for a sample. Apart from such inevitablenglitches, however, Costa Rica’sntourism thrust is exemplary and commendable.nWhat’s the hope that in anfew years’ time Mom and Pop will bendisplacing the backpackers to Nicaragua?nGeoffrey Wagner’s latest book is ThenRed Crab, a novelized version of thenCuban takeover in Grenada.nLetter From thenHeartlandnby Jane GreernHighway RobberynOn our Disneyland day, the first timenfor all of us, we rose at 6 A.M. to bensure to get there early, as we’d beennwarned to do. We showered, dressed,nwolfed a donut in the Comfort Innnlobby, and proceeded to our Hyundai,nparked in back.nThe right rear window was shattered.nThe front passenger door was open.nUpon first inspection, we discoverednthat the ignition switch and all of ourngood hanging clothes were missing.nMost people would have understoodnimmediately that they’d been ripped off.nBut we’re small-city Midwesterners.nAnd for several seconds, a dozen explanationsnwent through our minds (hitand-runnaccident, in-car explosion of ansoft-drink can, heat explosion, typhoon)nbefore we were ready to admit even thenpossibility that we’d simply beennrobbed. (Eighteen hundred dollars’nworth, to be precise, and $350 inndamage to the car.)nIn fact, in our shock, my husbandnand I spent a good hour beratingnourselves for having been so stupid:nleaving hanging clothes in the car wasnan “open invitation,” we moaned, asnwas not parking under a streetlight. Itnwas only on our fifth or sixth timenaround the subject that he stoppedndead in the middle of our deliciousnlittle dirge and asked, “What’s wrongnwith this picture? We didn’t rob us.nSomebody else robbed us.” Our tenyear-oldnson nodded in completenagreement.nA friend of mine here in Bismarckn40/CHRONICLESncame home to a houseful of muddynshoe prints several months ago. A littlenwhile later, her husband phoned. Shenchewed him out, and then mentionednthe window screen he’d removed atnnoon and clumsily flung into the yard.nFinally he got a chance to tell her thatnhe was calling from out of town andnhadn’t been home all day. Together, itntook them five reluctant minutes tonfigure out that their home had beennbroken into. If he hadn’t called, shenwould probably have cleaned up thenmess without ever attributing it to anstranger. Husbands do inexplicablenthings all the time, but robberies don’tnhappen every day around here.nAround here, people who speednthrough residential sections of townncan still catch a hoseful of water in thenface or run the risk of their licensennumber being recorded. (And if thenpolice are called, they’ll actually lookninto the matter and talk to the culprit.)nWe don’t ordinarily lock our pickupsnunless our guns are in the rack. Manynof us don’t even lock our doors atnnight, or at least don’t lose any sleep ifnwe can’t remember whether we lockednthem. We read in “Nubs of the News”nonce a week about the handful ofnburglaries that occur. Juvenile crime,naround here, amounts to a lot of toiletnpaper in a lot of trees near Halloween,nsome loud parties, an occasional stolennbike, and an open container or two asnthe kids cruise Main.nThis is not to say that there’s noncrime problem in God’s country, onlynthat it exists in pockets that it’s easy (atnleast so far) to stay out of. And until Invisited Anaheim, home of “The happiestnplace on earth” (and Disneylandnreally is all the good things you’ve readnabout it), I had been able to stay out ofnharm’s way. I travel to Minneapolisnsometimes, and could just as easily havenbeen the victim of someone there, butnit was in Anaheim that I lost, so tonspeak, my virginity.nAnd the analogy is apt. After the carnhad been repaired and cleaned, we hadnto drive it. I told my husband that sittingnin it made me feel as if I’d beennassaulted. The worst part was that ofncourse we didn’t know who had donenthe foul deed; all day I wondered if theynwere watching us, laughing. At four thatnafternoon it occurred to us that theynmight return. (They had probably beenninexperienced kids, the police told us,nnnbecause even though Hyundais are easynto steal—which was news to us — andnthey had tried to steal it, they hadnbotched the job.) At this thought wentoyed with the idea of packing up andnmoving to a different motel. It was afterncheck-out time by then, though, and wendidn’t feel like packing up and moving,nso we simply parked the car near thenstreet under a streetlight. I listened fornstrange noises all night. What I wouldnhave done had I heard them, I don’tnknow. And hour by hour, day by day,nwe keep discovering things they stolenfrom us, not counting sleep, peace ofnmind, and innocence.nYes, innocence — mine. It’s onenthing to read about crime, and anothernto become part of that murky soupn”out there.” I’m sure there are verynnice people living in dangerous parts ofnthe country who would laugh untilnthey cried to hear me carry on aboutnthis one little episode. Our car didn’tnget stolen, and no one threatened usnphysically. We were lucky. Well, wenknow that. But still, those punks hadnno right to do what they did. No right.nAnd I want someone to tell them that.nThe heck with law enforcement—didntheir parents know where these kidsnwere?nThanks to a kind, competent, nearbynauto-repair shop manager, we managednto spend most of our day andnevening at Disneyland in spite of ournbad start that morning. We were sondiscouraged that we talked about packingnit in and just going home, butndecided that then the punks wouldnhave stolen our vacation along withneverything else. My ten-year-old,nthough, was in a state of disbelief forndays. He drove us crazy; the robberynwas all he would talk about. I did mynbest to bend the event into one of thosenmagic “teaching moments” responsiblenparents dream about but so seldomnget, and my eflbrts paid off. Our concrete-mindednson boiled my sage ramblingsninto something that seemed tonsatisfy him, and that more than satisfiednme: “At night, the good people gonto bed and the bad people come out.”nRobbie, remember that when you’ren16 and your mom and dad demand tonknow why you’ve been out so late.nfane Greer writes from the safety ofnBismarck, North Dakota.n