Precious Illusions

The thing about the illusion of safety is, well, that’s just it: it’s an illusion.

Saturday night, walking back to our hotel in San Jose after a couple of hours of souvenir shopping, my friend and I were grabbed by three guys who pulled a knife on me, a gun on her, and stole our bags. It was the sort of random, petty crime that happens to people every day, and can happen anywhere and at any time.

Somehow, though, I never really thought it could happen to me.

Oh, sure, I knew it could happen to me. I spend time running through safety precautions every time I travel, but I tell myself that it’s not good to be too paranoid either because these kinds of things are random and you could just as easily get hit by a bus or something. (In Costa Rica, that’s a very real possibility). So I took the sensible precautions. Passport in hotel safe. Wallet attached to bag with a chain. Money belt locked in the safe, or worn under the clothes. Don’t walk alone after dark. Be aware of surroundings and belongings. All the things you’re supposed to do.

None of it mattered. We were targets for being tourists, standing out without even trying because, well, it’s kind of hard to blend in. We were mugged in broad daylight, half a block from our hotel. They got away with our bags, cash, cards, cameras, souvenirs… the works. A wallet chain or a money belt wouldn’t have mattered, as the muggers patted us down and stole whatever we had. Somehow, having a knife pointed at you makes you forget all resistance and just hand things over as quickly as you can.

At least we had the presence of mind not to try anything stupid, I tell myself. At least nobody was hurt. At least it was just stuff. It could’ve been much worse, and we know that all too well. People who deal with real traumas and tragedies get through. Even while we were in Costa Rica, a hostage cris at a bank in Monteverde devolved into a shootout that claimed nine lives, shocking the country. Next to that, what happened to us was an inconvenience, a minor scare – nothing really. The “take-a-number” attitude of the police who took our report underscored that nicely. These things happen. Deal with it. File your insurance claim and thank your lucky stars you didn’t lose your passport – or your life. Shrug it off.

But as minor as this was in the grand scheme of things, trying to shrug it off is proving harder than expected.

They say to be strong. Be independent. Be courageous. Never give in. If you get off the horse, climb right back on. (Actually, the falling off the horse thing happened to one of the members of our tour group several days earlier – and she did get right back on. A bit bruised but otherwise unfazed. An example to live by, to be sure.)

So why am I looking over my shoulder everywhere I go? Why am I unable to sleep at night? Why am I scared to resume my normal daily routine? Why am I questioning habits I previously took for granted, wondering if I was simply being naive? And where is that fine line between sensible additional precautions and over-reaction? Is changing anything akin to letting them win? Is failing to change anything potentially dangerous?

And now that the illusion of safety is gone, how long will it take before I can summon the courage to get back out there and move on?

I know it’s only been a couple of days and it may take time. But the truth is, I don’t know when things will feel normal again. And that’s probably what’s scaring me most.