Turning the other cheek
Today was a long day on three different trains (four if you count the subway in Barcelona). It rained all night in Switzerland, and in fact overnight there was flooding and some landslides in the region where I stayed just a few days ago. If I had stayed another night there, I would have been stuck there (how bad could that be?). But alas, I did leave Bern this morning and went to Geneva, where I changed to a TGV train (Tren a Grande Vitesse) and found out how fast one can go by rail. In Montpelier I changed again to a Spainish version of the TGV. I prefer the French version in this respect. It was not really very fast, and the seats were like riding in the front seat of a plush 1973 Plymouth Fury III. I had one of those, so I know.
The cool thing was that the guy who sat behind me is from Santiago, Chile, and we had a nice conversation in Spanish, as he does not speak English. He had a tough time in Europe, but has enjoyed it nonetheless. He has been to most of the same places that I have on this trip, except he went to Rome and Paris instead of Venice. He has spent more time on trains at night, but I don't like the train that much and prefer to see where I am going simply to know more about the countryside.
In Barcelona I first tried to phone a couple of hostels, but since both were full, I just decided to venture out to the area wherein there are several. As I tried to get on the subway, a guy got on in front of me. He suddenly decided to get off and turned around into me with his arms in front of him as if to clear himself a path. Of course I had my large backpack on my back and my smaller one in my left hand, so he mostly pushed me into other people. That must have been what he wanted, because that of course distracted me. Meanwhile another guy saw that I had something in a sidepocket of my pants and opened it. However, I felt that and looked in time to see him take my wallet. Instictively I then used my body to block his exit. There was only one exit because he could not go down the train car- it was too crowed, and the other direction was a wall. That worked to my advantage, and so I pushed him with my large pack into the wall pretty hard. Then I turned towards him and grabbed him by the neck with my right arm. I still had the other bag in my left, so I could not do much else. He said something in protest as though he did not know why I would attack him, but I could still see that he had my wallet, though he was trying to hide it in a rag or something. I wrestled him towards the door, which was still open, and there the wallet fell on the ground. He abandoned hope of getting it then, and his partner did not seem to be trying to help him out, so I picked it up. Then I was really mad and forgot that blows below the belt are illegal in boxing. But then, I never took boxing lessons. He may have taken a swing at me, but I don't think he hit me. Then using my right (again remember that the otehr bag and now a wallet were in the left hand) I punched him in the face. It felt really good. I am not sure why. He got off the train, but came back and said something and spit at me. Punk. I bet his friend made fun of him for getting beat up by a guy with a heavy back pack and one arm (essentially) tied behind his back. Either way, I am happy that I noticed what as happening, responded well, and that I still have my wallet. I have to think that God had something to do with that.
I wonder what others think about that. Did I respond rightly? or should I have just asked nicely for him to give it back and then call my credit card companies and everyone else to replace my cards and such? I know that in some places (Washing ton D. C. for example) it is considered assault to do what I did, even when trying to recover stolen property. But then, I am okay with it; in this case anyway.
Perhaps tomorrow I will go somewhere else. This hostel is too loud and overbooked anyway.
The cool thing was that the guy who sat behind me is from Santiago, Chile, and we had a nice conversation in Spanish, as he does not speak English. He had a tough time in Europe, but has enjoyed it nonetheless. He has been to most of the same places that I have on this trip, except he went to Rome and Paris instead of Venice. He has spent more time on trains at night, but I don't like the train that much and prefer to see where I am going simply to know more about the countryside.
In Barcelona I first tried to phone a couple of hostels, but since both were full, I just decided to venture out to the area wherein there are several. As I tried to get on the subway, a guy got on in front of me. He suddenly decided to get off and turned around into me with his arms in front of him as if to clear himself a path. Of course I had my large backpack on my back and my smaller one in my left hand, so he mostly pushed me into other people. That must have been what he wanted, because that of course distracted me. Meanwhile another guy saw that I had something in a sidepocket of my pants and opened it. However, I felt that and looked in time to see him take my wallet. Instictively I then used my body to block his exit. There was only one exit because he could not go down the train car- it was too crowed, and the other direction was a wall. That worked to my advantage, and so I pushed him with my large pack into the wall pretty hard. Then I turned towards him and grabbed him by the neck with my right arm. I still had the other bag in my left, so I could not do much else. He said something in protest as though he did not know why I would attack him, but I could still see that he had my wallet, though he was trying to hide it in a rag or something. I wrestled him towards the door, which was still open, and there the wallet fell on the ground. He abandoned hope of getting it then, and his partner did not seem to be trying to help him out, so I picked it up. Then I was really mad and forgot that blows below the belt are illegal in boxing. But then, I never took boxing lessons. He may have taken a swing at me, but I don't think he hit me. Then using my right (again remember that the otehr bag and now a wallet were in the left hand) I punched him in the face. It felt really good. I am not sure why. He got off the train, but came back and said something and spit at me. Punk. I bet his friend made fun of him for getting beat up by a guy with a heavy back pack and one arm (essentially) tied behind his back. Either way, I am happy that I noticed what as happening, responded well, and that I still have my wallet. I have to think that God had something to do with that.
