Bulls and Ladrons

Quito, Ecuador
December 9, 2001

A bull's carcass get dragged out of the ring in Quito, Ecuador, where bullfighting still draws a big crowd. Photo by Michael Seto

Ssssshhhhhhhhhhhhh...the entire crowd in the stadium shushed and the hubbub dropped to an unreal silence given all the people watching. The crowd took in a collective breath and waited. The matador stood in front of the huge bull, sword in his right hand, held parallel to the ground, the deadly tip pointed between the horns. His crimson cape, hung limp in his left hand, half on the stirred up dirt of the ring.

I felt sorry for the bull, chased around the 80m diameter dirt ring by six or seven toreros (other matadors) who hid behind wood barriers when he charged. Only the lead matador stood his ground in the middle of the circular ground. Even the bull´s horns appeared to have been filed down to dull knobs.

Five minutes earlier, one of two picadors, or horsemen stabbed the bull between his shoulders with a long lance, drawing first blood. Then while the bull chased one matador, a Banderillo sneaked up upon him from behind it and triumphantly plunged two barbed staked into the neck and shoulder, close to the first wound. These flopped around as the bull continued to make futile charges at the other matadors.

Worn down by these charges, the bull, shoulder covered in dark red blood, dripping onto the dry dirt of the ring, his white coated tongue hung from his mouth. The animal stood ten feet from the matador, head bowed.

The matador lunged forward and sidestepped the bull´s raised horns and his hand shoved the blade into the flesh up to the handle. The bull ran in a few tight circles before its front legs collapse and his head plowed in the dirt. Eight hundred pounds of flesh and muscle froze momentarily before lumbering over onto one side, blood pouring from its mouth. The bull attempted to raise its head fruitlessly several times before one last gout of blood sprayed from its mouth. A torero stepped in close and deftly jammed a six inch knife into the top of the skull, a coup de grace I hoped.

The eight hundred pound carcass was unceremoniously dragged off by three horses and groundskeepers scrambled with brooms to cover the blood with dirt and prepare the ring for the next of what would be six bulls sacrificed today. The other deaths followed the exact same pattern and after two more hours, we left, feeling sorry for the bulls

The next morning, we arrived early at the airport for our 8am flight to the Galapagos. Waiting at Tropiburger (Ecuador's Wendy's) we worked at greasy ham, egg and cheese sandwiches while we commented on the Spanish language MTV blaring from the TV. The place filled with locals and other passengers.

I glanced down a moment later at my foot, where my backpack sat. Nothing. Hmmm, I thought I put that right here. I stood up.

F-CK! I've been robbed!

My mind sensed rather than saw a person just walking out the glass doors to the street. Three large steps took me to there and I exploded through the doors, eyes instantly scanning the sidewalk and parking lot, a shape, a man, I yelled, "HEY!"

There a man walked away with a black coat hanging from his arm. He turned as I shouted and dropped my backpack from inside the coat as I sprinted right at him. He turned and ran through a taxi rank as I grabbed my pack, seconds away from disappearing forever.

The doors behind me burst open again as my friend Dan crashed into the street a second behind me and saw me. I gave him the 'OK' signal as he asked what the hell was going on. Everyone stared at us as we walked back into the restaurant, "Nothing like a little excitement in the morning," I said. A couple cops walked by on the sidewalk a minute later and I explained briefly to them that some ladron, or thief, tried and smash and grab a minute earlier, but I was fine now. Like, where the hell were they when all this went down?

This was my first near disaster with thieves and reminded me how much I needed to be on guard. Having a friend from New York in town and having partied with another friend in Quito, I let my normal guard down, since everything seemed like my old life in New York, where I never feared something like this. Well, important lesson learned, fortunately at no cost.

Sometimes along the trip, I felt so paranoid about the locals that I became overly defensive and likely came across at best, standoffish, at worst, the typical arrogant foreigner. Its tough to tell the good from the bad sometimes, and with everyone out to make a buck (especially a US buck), it has been easier to shoot first and ask questions later. But this also has kept me from getting closer to some of the locals where I am traveling since I am worried about being conned or worse.