DAY 154: If you've read the comments of Day 149, you probably know that I got mugged at knifepoint at dusk on Sunday, March 21st. Since my little Sony digital spy camera was violently cut off its strap by my assailant's blade, there are no pictures for this Blog entry. Therefore, in lieu of the photos I would have shown you from this violent day, I have posted tranquil pictures of cute baby animals that I found on the internet.

Before I knew that any sort of mugging was going to happen, my day was fairly boring. As the day was progressing, my angle for this entry was going to involve New York City things appearing in Cape Town, the first being the decent bagel I had with cream cheese and lox at the nearby Mugg & Bean coffeehouse (South Africa's Starbucks). After breakfast I just lounged around the hostel backyard with my laptop to catch up on Blog duties. Unbeknownst to me at the time, it was a good idea that I backed up all my digital photos from my camera up until that day -- which is why you've seen photos for the past four entries.

I took a break and decided to walk to the waterfront for one last visit. It was there that my Cape Town adventure began and I thought it'd be poetic for me to end it there since it was to supposed to be my last day in town. The V&A Waterfront was packed with people; it was the only place open for shopping and dining on a Sunday. Street performers sang, danced and played their music instruments.

In the Victoria Wharf shopping mall, I stopped in a J&M location, which stood for Joubert and Monty's, the Purveyors of Fine Biltong. What the bagel is to New York City, biltong is to Cape Town. Essentially it is jerky made from a variety of meats. The wors (sausage) form of it looks like dried up intestines, but what it lacks in appearance it makes up in taste. I opted for the ostrich.

WITH SUNSET APPROACHING, I decided to walk back to the hostel to continue my Blog duties. I walked past the famous uncompleted Capetonian highway overpass that, due to an error in urban planning, won't be finished, and the famous African statue in St. George's pedestrian mall with Bart Simpson heads all over it to represent the westernization of Africa. In Greenmarket Square there was a film shoot for a New Balance sneaker commercial, where the crew tried to fake the New York City marathon with fake "5th Ave. / Museum Mile" signs. I managed to sneak on as an extra, cheering on the runners at the sidelines. Whether or not my face made it into the shot, I don't know.

Long Street was its usual Sunday ghost town with its shady characters that I'd always walk past with my guard up and lack of eye contact. There were many shady peddlers around of whom I just ignored or said a simple "sorry" without stopping my stride. The usual drug dealers followed me for a couple of steps hoping for a transaction, but left me alone after a simple "no."

Long Street was a breeze.

I WAS HALF A BLOCK from my hostel, walking up Park Road, the little residential side street on a hill that linked my hostel with the nearby strip mall with internet, coffeehouses, shops, a theater and a grocery store. It was around seven o'clock, dusk. The sun wasn't completely set yet, but on Park Road it was a bit shadowy with all the buildings around.

No biggie, I'd walked up this road many times before with no problem.

I was about half way up the hill on the sidewalk. An old woamn with groceries was walking up too, just in the middle of the road. Two other women across the street were getting ready to go somewhere in their BMW. A man and a boy were casually walking down the hill on the sidewalk as if on their way to get something to eat.

Suddenly, when the man and boy were about twenty feet in front of me, they bum rushed me with heavy footsteps. As they got closer, I saw that the man, perhaps 6'3", had a knife.

Now this was my first real mugging in my life. I had always wondered how I would react in such a situation or what I would do -- would I try and reason with the mugger or make a joke to get him off his violent high? But everything happened so fast, there was no time for such thoughts.

The man made it very known to me that he had a knife in his hand and pointed it near my stomach. The boy, perhaps only seven or eight years old, emptied my front pockets. He took all my loose change, my notepad with my Blog notes, and my little Sony digital spy camera, which hung off my belt loop with a key latch. The man didn't bother with the latch and just cut the camera straight off its strap with his blade before frisking my back pockets. Although my wallet was in my right (and only) back pocket, he only felt my left side, where my hidden pocket pouch was attached behind. He saw that there was no entry to the contents on my left side. (It is only accessible if you flip it out from inside my trousers.)

"WHERE IS YOUR MONEY?!" he demanded, brandishing the knife in front of me, face covered in the shadows.

"Okay, wait," I said, unzipping my back pocket to hand over my wallet. "Here."

I sacrificed the wallet, hoping it would distract his attention away from the contents of my "hidden" pocket (which had my passport and credit cards) -- or killing me for that matter. It worked, because as soon as he had the wallet in his hands, he and the boy dashed away from the scene of the crime, up the hill, around the corner and out of sight.

When it was all over, hanging off my belt loop was a nylon camera strap with nothing hanging off the end. On my back was my backpack that they ignored entirely. In my "hidden" pocket remained my passport, credit card, driver's license and an emergency $100 American dollar bill.

My assailants had gotten away with just my camera (with memory stick) and my wallet, which had about $250 worth (USD) in currency, a $50 American Express travelers check, my ATM/debit card, my diver certification card, some notes and business cards -- all of which were replaceable. On the ground near my feet, the boy had left my irreplaceable Blog notepad, which I probably would have fought for if they had taken it.

Say it in a Braveheart-esque way with blue war face paint on:

"They can take away our money, but they can't take away... OUR BLOG!!!"

THE OLD WOMAN WALKING UP with her groceries who had seen the whole thing, sighed and just shook her head in shame of her country's youth. The two women across the street were getting into their car as I continued my way up the hill to the hostel.

"Were you just robbed?" one of them asked me.

I smirked and sort of chuckled with the absurdity of it all. "Yeah, I was just mugged."

"It looked like you just dropped something or something like that," she said. True, from afar, the whole scene probably didn't look like a mugging at all until the two ran off like madmen.

The two women offered me a ride in their Beamer up the hill and around the corner back to The Backpack. "It's good you just gave them the wallet," the older woman said. "They don't value life here at all."

"Welcome to South Africa," the other said. Funny, I was just about to leave.

LIKE A CHARACTER ON A SITCOM, I entered the backpackers office where Eve and Ingmar were helping out two guests.

"Hey, I've just been mugged!" (Cue laugh track here.)

In actuality it was no laughing matter. Word of my incident spread around the hostel and suddenly people thought twice about walking around at night, even nearby. Personally, I wasn't about to leave myself for the rest of the evening, Besides, I had to begin the long, arduous task of cancelling my things and getting replacements.

Eve the French girl helped me out with phone calls to American Express and Citibank. It was quite an ordeal trying to call collect overseas with a million different operators handling different situations. After a couple of hours on the phone, I finally managed to get a refund for my $50 Amex check and a cancellation of my bank card with a new one to arrive in 2-3 business days. I managed to keep a clear head and positive smart-alecky attitude through the whole thing.

"It is possible for me to start a tab?" I asked Eve. "So that, maybe, I could have beer?"

"Yes."

THAT NIGHT I MET OTHERS in the television lounge who had decided to stay in rather than go out after hearing about my story. Well, that and the fact that Return of the Jedi was on one of the broadcast channels.

I introduced myself and recollected the whole story one more time, making light of it and laughing it off. Kate, an Irish-American from Long Island, New York was confused at my behavior. "You seem to be the least bothered by this," she said, speaking for the others in the room worried about their own safeties.

Well of course I was in a good mood; the Death Star had just been destroyed and Darth Vader had just denounced the Dark Side by throwing the evil Emperor Palpatine down a shaft!

As I lay in bed that night counting my blessings, I knew that things could have been worse. A lot worse. On the bright side, at least I got away unharmed, for the sake of myself, my family, The Fellowship of The Blog and, of course, all the cute baby animals out there.

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