DAY 30. MY PASSPORT HAS BEEN STOLEN

I had a good night’s sleep! I will hit the road today. My belongings are packed, there are just a couple of things left to do – I need to make a photocopy of my passport and buy some farinha to replenish my supplies. And – it is raining as usual.

I went into town to finish the last preparations. On my way back, I was robbed. They stole my passport, a small amount of money and a towel. I will try to write down how it happened, but the emotions are overwhelming right now.

As I have already written, there is a narrow staircase leading to the port; two people can hardly walk on it at the same time. When I was going down the stairs, two men were coming towards me. Some workers are loading and unloading boats all the time. When it came to letting each other pass and parting ways, they suddenly blocked my way, and two more men pressed up against me from behind. I knew immediately that something was off. At the same moment everything disappeared from my pockets. I have very light trousers, I have been carrying the same things in my side pockets for about a year, so the weight of everything is familiar to me and I never lose anything. As I immediately realized that I was being robbed, I gripped the two men next to me and claimed that someone had stolen my passport. Of course, they said they had nothing to do with it and showed me their pockets saying that it must have been that man walking away. I tried to catch up with him. And I did! I stopped him and explained in a politely persistent manner what had happened. He did not say anything, but he showed me his pockets as well. What a performance! So, it was the fourth man who took it all. That was nicely played.

I went back to Yoli and was very pleased that I had left my phone charging. Normally it was in my left pocket, zipped up, but this morning the zipper broke, and I left the phone to charge. The contents of the pocket – my passport – was easy prey. The thieves were obviously hoping for a smartphone, but in places like this I usually keep it in the inside pocket of my jacket or in a hip bag that is tightly clipped to my belt. In smaller settlements I am not worried about thieves, of course.

At first, I was bewildered. Then I received a message from my friend Egor, the very friend who I named the millipede after. I replied to him with some silly joy in my text message: ‘Just imagine, my passport has just been stolen. I am very close to being an illegal immigrant now.’ Over the years of travelling, I have perfected the habit to avoid pointless worrying about something I cannot influence, and my attitude might seem listless, but it is not. This is my common sense – and my defense mechanism.

I have no passport. That is too bad. Without a passport, I cannot cross the border to Brazil legally and I cannot continue my journey. I have searched the whole harbour and looked into all the rubbish bins around. The robber must have taken the valuables and dumped the passport somewhere nearby. I did not find anything. Then I looked for the police in the city centre, as I had just seen them at the crossroads where some guys were trying to sell ayahuasca to me.

I found no patrols, so I went to the precinct. From there I was taken in a pickup truck to the tourist police quarters on the edge of the city. The local officer, Luis, received me very warmly, I reported a crime and attached a photo of my passport. Off we went to search the harbour and interview the local hicks. No-one was particularly willing to collaborate, of course, and we came back with nothing. It is hopeless. We fiddled with the paperwork for a few more hours before the police officers brought me some lunch. A lunch. At the police station. My experience has led me to expect quite a different attitude from the police, unfortunately. It is nice when someone shatters those preconceptions too. We could live in a completely different world if we wanted.

The officer helped me to contact the consulate. They said they would give me an answer about my situation on Monday. Now I must wait. Most likely, they will offer me a temporary paper so that I could take a flight to Russia.

I went back to Yoli’s place and gave her a detailed account of everything. She seemed more worried than I was. I calmed her down and went fishing. It does not matter to me now if the fish smell of petrol or not.

I spent the rest of the evening fishing. It is my stress relief. I caught a whole bucket of catfish and even one piranha. As I was fishing, I was surrounded by some terribly emaciated cats, so I gave all the fish to them. If only you could have seen them sinking their teeth into the fish, afraid to let it go. Life is much harder on them. A passport is just a piece of paper. Starvation is a truly scary thing.

My thirtieth day has come to an end. I cannot say that it was very pleasant. I am lying in my boat with my arm stretched above the water – holding the fishing line with a hook. I hooked one of the small fish on it as bait in the hope of catching something bigger. Unfortunately, I was besieged by a horde of tiny piranhas. They gorge on any bait and leave no piece behind – and no chance of a big catch. It is no big deal. I can just fall asleep. That is enough stories for one day.