After all that, I got robbed at gunpoint yesterday reasonably close to my house. I never take documents or bank cards out with me thank god, but after a minor scuffle he got my bag with my diary, phone and all my make-up in it. I joked later on that he's going to be the prettiest thief in the favela now, but it wasn't that funny at the time.
When something like that happens, I'd be a liar if I didn't say it made me feel like coming home, even with all that snow. I have to think of it as being like a tax for living here.
I've been mugged before in London but never with a gun. Sometimes gringoes here get mugged with fake guns, but I couldn't take that chance. If I had run, he was on crack as far as I could tell, and he might have shot me dead. I still feel annoyed that I could have got away with my bag.
What does a crackhead want with a John Simpson book, a copy of Architecture Today and Clinique lipstick?
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