service for months.

Let’s recap. Assassins just tried to kill McCann. Powerful vampires are waking up abroad, which is worrying for a very old schemer with an eye towards international news like him. And an untraceable magic man just called him by a very old name no one should know and warned him of a threat with an ominous name. All before he’s gotta meet with the Prince of St. Louis. Good thing McCann’s a big tough book protagonist, ‘cause I’d certainly be a little anxious.

Not a believer in coincidence, the detective knew the three events had to be linked together. But how?

The voice on the phone had warned him to “beware the Red Death.” McCann had absolutely no idea who or what the Red Death might be. He had a terrible suspicion that he would soon find out.

[spltlippd-blog]

❝ I’m officially off the rails. You should try it.❞  BENJAMIN WADSWORTH? No, that’s actually MADDOC ‘MADS’ BLENKINSOP. Only NINETEEN years old, this HUFFLEPUFF alumni works as a WILDLIFE + ANTIQUES SMUGGLER and is sided with THE DEATH EATERS. HE identifies as CISMAN and is a PUREBLOOD who is known to be ERRATIC, VIOLENT, and IMPULSIVE but also RESOURCEFUL, BOLD, and PASSIONATE. { EL, 22, EST, SHE+HER }

I. A HISTORY

“DEATHS: Barnabus Blenkinsop, 25. Body missing. Reward for information.” ─ The Daily Prophet, 8th February 1999.

Mr. Blenkinsop's presumed death occurred on November 20, 1998 and his obituary appeared in the Daily Prophet. A reward was offered for information about what happened to his body since all that was found in his bed at St. Mungo's was a tin of anchovies.

The Blenkinsop family made their money through “trade” and “exploration,” which are both just codewords for seizing territories and poaching wildlife.

They’ve comparable to the mafia in the sense that the extensive family operates within itself as an organized crime unit with a tendency for violence; everyone knows what they do, but no one has the concrete evidence (or balls) to do anything about it.

Plus… dragonhide clothing is all the rage, yeah? Who do you think is out there getting the resources? Those pickled hippogriff eggs (found only in the highest society establishments and incredibly illegal for consumption) that you like so much come from somewhere, right?

Also deal with antique looting for private collectors and played a prominent role in the original horcrux hunt as they were able to track down founders memorabilia and get it by any means necessary.

Weren’t originally anti-muggle, but since the establishment of the Statute of Secrecy became very much so.

The Statute both hurt their business and seemed incredibly unfair; wix were continuously pushed into the underbelly of civilization as muggles were continuously and freely expanding and wix are just supposed… to accommodate that? Be alright with living in hiding and bending over for a race that can’t even wipe their arse without using their hands? Bullshit.

The anti-muggle sentiment only grew and festered over time as wix were persecuted by muggles and forced into hiding and culminated in the Blenkinsops becoming one of the most prominent pureblood families that actively and politically opposed muggles altogether.

Blenkinsops were part of the Knights of Walpurgis and continue to be heavily involved with the Death Eaters.

II. OVERVIEW

NAME.

↳ Maddoc Anarawd Blenkinsop. Goes by Mads.

GENDER + ORIENTATION.

↳ Doesn’t think of people like that. But for the purpose of clarity, cisman, biromantic bisexual.

BIRTHDAY + BLOOD STATUS.

↳ ?? / ?? / ???? (currently 19 years old). Pureblood.

OCCUPATION.

↳ Poacher + antiques smuggler.

III. DIGGING DEEPER

↳ “Now this looks like a job for me / so everybody just follow me / 'cause we need a little controversy / 'cause it feels so empty without me.”

What they see: expensive robes, even more expensive cologne worn far too young, five languages, silver gold and glistening rings, never without his wand, unwavering loyalty, straight spine and shoulder back, looks just like his mother, a smile that says: you don’t know me at all and you never will

What you see: tattered shirts, salt and sweat, a vicious tongue, silver gold and blood rusted rings, never without his beast, all-consuming obsession, violence violence violence, looks absolutely insane, laughing at his own traumas

The images co-exist.

He’s so pretty, absolutely lovely at society banquets, trained in wix ballroom dancing that’s essentially spinning on air, but there’s always been a darkness inside of him you might glimpse upon a first meeting

Anyone who was unfortunate enough to attend Hogwarts with him knows all too well exactly why he’s called “Mads” over Maddoc

“i’m officially off the rails. you should try it.”

ERRATIC. his whirlwind of emotions are either charming or terrifying, and switch so suddenly and quickly it can give you whiplash. his behavior more so. he operates by his own moral codes that’s yet to be deciphered and doesn’t seem to follow any pattern of behavior whatsoever. it’s got its benefits, sure, but the downfalls include: unfinished projects, dropped conversations, and general confusion.

VIOLENT. you don’t get it: one second, he’s smiling, laughing with you, and the next you’re dazed and wondering what it was you said that caused that punch. mads is known for sudden and intense violence; his family is much the same, as their enemies are far too aware of, and rumor on the street is that they all beat the shit out of each other daily. it’s mostly true. while in hogwarts, he earned the reputation of the “attack dog,” jumping into physical altercations at the drop of a hat if he felt it justified.

and IMPULSIVE. his line of work kind of depends on split-second decision making and he’s fortunate enough to excel at that. unfortunately, he’s impulsive to a fault and will go with his gut quicker than he can think not to.

but also RESOURCEFUL. not even mads’ worst enemy would deny his intellect. kid’s fucking smart and able to process information and spit back results in a second; he’s already gone through all the possible outcomes of a problem, he’s already thought thirty steps ahead, he’s already more than prepared for every single plan to go to shit. he’s got this.

BOLD. mads was never one to hold back, whether it be his thoughts, opinions, or feelings. he doesn’t second guess himself and he won’t ever hold back. why live life wishing you did instead of doing?

and PASSIONATE. whether it be his unwavering loyalty bordering all-consuming obsession, or the fire he pours into his every action, or his ability to laugh through tear-streaked cheeks, mads has so much ambition within him it’s hard to contain at all.

fluent in English, Spanish, French, Italian, and Persian; currently studying Greek

Blenkinsops (illegally) keep and breed manticores and each have their own; Mads’ is called Bully and he loves him

but at the same time “do animals deserve rights” because he’s really out here poaching wildlife without a care in the world (ask him about pygmy puff kebabs he had at a shady pub in Morocco)

IV. MAGIC SHIT

(former) HOGWARTS HOUSE: Hufflepuff.

WAND: Cedar wood, acromantula web core, 11 ¾ inches, unyielding flexibility 

***(Inherited, passed down through generations of Blenkinsop wizards. The wand is incredibly loyal to its original owner─ dead for nearly 500 years now─ and Mads has difficulty using it.)

CEDAR WOOD: “Whenever I meet one who carries a cedar wand, I find strength of character and unusual loyalty. My father, Gervaise Ollivander, used always to say, ‘you will never fool the cedar carrier,’ and I agree: the cedar wand finds its perfect home where there is perspicacity and perception. I would go further than my father, however, in saying that I have never yet met the owner of a cedar wand whom I would care to cross, especially if harm is done to those of whom they are fond. The witch or wizard who is well-matched with cedar carries the potential to be a frightening adversary, which often comes as a shock to those who have thoughtlessly challenged them.”

ACROMANTULA WEB CORE: Those who are determined, stubborn, cold (cool-natured), fearless, and with a mischievous and/or dark disposition would have this wand core. Having such a wand core suggests that you have firm convictions and have a deeply rooted vindictive nature, but this does not at all mean that you are not capable of caring or loving someone or something in your own way. However, your vindictive nature can often lead you towards revenge when something wrong or unjust is done to you. This makes you less likely to forge strong bonds and/or forgive someone easily. This is one of the best cores to use in the darkest of Dark Magic, particularly with The Unforgivable Curses. It is a wand core predominantly found among those of House Slytherin. If one is thinking about having a wand made with an Acromantula Web core, they’re probably a fan of having their wand confiscated by the authorities. Using a wand with this wand core has been illegal in Britain since 1782, after they were discovered that the wielder of a wand with this wand core has particular ability with Dark Magics, especially the Imperius Curse. There are certain diplomatic exceptions, as it is a traditional wand core for Asian wands, but even those are temporary, and many wizard diplomats on long-term assignments find themselves compelled to procure replacement wands during their stay. This was once a common wand core among Dark Healers.

UNYIELDING FLEXIBILITY: A wand of this flexibility finely tunes itself to its original owner’s preferences and doesn’t stray from those preferences, even in the hands of a new owner; the new owner will just have to get used to it. It is particularly good for combative and healing magic. Unyielding wand owners tend to be very confident in themselves and/or in the things they believe in. They tend to be intelligent, somewhat cynical, and usually have well-defined principles that they will not stray from ever. Sometimes, this combination can lead to arrogance because of them insisting on how right they are without considering other points of view or whether or not they might be wrong.

congratulations on making it to the end!!! i would absolutely love some plots for this ferocious little beast so hmu or look out for my plotting call!!!

[joshuamshea84]

So, I Got Stabbed in Colombia

Posted: 4/2/2019 | April 2nd, 2019

Editor’s Note: I wavered on writing about this for a long time since I didn’t want to put people off on Colombia. As you can tell from my posts here, here, here, and here, I really love the country. I mean it’s awesome. (And there will be plenty more blog posts about how great it is.) I didn’t want to play into the negative image surrounding the country. But I blog about all my experiences – good or bad – and this story is a good lesson on travel safety, the importance of always following local advice, and what happens when you get complacent and stop doing so.

“Are you OK?”

“Here. Have a seat.”

“Do you need some water?”

A growing crowd had gathered around me, all offering help in one form or another.

“No, no, no, I think I’ll be OK,” I said waving them off. “I’m just a little stunned.”

My arm and back throbbed while I tried to regain my composure. “I’m going to be really sore in the morning,” I thought.

“Come, come, come. We insist,” said one girl. She led me back onto the sidewalk where a security guard gave me his chair. I sat down.

“What’s your name? Here’s some water. Is there anyone we can call?”

“I’ll be fine. I’ll be fine,” I kept replying.

My arm throbbed. “Getting punched sucks,” I said to myself.

Regaining my composure, I slowly took off the jacket I was wearing. I was too sore for any quick movements anyways. I needed to see how bad the bruises were.

As I did so, gasps arose from the crowd.

My left arm and shoulder were dripping with blood. My shirt was soaked through.

“Shit,” I said as I realized what had happened. “I think I just got stabbed.”

***

There’s a perception that Colombia is unsafe, that despite the heyday of the drug wars being over, danger lurks around most corners and you have to be really careful here.

It’s not a completely unwarranted perception. Petty crime is very common. The 52-year civil war killed 220,000 people — although thankfully this number has drastically dropped since the 2016 peace agreement.

