When I think back to this, maybe I’ll remember how the thief looked me dead in the eye as he grabbed my bag. Or the hundreds of photos and videos lost with my camera and Go Pro. The white-hot anger compressed as a knot in my stomach. My growing frustration over the next day as I was shuttled between police stations, struggling to communicate via Google Translate. My jumpiness for hours afterwards every time I heard a motorbike rev behind me.
What I’ll choose to remember: a beautiful day cycling through countryside villages, with spectacular views and adorable children that dropped everything to wave hello. I’ll remember how one of the locals saw the robbery and shouted something, and immediately the man driving behind me sped up to chase the thieves. I’ll remember how I interrupted two men about to sit down for dinner, who then helped me find the police with no complaints. I’ll remember how grateful I was to have a friend accompany me to the police station, loan me money, and comfort me when I finally cried that night.
I told my best friend last week: “I’m waiting for the ball to drop, because this trip has been going so smoothly so far.” Well, it happened - but luckily, it’s all just stuff. My cards are gone, but new ones will arrive next week. My photos are lost, but I lived those moments. I’m safe, healthy and able to continue my travels. Everything will be okay.
