happy new years, fuckers
So there I was riding sidesaddle on the back rack of Nikki’s bike, holding on to the seat for dear life as we careened down the wet street on the way to the windmill pub (yes, the windmill pub) for an early New Year’s Eve drink. We were laughing, swerving, and I pulled out my camera and snapped a few photos.
A moped went by, and I hardly noticed. It pulled over to the side of the road behind us, and then it turned around. And then it pulled up right next to us. I thought it was a joke, two drunk boys on a moped teasing two American girls on a bike on New Year’s Eve. But the one on the back looked right at me, and he looked mean, and while staring at me he reached right out and grabbed my camera.
My camera was attached to a cord that I had wrapped around my wrist for the precarious bike ride. I could not let go of it. Also I was very, very angry. What is happening? I was thinking. It is New Years. It is my second day in Amsterdam. I was actually thinking these things. The moped started to pull ahead, and the cord pulled hard on my wrist. “Fucker!” I yelled, “Let go you fucker!” I yelled loud, and Nikki, who couldn’t tell what was happening from the front seat of the bike, realized something was wrong. She struggled to keep the bike upright and swung at the moped driver’s helmet.
The moped sped up more, and it pulled me off the bike. I ran along behind, unable to let go, trying to stay on my feet, and yelling. I imagined falling and being dragged, or pulling the moped over on top of me. Luckily it couldn’t get much power, since it was pulling two full-sized male drivers and one yelling, running me. Josh, who had been biking ahead of us, heard the commotion and dropped his bike in the street. The moped had to swerve around it, and the camera snapped back into me.
My hand was cut up and my thumb was asleep for an hour. But they didn’t get my camera.
Three people came out of their homes to make sure we were ok. One offered us tea.
Fuckers. I guess it’s for the best that this happened right away. No one was hurt, nothing was lost, and now I know to watch out. Although I knew that already.
When I was in Bolivia someone tried to distract me and cut my bag open. I saw it coming a mile away, and it all felt so harmless – the sort of thing that you have to expect when you go to a country where so many people are struggling to get by while watching foreigners come and go with cameras and traveler’s cheques and Patagonia gear. But this was different, two men on a moped taking something right out of my hands because they could, and not caring if a few people got smashed into the street as a consequence. It really sucked.
A moped went by, and I hardly noticed. It pulled over to the side of the road behind us, and then it turned around. And then it pulled up right next to us. I thought it was a joke, two drunk boys on a moped teasing two American girls on a bike on New Year’s Eve. But the one on the back looked right at me, and he looked mean, and while staring at me he reached right out and grabbed my camera.
My camera was attached to a cord that I had wrapped around my wrist for the precarious bike ride. I could not let go of it. Also I was very, very angry. What is happening? I was thinking. It is New Years. It is my second day in Amsterdam. I was actually thinking these things. The moped started to pull ahead, and the cord pulled hard on my wrist. “Fucker!” I yelled, “Let go you fucker!” I yelled loud, and Nikki, who couldn’t tell what was happening from the front seat of the bike, realized something was wrong. She struggled to keep the bike upright and swung at the moped driver’s helmet.
The moped sped up more, and it pulled me off the bike. I ran along behind, unable to let go, trying to stay on my feet, and yelling. I imagined falling and being dragged, or pulling the moped over on top of me. Luckily it couldn’t get much power, since it was pulling two full-sized male drivers and one yelling, running me. Josh, who had been biking ahead of us, heard the commotion and dropped his bike in the street. The moped had to swerve around it, and the camera snapped back into me.
My hand was cut up and my thumb was asleep for an hour. But they didn’t get my camera.
Three people came out of their homes to make sure we were ok. One offered us tea.
Fuckers. I guess it’s for the best that this happened right away. No one was hurt, nothing was lost, and now I know to watch out. Although I knew that already.
When I was in Bolivia someone tried to distract me and cut my bag open. I saw it coming a mile away, and it all felt so harmless – the sort of thing that you have to expect when you go to a country where so many people are struggling to get by while watching foreigners come and go with cameras and traveler’s cheques and Patagonia gear. But this was different, two men on a moped taking something right out of my hands because they could, and not caring if a few people got smashed into the street as a consequence. It really sucked.
posted by tortaluga at 8:16 AM
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