Oct. 18, 2015-The Untold Story
When we are away we ask our children to only tell us about problems that would require us to return home. We afford them the same courtesy. That is why we delayed in telling this. And so, this is an email about how we were mugged on the evening of Oct. 8, in Arles. The difference between this and other emails you may have gotten about overseas muggings is that it's true, we're not asking for any money :), and we're fine.
I really didn't want to go to France. Political issues for me. Now I know why. We were walking to dinner around 7:30 PM. We wanted to go to Le Criquet, a restaurant recommended by our hotel. It was fully booked so we moved on to look at the menus of three others nearby. We'd decided on one and were about to go in when a youngish man approached us holding a jacket. He had a plaintive look in his eyes and held the jacket out to us. We thought he was a beggar. In an instant, he had the jacket over David's head and had pushed him to the ground. David said the man's hand went into his front jeans pocket where David keeps his wallet. It's hard even for David to get it out, but this man wouldn't give up. His hand was on the wallet in the pocket, but it couldn't be extricated. Thank goodness for slim fit jeans. David kicked and punched, but the robber had the upper hand. I began pulling on the man's T-shirt, but it was stretching. I was about to go for his belt and use that leverage to distract him or move him off David.
When we are away we ask our children to only tell us about problems that would require us to return home. We afford them the same courtesy. That is why we delayed in telling this. And so, this is an email about how we were mugged on the evening of Oct. 8, in Arles. The difference between this and other emails you may have gotten about overseas muggings is that it's true, we're not asking for any money :), and we're fine.
I really didn't want to go to France. Political issues for me. Now I know why. We were walking to dinner around 7:30 PM. We wanted to go to Le Criquet, a restaurant recommended by our hotel. It was fully booked so we moved on to look at the menus of three others nearby. We'd decided on one and were about to go in when a youngish man approached us holding a jacket. He had a plaintive look in his eyes and held the jacket out to us. We thought he was a beggar. In an instant, he had the jacket over David's head and had pushed him to the ground. David said the man's hand went into his front jeans pocket where David keeps his wallet. It's hard even for David to get it out, but this man wouldn't give up. His hand was on the wallet in the pocket, but it couldn't be extricated. Thank goodness for slim fit jeans. David kicked and punched, but the robber had the upper hand. I began pulling on the man's T-shirt, but it was stretching. I was about to go for his belt and use that leverage to distract him or move him off David.
With that, the thief got up and turned to me. He still had the
jacket over his hand and I was afraid he had a knife under it. He did not. He
looked me in the eye and head-butted me. I felt like a mongoose being
hypnotized by a cobra. My nose began to bleed. David had gotten to his feet,
but as I was now distracted, the man turned back to David, tried to kick him in
the groin, and knocked him down again. By now the mugger was really furious,
but getting nowhere. He hadn't realized I had a purse because I was wearing it
under my coat. It's a good practice, but everything else I knew about
self-defense went out the window. What happened to the old days of snatch and
grab, no harm, no foul? I want a re-match.
David was literally roaring with anger throughout the whole ordeal. I called for help in English, although I know the French. Men came running, and the people in the restaurant called the police. But David wasn't finished yet. He had just seen my bloody nose. He went after the thief who was now restrained by the men, and I had to call him off and strongly tell him to sit down in the restaurant. The restaurant staff and a patron were most solicitous, gave me ice, towels, and gave us water.
The police arrived (about four big ones) and asked if we wanted to make a report. Of course we did. I was visibly injured and David said he was fine. The woman at the restaurant who had the best English said of the police, "Go with them. They are good men." And that began our Kafka-esque evening. After taking my blood pressure and heart rate, we were transported to the police station where our escorts didn't speak English nor did anyone else. My French was getting better by the minute. Alors! A man emerged who looked like a derelict and was an English speaker. He was also a detective going on duty. Undercover, I guess.
We told him our situation and he said that if we wanted to press charges I'd have to be seen by a doctor at the hospital ER. Good citizens that we are we said, "Why not?" I'll tell you why. By now it was after 9 PM and we hadn't eaten. You know ERs. OMG.
We got to ride in a "pompier" (ambulance) where an EMT re-checked my vitals as we all rode unrestrained in the back. Actually, the EMT was standing. When the driver put on the siren and lights, our guy laughed and told him to "cool it." Not really an emergency.
I was triaged at the ER and began to wait. Two hours later, David had paced a gouge in the linoleum and scrounged up one tuna sandwich and two candy bars from temperamental vending machines. We were then called to wait in an examining room. You know how it works. The bed in the room was covered in clean cotton (not disposable) sheeting and we didn't know where to sit. We opted for two folding chairs. It took persuasion for me to get David to settle down. One female nurse who had some English asked if I wanted something for pain. My pain level was a "1" and I had more drugs in my hotel room than they did in the ER, so I declined. On we waited with the false hope offered that the doctor would come soon.
