I spent a lot of last week thinking about how lucky I am. I had spent most of the previous several weeks jumping from city to city in Europe with people I have known for less than four months but feel like I’ve known forever, checking off a decent-sized chunk of my places-to-see-in-Europe list and doing everything from eating Dutch apple pie in the capital of the Netherlands to standing above Hitler’s bunker in Berlin. And yet, I was still happy to be back, sitting in the house of a family that I was so nervous to meet in January but with whom I now comfortably eat dinner every night and sit out on the deck and talk or watch soccer while sipping cognac (which I only pretend to like out of pride, because my host responded to my 18-year-old host brother’s embarrassed inability to drink it without coughing by saying that it’s “not for little boys”). I felt so content, so glad not be worried about internships or running between meetings or constantly sending emails, so satisfied to be where I am. And then I got mugged.

Alright, dramatic intro over, here’s what happened:

Last week one of my friends found out that she would be going home early Saturday morning due to a family emergency. So naturally some goodbyes were in order, and Friday night found a bunch of us hanging out on the bank of the Loire, enjoying the warm night and each others’ company before our friend’s early departure the next morning. It was a pretty chill night, and, although tinged with sadness, felt like a perfect culmination to the post-vacation week and an appropriate kickoff for the last segment of our study abroad.

At 2 a.m. one of my friends decided to head back. Having missed the last tram, she was faced with a 40-minute walk, so I offered to accompany her on my way home. About four blocks from her house, three guys wearing black hoodies walked out from around the corner and directly into our path. Thinking they were just being drunk and obnoxious, I tried to push pass them, only to be told that we weren’t going anywhere. The guy who had spoken to me pulled his hand out of his pocket to show his brass knuckles and the two others followed his lead, pushing us against the wall of the building behind us. They proceeded to go through my pockets and my friend’s purse, stealing my iPod, both of our phones, and about 60 € in cash before stepping back and letting us walk away.

Luckily we didn’t have more cash on us (all of that was, in fact, my friend’s. Being the good broke-student-traveler that I am, my wallet was empty). Luckily they left us our cards, ID, etc. Luckily neither of us got hurt.

Now, a police report and a ton of retellings later, all that’s really changed is that I can’t listen to music on the bus and my friends and I don’t go out at night with more than 10 € in our pockets. Not altogether bad changes. I mean, getting mugged sucked, and the iPod-less plane, bus, train, and ferry rides in the few weeks after my program will inevitably reinforce my regret for having forgotten to leave that little device at home before going out. But really, it could have been so much worse, and it was a small reminder of several things: that I should not take my personal safety for granted, that I can live without a phone and an MP3 player, that even the French can be threatening when wearing brass knuckles, and that I cannot always control my surroundings, even in a place where I feel so at home.