While you are unlikely to be blown up, randomly shot, kidnapped, or ransomed by guerrillas, you are very likely to get pickpocketed or mugged. There were over 200,000 armed robberies in Colombia last year. While violent crimes have been on the decline, petty crime and robbery has been on the upswing.

Before I went to Colombia, I’d heard countless stories of petty theft. While there, I heard even more. A friend of mine had been robbed three times, the last time at gunpoint while on his way to meet me for dinner. Locals and expats alike told me the same thing: the rumors of petty theft are true, but if you keep your wits about you, follow the rules, and don’t flash your valuables, you’ll be OK.

There’s even a local expression about it: “No dar papaya” (Don’t give papaya). Essentially, it means that you shouldn’t have something “sweet” out in the open (a phone, computer, watch, etc.) that would make you a target. Keep your valuables hidden, don’t wander around places you shouldn’t at night, don’t flash money around, avoid coming out of nightlife spots alone at night, etc. Simply put: Don’t put yourself in a position where people can take advantage of you.

I heeded such advice. I didn’t wear headphones in public. I didn’t take my phone out unless I was in a group or a restaurant, or completely sure no one else was around. I took just enough money for the day with me when I left my hostel. I warned friends about wearing flashy jewelry or watches when they visited.

But, the longer you are somewhere, the more you get complacent.

When you see locals on their phones in crowded areas, tourists toting thousand-dollar cameras, and kids wearing Airpods and Apple Watches, you begin to think, “OK, during the day, it’s not so bad.”

The more nothing happens to you, the more indifferent you get.

Suddenly, you step out of a cafe with your phone out without even thinking about it.

In your hands is papaya.

And someone wants to take it.

***

It was near sunset. I was on a busy street in La Calendaria, the main tourist area of Bogotá. The cafe I had been at was closing, so it was time to find somewhere new. I decided to head to a hostel to finish some work and take advantage of happy hour.

I’d been in Bogotá for a few days now, enjoying a city most people write off. There was a charm to it. Even in the tourist hotspot of La Calendaria, it didn’t feel as gringofied as Medellín. It felt the most authentic of all the big Colombian cities I had visited. I was loving it.

I exited the cafe with my phone out, finishing a text message. It had slipped my mind to put it away. It was still light outside, there were crowds around, and lots of security. After nearly six weeks in Colombia, I had grown complacent in situations like this.

“What’s really going to happen? I’ll be fine.”

Three steps out of the door, I felt someone brush up against me. At first, I thought it was someone running past me until I quickly realized that a guy was trying to take my phone out of my hand.

Fight or flight set in — and I fought.

“Get the fuck off me!” I shouted as I wrestled with him, keeping an iron grip on my phone. I tried pushing him away.

“Help, help, help!” I yelled into the air.

I remember distinctly the confused look on his face as if he had expected an easy mark. That the phone would slip out of my hand and he’d be gone before anyone could catch him.

Without a word, he started punching my left arm, and I continued to resist.

“Get off me! Help, help!”

We tussled in the street.

I kicked, I screamed, I blocked his punches.

The commotion caused people to run toward us.

Unable to dislodge the phone from my hand, the mugger turned and ran.

***

After people helped me sit down and the adrenaline wore off, I got lightheaded. My ears rang. I had trouble focusing for a few moments.

Blood was dripping through my soaked shirt.

“Fuck,” I said looking at my arm and shoulder.

I tried to compose myself.

Having grown up surrounded by doctors and nurses, I ran through a quick “how bad is this” checklist in my mind.

I made a fist. I could feel my fingers. I could move my arm. “OK, I probably don’t have nerve or muscle damage.”

I could breathe and was not coughing up blood. “Ok, I probably don’t have a punctured lung.”

I could still walk and feel my toes.

My light-headedness dissipated.

“OK, there’s probably not too much major damage,” I thought.

Words I didn’t understand were spoken in Spanish. A doctor arrived and helped clean and put pressure on my wounds. A young woman in the crowd who spoke English took my phone and voice-texted my only friend in Bogotá to let her know the situation.

As an ambulance would take too long, the police, who numbered about a dozen by now, loaded me onto the back of a truck and took me to a hospital, stopping traffic on the way like I was an honored dignitary.

Using Google Translate to communicate, the police checked me in at the hospital. They took down as much information as they could, showed me a picture of the attacker (yes, that’s him!), and called my friend to update her about where I was.

As I waited to be seen by the doctors, the owner of my hostel showed up. After having taken my address, the cops had phoned up the hostel to let them know what happened and she had rushed down.

The hospital staff saw me quickly. (I suspect being a stabbed gringo got me quicker attention.)

We went into one of the exam rooms. My shirt came off, they cleaned my arm and back, and assessed the damage.

I had five wounds: two on my left arm, two on my shoulder, and one on my back, small cuts that broke the skin, with two looking like they got into the muscle. If the knife had been longer, I would have been in serious trouble: one cut was right on my collar and another especially close to my spine.

When you think of the term “stabbing,” you think of a long blade, a single deep cut into the abdomen or back. You picture someone with a protruding knife being rolled into the hospital on a stretcher.

That was not the case for me. I had been, more colloquially correct, knifed.

Badly knifed.

But just knifed.

There was no blade protruding from my gut or back. There would be no surgery. No deep lacerations.

The wounds wouldn’t require any more than antibiotics, stitches, and time to heal. A lot of time. (How much time? This happened at the end of January and it took two months for the bruising to go down.)

I was stitched up, taken for an X-ray to make sure I didn’t have a punctured lung, and required to sit around for another six hours as they did a follow-up. My friend and hostel owner stayed a bit.

During that time, I booked a flight home. While my wounds weren’t severe and I could have stayed in Bogotá, I didn’t want to risk it. The hospital refused to give me antibiotics and, being a little suspicious of their stitching job, I wanted to get checked out back home while everything was still fresh. When I was leaving the hospital, I even had to ask them to cover my wounds. They were going to leave them exposed.

It’s better to be safe than sorry.

***

Looking back, would I have done anything differently?

It’s easy to say, “Why didn’t you just give him your phone?”

But it’s not as if he led with a weapon. Had he done so, I obviously would have surrendered the phone. This kid (and it turned out he was just a kid of about 17) just tried to grab it from my hand, and anyone’s natural instinct would be to pull back.

If someone stole your purse, took your computer while you were using it, or tried to grab your watch, your initial, primal reaction wouldn’t be, “Oh well!” It would be, “Hey, give me back my stuff!”

And if that stuff were still attached to your hand, you’d pull back, yell for help, and hope the mugger would go away. Especially when it’s still daytime and there are crowds around. You can’t always assume a mugger has a weapon.

Based on the information I had at the time, I don’t think I would have done anything differently. Nature just set in.

Things could have been a lot worse: The knife could have been longer. He could have had a gun. I could have turned the wrong way, and that small blade could have hit a major artery or my neck. The knife was so small that I didn’t even feel it during the attack. A longer blade might have caused me to recoil more and drop my phone. I don’t know. If he had been a better mugger, he would have kept running forward and I wouldn’t have been able to catch up as the forward motion made the phone leave my hand.

The permutations are endless.

This was also just a matter of being unlucky. A wrong time and wrong place situation. This could have happened to me anywhere. You can be in the wrong place and the wrong time in a million places and in a million situations.

Life is risk. You’re not in control of what happens to you the second you walk out a door. You think you are. You think you have a handle on the situation — but then you walk out of a café and get knifed. You get in a car that crashes or a helicopter that goes down, eat food that hospitalizes you, or, despite your best health efforts, drop dead from a heart attack.

Anything can happen to you at any time.

We make plans as if we are in control.

But we’re not in control of anything.

All we can do is control our reaction and responses.

I really like Bogotá. I really like Colombia. The food was delicious and the scenery breathtaking. Throughout my visit there, people were inquisitive, friendly, and happy.

And when this happened, I marveled at all the people who helped me, who stayed with me until the police came, the many police officers who assisted me in numerous ways, the doctors who attended to me, the hostel owner who became my translator, and my friend who drove an hour to be with me.

Everyone apologized. Everyone knew this was what Colombia is known for. They wanted to let me know this was not Colombia. I think they felt worse about the attack than I did.

But this experience reminded me of why you can’t get complacent. I gave papaya. I shouldn’t have had my phone out. When I left the cafe, I should have put it away. It didn’t matter the time of day. That’s the rule in Colombia. Keep your valuables hidden. Especially in Bogota, which does have a higher rate of petty crime than elsewhere in the country. I didn’t follow the advice.

And I got unlucky because of it. I’d been having my phone out too often and, with each non-incident, I grew more and more relaxed. I kept dropping my guard down more.

What happened was unlucky but it didn’t need to happen if I had followed the rules.

This is why people always warned me to be careful.

Because you never know. You’re fine until you aren’t.

That said, you’re still unlikely to have a problem. All those incidences I talked about? All involved people breaking the ironclad “No Dar Papaya” rule and either having something valuable our or walking alone late at night in areas they shouldn’t have. Don’t break the rule! This could have happened to me anywhere in the world where I didn’t follow the safety rules you’re supposed to that help you minimize risk.

But, also know, if you do get into trouble, Colombians will help you out. From my hostel owner to the cops to the people who sat with me when it happened to the random guy in the hospital who gave me chocolate, it turns out, you can always depend on the kindness of strangers. They made a harrowing experience a lot easier to deal with.

I’m not going to let this freak incident change my view of such an amazing country. I’d go back to Colombia the same way I’d get in a car after a car accident. In fact, I was terribly upset to leave. I was having an amazing time. I still love Bogota. I still have plans to go back to Colombia. I have more positive things to write about this.

Learn from my mistake. Not only for when you visit Colombia but when you travel in general.

You can’t get complacent. You can’t stop following the rules.

And still go to Colombia!

I’ll see you there.

***

A couple of other points:

They did catch the kid who tried to mug me. There’s security everywhere in Bogotá. He made it one block before they caught him. My hostel owner tells me he is still in jail. He was only 17 too. I feel bad for him. There’s a lot of poverty in Bogotá. There’s a very stark income divide there. Assuming he’s not some middle-class punk, I can understand the conditions that led him to rob me. I hope his future gets brighter.

While the doctors were nice and the stitching turned out to be great, I wouldn’t go to a public hospital in Colombia again. That was not a fun experience. It wasn’t super clean, they had patients in the hallways, they didn’t give me antibiotics or pain medicine or cover my wounds, and they wanted to send me home without a shirt (thanks to my hostel owner for bringing me an extra!). There were just some basic things I was shocked they overlooked.

