The Chocolate Robbers

As a confirmed chocoholic who's Twelve Step Recovery Program involves never being more than twelve steps away from chocolate, I am embarrassed to make this confession:

I had no idea that Peru is considered by many to be the birthplace of cocoa. And not the bitter hybrid introduced in Peru in 2002 as an alternative cash crop to cocaine farmers, but the native, slower-growing plant, that is valued for its "complex and subtle flavors."

Even after spending fifteen days there I didn't know.

In fact, I spent five days in Arequipa, the second largest city in Peru, not realizing there was a CHOCOLATE FACTORY there -- La Iberia -- a family business that has just celebrated it's 100th anniversary.

We did see many chocolate stores while we were in Arequipa, but I must have been still suffering from altitude sickness after climbing El Misti, a 19,000 foot volcano, (I made it to 16,000, a story for another day) because we did not make any purchases. I do have to cut myself some slack, because most of the displays were of Easter bunnies and I didn't find that appealing in the month of July.

(Perhaps the chocolate was like the coffee - the best is exported. Except for one desperation run to Starbucks in Cuzco, my husband drank Nescafe the entire two weeks we were there - this for the man who roasts and grinds his own beans at home. His Twelve Step Program for coffee is similar to mine for chocolate.)

So we arrived in Paracas, a small fishing village by the sea, without any chocolate, a fact we planned to remedy before we got on a bus to the airport two days later.

Fortunately for us, across from our hostel, a group of women sat every morning under some shade trees boxing chocolates to sell.

Two women approached Kevin and me on our first day there as we boarded a van for an afternoon tour. Carmen offered me a free sample, a chocolate covered caramel loaded with pecans. Delicious. Kevin was offered a sample from another woman.

"We will buy chocolates when we get back," I said. They nodded.

Three hours later, when we stepped off the van, Carmen was not in sight, so we purchased two boxes from the other woman.

Side note - Something you need to know about Peru - most of the hostels and tourist agencies required that we pay in cash, so it is common knowledge that tourists carry significant amounts. We had been warned about getting into unknown taxis that were not called by the hostel or restaurant. Guide books recommended not getting into distracting conversations with strangers, in order to avoid pick pockets. (On my sister's flight from Minneapolis to Atlanta, before flying into Lima, she sat next to someone who had been mugged on a side street on his last trip to the country. She wished he'd kept that tidbit to himself - that he'd just munched on peanuts or read the exciting magazines provided in the seat pouch.)

Kevin and I each carried small amounts of cash in an accessible wallet or pocket, usually in our front pants' pocket. The rest we carried in concealed money belts. Kevin purchased the chocolate from cash in his wallet.

After purchasing the chocolate, we brought it to our rooms and then returned to the street, ready to walk around the shops.

Carmen was waiting for us.

We explained that we already purchased chocolate. That she had not been here. That we had bought from her friend.

Carmen was not happy. The other woman joined us. An animated conversation ensued. Dramatically, over-the-top, I thought. We apologized and walked away.

Five minutes later my husband realized his wallet was gone.

We still have no idea how it was accomplished. We don't know if it was the ladies themselves, who had stood very close to us, having their animated argument, or if it was an accomplice -- one of the children who sat in the shade with their mothers. It was slick. It was professional. We had been duped.

Inquiries at the hostel or to the ladies themselves - they were still there, selling chocolate -- got us nowhere. Perhaps everyone was in on it. We didn't know. We were thankful we were at the end of our trip and had only lost 80 soles (about $30) and two credit cards. We canceled those immediately.

Here is my dilemma -- I had compassion for the woman who scammed me out of 1 sole at the bathroom in Pisac, who I justified in my mind as struggling to feed her family. Yet I had no such compassion for the women who outright stole my husband's wallet. Yet weren't they also trying to feed their families?

Is it possible their descent into robbery began with one sole on a street corner? And robbing while selling chocolate? That is wrong on so many levels.

I'd be interested in your thoughts. In the meantime, I have some Peruvian chocolates I can offer you.

Some very expensive Peruvian chocolate.