DAY 155: I was ready by nine in the morning to walk downtown to the police department to report my mugging at knifepoint the night before. Word of my story got to Sylvia, The Backpack's "gran" ("grandmother") and she totally flipped out when she heard that all that could have been done for me by the staff wasn't done.

"How come you didn't call the police straight away?" she asked.

"They said I could just go in the morning so I wouldn't have to walk at night," I said.

"That's how we do it in Holland," Ingmar said in his defense.

"No no no, you should have called the police immediately," Sylvia said. "They might have gone and caught the man."

I wasn't crying over spilled milk, but Sylvia went on a scolding spree. She blamed Ingmar and Eve for not colling the police or the backpackers' private security company. She blamed Gino the night watchman for not doing anything.

"Looks like I'm getting people in trouble," I told Sean the Californian from San Diego I met the night before. To be fair to the staff, it wasn't like I made a big freaked out scene coming in after the incident. Like I said, it was more like me coming in as a character on a sitcom episode.

Sylvia called the police department and explained the whole thing. She had two officers come to the hostel so I wouldn't have to walk downtown. "We don't want to have him leave South Africa with bad memories now," she said to the cop on the other line.

I got complimentary coffee and toast that morning while I waited for the cops to arrive. Sylvia explained to the staff the process of what to do next time such an incident would occur -- I was the example, the poster child for crime emergencies.

SERGEANT LAWSON AND INSPECTOR NELL of the Cape Town Police Department came to interview me by mid-morning. We sat at a table in the courtyard to discuss the details of my attack over cups of coffee. "Do you get these things often?" I asked to break the ice.

"Unfortunately, yes," answered the sergeant.

I maintained a positive attitude as I went into the whole story yet again, with details of the events that occurred and the items that were stolen. Sergeant Lawson wrote up an affidavit for me to sign, which he grouped with the police report that Inspector Nell wrote up. The inspector told me I was quite lucky; usually the mugger starts with a quick stab to put the victim in shock so he could just "have his way."

I tried to think of a positive spin on his statement, but nothing came to mind.

IT WAS FREEDOM DAY IN SOUTH AFRICA, a national holiday, so most of the city was as dead as it was on a Sunday. I didn't bother going out at all -- I was still a little anxious about doing so. The Backpack wasn't a bad place to be in all day anyway, with TV, kitchen, internet, pool, pool table and a bar. I spent most of the day writing in the backyard (picture above, taken with my video camcorder's mediocre still photo capabilities) and playing the time zone game on the phone when trying to contact my travel insurance company's claims department. They told me I couldn't make a claim until I was back home in the States -- eleven months away(!) -- which sort of defeated the purpose of it being travel insurance.

I sent some e-mails out to try and get a replacement camera from the States -- actually cheaper than buying one locally -- and I contacted the White Shark Diving Company for my diver certication number since I had written it on their indemnity form, so I could try and get my card replaced as well.

The ball was in motion towards a state of normalcy -- and what's more normal than sitting out in the courtyard with fellow travelers drinking all afternoon? I sat out with Kate the Irish-American from Long Island, New York on an 18-month round-the-world trip (going the other way around); Sean from Ireland, in town for a couple of weeks; George and Ed on vacation from Buenos Aires; Jed on holiday from the U.K.; Danit and Assaf away from their homes in Israel; and Dave the Botswanan who worked at The Backpack but was off-duty. Ingmar and Joann who were on duty, stopped by every now and then. My tale of the night before had everyone back on guard again -- until they just got too drunk to leave the hostel like they had planned, regardless of any mugging paranoia.

When the courtyard bar scene got to be a bit too much for me, I just chilled out in the lounge with the other Sean, from San Diego, California and talked about favorite Lonely Planet television episodes amongst other things. I informed him that PBS had actually bought out the series in the States and renamed it "Globe Trekker" and that I had one of my stories on their official website. Sean was intrigued about my life as a freelance travel writer.

"I'd give you my card, but they were stolen!" I joked. "I'm here all week."

I suppose that the only thing to do the day after a mugging at knifepoint is to look on the bright side and joke about it, even if your insurance company is giving you the run around.