This is a strong case for travel insurance! I’ve always said travel insurance is for unknowns because the past is not prologue. In my twelve years of travel, I was never mugged — until I was. Then, needing medical care and a last-minute flight home, I was glad I had insurance. I needed it bad. It could have been a lot worse than a $70 hospital bill and a flight back home, too: if I had required surgery or had to be admitted to the hospital, that bill would have been a lot more. Don’t leave home without travel insurance. You never, ever know when you might need it, and you’ll be glad you had it!

Here are some articles on travel insurance:

Why You Should Get Travel Insurance When You Travel

How to Buy the Best Insurance in 2019

World Nomads Travel Insurance Review

10 Common Travel Insurance Questions Answered

  Book Your Trip to Colombia: Logistical Tips and Tricks

Book Your Flight Find a cheap flight by using Skyscanner or Momondo. They are my two favorite search engines because they search websites and airlines around the globe so you always know no stone is left unturned.

Book Your Accommodation You can book your hostel with Hostelworld. If you want to stay somewhere other than a hostel, use Booking.com as they consistently return the cheapest rates for guesthouses and cheap hotels. I use them all the time.

Don’t Forget Travel Insurance Travel insurance will protect you against illness, injury, theft, and cancellations. It’s comprehensive protection in case anything goes wrong. I never go on a trip without it as I’ve had to use it many times in the past. I’ve been using World Nomads for ten years. My favorite companies that offer the best service and value are:

World Nomads (for everyone below 70)

Insure My Trip (for those over 70)

Looking for the best companies to save money with? Check out my resource page for the best companies to use when you travel! I list all the ones I use to save money when I travel – and I think will help you too!

Looking for more information on visiting Colombia? Check out my in-depth destination guide to Colombia with more tips on what to see, do, costs, ways to save, and much, much more!

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The post So, I Got Stabbed in Colombia appeared first on Nomadic Matt's Travel Site.

from Traveling News https://www.nomadicmatt.com/travel-blogs/getting-stabbed-in-colombia/

[travelguy4444]

So, I Got Stabbed in Colombia

Posted: 4/2/2019 | April 2nd, 2019

Editor’s Note: I wavered on writing about this for a long time since I didn’t want to put people off on Colombia. As you can tell from my posts here, here, here, and here, I really love the country. I mean it’s awesome. (And there will be plenty more blog posts about how great it is.) I didn’t want to play into the negative image surrounding the country. But I blog about all my experiences – good or bad – and this story is a good lesson on travel safety, the importance of always following local advice, and what happens when you get complacent and stop doing so.

“Are you OK?”

“Here. Have a seat.”

“Do you need some water?”

A growing crowd had gathered around me, all offering help in one form or another.

“No, no, no, I think I’ll be OK,” I said waving them off. “I’m just a little stunned.”

My arm and back throbbed while I tried to regain my composure. “I’m going to be really sore in the morning,” I thought.

“Come, come, come. We insist,” said one girl. She led me back onto the sidewalk where a security guard gave me his chair. I sat down.

“What’s your name? Here’s some water. Is there anyone we can call?”

“I’ll be fine. I’ll be fine,” I kept replying.

My arm throbbed. “Getting punched sucks,” I said to myself.

Regaining my composure, I slowly took off the jacket I was wearing. I was too sore for any quick movements anyways. I needed to see how bad the bruises were.

As I did so, gasps arose from the crowd.

My left arm and shoulder were dripping with blood. My shirt was soaked through.

“Shit,” I said as I realized what had happened. “I think I just got stabbed.”

***

There’s a perception that Colombia is unsafe, that despite the heyday of the drug wars being over, danger lurks around most corners and you have to be really careful here.

It’s not a completely unwarranted perception. Petty crime is very common. The 52-year civil war killed 220,000 people — although thankfully this number has drastically dropped since the 2016 peace agreement.

While you are unlikely to be blown up, randomly shot, kidnapped, or ransomed by guerrillas, you are very likely to get pickpocketed or mugged. There were over 200,000 armed robberies in Colombia last year. While violent crimes have been on the decline, petty crime and robbery has been on the upswing.

Before I went to Colombia, I’d heard countless stories of petty theft. While there, I heard even more. A friend of mine had been robbed three times, the last time at gunpoint while on his way to meet me for dinner. Locals and expats alike told me the same thing: the rumors of petty theft are true, but if you keep your wits about you, follow the rules, and don’t flash your valuables, you’ll be OK.

There’s even a local expression about it: “No dar papaya” (Don’t give papaya). Essentially, it means that you shouldn’t have something “sweet” out in the open (a phone, computer, watch, etc.) that would make you a target. Keep your valuables hidden, don’t wander around places you shouldn’t at night, don’t flash money around, avoid coming out of nightlife spots alone at night, etc. Simply put: Don’t put yourself in a position where people can take advantage of you.

I heeded such advice. I didn’t wear headphones in public. I didn’t take my phone out unless I was in a group or a restaurant, or completely sure no one else was around. I took just enough money for the day with me when I left my hostel. I warned friends about wearing flashy jewelry or watches when they visited.

But, the longer you are somewhere, the more you get complacent.

When you see locals on their phones in crowded areas, tourists toting thousand-dollar cameras, and kids wearing Airpods and Apple Watches, you begin to think, “OK, during the day, it’s not so bad.”

The more nothing happens to you, the more indifferent you get.

Suddenly, you step out of a cafe with your phone out without even thinking about it.

In your hands is papaya.

And someone wants to take it.

***

It was near sunset. I was on a busy street in La Calendaria, the main tourist area of Bogotá. The cafe I had been at was closing, so it was time to find somewhere new. I decided to head to a hostel to finish some work and take advantage of happy hour.

I’d been in Bogotá for a few days now, enjoying a city most people write off. There was a charm to it. Even in the tourist hotspot of La Calendaria, it didn’t feel as gringofied as Medellín. It felt the most authentic of all the big Colombian cities I had visited. I was loving it.

I exited the cafe with my phone out, finishing a text message. It had slipped my mind to put it away. It was still light outside, there were crowds around, and lots of security. After nearly six weeks in Colombia, I had grown complacent in situations like this.

“What’s really going to happen? I’ll be fine.”

Three steps out of the door, I felt someone brush up against me. At first, I thought it was someone running past me until I quickly realized that a guy was trying to take my phone out of my hand.

Fight or flight set in — and I fought.

“Get the fuck off me!” I shouted as I wrestled with him, keeping an iron grip on my phone. I tried pushing him away.

“Help, help, help!” I yelled into the air.

I remember distinctly the confused look on his face as if he had expected an easy mark. That the phone would slip out of my hand and he’d be gone before anyone could catch him.

Without a word, he started punching my left arm, and I continued to resist.

“Get off me! Help, help!”

We tussled in the street.

I kicked, I screamed, I blocked his punches.

The commotion caused people to run toward us.

Unable to dislodge the phone from my hand, the mugger turned and ran.

***

After people helped me sit down and the adrenaline wore off, I got lightheaded. My ears rang. I had trouble focusing for a few moments.

Blood was dripping through my soaked shirt.

“Fuck,” I said looking at my arm and shoulder.

I tried to compose myself.

Having grown up surrounded by doctors and nurses, I ran through a quick “how bad is this” checklist in my mind.

I made a fist. I could feel my fingers. I could move my arm. “OK, I probably don’t have nerve or muscle damage.”

I could breathe and was not coughing up blood. “Ok, I probably don’t have a punctured lung.”

I could still walk and feel my toes.

My light-headedness dissipated.

“OK, there’s probably not too much major damage,” I thought.

Words I didn’t understand were spoken in Spanish. A doctor arrived and helped clean and put pressure on my wounds. A young woman in the crowd who spoke English took my phone and voice-texted my only friend in Bogotá to let her know the situation.

As an ambulance would take too long, the police, who numbered about a dozen by now, loaded me onto the back of a truck and took me to a hospital, stopping traffic on the way like I was an honored dignitary.

Using Google Translate to communicate, the police checked me in at the hospital. They took down as much information as they could, showed me a picture of the attacker (yes, that’s him!), and called my friend to update her about where I was.

As I waited to be seen by the doctors, the owner of my hostel showed up. After having taken my address, the cops had phoned up the hostel to let them know what happened and she had rushed down.

The hospital staff saw me quickly. (I suspect being a stabbed gringo got me quicker attention.)

We went into one of the exam rooms. My shirt came off, they cleaned my arm and back, and assessed the damage.

I had five wounds: two on my left arm, two on my shoulder, and one on my back, small cuts that broke the skin, with two looking like they got into the muscle. If the knife had been longer, I would have been in serious trouble: one cut was right on my collar and another especially close to my spine.

When you think of the term “stabbing,” you think of a long blade, a single deep cut into the abdomen or back. You picture someone with a protruding knife being rolled into the hospital on a stretcher.

That was not the case for me. I had been, more colloquially correct, knifed.

Badly knifed.

But just knifed.

There was no blade protruding from my gut or back. There would be no surgery. No deep lacerations.

The wounds wouldn’t require any more than antibiotics, stitches, and time to heal. A lot of time. (How much time? This happened at the end of January and it took two months for the bruising to go down.)

I was stitched up, taken for an X-ray to make sure I didn’t have a punctured lung, and required to sit around for another six hours as they did a follow-up. My friend and hostel owner stayed a bit.

During that time, I booked a flight home. While my wounds weren’t severe and I could have stayed in Bogotá, I didn’t want to risk it. The hospital refused to give me antibiotics and, being a little suspicious of their stitching job, I wanted to get checked out back home while everything was still fresh. When I was leaving the hospital, I even had to ask them to cover my wounds. They were going to leave them exposed.

It’s better to be safe than sorry.

***

Looking back, would I have done anything differently?

It’s easy to say, “Why didn’t you just give him your phone?”

But it’s not as if he led with a weapon. Had he done so, I obviously would have surrendered the phone. This kid (and it turned out he was just a kid of about 17) just tried to grab it from my hand, and anyone’s natural instinct would be to pull back.

If someone stole your purse, took your computer while you were using it, or tried to grab your watch, your initial, primal reaction wouldn’t be, “Oh well!” It would be, “Hey, give me back my stuff!”

And if that stuff were still attached to your hand, you’d pull back, yell for help, and hope the mugger would go away. Especially when it’s still daytime and there are crowds around. You can’t always assume a mugger has a weapon.

Based on the information I had at the time, I don’t think I would have done anything differently. Nature just set in.

Things could have been a lot worse: The knife could have been longer. He could have had a gun. I could have turned the wrong way, and that small blade could have hit a major artery or my neck. The knife was so small that I didn’t even feel it during the attack. A longer blade might have caused me to recoil more and drop my phone. I don’t know. If he had been a better mugger, he would have kept running forward and I wouldn’t have been able to catch up as the forward motion made the phone leave my hand.

The permutations are endless.

This was also just a matter of being unlucky. A wrong time and wrong place situation. This could have happened to me anywhere. You can be in the wrong place and the wrong time in a million places and in a million situations.