Sexist of me, but true, I approached a man in white and asked if he was a doctor. He was a nurse, but he spoke English better than I spoke French. I explained what had happened and that now David was close to needing a special medication for atrial fibrillation that had to be taken at exact times of day. True. This wonderful, compassionate nurse snapped into action. He found the doctor, a woman, and told her about our dilemma. We told them we understood there were more seriously needy people ahead of us, but had to get to David's meds. They offered to give him what he needed, but we were fearful it wouldn't be exactly the same. We didn't want to risk it.
The doctor called radiation and the nurse speed walked me down the hall for an X-ray. It was a big old-fashioned machine, but it did the job. We exchanged pleasantries about Marie Curie being French and ironically dying of radiation poisoning. Not only was my French improving and my college classes (50+) years ago leaching out of my brain and onto my lips, but I was becoming less self-conscious about speaking.
The nose wasn't broken. I learned that if it had been they would have given me antibiotics. I could be on my way. But it wasn't to be that easy. Taxis were no longer running. It was after midnight. Nurse to the rescue! He found a family who was leaving the ER, knew where our hotel was, and had room in the car...just. It's a good thing David has maintained his weight loss with Weight Watchers. We squeezed into the mini-whatever and to the tunes of Frozen we rode to our hotel. David gave the driver twenty Euros for her help and we crept into bed at 1 AM.
We'd agreed to be at the police station the next morning at nine. They'd have English speaking detectives who would take our statements. It must have been casual Friday because these detectives certainly weren't the coat and tie types. Judging by the night before, it must have been casual Thursday as well.
They split us up as I knew they would. They kept asking us if the perpetrator was Arab. We had no way of telling. They told David the man they arrested was named Farid. They kept bringing it up and it was clear they knew they guy. He was in custody and had been there all night. They got the medical report from the hospital (no HIPPA) and asked if we wanted to see if we could identify the man. We agreed to try. They put us in a storage closet with a one-way window that looked out on the hallway. Then one detective thought it might be better if we identified the man separately. It was a line-up of one. David went first. When it was my turn, the detective told me David had said that was the man. So much for objectivity. France still uses Napoleonic Law. I think they don't have that "presumed innocent until proven guilty" thing. I did agree with David and asked if this was the man who was apprehended last night. They said he was and he was very bad. They'd been after him for a long time. I guess they really were building a case. With that a photographer walked in and took pictures of me. By then my nose was a bit puffy and I had discoloration under one eye. I promise you, my Passport photos are much more flattering, although the swelling diminishes my wrinkles. At the time he didn't realize it, but David's aching tush developed into sciatica problems which will be checked by our doctor at home.
Disturbing and sad, but their truth, was the way the detectives returned to the Arab theme. They explained that they had many coming from Algeria, Morocco, and Tunisia. They went on welfare and turned to crime. I told them that we have many Arabs in the U.S., but I was more familiar with those who were at universities studying to be doctors, professors, and engineers.
David's detective spoke a lot about visiting New York City where there were so many police officers. He said they were very understaffed in France, and police weren't respected. I told him that if we had been mugged in the U.S., the chances were the robber would have a gun and we might be dead.
Two hours later we had the medical and police reports and a copy of the stunning X-Ray of my nose as unique souvenirs. The score was two old geezers intact though skittish and one thug in jail and probably hurting where David thrashed him. The "gonif" didn't get one cent. And, viva la "medecine socialisee"...we paid nothing.
As for the reputation of the French being rude and not liking Americans, I can't abide by that. We were treated by incredibly caring and professional people. The civilians who came to our aid were kind, considerate, and compassionate.
David was literally roaring with anger throughout the whole ordeal. I called for help in English, although I know the French. Men came running, and the people in the restaurant called the police. But David wasn't finished yet. He had just seen my bloody nose. He went after the thief who was now restrained by the men, and I had to call him off and strongly tell him to sit down in the restaurant. The restaurant staff and a patron were most solicitous, gave me ice, towels, and gave us water.
The police arrived (about four big ones) and asked if we wanted to make a report. Of course we did. I was visibly injured and David said he was fine. The woman at the restaurant who had the best English said of the police, "Go with them. They are good men." And that began our Kafka-esque evening. After taking my blood pressure and heart rate, we were transported to the police station where our escorts didn't speak English nor did anyone else. My French was getting better by the minute. Alors! A man emerged who looked like a derelict and was an English speaker. He was also a detective going on duty. Undercover, I guess.
