One evening in 2008, a group of joyriders stole our van, named The Colombian, from a street outside Wellington, New Zealand. My sister-in-law was the first to notice and she alerted her husband, Ant, who immediately drove off in search of it. When he spotted the van parked on the beach, he called the police, who then gave chase as it drove off. After running a few red lights, the joyriders lost control and smashed into a building. The front of the van was crushed in on both sides and the driver’s door was ripped clean off.
We woke to an email from Ant titled “RIP The Colombian”, detailing the ordeal he’d been through the night before while my husband, Dave, and I slept peacefully in our flat in Bogotá, Colombia. The police caught the six joyriders – three girls in the front and three boys rattling around in the back. “No criminals were hurt in the making of this drama” were, thankfully, the last words of the email.