Life is risk. You’re not in control of what happens to you the second you walk out a door. You think you are. You think you have a handle on the situation — but then you walk out of a café and get knifed. You get in a car that crashes or a helicopter that goes down, eat food that hospitalizes you, or, despite your best health efforts, drop dead from a heart attack.

Anything can happen to you at any time.

We make plans as if we are in control.

But we’re not in control of anything.

All we can do is control our reaction and responses.

I really like Bogotá. I really like Colombia. The food was delicious and the scenery breathtaking. Throughout my visit there, people were inquisitive, friendly, and happy.

And when this happened, I marveled at all the people who helped me, who stayed with me until the police came, the many police officers who assisted me in numerous ways, the doctors who attended to me, the hostel owner who became my translator, and my friend who drove an hour to be with me.

Everyone apologized. Everyone knew this was what Colombia is known for. They wanted to let me know this was not Colombia. I think they felt worse about the attack than I did.

But this experience reminded me of why you can’t get complacent. I gave papaya. I shouldn’t have had my phone out. When I left the cafe, I should have put it away. It didn’t matter the time of day. That’s the rule in Colombia. Keep your valuables hidden. Especially in Bogota, which does have a higher rate of petty crime than elsewhere in the country. I didn’t follow the advice.

And I got unlucky because of it. I’d been having my phone out too often and, with each non-incident, I grew more and more relaxed. I kept dropping my guard down more.

What happened was unlucky but it didn’t need to happen if I had followed the rules.

This is why people always warned me to be careful.

Because you never know. You’re fine until you aren’t.

That said, you’re still unlikely to have a problem. All those incidences I talked about? All involved people breaking the ironclad “No Dar Papaya” rule and either having something valuable our or walking alone late at night in areas they shouldn’t have. Don’t break the rule! This could have happened to me anywhere in the world where I didn’t follow the safety rules you’re supposed to that help you minimize risk.

But, also know, if you do get into trouble, Colombians will help you out. From my hostel owner to the cops to the people who sat with me when it happened to the random guy in the hospital who gave me chocolate, it turns out, you can always depend on the kindness of strangers. They made a harrowing experience a lot easier to deal with.

I’m not going to let this freak incident change my view of such an amazing country. I’d go back to Colombia the same way I’d get in a car after a car accident. In fact, I was terribly upset to leave. I was having an amazing time. I still love Bogota. I still have plans to go back to Colombia. I have more positive things to write about this.

Learn from my mistake. Not only for when you visit Colombia but when you travel in general.

You can’t get complacent. You can’t stop following the rules.

And still go to Colombia!

I’ll see you there.

***

A couple of other points:

They did catch the kid who tried to mug me. There’s security everywhere in Bogotá. He made it one block before they caught him. My hostel owner tells me he is still in jail. He was only 17 too. I feel bad for him. There’s a lot of poverty in Bogotá. There’s a very stark income divide there. Assuming he’s not some middle-class punk, I can understand the conditions that led him to rob me. I hope his future gets brighter.

While the doctors were nice and the stitching turned out to be great, I wouldn’t go to a public hospital in Colombia again. That was not a fun experience. It wasn’t super clean, they had patients in the hallways, they didn’t give me antibiotics or pain medicine or cover my wounds, and they wanted to send me home without a shirt (thanks to my hostel owner for bringing me an extra!). There were just some basic things I was shocked they overlooked.

This is a strong case for travel insurance! I’ve always said travel insurance is for unknowns because the past is not prologue. In my twelve years of travel, I was never mugged — until I was. Then, needing medical care and a last-minute flight home, I was glad I had insurance. I needed it bad. It could have been a lot worse than a $70 hospital bill and a flight back home, too: if I had required surgery or had to be admitted to the hospital, that bill would have been a lot more. Don’t leave home without travel insurance. You never, ever know when you might need it, and you’ll be glad you had it!

Here are some articles on travel insurance:

Why You Should Get Travel Insurance When You Travel

How to Buy the Best Insurance in 2019

World Nomads Travel Insurance Review

10 Common Travel Insurance Questions Answered

  Book Your Trip to Colombia: Logistical Tips and Tricks

Book Your Flight Find a cheap flight by using Skyscanner or Momondo. They are my two favorite search engines because they search websites and airlines around the globe so you always know no stone is left unturned.

Book Your Accommodation You can book your hostel with Hostelworld. If you want to stay somewhere other than a hostel, use Booking.com as they consistently return the cheapest rates for guesthouses and cheap hotels. I use them all the time.

Don’t Forget Travel Insurance Travel insurance will protect you against illness, injury, theft, and cancellations. It’s comprehensive protection in case anything goes wrong. I never go on a trip without it as I’ve had to use it many times in the past. I’ve been using World Nomads for ten years. My favorite companies that offer the best service and value are:

World Nomads (for everyone below 70)

Insure My Trip (for those over 70)

Looking for the best companies to save money with? Check out my resource page for the best companies to use when you travel! I list all the ones I use to save money when I travel – and I think will help you too!

Looking for more information on visiting Colombia? Check out my in-depth destination guide to Colombia with more tips on what to see, do, costs, ways to save, and much, much more!

Photo credit: 1

The post So, I Got Stabbed in Colombia appeared first on Nomadic Matt's Travel Site.

source https://www.nomadicmatt.com/travel-blogs/getting-stabbed-in-colombia/

[tamboradventure]

So, I Got Stabbed in Colombia

Posted: 4/2/2019 | April 2nd, 2019

Editor’s Note: I wavered on writing about this for a long time since I didn’t want to put people off on Colombia. As you can tell from my posts here, here, here, and here, I really love the country. I mean it’s awesome. (And there will be plenty more blog posts about how great it is.) I didn’t want to play into the negative image surrounding the country. But I blog about all my experiences – good or bad – and this story is a good lesson on travel safety, the importance of always following local advice, and what happens when you get complacent and stop doing so.

“Are you OK?”

“Here. Have a seat.”

“Do you need some water?”

A growing crowd had gathered around me, all offering help in one form or another.

“No, no, no, I think I’ll be OK,” I said waving them off. “I’m just a little stunned.”

My arm and back throbbed while I tried to regain my composure. “I’m going to be really sore in the morning,” I thought.

“Come, come, come. We insist,” said one girl. She led me back onto the sidewalk where a security guard gave me his chair. I sat down.

“What’s your name? Here’s some water. Is there anyone we can call?”

“I’ll be fine. I’ll be fine,” I kept replying.

My arm throbbed. “Getting punched sucks,” I said to myself.

Regaining my composure, I slowly took off the jacket I was wearing. I was too sore for any quick movements anyways. I needed to see how bad the bruises were.

As I did so, gasps arose from the crowd.

My left arm and shoulder were dripping with blood. My shirt was soaked through.

“Shit,” I said as I realized what had happened. “I think I just got stabbed.”

***

There’s a perception that Colombia is unsafe, that despite the heyday of the drug wars being over, danger lurks around most corners and you have to be really careful here.

It’s not a completely unwarranted perception. Petty crime is very common. The 52-year civil war killed 220,000 people — although thankfully this number has drastically dropped since the 2016 peace agreement.

While you are unlikely to be blown up, randomly shot, kidnapped, or ransomed by guerrillas, you are very likely to get pickpocketed or mugged. There were over 200,000 armed robberies in Colombia last year. While violent crimes have been on the decline, petty crime and robbery has been on the upswing.

Before I went to Colombia, I’d heard countless stories of petty theft. While there, I heard even more. A friend of mine had been robbed three times, the last time at gunpoint while on his way to meet me for dinner. Locals and expats alike told me the same thing: the rumors of petty theft are true, but if you keep your wits about you, follow the rules, and don’t flash your valuables, you’ll be OK.

There’s even a local expression about it: “No dar papaya” (Don’t give papaya). Essentially, it means that you shouldn’t have something “sweet” out in the open (a phone, computer, watch, etc.) that would make you a target. Keep your valuables hidden, don’t wander around places you shouldn’t at night, don’t flash money around, avoid coming out of nightlife spots alone at night, etc. Simply put: Don’t put yourself in a position where people can take advantage of you.

I heeded such advice. I didn’t wear headphones in public. I didn’t take my phone out unless I was in a group or a restaurant, or completely sure no one else was around. I took just enough money for the day with me when I left my hostel. I warned friends about wearing flashy jewelry or watches when they visited.

But, the longer you are somewhere, the more you get complacent.

When you see locals on their phones in crowded areas, tourists toting thousand-dollar cameras, and kids wearing Airpods and Apple Watches, you begin to think, “OK, during the day, it’s not so bad.”

The more nothing happens to you, the more indifferent you get.

Suddenly, you step out of a cafe with your phone out without even thinking about it.

In your hands is papaya.

And someone wants to take it.

***

It was near sunset. I was on a busy street in La Calendaria, the main tourist area of Bogotá. The cafe I had been at was closing, so it was time to find somewhere new. I decided to head to a hostel to finish some work and take advantage of happy hour.

I’d been in Bogotá for a few days now, enjoying a city most people write off. There was a charm to it. Even in the tourist hotspot of La Calendaria, it didn’t feel as gringofied as Medellín. It felt the most authentic of all the big Colombian cities I had visited. I was loving it.

I exited the cafe with my phone out, finishing a text message. It had slipped my mind to put it away. It was still light outside, there were crowds around, and lots of security. After nearly six weeks in Colombia, I had grown complacent in situations like this.

“What’s really going to happen? I’ll be fine.”

Three steps out of the door, I felt someone brush up against me. At first, I thought it was someone running past me until I quickly realized that a guy was trying to take my phone out of my hand.

Fight or flight set in — and I fought.

“Get the fuck off me!” I shouted as I wrestled with him, keeping an iron grip on my phone. I tried pushing him away.

“Help, help, help!” I yelled into the air.

I remember distinctly the confused look on his face as if he had expected an easy mark. That the phone would slip out of my hand and he’d be gone before anyone could catch him.

Without a word, he started punching my left arm, and I continued to resist.

“Get off me! Help, help!”

We tussled in the street.

I kicked, I screamed, I blocked his punches.

The commotion caused people to run toward us.

Unable to dislodge the phone from my hand, the mugger turned and ran.

***

After people helped me sit down and the adrenaline wore off, I got lightheaded. My ears rang. I had trouble focusing for a few moments.

Blood was dripping through my soaked shirt.

“Fuck,” I said looking at my arm and shoulder.

I tried to compose myself.

Having grown up surrounded by doctors and nurses, I ran through a quick “how bad is this” checklist in my mind.

I made a fist. I could feel my fingers. I could move my arm. “OK, I probably don’t have nerve or muscle damage.”

I could breathe and was not coughing up blood. “Ok, I probably don’t have a punctured lung.”