I wonder what others think about that. Did I respond rightly? or should I have just asked nicely for him to give it back and then call my credit card companies and everyone else to replace my cards and such? I know that in some places (Washing ton D. C. for example) it is considered assault to do what I did, even when trying to recover stolen property. But then, I am okay with it; in this case anyway.
Perhaps tomorrow I will go somewhere else. This hostel is too loud and overbooked anyway.
posted by The Doctor at lundi, août 22, 2005
11 Comments:
See if I ever try to take your wallet again, you brute! Good on ya! Don't forget to have a good time on the balance of your trip, and don't be hatin'. At least you won't have to spend the rest of your trip wondering what you would have done to the guy that took your wallet, if you hadn't caught him. That'll make your flight home more enjoyable. I pray that the weather and the natives are kinder to you in good ol' espana.
Seems Barcelona can be a dangerous place for backbackers. Glad things worked out well for you.
IANAL, but if I were on a jury, no way that jury would convict you of doing anything wrong. No idea what your interaction would be with the Spanish police, but I can't imagine them coming down on the side of the pickpockets.
Ride on.
Oh, you ARE such a trip! I am so thankful you prevailed in the attack, but in the U.S. they'd have had a gun and you'd probably be brain-damaged and a burden to your aging parents for
the limited lenghth of their pitiful lives, then a ward of the state. PLEASE be careful and keep your wallet in a less obvious place or something!
Sorry about all that rain. Maybe next time! Let us know your plans.
TOL, M.
So, you finally hit a man in the face, huh? I know you never hit me there (well, there was that time when you were one and I was three, but who can recall?). I'm being forcibly removed from the Tyler Junior college library, so no time for the jurisprudence question. On the theology question, it's: passivism is okay for priests but not for fathers.
Today I have a little bit of pain in my right index finger near the knuckle (AKA the head of the proximal phalanx at the Metacarpal-Phalangeal Joint, or MCPJ). Maybe that is a sign of coonfirmation that I really hit him.
Madrid is really nice. I have a hotel here and I can just wander the streets until I am exhausted. Still, one must be aware of what is going on around him, lest history continue to repeat itself.
Que lastima, Pobricito!
M.
Your aged parent would like to think he would have done the same thing.
To M,
I'm not that old.
Allz I knows is, you should hear your nephew tell his version of your story. You understand of course that with little kids like mine, nothing beats a good story, especially with people we know in it. (So they know all your secrets at this point.)
But after I told him a roughly accurate version, he went to Mommy:
"And the robbers, they taked his wallet, and THEN, Dennis, he just punched them and punched them and punched them...." Wendy started to laugh, knowing something of the truth from a phone call last night.
But Marshall went on. "And THEN [imagine the expressions] the bad guys, they just go like this--" and he rolled his eyes back into his head, then tipped his head backwards, and did the Nestea plunge right there on the carpet. Wendy howled. Then the little raconteur leaps to his feet, lest he lose the spotlight:
"That's what I would do, Mommy. If I was there, I would just punch them, and punch them, and punch them! Like this"--and he begins punching--he's way too good at it for four, by the way--and he comes at Mommy who is on her knees, laughing at him.
"Oww, Marshall! Don't hit Mommy! Oww!"
Anyway, the boy's pretty animated. He's accustomed to punching me pretty much all he wants. (And he hits hard!) So he thinks he can do the same with Mommy. But, being a "different" sort of vessel, it really hurts her.
Anyway, maybe you can claim he gets it from you? If the shoe fits, right 'Lou?
(Your nephew's a Southpaw, however.)
Glad you're alive.
Steven
I can't wait to hear Marshall's version myself...
Then hurry on home, y'hear?
M.
Well done, Dennis!! I'm living vicariously through you because if I'd realized it all when it was happening to me in France, I would laid that chick O-U-T on the floor. It STILL makes me mad that I didn't put it together quickly enough!!
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