You're still a traveler if...

"The place where you were robbed?" Cleo asks when I tell her I rode past the center and down into the zuid area by the river. "No," I replied, laughing a little, "a bit more north."
It is a running joke now, the whole robbery thing. It wasn't as funny the day before but after a little talking and a bit of meditation on compassion, it transitioned into a joke.

Ha.

Ha.

Turns out I may or may not have been robbed as I acquiesced in a request for change for a 2 Euro coin. It's the oldest trick in the "What not to do if you don't want to be a stupid traveler" book. But everyone had been mistaking me for a Flemish local and I was on a well traveled bike and he looked nicely dressed and I didn't think I would be targeted as a tourist and... well, he got a little too close to me as I tried to pick a couple of euros out of the change pocket of my wallet.
Stupid traveler mistake number two: I was carrying a bunch of US dollars and euros in my regular wallet and to give change I had to totally open up my wallet and flash the cash as well as my credit cards. His fingers hovered above my purse as he dropped the 2 euro coin into the pouch. I'm freaking out (internally) at this point knowing this is not cool. Then he pointed to the 20 euro bill and said, "You give me 20 euros." I looked up at him, the growing uneasiness now transitioning into alarm as I wondered if I was being robbed. I was confused by his intentions. Did I give him the wrong change? I still had to look at the numbers on the coins. Or was he trying to say he gave me a twenty bill when he clearly gave me a small coin? No, he was asking for money. I knew in a split second that he had no visible weapon and it was in the middle of the day on a busy street.
I got angry but tried to keep cool.
"No." I said as I backed away and shoved my wallet into my bag.
"Give me another euro?" he asked a little more tentatively this time.
"No," I said, "I need my money."

OK. Totally lame comeback. I wanted to shout, "What the fuck is going on here?" But I didn't. Instead I shakily got back on my bike and pedaled to meet Cleo for coffee half way between the red light district and the new MAS museum in the Docklands area. I replayed the event over in my head.
"You have your credit cards?" Cleo asked she sipped coffee and I wolfed down a sandwich. I felt better with a bit of food in my stomach: I knew that my vulnerability with the guy had been partly due to caffeine overload, lack of food, and being on the achy sniffly edge of the flu.
"Um, I think so." I checked my purse. Yup, all there. As were all the euros I'd counted that morning. The only thing in question were the dollars. Had he used slight of hand to lift a hundred from my poorly concealed stash? Or had I changed that hundred bill last week when I flew in or had I put it back with the other money I had in my luggage at Cleo's home? I just didn't remember. Had he put his other hand into my open bag when he was distracting me with the coin move? Luckily all I had in there was a sweater and my zippered up purse with some paper (and my Iphone! still there!)
Sucker. No camera or Ipad to be had.
So what the hell happened? Did he just see the 20 euro bill (and the 50 behind it) and figure he might as well ask?

I have to say I was more upset about the unpleasantness and confusion of the event, the robbery, the nothing, not because of possibly losing some money (which always sucks but hey, money is just money and not an eyeball or a finger or a life) but because all of my time in Belgium had been so positive and I didn't want this to mar my overall experience. After the initial feeling of dirty vulnerability, I began to think of it as a reminder that even though I am a guest of a good friend in a town I'm beginning to know by feel, I am still a traveler. I am still a woman in a city. I am still just made of thin skin and blood and bones. I am breakable. And sometimes too trusting. It is hard to find the balance. I do not want to hide from everyone who says hello on the street. I want to be open to sharing a moment with a stranger, be willing to alter my day for an adventure, clear my preconceptions of a place and see it in a pure light.

Unfortunately I have the muscle memory of being physically assaulted on the sidewalks of New York and on the roads and trains of India. I've been verbally battered in too many of the places I've lived and traveled. I've had things stolen from me in Paris and New Jersey and the Caribbean. I've lunged, cussing and swinging, at leering men on motorbikes. I've barricaded hotel room doors in the middle of the night against fists hammering flimsy plywood secured with cheap bolts.

But I still travel, I still smile at folks as I ride my bike past chocolate shops and mosques here in Antwerp or wander through rasta markets in the Caribbean. I look forward to traveling in Asia again and exploring South America, traversing Africa. There are still too many places to go to stay at home for too long. Especially when you're not totally sure of where home is.

Maybe I was robbed, maybe I wasn't. I'll change the wallet I use and make it a policy not to make change on the street, but I hope the only other change I make is in the positive direction that traveling always takes me: Learning, growing, meeting, living.