I could still walk and feel my toes.

My light-headedness dissipated.

“OK, there’s probably not too much major damage,” I thought.

Words I didn’t understand were spoken in Spanish. A doctor arrived and helped clean and put pressure on my wounds. A young woman in the crowd who spoke English took my phone and voice-texted my only friend in Bogotá to let her know the situation.

As an ambulance would take too long, the police, who numbered about a dozen by now, loaded me onto the back of a truck and took me to a hospital, stopping traffic on the way like I was an honored dignitary.

Using Google Translate to communicate, the police checked me in at the hospital. They took down as much information as they could, showed me a picture of the attacker (yes, that’s him!), and called my friend to update her about where I was.

As I waited to be seen by the doctors, the owner of my hostel showed up. After having taken my address, the cops had phoned up the hostel to let them know what happened and she had rushed down.

The hospital staff saw me quickly. (I suspect being a stabbed gringo got me quicker attention.)

We went into one of the exam rooms. My shirt came off, they cleaned my arm and back, and assessed the damage.

I had five wounds: two on my left arm, two on my shoulder, and one on my back, small cuts that broke the skin, with two looking like they got into the muscle. If the knife had been longer, I would have been in serious trouble: one cut was right on my collar and another especially close to my spine.

When you think of the term “stabbing,” you think of a long blade, a single deep cut into the abdomen or back. You picture someone with a protruding knife being rolled into the hospital on a stretcher.

That was not the case for me. I had been, more colloquially correct, knifed.

Badly knifed.

But just knifed.

There was no blade protruding from my gut or back. There would be no surgery. No deep lacerations.

The wounds wouldn’t require any more than antibiotics, stitches, and time to heal. A lot of time. (How much time? This happened at the end of January and it took two months for the bruising to go down.)

I was stitched up, taken for an X-ray to make sure I didn’t have a punctured lung, and required to sit around for another six hours as they did a follow-up. My friend and hostel owner stayed a bit.

During that time, I booked a flight home. While my wounds weren’t severe and I could have stayed in Bogotá, I didn’t want to risk it. The hospital refused to give me antibiotics and, being a little suspicious of their stitching job, I wanted to get checked out back home while everything was still fresh. When I was leaving the hospital, I even had to ask them to cover my wounds. They were going to leave them exposed.

It’s better to be safe than sorry.

***

Looking back, would I have done anything differently?

It’s easy to say, “Why didn’t you just give him your phone?”

But it’s not as if he led with a weapon. Had he done so, I obviously would have surrendered the phone. This kid (and it turned out he was just a kid of about 17) just tried to grab it from my hand, and anyone’s natural instinct would be to pull back.

If someone stole your purse, took your computer while you were using it, or tried to grab your watch, your initial, primal reaction wouldn’t be, “Oh well!” It would be, “Hey, give me back my stuff!”

And if that stuff were still attached to your hand, you’d pull back, yell for help, and hope the mugger would go away. Especially when it’s still daytime and there are crowds around. You can’t always assume a mugger has a weapon.

Based on the information I had at the time, I don’t think I would have done anything differently. Nature just set in.

Things could have been a lot worse: The knife could have been longer. He could have had a gun. I could have turned the wrong way, and that small blade could have hit a major artery or my neck. The knife was so small that I didn’t even feel it during the attack. A longer blade might have caused me to recoil more and drop my phone. I don’t know. If he had been a better mugger, he would have kept running forward and I wouldn’t have been able to catch up as the forward motion made the phone leave my hand.

The permutations are endless.

This was also just a matter of being unlucky. A wrong time and wrong place situation. This could have happened to me anywhere. You can be in the wrong place and the wrong time in a million places and in a million situations.

Life is risk. You’re not in control of what happens to you the second you walk out a door. You think you are. You think you have a handle on the situation — but then you walk out of a café and get knifed. You get in a car that crashes or a helicopter that goes down, eat food that hospitalizes you, or, despite your best health efforts, drop dead from a heart attack.

Anything can happen to you at any time.

We make plans as if we are in control.

But we’re not in control of anything.

All we can do is control our reaction and responses.

I really like Bogotá. I really like Colombia. The food was delicious and the scenery breathtaking. Throughout my visit there, people were inquisitive, friendly, and happy.

And when this happened, I marveled at all the people who helped me, who stayed with me until the police came, the many police officers who assisted me in numerous ways, the doctors who attended to me, the hostel owner who became my translator, and my friend who drove an hour to be with me.

Everyone apologized. Everyone knew this was what Colombia is known for. They wanted to let me know this was not Colombia. I think they felt worse about the attack than I did.

But this experience reminded me of why you can’t get complacent. I gave papaya. I shouldn’t have had my phone out. When I left the cafe, I should have put it away. It didn’t matter the time of day. That’s the rule in Colombia. Keep your valuables hidden. Especially in Bogota, which does have a higher rate of petty crime than elsewhere in the country. I didn’t follow the advice.

And I got unlucky because of it. I’d been having my phone out too often and, with each non-incident, I grew more and more relaxed. I kept dropping my guard down more.

What happened was unlucky but it didn’t need to happen if I had followed the rules.

This is why people always warned me to be careful.

Because you never know. You’re fine until you aren’t.

That said, you’re still unlikely to have a problem. All those incidences I talked about? All involved people breaking the ironclad “No Dar Papaya” rule and either having something valuable our or walking alone late at night in areas they shouldn’t have. Don’t break the rule! This could have happened to me anywhere in the world where I didn’t follow the safety rules you’re supposed to that help you minimize risk.

But, also know, if you do get into trouble, Colombians will help you out. From my hostel owner to the cops to the people who sat with me when it happened to the random guy in the hospital who gave me chocolate, it turns out, you can always depend on the kindness of strangers. They made a harrowing experience a lot easier to deal with.

I’m not going to let this freak incident change my view of such an amazing country. I’d go back to Colombia the same way I’d get in a car after a car accident. In fact, I was terribly upset to leave. I was having an amazing time. I still love Bogota. I still have plans to go back to Colombia. I have more positive things to write about this.

Learn from my mistake. Not only for when you visit Colombia but when you travel in general.

You can’t get complacent. You can’t stop following the rules.

And still go to Colombia!

I’ll see you there.

***

A couple of other points:

They did catch the kid who tried to mug me. There’s security everywhere in Bogotá. He made it one block before they caught him. My hostel owner tells me he is still in jail. He was only 17 too. I feel bad for him. There’s a lot of poverty in Bogotá. There’s a very stark income divide there. Assuming he’s not some middle-class punk, I can understand the conditions that led him to rob me. I hope his future gets brighter.

While the doctors were nice and the stitching turned out to be great, I wouldn’t go to a public hospital in Colombia again. That was not a fun experience. It wasn’t super clean, they had patients in the hallways, they didn’t give me antibiotics or pain medicine or cover my wounds, and they wanted to send me home without a shirt (thanks to my hostel owner for bringing me an extra!). There were just some basic things I was shocked they overlooked.

This is a strong case for travel insurance! I’ve always said travel insurance is for unknowns because the past is not prologue. In my twelve years of travel, I was never mugged — until I was. Then, needing medical care and a last-minute flight home, I was glad I had insurance. I needed it bad. It could have been a lot worse than a $70 hospital bill and a flight back home, too: if I had required surgery or had to be admitted to the hospital, that bill would have been a lot more. Don’t leave home without travel insurance. You never, ever know when you might need it, and you’ll be glad you had it!

Here are some articles on travel insurance:

Why You Should Get Travel Insurance When You Travel

How to Buy the Best Insurance in 2019

World Nomads Travel Insurance Review

10 Common Travel Insurance Questions Answered

  Book Your Trip to Colombia: Logistical Tips and Tricks

Book Your Flight Find a cheap flight by using Skyscanner or Momondo. They are my two favorite search engines because they search websites and airlines around the globe so you always know no stone is left unturned.

Book Your Accommodation You can book your hostel with Hostelworld. If you want to stay somewhere other than a hostel, use Booking.com as they consistently return the cheapest rates for guesthouses and cheap hotels. I use them all the time.

Don’t Forget Travel Insurance Travel insurance will protect you against illness, injury, theft, and cancellations. It’s comprehensive protection in case anything goes wrong. I never go on a trip without it as I’ve had to use it many times in the past. I’ve been using World Nomads for ten years. My favorite companies that offer the best service and value are:

World Nomads (for everyone below 70)

Insure My Trip (for those over 70)

Looking for the best companies to save money with? Check out my resource page for the best companies to use when you travel! I list all the ones I use to save money when I travel – and I think will help you too!

Looking for more information on visiting Colombia? Check out my in-depth destination guide to Colombia with more tips on what to see, do, costs, ways to save, and much, much more!

Photo credit: 1

The post So, I Got Stabbed in Colombia appeared first on Nomadic Matt's Travel Site.

from Nomadic Matt's Travel Site https://ift.tt/2Uo7KAg via IFTTT

[vidovicart]

So, I Got Stabbed in Colombia

Posted: 4/2/2019 | April 2nd, 2019

Editor’s Note: I wavered on writing about this for a long time since I didn’t want to put people off on Colombia. As you can tell from my posts here, here, here, and here, I really love the country. I mean it’s awesome. (And there will be plenty more blog posts about how great it is.) I didn’t want to play into the negative image surrounding the country. But I blog about all my experiences – good or bad – and this story is a good lesson on travel safety, the importance of always following local advice, and what happens when you get complacent and stop doing so.

“Are you OK?”

“Here. Have a seat.”

“Do you need some water?”

A growing crowd had gathered around me, all offering help in one form or another.

“No, no, no, I think I’ll be OK,” I said waving them off. “I’m just a little stunned.”

My arm and back throbbed while I tried to regain my composure. “I’m going to be really sore in the morning,” I thought.

“Come, come, come. We insist,” said one girl. She led me back onto the sidewalk where a security guard gave me his chair. I sat down.

“What’s your name? Here’s some water. Is there anyone we can call?”

“I’ll be fine. I’ll be fine,” I kept replying.

My arm throbbed. “Getting punched sucks,” I said to myself.

Regaining my composure, I slowly took off the jacket I was wearing. I was too sore for any quick movements anyways. I needed to see how bad the bruises were.

As I did so, gasps arose from the crowd.

My left arm and shoulder were dripping with blood. My shirt was soaked through.

“Shit,” I said as I realized what had happened. “I think I just got stabbed.”

***

There’s a perception that Colombia is unsafe, that despite the heyday of the drug wars being over, danger lurks around most corners and you have to be really careful here.

It’s not a completely unwarranted perception. Petty crime is very common. The 52-year civil war killed 220,000 people — although thankfully this number has drastically dropped since the 2016 peace agreement.

