Iron-knee

by purveyoroffinemoments

Irony.  Life.  Blog posts.  So it goes.  Today I was cannabalized.

I was laying in a hammock looking at my Iphone while working reception at La Libertad hostel in Granada.  Recognizing I needed to do something hipster and frugal, I decided to work at a hostel in exchange for board.  I had already worked two days and didn´t want to work anymore because I hadn´t done any cool adventuring in awhile.  No one else could work.  I can´t say no.  Ok I´ll work.  Everything had gone normally until around 330 today.

A glassy-eyed Nica came into the hostel and asked something about doing laundry.  He was speaking semi-erratically.  He then asked for a glass of water.  The hostel charges 5 cords for water.  I share this information with him.  He leaves.  I go lay down in a hammock.  He comes back in.  He asks me the time.  I look down at my watch.  He grabs my wrist and grabs my phone and goes running.

My brain told me to run.  My brain told me kick his ass.  I ran and I ran.  I followed him for blocks yelling like a mad woman.  Mind you in both English and Spanish.

No one helped me.

He turned right and then veered off into a creek bed.  I couldn´t keep up.  I walk around in circles asking if anyone knew the man.  I was so angry at myself for not breaking his hand or being fast enough to tackle him.  In terms of losing my Iphone it is a material possession.  It would of eventually been gone through obsolescence or in a puddle of water.  I end up in the police station staring at mugshots of known thieves.  It apparent the police don´t have any resources.  It smells like a fart when I walk in.  Their computers are ancient.  I feel like throwing up.  Face after misshapen, beaten, desperate face I realize my phone doesn´t matter.  These people are fucked.  Some of them look developmentally disabled or somehow handicapped.  All look like they don´t have much.  I don´t see the guy who took my phone.  The detective I dealt with was still a typical hard-boiled detective.  He stroked his chin while I tell him about the thief.  He tells me to come back tomorrow at 2.  Like in the US there is little that can be done.  I think I´d have better luck finding it.

So no more photos.

What is still pissing me off is the no worries attitude of the hostel owner.  The police tell me the door should have been kept shut.  He never told me this.  When he shows up at the hostel he doesn´t say anything nor relieves me of my duties to go to the police station.  Luckily another girl was there who said she´d cover a little bit.  When I got back from the station she left.  At this point I really don´t care about the hostel since the owner didn´t care about me.  I´ve given away some beers to myself and other guests.   I let someone leave without paying for their room.  I want to go, but I can´t.  I want to get back to the ocean.  It´s what I need.  Granada was already weighing on me.  This is just further verifying I need to get out asap.  Can´t really at this moment.  Now I have obligations.

The shit that´s supposed to protect me will just make me vulnerable.  Words I said before I left.  I knew this would happen.  Didn´t know it would make me vunerable to my own emotions about poverty and mostly vulnerable to recognizing the indifference of people.  One lady told me ¨Of course no one [on that street] would help you.  Everyone keeps to themselves.  You could get murdered and no one would help.¨

At least I didn´t get murdered.  At least I don´t have a drug problem.  At least my parents loved me and gave me shelter, food, and made me go to school.  I´m alright.  Time to move forward.

Well time to mentally move forward and physically sit and simmer in Granada.

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