We told him our situation and he said that if we wanted to press charges I'd have to be seen by a doctor at the hospital ER. Good citizens that we are we said, "Why not?" I'll tell you why. By now it was after 9 PM and we hadn't eaten. You know ERs. OMG.
We got to ride in a "pompier" (ambulance) where an EMT re-checked my vitals as we all rode unrestrained in the back. Actually, the EMT was standing. When the driver put on the siren and lights, our guy laughed and told him to "cool it." Not really an emergency.
I was triaged at the ER and began to wait. Two hours later, David had paced a gouge in the linoleum and scrounged up one tuna sandwich and two candy bars from temperamental vending machines. We were then called to wait in an examining room. You know how it works. The bed in the room was covered in clean cotton (not disposable) sheeting and we didn't know where to sit. We opted for two folding chairs. It took persuasion for me to get David to settle down. One female nurse who had some English asked if I wanted something for pain. My pain level was a "1" and I had more drugs in my hotel room than they did in the ER, so I declined. On we waited with the false hope offered that the doctor would come soon.
Sexist of me, but true, I approached a man in white and asked if he was a doctor. He was a nurse, but he spoke English better than I spoke French. I explained what had happened and that now David was close to needing a special medication for atrial fibrillation that had to be taken at exact times of day. True. This wonderful, compassionate nurse snapped into action. He found the doctor, a woman, and told her about our dilemma. We told them we understood there were more seriously needy people ahead of us, but had to get to David's meds. They offered to give him what he needed, but we were fearful it wouldn't be exactly the same. We didn't want to risk it.
The doctor called radiation and the nurse speed walked me down the hall for an X-ray. It was a big old-fashioned machine, but it did the job. We exchanged pleasantries about Marie Curie being French and ironically dying of radiation poisoning. Not only was my French improving and my college classes (50+) years ago leaching out of my brain and onto my lips, but I was becoming less self-conscious about speaking.
The nose wasn't broken. I learned that if it had been they would have given me antibiotics. I could be on my way. But it wasn't to be that easy. Taxis were no longer running. It was after midnight. Nurse to the rescue! He found a family who was leaving the ER, knew where our hotel was, and had room in the car...just. It's a good thing David has maintained his weight loss with Weight Watchers. We squeezed into the mini-whatever and to the tunes of Frozen we rode to our hotel. David gave the driver twenty Euros for her help and we crept into bed at 1 AM.
We'd agreed to be at the police station the next morning at nine. They'd have English speaking detectives who would take our statements. It must have been casual Friday because these detectives certainly weren't the coat and tie types. Judging by the night before, it must have been casual Thursday as well.
They split us up as I knew they would. They kept asking us if the perpetrator was Arab. We had no way of telling. They told David the man they arrested was named Farid. They kept bringing it up and it was clear they knew they guy. He was in custody and had been there all night. They got the medical report from the hospital (no HIPPA) and asked if we wanted to see if we could identify the man. We agreed to try. They put us in a storage closet with a one-way window that looked out on the hallway. Then one detective thought it might be better if we identified the man separately. It was a line-up of one. David went first. When it was my turn, the detective told me David had said that was the man. So much for objectivity. France still uses Napoleonic Law. I think they don't have that "presumed innocent until proven guilty" thing. I did agree with David and asked if this was the man who was apprehended last night. They said he was and he was very bad. They'd been after him for a long time. I guess they really were building a case. With that a photographer walked in and took pictures of me. By then my nose was a bit puffy and I had discoloration under one eye. I promise you, my Passport photos are much more flattering, although the swelling diminishes my wrinkles. At the time he didn't realize it, but David's aching tush developed into sciatica problems which will be checked by our doctor at home.
Disturbing and sad, but their truth, was the way the detectives returned to the Arab theme. They explained that they had many coming from Algeria, Morocco, and Tunisia. They went on welfare and turned to crime. I told them that we have many Arabs in the U.S., but I was more familiar with those who were at universities studying to be doctors, professors, and engineers.
David's detective spoke a lot about visiting New York City where there were so many police officers. He said they were very understaffed in France, and police weren't respected. I told him that if we had been mugged in the U.S., the chances were the robber would have a gun and we might be dead.
Two hours later we had the medical and police reports and a copy of the stunning X-Ray of my nose as unique souvenirs. The score was two old geezers intact though skittish and one thug in jail and probably hurting where David thrashed him. The "gonif" didn't get one cent. And, viva la "medecine socialisee"...we paid nothing.
As for the reputation of the French being rude and not liking Americans, I can't abide by that. We were treated by incredibly caring and professional people. The civilians who came to our aid were kind, considerate, and compassionate.
We're glad to be home and waited to tell our kids about this
before sending this out.
Toby
Toby