While you are unlikely to be blown up, randomly shot, kidnapped, or ransomed by guerrillas, you are very likely to get pickpocketed or mugged. There were over 200,000 armed robberies in Colombia last year. While violent crimes have been on the decline, petty crime and robbery has been on the upswing.

Before I went to Colombia, I’d heard countless stories of petty theft. While there, I heard even more. A friend of mine had been robbed three times, the last time at gunpoint while on his way to meet me for dinner. Locals and expats alike told me the same thing: the rumors of petty theft are true, but if you keep your wits about you, follow the rules, and don’t flash your valuables, you’ll be OK.

There’s even a local expression about it: “No dar papaya” (Don’t give papaya). Essentially, it means that you shouldn’t have something “sweet” out in the open (a phone, computer, watch, etc.) that would make you a target. Keep your valuables hidden, don’t wander around places you shouldn’t at night, don’t flash money around, avoid coming out of nightlife spots alone at night, etc. Simply put: Don’t put yourself in a position where people can take advantage of you.

I heeded such advice. I didn’t wear headphones in public. I didn’t take my phone out unless I was in a group or a restaurant, or completely sure no one else was around. I took just enough money for the day with me when I left my hostel. I warned friends about wearing flashy jewelry or watches when they visited.

But, the longer you are somewhere, the more you get complacent.

When you see locals on their phones in crowded areas, tourists toting thousand-dollar cameras, and kids wearing Airpods and Apple Watches, you begin to think, “OK, during the day, it’s not so bad.”

The more nothing happens to you, the more indifferent you get.

Suddenly, you step out of a cafe with your phone out without even thinking about it.

In your hands is papaya.

And someone wants to take it.

***

It was near sunset. I was on a busy street in La Calendaria, the main tourist area of Bogotá. The cafe I had been at was closing, so it was time to find somewhere new. I decided to head to a hostel to finish some work and take advantage of happy hour.

I’d been in Bogotá for a few days now, enjoying a city most people write off. There was a charm to it. Even in the tourist hotspot of La Calendaria, it didn’t feel as gringofied as Medellín. It felt the most authentic of all the big Colombian cities I had visited. I was loving it.

I exited the cafe with my phone out, finishing a text message. It had slipped my mind to put it away. It was still light outside, there were crowds around, and lots of security. After nearly six weeks in Colombia, I had grown complacent in situations like this.

“What’s really going to happen? I’ll be fine.”

Three steps out of the door, I felt someone brush up against me. At first, I thought it was someone running past me until I quickly realized that a guy was trying to take my phone out of my hand.

Fight or flight set in — and I fought.

“Get the fuck off me!” I shouted as I wrestled with him, keeping an iron grip on my phone. I tried pushing him away.

“Help, help, help!” I yelled into the air.

I remember distinctly the confused look on his face as if he had expected an easy mark. That the phone would slip out of my hand and he’d be gone before anyone could catch him.

Without a word, he started punching my left arm, and I continued to resist.

“Get off me! Help, help!”

We tussled in the street.

I kicked, I screamed, I blocked his punches.

The commotion caused people to run toward us.

Unable to dislodge the phone from my hand, the mugger turned and ran.

***

After people helped me sit down and the adrenaline wore off, I got lightheaded. My ears rang. I had trouble focusing for a few moments.

Blood was dripping through my soaked shirt.

“Fuck,” I said looking at my arm and shoulder.

I tried to compose myself.

Having grown up surrounded by doctors and nurses, I ran through a quick “how bad is this” checklist in my mind.

I made a fist. I could feel my fingers. I could move my arm. “OK, I probably don’t have nerve or muscle damage.”

I could breathe and was not coughing up blood. “Ok, I probably don’t have a punctured lung.”

I could still walk and feel my toes.

My light-headedness dissipated.

“OK, there’s probably not too much major damage,” I thought.

Words I didn’t understand were spoken in Spanish. A doctor arrived and helped clean and put pressure on my wounds. A young woman in the crowd who spoke English took my phone and voice-texted my only friend in Bogotá to let her know the situation.

As an ambulance would take too long, the police, who numbered about a dozen by now, loaded me onto the back of a truck and took me to a hospital, stopping traffic on the way like I was an honored dignitary.

Using Google Translate to communicate, the police checked me in at the hospital. They took down as much information as they could, showed me a picture of the attacker (yes, that’s him!), and called my friend to update her about where I was.

As I waited to be seen by the doctors, the owner of my hostel showed up. After having taken my address, the cops had phoned up the hostel to let them know what happened and she had rushed down.

The hospital staff saw me quickly. (I suspect being a stabbed gringo got me quicker attention.)

We went into one of the exam rooms. My shirt came off, they cleaned my arm and back, and assessed the damage.

I had five wounds: two on my left arm, two on my shoulder, and one on my back, small cuts that broke the skin, with two looking like they got into the muscle. If the knife had been longer, I would have been in serious trouble: one cut was right on my collar and another especially close to my spine.

When you think of the term “stabbing,” you think of a long blade, a single deep cut into the abdomen or back. You picture someone with a protruding knife being rolled into the hospital on a stretcher.

That was not the case for me. I had been, more colloquially correct, knifed.

Badly knifed.

But just knifed.

There was no blade protruding from my gut or back. There would be no surgery. No deep lacerations.

The wounds wouldn’t require any more than antibiotics, stitches, and time to heal. A lot of time. (How much time? This happened at the end of January and it took two months for the bruising to go down.)

I was stitched up, taken for an X-ray to make sure I didn’t have a punctured lung, and required to sit around for another six hours as they did a follow-up. My friend and hostel owner stayed a bit.

During that time, I booked a flight home. While my wounds weren’t severe and I could have stayed in Bogotá, I didn’t want to risk it. The hospital refused to give me antibiotics and, being a little suspicious of their stitching job, I wanted to get checked out back home while everything was still fresh. When I was leaving the hospital, I even had to ask them to cover my wounds. They were going to leave them exposed.

It’s better to be safe than sorry.

***

Looking back, would I have done anything differently?

It’s easy to say, “Why didn’t you just give him your phone?”

But it’s not as if he led with a weapon. Had he done so, I obviously would have surrendered the phone. This kid (and it turned out he was just a kid of about 17) just tried to grab it from my hand, and anyone’s natural instinct would be to pull back.

If someone stole your purse, took your computer while you were using it, or tried to grab your watch, your initial, primal reaction wouldn’t be, “Oh well!” It would be, “Hey, give me back my stuff!”

And if that stuff were still attached to your hand, you’d pull back, yell for help, and hope the mugger would go away. Especially when it’s still daytime and there are crowds around. You can’t always assume a mugger has a weapon.

Based on the information I had at the time, I don’t think I would have done anything differently. Nature just set in.

Things could have been a lot worse: The knife could have been longer. He could have had a gun. I could have turned the wrong way, and that small blade could have hit a major artery or my neck. The knife was so small that I didn’t even feel it during the attack. A longer blade might have caused me to recoil more and drop my phone. I don’t know. If he had been a better mugger, he would have kept running forward and I wouldn’t have been able to catch up as the forward motion made the phone leave my hand.

The permutations are endless.

This was also just a matter of being unlucky. A wrong time and wrong place situation. This could have happened to me anywhere. You can be in the wrong place and the wrong time in a million places and in a million situations.

Life is risk. You’re not in control of what happens to you the second you walk out a door. You think you are. You think you have a handle on the situation — but then you walk out of a café and get knifed. You get in a car that crashes or a helicopter that goes down, eat food that hospitalizes you, or, despite your best health efforts, drop dead from a heart attack.

Anything can happen to you at any time.

We make plans as if we are in control.

But we’re not in control of anything.

All we can do is control our reaction and responses.

I really like Bogotá. I really like Colombia. The food was delicious and the scenery breathtaking. Throughout my visit there, people were inquisitive, friendly, and happy.

And when this happened, I marveled at all the people who helped me, who stayed with me until the police came, the many police officers who assisted me in numerous ways, the doctors who attended to me, the hostel owner who became my translator, and my friend who drove an hour to be with me.

Everyone apologized. Everyone knew this was what Colombia is known for. They wanted to let me know this was not Colombia. I think they felt worse about the attack than I did.

But this experience reminded me of why you can’t get complacent. I gave papaya. I shouldn’t have had my phone out. When I left the cafe, I should have put it away. It didn’t matter the time of day. That’s the rule in Colombia. Keep your valuables hidden. Especially in Bogota, which does have a higher rate of petty crime than elsewhere in the country. I didn’t follow the advice.

And I got unlucky because of it. I’d been having my phone out too often and, with each non-incident, I grew more and more relaxed. I kept dropping my guard down more.

What happened was unlucky but it didn’t need to happen if I had followed the rules.

This is why people always warned me to be careful.

Because you never know. You’re fine until you aren’t.

That said, you’re still unlikely to have a problem. All those incidences I talked about? All involved people breaking the ironclad “No Dar Papaya” rule and either having something valuable our or walking alone late at night in areas they shouldn’t have. Don’t break the rule! This could have happened to me anywhere in the world where I didn’t follow the safety rules you’re supposed to that help you minimize risk.

But, also know, if you do get into trouble, Colombians will help you out. From my hostel owner to the cops to the people who sat with me when it happened to the random guy in the hospital who gave me chocolate, it turns out, you can always depend on the kindness of strangers. They made a harrowing experience a lot easier to deal with.

I’m not going to let this freak incident change my view of such an amazing country. I’d go back to Colombia the same way I’d get in a car after a car accident. In fact, I was terribly upset to leave. I was having an amazing time. I still love Bogota. I still have plans to go back to Colombia. I have more positive things to write about this.

Learn from my mistake. Not only for when you visit Colombia but when you travel in general.

You can’t get complacent. You can’t stop following the rules.

And still go to Colombia!

I’ll see you there.

***

A couple of other points:

They did catch the kid who tried to mug me. There’s security everywhere in Bogotá. He made it one block before they caught him. My hostel owner tells me he is still in jail. He was only 17 too. I feel bad for him. There’s a lot of poverty in Bogotá. There’s a very stark income divide there. Assuming he’s not some middle-class punk, I can understand the conditions that led him to rob me. I hope his future gets brighter.

While the doctors were nice and the stitching turned out to be great, I wouldn’t go to a public hospital in Colombia again. That was not a fun experience. It wasn’t super clean, they had patients in the hallways, they didn’t give me antibiotics or pain medicine or cover my wounds, and they wanted to send me home without a shirt (thanks to my hostel owner for bringing me an extra!). There were just some basic things I was shocked they overlooked.

This is a strong case for travel insurance! I’ve always said travel insurance is for unknowns because the past is not prologue. In my twelve years of travel, I was never mugged — until I was. Then, needing medical care and a last-minute flight home, I was glad I had insurance. I needed it bad. It could have been a lot worse than a $70 hospital bill and a flight back home, too: if I had required surgery or had to be admitted to the hospital, that bill would have been a lot more. Don’t leave home without travel insurance. You never, ever know when you might need it, and you’ll be glad you had it!

