I fell to my knees... "Oh my god!" I gasped. I fell to my knees and looked under the seat. Not there. I told a nearby couple to watch my other things before rushing out of the station. Frantically I searched for a sign of my yellow bag. No luck. A small crowd gathered around me. "My backpack, my backpack", I uttered unbelievingly. Of course I now understood what probably happened: the man who I suspected of sexual harassment had violated me in another way. While he distracted me, his partner in crime probably picked up my bag. How stupid I had been! I had been warned about these scams yet I allowed myself to be fooled into being less watchful.

The police tried to help... As I stood there trying to explain the situation, the memory of exactly what I had lost became increasingly clear. My inner thoughts broke out of me in a wail, communicating to my audience better than words the extent of my loss -- gone were my negatives, my film of Huanchaco, email addresses of new friends, and worst of all, my journals from four months of travelling. My guidebooks, sunglasses, Walkman, the new camera that I loved --these were all expensive casualties, but nowhere near as priceless as my memorabilia. A well-meaning citizen guided me to the police station, where they bundled me into a jeep. Perhaps we could find the culprits, they said. I went along with them, although hope lay low on my list of prominent feelings. As a lone woman in Peru, I had experienced both excessive hospitality and hostility. Versus traveling in a group, I found that alone, I reached out more to those around me and people reached out to me, offering invitations to their homes, teaching me how to prepare ceviche and guinea pig. However, I was robbed three times, despite being careful. It was almost enough to discourage me from traveling alone. Almost.