What can go wrong when you forget to HALT while HUNGRY, ANGRY, LONELY, or TIRED? … or when you’re Hot, Altered, Accustomed, Absorbed, Assuming, Lost, or Thirsty? See also Part 1 and Part 2.

‘But, Mom, I was so TIRED!’

A friend’s daughter complained to her mother that after long hours of travel, she’d been so tired that she left a bag unguarded on a bus at a border crossing. Later, she discovered the theft of several electronic items.

This same young woman, a seasoned traveler, had scoffed at my ineptitude when her mother related that someone had stolen my purse the very first day of my new life in Ecuador.

Here’s a little story of failure to HALT when HOT told in seven photos or photo montages: To beat the tour buses, my husband and I arrived early at Chichén Itzá. It was easy to see El Castillo.

The exhausting journey to expatriation

The carelessness that led to the theft of my purse originated from the same source as it did for my friend’s daughter: I was exhausted after my husband and I had spent weeks sorting, selling, giving away, donating, packing, or discarding nearly everything we owned.

We had flown halfway across the U.S. not long before to visit extended family. I had helped interview and train my replacement at my job. We’d cleaned the house and yard, with a little help. Parties and tearful goodbyes passed in a blur. We flew from the U.S. Northwest to South America on cramped, crowded airplanes and dealt with an excess of luggage.

A second reason contributed: I was in a place that I had become accustomed to on my first trip to Ecuador. On that exploratory trip, my husband and I had spent time at this Quito restaurant, just a stone’s throw from our hotel.

I wanted to see every bit of Chichén Itzá. The carvings were fascinating.

In Quito, I knew better than to put my shoulder bag over my chair. I knew better than to leave debit cards in my wallet instead of putting them in my money belt. I … knew … better!

So why the hell didn’t I do what I knew I should? I was running on fumes. We’d arrived late the night before, and I was still exhausted and in a daze from everything involved in ending a life in one country and starting anew in another.

'Good, you got that out of the way'

Later, a veteran expat would smile and say, “Good, you got that out of the way.” It took me awhile to understand the wisdom of her words and to remember that lessons keep repeating themselves.

In Parts 1 and 2 of this series, I talked about how ignoring the vulnerable states caused by words starting with H, A, L, or T can get us into trouble abroad. I included reminders of commonsense ways we can avoid such troubles.

When we’re frazzled or starving, what would be easy to remember in calmer moments can fly out the window, so tuck the tips in Part 1 and 2 and the examples in this Part 3 away in your mind. They’ll come in handy later.

For all of us, realizing we need to HALT until we deal with physical and emotional states that make us vulnerable can prevent a range of problems.

Soon more and more tourists began to arrive at Chichén Itzá.

Each time a theft reminds me of the disparity between first- and third-world incomes, I become more accepting about losing stuff, as I once was about rush-hour traffic and impossible deadlines. I have been a crime victim in the U.S. and a crime victim abroad. Shit happens. But it happens less and less as I explore new countries because I’m learning from my mistakes.

And now, some HALT-deficient stories from the road:

• A gringo I knew slightly took a sex worker back to his house. They relaxed with a drink—not his first, but his first that was doctored. The next thing he knew, he literally was unable to move as the woman and her friends took his electronics and other valuables—along with his housemate’s expensive phone. Whatever was in his drink made him sick for several days.

The sun was beating down; it was getting hotter in spite of the puffy white clouds.

• A young man I knew met a cute young woman in a bar. He was running low on money after several hours of drinking, so they left the bar and went to an ATM late in the evening. On the way, she made a call—to her ‘sister,’ she explained. After he got cash, they strolled down to the seawall where several men pushed him onto the beach and into the arms of others waiting to rob him.

People came when I screamed

• My husband and I were accustomed to going several times a month to the beachside restaurants at Lake Nicaragua during our time in Granada. On one particular afternoon, we lingered later than we should have, had one drink too many, and stopped to watch bats at a creek.

The taxis had all disappeared; rather than trying to call one, we began walking home. When we hit a dark stretch, we kept going. I saw several teens walking toward us. Just looking at them, I knew something bad was about to happen, but at that point it was too late to undo our mistakes. The teenage thugs made no demand for money; instead, several of them began beating and kicking my husband while another knocked me down and threatened me with a knife.

