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Right before I left for a business trip to Colombia in February, Nancy said: "Be careful in Bogota - people say Colombia can be pretty dangerous", to which I said, of course, "Nancy, you worry too much. Everything will be fine". Famous last words ... When we arrive in Bogota, Jan and I get our bags, and get out of the airport. As we're stepping out, I actually think to myself that I should be careful with my bags, because you never know who might try a "bump and grab" on you. But then I think: "This is Bogota's international airport. Surely if the Colombian Police has secured any part of the city, this must be it". So I relax a little ... Jan goes off to look for an ATM to get some cash, and leaves his bags with me. An older gentleman taps me on the shoulder to ask me a question in Spanish about what flight I had arrived on. My Spanish not being very good, I have to focus quite a bit to try to understand and answer him. By the time I turn around, Jan's bag is gone. By the time I turn around again to see where the "old man" is, he too is gone. I have been had! Luckily, Jan had his passport and wallet with him. But the bag had his green card, his laptop and all his notes from our trip the previous week. Not good.
This is where I developed a new appreciation for Jan's very British demeanor. He stayed cool as a cucumber as we tried to figure out our next move. It made me want to keep my cool as well, but I was fuming inside. I was pissed I had been had so easily, and I was pissed I had "trusted" somebody, basically just because he was an elderly. I also couldn't remember for the life of me how to say "steal" in Spanish! So I couldn't explain to the cops outside what had happened, not that either Jan or I thought they would be able to do anything about it. "The guys with the bag must be long gone by now", we both thought. But I insisted that we find the police station inside the airport and file an official report, so we would have something to show U.S. Immigration when we tried to explain why Jan didn't have his green card on his way back to Atlanta (and good luck to us on that). After looking for several minutes for somebody who spoke English, we finally find the information center, where we find our Angel for the night, Maria Isabel. She points us to the police station inside the airport. When we get there, the officer on duty doesn't speak English, so he have to go get Maria to help translate. At this point, the three of us have no idea we'll be spending the rest of the night together ... After Jan explains what happened, with Maria translating, the officer calls down to the guys outside the airport, and after talking to them for a minute, he asks Maria what Jan's name was. Jan and I look at each other, wondering how that could possibly be relevant. His name is Jan Douglas, do you guys know him ?!? I was starting to get really impatient and quite frustrated by it all. Jan was still cool as a cucumber though, so I was still on my best non-Mediterranean behavior.
After the office relays Jan's name to his colleagues outside, he tells us that they have Jan's bag! What??? How is that possible? Now I'm thinking that money is going to have to exchange hands before we are re-united with the bag. I mean, there is no way they could have "retrieved" the bag this quickly, other than they're the ones who set up the whole thing in the first place, right? Nope. What happened is that the police outside saw a suspicious car getting out of the parking lot and stopped it. The drivers didn't have their papers, so the police searched the car and found Jan's bag in the trunk. Most of the contents were still there, except for a couple of pens (Jan has a story to tell about that), an iPod and a camera. Green card, check. Notepad, check. (Thank Goodness, Jan's notepad is quite legendary, and I wouldn't have liked spending a week with him mourning his notepad). And laptop, check. Well, then, perfect! It's 11:00 at night. It's late, but we can still make it to the hotel at a reasonable hour, and get some sleep before tomorrow's all-day meetings starting at 8:00. Not so fast muchachos. The police tells us we have to go to a police station in town to file an official report, so they can put these guys away for several years (stolen car + stolen goods). Well, well, Jan and I are still a little suspicious. I mean, we got the bag back, and there are lots of cops around, so a fake at this point is not very likely. But still ... going to some police station we don't know about, in a city where we don't speak the language. Iffy at best. But ... the cops don't speak English, which means we need to bring Maria Isabel with us. And if Maria Isabel is coming, we both feel more comfortable that a) we'll be able to communicate once we get there and b) this isn't a setup. So we hop on the van, with the perps in tow in the back. The driver must have been on something, because he's revving the little 4-cylinder as high as he possibly can, driving as fast as he can, until he drives up to somebody who's not moving out of the way. At that point, he slams on the breaks, flashes the sirens, waits for the car to get out of the way, and starts driving as fast as he can again. And then … he starts the radio and you'll never guess what blares out of there. Metallica! Unreal … but I have the footage to prove it! Maria is actually just as puzzled as we are, and I think that, just like us, she's not quite sure whether to be amused or scared. After a few minutes on a highway (several lanes), the driver exits into a very dark neighborhood, with very, very bad roads. Potholes are everywhere, and unfortunately our driver treats them just like the cars on the road: drive up to them as fast as you can, slam your breaks, avoid, accelerate, repeat. Our perps in the back must be getting quite a drive.
What's worrying me more than the driving at this point is the fact that the street we're now on has no lights, the neighborhood looks pretty run down, and I'm seriously wondering how a police station could be located anywhere near this place. When we first got in the van, Jan joked that he was going to update his Facebook account to say that we were being driven to a police station in Bogota. But since Nancy is on Facebook as well, I asked him not to do it because I didn't want her to see the update and worry before we actually found out how this was all going to turn out.
But now … Now I'm elbowing him and asking him, a little panicked, to please update his FB account now. Do it. Now. So that "somebody" knows we're out here, just in case … A couple of minutes later, we drive up to what looks like a legitimate Police station. There are several other cars/vans there and a lot more officers. Ok, good. We're here. Chop chop, let's get started with the deposition thingy, get it done and be on our way. That would have been nice. Instead, we're having to wait. We're not quite sure why we're waiting, or who we're waiting for, but evidently whatever needs to happen can't happen just yet, and whoever needs to be make it happen isn't quite available at this time. So in the meantime, we get to know Maria better. She's really quite lovely. The best way to put it, for me, is that I'd be proud if my daughter turned out like her. She's very polite, very calm under these circumstances. Her English isn't perfect, but it's good, and she takes her time to make sure she says things right. She carries herself well, and our conversation is very interesting. You can tell she is a thoughtful, intelligent woman. And it's a blessing to have her with us at this particular point, because we have no idea what's going on, and the cops don't speak much English. Not that they tell her much about the status on our little "deposition" either. So Maria, Jan and I enjoy our time together … For several hours! I think it must be around 3:00 or 3:30 in the morning when we finally start the deposition process. The Police wants to hear Jan's and my version of the story independently. Long story short (I know, just kidding), we finally finish the deposition around 5:00 a.m. The Police agrees to drop us off at the hotel and drive Maria back to the airport. Without thinking, we agree that they drop us off at the hotel first, and then take Maria back to the airport. When Jan and I are done checking in at the hotel (it's about 5:30 now), Jan wonders out loud if it was a good idea to leave Maria alone with the three Police officers who were in the van with us. It's late, and we've through enough tonight that it's hard not to question ourselves. But we rationalize that, reckless driving and general "slowness" notwithstanding, the Police had been very "straight up" with us thus far, so she should be fine. Still, I can't help but worry. So when I get to my room, I call the airport's information center, and ask them to call Maria on her walkie-talkie. It had been working all night, even when we were at the station, so I'm pretty sure she should be able to answer it. She doesn't answer the first page, which sends a chill down my spine! But she does answer on the second page, and says that she's just a couple of minutes from the airport. I call back 15 minutes later, and she answers the phone. All three of us, safe and sound. All is well that ends well. Thank you Bogota Police, for being honest and thorough. Thank you Jan for remaining so calm, and for providing interesting conversation through the night. And Thank You Maria. It was so delightful to spend time getting to know you that night, it (almost) made the rest of the adventure worth it. I hope we meet under better circumstances next time, and I do hope we meet again ... |
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