Charlie Dorenkott and I were walking through the ancient church admiring the building, the chapels, the statuary, and the paintings. As we talked in hushed tones about the beauty of the church, built in the 16th century, a priest approached us. He asked if we might like to see the catacombs underneath the church? We both hesitated 1/87th of a second and said "Yes!" in unison.

The priest took us through some passages in the back of the church and eventually down some stairs. We found ourselves in a large, dimly lit vaulted area with metal placards along the walls with the names of priests and their dates of birth and death. The catacomb was dry and well-maintained. At the end of the vaulted area we could see a larger chamber and a brighter light.

As we passed by the placards the priest would tell us the story of each of the individuals and how they came to rest in the catacomb. The stories were horrific, and they usually ended with the tag line "martyred by Garcia Moreno."

At that point we became curious about who had initiated the order for building the catacombs and how they were constructed. The priest told them that Garcia Moreno had them built.

Finally we were at the ended of the vaulted area. The tunnel opened up into a room with a sepulcher on a platform, and behind it an eternal flame, which was an electric light. The light flickered constantly. We thought we must have entered the chamber of the holiest of the martyred priests. We waited in silence for a few seconds, until finally we had to ask: who is buried here. The priest looked us in the eyes and stated "Here lie the bones of Garcia Moreno...." In an instant we realized the dual nature of the electrical flame burning behind the final resting place of the infamous dictator.

Not so good return visit

Flash forward over 20 years. Add a wife and two small, adopted children, 4 and 3 respectively. I'm telling the wife this memorable tale and trying to convince her that a visit to the church is worthwhile. We have read in the tourist books that the old town, the casco antiguo, is a seedy place and one must be careful. Given this colorful tale I finally prevail, after we learn that there is a children's toy store right next to the cathedral where we can buy a birthday present for our new neighbors in the apartment building where we are spending the month.

My wife does not want to take the children in the church, for fear that one of their flights of fancy might end up in family martyrdom. We reach a compromise. She and the children will wait outside in the plaza area.

As I pass through the narrow door into the church an old woman bumps me, quite abruptly. She mutters something. Suspicious, I instinctively reach toward my pants pocket where my wallet is. Sure enough there is another hand in there. Somehow she vanishes before I can confront her. Unnerved, I don't spend much time in the church. Even so, rounding a corner with a small group of people I put my hand in my pocket and find another hand gently sliding into the opening. Again she vanishes. That's enough for this church tour.

Somewhat excited, I go outside and tell my wife about my close encounters. Nonplused, she informs me that I must have imagined these things, and besides we were here to buy some presents for Henrique. I suggest we get going to the toy store.

Mary and the kids start out ahead of me so I can watch them. I am wheeling the baby carriage. As I pass down the steps at the side of the church a little old woman kicks the carriage and starts screaming at me to get out of her way, rude foreigners, etc. I drop the carriage and put my hand in my pocket where my wallet had heroically remained to this point. The woman and the crowd vanish.

We look around in the store for a while and eventually get a few presents for Henrique's 4th birthday party the next day. I am anxious to leave. Why I am still carrying that wallet in my pants pocket is beyond anybody's understanding, except that I was in mild shock from the triple assault outside.

I insist that we wait until the crowds are at a minimum. My wife and son go first. As we leave, the empty side street starts filling up with people. My daughter is in front of me. People are starting to jostle me and I have a pretty good idea what's coming. Finally, someone pushes my 4-year old daughter down, from behind. I reach for her. As I pick her up I am suddenly a couple of ounces lighter as my wallet exits my pocket.

I grab the fellow who I think did it. A traffic cop walks up and asks what is wrong. I explain to him that I have been robbed, and the person I have grabbed might have done it. Someone in the crowd points to a man rapidly leaving the plaza area and says that the person I want is leaving the plaza, maybe a hundred yards away. They're hoping that I will go chase him. I release my grip on the boy. The traffic cop looks at me and says "What do you want me to do? I'm only a traffic cop."

We head to the police station, assuming that they might be interested. Finally, after filling in a report, we ask if we could phone our friends to come pick us up. The clerk says we'll need 50 cents Ecuadorian to use the pay phone at the station. I point out that I have no money since being robbed. Good point, she thinks. She loans me the money to make the call. Now we get to feel bad about probably taking half a day's wages from the clerk!  

In retrospect it wasn't all the bad. Nobody got hurt. I had taken some precautions before going downtown, such as removing credit cards and identity cards. I contributed about $80 to the local economy. I must admit I did have just the most brief, passing empathy for Garcia Moreno.