The robbers ran away when people nearby responded to my screams. They managed to steal only a camera, but they left my husband with broken ribs, cuts needing stitches, and lots of bruising. One of the worst moments of my life was seeing my husband lying injured in the street.

• During our travels around the Yucatan, I was excited to see Chichén Itzá, but the heat altered my plans a bit. See the story told in photos in this blog.

Is that shade? YES!

Hello, creepy feeling

• One morning my husband dashed a block to a convenience store while we were in temporary digs in Progreso, Mexico. I assumed he locked the door; he assumed since I was home that he could leave the door unlocked. Goodbye, computer. Hello, creepy feeling.

• We assumed that no one would steal something old and worn … until someone stole my husband’s ratty pair of running shoes from outside our door in San Juan del Sur, Nicaragua. Neighbors lost water bottles and clothes drying on a line.

A few minutes later, the bike was gone

• One night a downstairs neighbor came home late and temporarily tucked her bike into the dark space between the house and a retaining wall instead of taking it inside. When she came back out a few minutes later, the bike was gone.

Our house in San Juan del Sur was on a hillside about 75 yards from a street, accessed only across a field or up a walkway past several neighbors who were often sitting outside—but not in the middle of the night. Our assumptions about the safety of our location made us careless.

Where’s the Sacred Cenote? What else can we see?

• Two young women were walking down a street in Quito. One asked the other, “Why is your purse open?” A pickpocket had unzipped the woman’s shoulder bag and stolen her camera as she walked along, without her noticing.

Lucky they let me back into Nicaragua

• A friend boarded a flight from a capital city to her destination at the other end of the country. The plane’s overhead bins were filling quickly; an employee—she mistakenly thought—offered to put her bag further back. The cash tucked away in the bag disappeared by the time she reached her destination.

• When I had the encounter with an immigration official I mentioned in my intro, I was hot (my usual state in most of Nicaragua), annoyed by the throngs of ‘helpers’ wanting my business, and as usual aggravated by the chaotic state of the border with Costa Rica.

In addition, although I seldom drink alcohol during the day, I had a couple of beers while killing time on the Costa Rican side of the border. When we were charged an extra fee coming back in, I lost my temper, and things went downhill from there. Let’s just say I’m lucky they let me back into Nicaragua!

• A new resident in San Juan del Sur left the door to her balcony open for coolness when she went to bed. She thought her location on the second floor protected her. She awoke in the night with a thief in her bedroom.

He had no talent for being alone

• I have seen some great marriages between foreigners and locals—people who took time to know each other. Some people, however, have no talent for being alone, and their avoidance of loneliness can get them into trouble. One neighbor of ours had extricated himself from a romance that had turned ugly in Costa Rica only to marry a Nicaraguan woman he had known for a week. He was in a bar one night when another man told him how his new wife had made her living—in the world’s oldest profession. Fight! Fight!

• Sometimes wonderful things happen when you’re in a vulnerable HALT state. While walking around the white city of Bahía de Caráquez, Ecuador, during our first visit there, I began feeling overheated (this is a familiar refrain, right?) and sought shade to figure out why we couldn’t find the street we wanted.

Cookies, earthquakes and typhoons

While I was studying our map, a woman came out of her house, offered me water, and asked us inside. She could have been an axe murderer, I suppose, but we trusted our instincts. She and her husband were from California; we lived in Oregon. We loved their story of gradually sailing south from California when they retired until they found the city that made them want to settle.

We’re still friends with them.

When I heard an earthquake had hit the Ecuador coast, I immediately messaged our Bahía friends to make sure they were okay.

When I heard about a typhoon in the Philippines, I waited for a Facebook post from a young friend who was there. We had been Nicaraguan neighbors only briefly, but we’d made Christmas cookies together.

Once the heat and crowds made Chichén Itzá not so much fun anymore, we looked ahead to a cooler clime at a nearby cenote.

The connections we have formed with local people and with tourists and expats from all over the world are one of the rich ingredients in the stew of our expat life. They also widen the vulnerabilities of our hearts. I don’t think the HALT prescription can help us with those—nor would I want it to.

Be careful out there as you explore the world, especially when you are in HALT states, but know that the explore part is even more important than the be careful advice. Live while you are alive. Each moment could be the last. That is what makes it precious.

Note: Photos © Pat Bray and Bob Bray. We used a Kindle Fire tablet for all photos.

Addendum: The formatting is not perfect, but I tried...and tried...and tried.