Here are some articles on travel insurance:

Why You Should Get Travel Insurance When You Travel

How to Buy the Best Insurance in 2019

World Nomads Travel Insurance Review

10 Common Travel Insurance Questions Answered

  Book Your Trip to Colombia: Logistical Tips and Tricks

Book Your Flight Find a cheap flight by using Skyscanner or Momondo. They are my two favorite search engines because they search websites and airlines around the globe so you always know no stone is left unturned.

Book Your Accommodation You can book your hostel with Hostelworld. If you want to stay somewhere other than a hostel, use Booking.com as they consistently return the cheapest rates for guesthouses and cheap hotels. I use them all the time.

Don’t Forget Travel Insurance Travel insurance will protect you against illness, injury, theft, and cancellations. It’s comprehensive protection in case anything goes wrong. I never go on a trip without it as I’ve had to use it many times in the past. I’ve been using World Nomads for ten years. My favorite companies that offer the best service and value are:

World Nomads (for everyone below 70)

Insure My Trip (for those over 70)

Looking for the best companies to save money with? Check out my resource page for the best companies to use when you travel! I list all the ones I use to save money when I travel – and I think will help you too!

Looking for more information on visiting Colombia? Check out my in-depth destination guide to Colombia with more tips on what to see, do, costs, ways to save, and much, much more!

Photo credit: 1

The post So, I Got Stabbed in Colombia appeared first on Nomadic Matt's Travel Site.

[melissagarcia8]

So, I Got Stabbed in Colombia

Posted: 4/2/2019 | April 2nd, 2019

Editor’s Note: I wavered on writing about this for a long time since I didn’t want to put people off on Colombia. As you can tell from my posts here, here, here, and here, I really love the country. I mean it’s awesome. (And there will be plenty more blog posts about how great it is.) I didn’t want to play into the negative image surrounding the country. But I blog about all my experiences – good or bad – and this story is a good lesson on travel safety, the importance of always following local advice, and what happens when you get complacent and stop doing so.

“Are you OK?”

“Here. Have a seat.”

“Do you need some water?”

A growing crowd had gathered around me, all offering help in one form or another.

“No, no, no, I think I’ll be OK,” I said waving them off. “I’m just a little stunned.”

My arm and back throbbed while I tried to regain my composure. “I’m going to be really sore in the morning,” I thought.

“Come, come, come. We insist,” said one girl. She led me back onto the sidewalk where a security guard gave me his chair. I sat down.

“What’s your name? Here’s some water. Is there anyone we can call?”

“I’ll be fine. I’ll be fine,” I kept replying.

My arm throbbed. “Getting punched sucks,” I said to myself.

Regaining my composure, I slowly took off the jacket I was wearing. I was too sore for any quick movements anyways. I needed to see how bad the bruises were.

As I did so, gasps arose from the crowd.

My left arm and shoulder were dripping with blood. My shirt was soaked through.

“Shit,” I said as I realized what had happened. “I think I just got stabbed.”

***

There’s a perception that Colombia is unsafe, that despite the heyday of the drug wars being over, danger lurks around most corners and you have to be really careful here.

It’s not a completely unwarranted perception. Petty crime is very common. The 52-year civil war killed 220,000 people — although thankfully this number has drastically dropped since the 2016 peace agreement.

While you are unlikely to be blown up, randomly shot, kidnapped, or ransomed by guerrillas, you are very likely to get pickpocketed or mugged. There were over 200,000 armed robberies in Colombia last year. While violent crimes have been on the decline, petty crime and robbery has been on the upswing.

Before I went to Colombia, I’d heard countless stories of petty theft. While there, I heard even more. A friend of mine had been robbed three times, the last time at gunpoint while on his way to meet me for dinner. Locals and expats alike told me the same thing: the rumors of petty theft are true, but if you keep your wits about you, follow the rules, and don’t flash your valuables, you’ll be OK.

There’s even a local expression about it: “No dar papaya” (Don’t give papaya). Essentially, it means that you shouldn’t have something “sweet” out in the open (a phone, computer, watch, etc.) that would make you a target. Keep your valuables hidden, don’t wander around places you shouldn’t at night, don’t flash money around, avoid coming out of nightlife spots alone at night, etc. Simply put: Don’t put yourself in a position where people can take advantage of you.

I heeded such advice. I didn’t wear headphones in public. I didn’t take my phone out unless I was in a group or a restaurant, or completely sure no one else was around. I took just enough money for the day with me when I left my hostel. I warned friends about wearing flashy jewelry or watches when they visited.

But, the longer you are somewhere, the more you get complacent.

When you see locals on their phones in crowded areas, tourists toting thousand-dollar cameras, and kids wearing Airpods and Apple Watches, you begin to think, “OK, during the day, it’s not so bad.”

The more nothing happens to you, the more indifferent you get.

Suddenly, you step out of a cafe with your phone out without even thinking about it.

In your hands is papaya.

And someone wants to take it.

***

It was near sunset. I was on a busy street in La Calendaria, the main tourist area of Bogotá. The cafe I had been at was closing, so it was time to find somewhere new. I decided to head to a hostel to finish some work and take advantage of happy hour.

I’d been in Bogotá for a few days now, enjoying a city most people write off. There was a charm to it. Even in the tourist hotspot of La Calendaria, it didn’t feel as gringofied as Medellín. It felt the most authentic of all the big Colombian cities I had visited. I was loving it.

I exited the cafe with my phone out, finishing a text message. It had slipped my mind to put it away. It was still light outside, there were crowds around, and lots of security. After nearly six weeks in Colombia, I had grown complacent in situations like this.

“What’s really going to happen? I’ll be fine.”

Three steps out of the door, I felt someone brush up against me. At first, I thought it was someone running past me until I quickly realized that a guy was trying to take my phone out of my hand.

Fight or flight set in — and I fought.

“Get the fuck off me!” I shouted as I wrestled with him, keeping an iron grip on my phone. I tried pushing him away.

“Help, help, help!” I yelled into the air.

I remember distinctly the confused look on his face as if he had expected an easy mark. That the phone would slip out of my hand and he’d be gone before anyone could catch him.

Without a word, he started punching my left arm, and I continued to resist.

“Get off me! Help, help!”

We tussled in the street.

I kicked, I screamed, I blocked his punches.

The commotion caused people to run toward us.

Unable to dislodge the phone from my hand, the mugger turned and ran.

***

After people helped me sit down and the adrenaline wore off, I got lightheaded. My ears rang. I had trouble focusing for a few moments.

Blood was dripping through my soaked shirt.

“Fuck,” I said looking at my arm and shoulder.

I tried to compose myself.

Having grown up surrounded by doctors and nurses, I ran through a quick “how bad is this” checklist in my mind.

I made a fist. I could feel my fingers. I could move my arm. “OK, I probably don’t have nerve or muscle damage.”

I could breathe and was not coughing up blood. “Ok, I probably don’t have a punctured lung.”

I could still walk and feel my toes.

My light-headedness dissipated.

“OK, there’s probably not too much major damage,” I thought.

Words I didn’t understand were spoken in Spanish. A doctor arrived and helped clean and put pressure on my wounds. A young woman in the crowd who spoke English took my phone and voice-texted my only friend in Bogotá to let her know the situation.

As an ambulance would take too long, the police, who numbered about a dozen by now, loaded me onto the back of a truck and took me to a hospital, stopping traffic on the way like I was an honored dignitary.

Using Google Translate to communicate, the police checked me in at the hospital. They took down as much information as they could, showed me a picture of the attacker (yes, that’s him!), and called my friend to update her about where I was.

As I waited to be seen by the doctors, the owner of my hostel showed up. After having taken my address, the cops had phoned up the hostel to let them know what happened and she had rushed down.

The hospital staff saw me quickly. (I suspect being a stabbed gringo got me quicker attention.)

We went into one of the exam rooms. My shirt came off, they cleaned my arm and back, and assessed the damage.

I had five wounds: two on my left arm, two on my shoulder, and one on my back, small cuts that broke the skin, with two looking like they got into the muscle. If the knife had been longer, I would have been in serious trouble: one cut was right on my collar and another especially close to my spine.

When you think of the term “stabbing,” you think of a long blade, a single deep cut into the abdomen or back. You picture someone with a protruding knife being rolled into the hospital on a stretcher.

That was not the case for me. I had been, more colloquially correct, knifed.

Badly knifed.

But just knifed.

There was no blade protruding from my gut or back. There would be no surgery. No deep lacerations.

The wounds wouldn’t require any more than antibiotics, stitches, and time to heal. A lot of time. (How much time? This happened at the end of January and it took two months for the bruising to go down.)

I was stitched up, taken for an X-ray to make sure I didn’t have a punctured lung, and required to sit around for another six hours as they did a follow-up. My friend and hostel owner stayed a bit.

During that time, I booked a flight home. While my wounds weren’t severe and I could have stayed in Bogotá, I didn’t want to risk it. The hospital refused to give me antibiotics and, being a little suspicious of their stitching job, I wanted to get checked out back home while everything was still fresh. When I was leaving the hospital, I even had to ask them to cover my wounds. They were going to leave them exposed.

It’s better to be safe than sorry.

***

Looking back, would I have done anything differently?

It’s easy to say, “Why didn’t you just give him your phone?”

But it’s not as if he led with a weapon. Had he done so, I obviously would have surrendered the phone. This kid (and it turned out he was just a kid of about 17) just tried to grab it from my hand, and anyone’s natural instinct would be to pull back.

If someone stole your purse, took your computer while you were using it, or tried to grab your watch, your initial, primal reaction wouldn’t be, “Oh well!” It would be, “Hey, give me back my stuff!”

And if that stuff were still attached to your hand, you’d pull back, yell for help, and hope the mugger would go away. Especially when it’s still daytime and there are crowds around. You can’t always assume a mugger has a weapon.

Based on the information I had at the time, I don’t think I would have done anything differently. Nature just set in.

Things could have been a lot worse: The knife could have been longer. He could have had a gun. I could have turned the wrong way, and that small blade could have hit a major artery or my neck. The knife was so small that I didn’t even feel it during the attack. A longer blade might have caused me to recoil more and drop my phone. I don’t know. If he had been a better mugger, he would have kept running forward and I wouldn’t have been able to catch up as the forward motion made the phone leave my hand.

The permutations are endless.

This was also just a matter of being unlucky. A wrong time and wrong place situation. This could have happened to me anywhere. You can be in the wrong place and the wrong time in a million places and in a million situations.

Life is risk. You’re not in control of what happens to you the second you walk out a door. You think you are. You think you have a handle on the situation — but then you walk out of a café and get knifed. You get in a car that crashes or a helicopter that goes down, eat food that hospitalizes you, or, despite your best health efforts, drop dead from a heart attack.

Anything can happen to you at any time.

We make plans as if we are in control.

But we’re not in control of anything.

All we can do is control our reaction and responses.

I really like Bogotá. I really like Colombia. The food was delicious and the scenery breathtaking. Throughout my visit there, people were inquisitive, friendly, and happy.

And when this happened, I marveled at all the people who helped me, who stayed with me until the police came, the many police officers who assisted me in numerous ways, the doctors who attended to me, the hostel owner who became my translator, and my friend who drove an hour to be with me.

Everyone apologized. Everyone knew this was what Colombia is known for. They wanted to let me know this was not Colombia. I think they felt worse about the attack than I did.

But this experience reminded me of why you can’t get complacent. I gave papaya. I shouldn’t have had my phone out. When I left the cafe, I should have put it away. It didn’t matter the time of day. That’s the rule in Colombia. Keep your valuables hidden. Especially in Bogota, which does have a higher rate of petty crime than elsewhere in the country. I didn’t follow the advice.

And I got unlucky because of it. I’d been having my phone out too often and, with each non-incident, I grew more and more relaxed. I kept dropping my guard down more.

What happened was unlucky but it didn’t need to happen if I had followed the rules.

This is why people always warned me to be careful.

Because you never know. You’re fine until you aren’t.

That said, you’re still unlikely to have a problem. All those incidences I talked about? All involved people breaking the ironclad “No Dar Papaya” rule and either having something valuable our or walking alone late at night in areas they shouldn’t have. Don’t break the rule! This could have happened to me anywhere in the world where I didn’t follow the safety rules you’re supposed to that help you minimize risk.

But, also know, if you do get into trouble, Colombians will help you out. From my hostel owner to the cops to the people who sat with me when it happened to the random guy in the hospital who gave me chocolate, it turns out, you can always depend on the kindness of strangers. They made a harrowing experience a lot easier to deal with.

I’m not going to let this freak incident change my view of such an amazing country. I’d go back to Colombia the same way I’d get in a car after a car accident. In fact, I was terribly upset to leave. I was having an amazing time. I still love Bogota. I still have plans to go back to Colombia. I have more positive things to write about this.

Learn from my mistake. Not only for when you visit Colombia but when you travel in general.

You can’t get complacent. You can’t stop following the rules.

And still go to Colombia!

I’ll see you there.

***

A couple of other points:

They did catch the kid who tried to mug me. There’s security everywhere in Bogotá. He made it one block before they caught him. My hostel owner tells me he is still in jail. He was only 17 too. I feel bad for him. There’s a lot of poverty in Bogotá. There’s a very stark income divide there. Assuming he’s not some middle-class punk, I can understand the conditions that led him to rob me. I hope his future gets brighter.

While the doctors were nice and the stitching turned out to be great, I wouldn’t go to a public hospital in Colombia again. That was not a fun experience. It wasn’t super clean, they had patients in the hallways, they didn’t give me antibiotics or pain medicine or cover my wounds, and they wanted to send me home without a shirt (thanks to my hostel owner for bringing me an extra!). There were just some basic things I was shocked they overlooked.

This is a strong case for travel insurance! I’ve always said travel insurance is for unknowns because the past is not prologue. In my twelve years of travel, I was never mugged — until I was. Then, needing medical care and a last-minute flight home, I was glad I had insurance. I needed it bad. It could have been a lot worse than a $70 hospital bill and a flight back home, too: if I had required surgery or had to be admitted to the hospital, that bill would have been a lot more. Don’t leave home without travel insurance. You never, ever know when you might need it, and you’ll be glad you had it!

Here are some articles on travel insurance:

Why You Should Get Travel Insurance When You Travel

How to Buy the Best Insurance in 2019

World Nomads Travel Insurance Review

10 Common Travel Insurance Questions Answered

  Book Your Trip to Colombia: Logistical Tips and Tricks

Book Your Flight Find a cheap flight by using Skyscanner or Momondo. They are my two favorite search engines because they search websites and airlines around the globe so you always know no stone is left unturned.

Book Your Accommodation You can book your hostel with Hostelworld. If you want to stay somewhere other than a hostel, use Booking.com as they consistently return the cheapest rates for guesthouses and cheap hotels. I use them all the time.

Don’t Forget Travel Insurance Travel insurance will protect you against illness, injury, theft, and cancellations. It’s comprehensive protection in case anything goes wrong. I never go on a trip without it as I’ve had to use it many times in the past. I’ve been using World Nomads for ten years. My favorite companies that offer the best service and value are:

World Nomads (for everyone below 70)

Insure My Trip (for those over 70)

Looking for the best companies to save money with? Check out my resource page for the best companies to use when you travel! I list all the ones I use to save money when I travel – and I think will help you too!

Looking for more information on visiting Colombia? Check out my in-depth destination guide to Colombia with more tips on what to see, do, costs, ways to save, and much, much more!

Photo credit: 1

The post So, I Got Stabbed in Colombia appeared first on Nomadic Matt's Travel Site.

from Traveling News https://www.nomadicmatt.com/travel-blogs/getting-stabbed-in-colombia/

[melindarowens]

Hundreds of thousands march for unified Spain, poll shows depths of division

Pro-unity supporters take part in a demonstration in central Barcelona, Spain, October 29, 2017. REUTERS/Yves Herman

October 29, 2017

By Sonya Dowsett

BARCELONA (Reuters) – Hundreds of thousands of supporters of a unified Spain filled Barcelona’s streets on Sunday in one of the biggest shows of force yet by the so-called silent majority that has watched as regional political leaders push for Catalan independence.

Political parties opposing a split by Catalonia from Spain had a small lead in an opinion poll published on Sunday, the first since Madrid called a regional election to try to resolve the country’s worst political crisis in four decades.

Polls and recent elections have shown that about half the electorate in the wealthy northeastern region, which is already autonomous, oppose secession from Spain, but a vocal independence movement has brought the current crisis to a head.

Spain’s central government called an election for Dec. 21 on Friday after sacking Catalonia’s president Carles Puigdemont, dissolving its parliament and dismissing its government. That followed the assembly’s unilateral declaration of independence in a vote boycotted by three national parties.

The regional government claimed it had a mandate to push ahead with independence following an unofficial referendum on Oct. 1 which was ruled illegal under Spanish law and mostly boycotted by unionists.

Waving thousands of Spanish flags and singing “Viva España”, protesters on Sunday turned out in the largest display of support for a united Spain since the beginning of the crisis — underlining the depth of division in Catalonia itself.

“I’m here to defend Spanish unity and the law,” said Alfonso Machado, 55, a salesman standing with a little girl with Spanish flags in her hair.

“Knowing that in the end there won’t be independence, I feel sorry for all the people tricked into thinking there could be and the divisions they’ve driven through Catalan society.”

SLIGHT UNIONIST LEAD

The poll of 1,000 people by Sigma Dos for newspaper El Mundo showed unionist parties winning 43.4 percent support and pro-independence parties 42.5 percent.

The survey was taken from Monday to Thursday, just as the central government prepared to take control of Catalonia.

Madrid said on Saturday that secessionist politicians, including Puigdemont, were free to take part in the election. The hardline CUP has been unclear if it would.

The deposed Catalan government will soon have to make difficult decisions, Puigdemont’s former deputy Oriol Junqueras said on Sunday in an editorial in online newspaper El Punt Avui. He stopped short of saying his ERC party would take part in the election.

“We need a shared strategy … it’s important to weave solid alliances with those who are willing to build a state that serves its citizens,” he said, possibly alluding to a rumored alliance between the ERC and the Catalan arm of the anti-austerity Podemos party.

Such an alliance could put the independence movement in difficult position as it would mean a main secession supporter joining forces with parties that reject Madrid’s hard line but do not support separatism.

With weeks to go before the election, the poll showed the CUP, kingmaker for the pro-secessionists in the dismissed 135-seat parliament, would win seven seats, down from a current 10.

The pro-independence coalition Junts pel Si, which held 62 seats previously, was split into parties PDeCat and ERC for the poll as they are unlikely to run on a single platform. The two would win between 54 and 58 seats in total, the poll showed.

At Sunday’s rally, former European Parliament president Josep Borrell called for unionist voters to turn out in December to ensure independence supporters lose their stranglehold on the regional parliament.

“Maybe we’re here because many of us during elections didn’t go and vote. Now we have a golden opportunity. This time, nobody should stay at home,” Borrell said to cheering crowds.

DAMAGE TO CATALONIA

Puigdemont called on Saturday for peaceful opposition to Madrid’s takeover. But he was vague on precisely what steps the secessionists would take as Spanish authorities move into Barcelona to enforce control.

European countries, the United States and Mexico have also rejected the Catalan declaration of independence and expressed support for Spain’s unity.

But emotions are running high and the next few days will be tricky for Madrid as it embarks on enforcing direct rule and putting officials in administrative roles. National police were accused of heavy-handedness during the Oct. 1 referendum.

Officers of the regional police force, called the Mossos d’Esquadra in Catalan, were stationed in main public and government buildings on Sunday.

But the force is believed to have divided loyalties. The central government has removed the Mossos’ chief, Josep Lluis Trapero, and said units could be replaced if warranted.

In an open letter on Sunday, Interior Minister Juan Ignacio Zoido praised the Mossos for their work and urged them to accept temporary direction from Madrid.

The main secessionist group, the Catalan National Assembly, has urged civil servants not to follow orders from the central government and to mount “peaceful resistance”, while the pro-independence trade union CSC has called a strike.

Puigdemont, Junqueras and their advisors left the Catalan government offices on Friday, newspaper La Vanguardia reported on Sunday, effectively handing the building over to Madrid and making a forced eviction on Monday less likely.

Since the return of democracy in the late 1970s Spain has suffered several traumatic episodes, including an attempted military coup in 1981, a violent Basque separatist conflict, and more recently an economic crisis. The Catalan issue is however the biggest challenge to the territorial integrity of what is now a progressive European Union nation.

The chaos has prompted an exodus of businesses from Catalonia, which contributes about a fifth of Spain’s economy, the fourth-largest in the euro zone. Tourism to Barcelona has been hit and markets have darted up and down on the fast-moving developments.

European leaders have also denounced the push, fearing it could fan separatist sentiment around the continent.

(Reporting by Sonya Dowsett in Barcelona and Paul Day and Tomas Cobos in Madrid; Writing by Paul Day; Editing by Angus MacSwan and Catherine Evans)

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source https://capitalisthq.com/hundreds-of-thousands-march-for-unified-spain-poll-shows-depths-of-division/ from CapitalistHQ http://capitalisthq.blogspot.com/2017/10/hundreds-of-thousands-march-for-unified.html