I was on my motorcycle, just a few feet from the curb on my side of the road. A motorcycle is coming toward me and one behind him came speeding up twice as fast as he should have been going. He passed the bike coming toward me, and when he did he came to my side and because of his excessive speed, he couldn’t stop and slammed into me. I didn’t get hurt from that, though he did and his bike. As is always the case, a crowd of nosy bystanders formed around us. Everyone thought I should pay for the damage—not because I was at fault, but because I am the foreigner. I refused to pay anything. The guy ran into me on my side of the road! It looked as if he was injured and his bike was still lying on its side. The crowd quickly got agitated. They began to push on me. I got hit and kicked in my mouth, the back of the head, etc. I tried to run away and someone from one floor above threw a glass down and it hit me square on the head. Blood gushed out as I ran inside the building. I’ve never seen so much blood. Drops were splashing everywhere. If you took a water bottle and began to shake it back and forth, it was like that. For a minute there I thought I was dying; the blood was coming out so fast, but after a couple minutes the flow slowed down. As I was trying to press on the wound, people outside were damaging my bike and stole my helmet, ripped the box off the back, threw it over, that sort of thing. Oh, and by the way, all this happened in the presence of a cop! It was when he showed up that they began to beat on me! Some people came in the building, not to help me but to take pictures of my injuries. I guess I looked like I was dying; what a great time to take pictures! A police van showed up. The police were helpful in the sense that they tried to get the guy who hit me with the glass. They were completely unhelpful in every other regard. They had it set in their minds that I should pay for the damage—not because I was at fault. No one accused me of that, but because I am a “rich” foreigner and he is a “poor” Nepali teenager. I had asked the police to take my bike to their station to keep the crowd from burning it. It is good I did that, but with me going to get stitches and all, the bike was there overnight, at which time they (the police!) stole the gas from my tank and out of the other guy’s bike too. Moreover, they wouldn’t let me take my bike back until the other guy’s father (whose bike it actually was) was satisfied. So though the accident was 100% the other guys fault, I had to pay for the damages, which amounted to about $140. This is nothing new. You can’t imagine how many times I have heard stories like this from other foreigners. They try and take us for every rupee they can. I was told when I first came to Nepal to never stop at an accident, whether it is my fault or not. I was told you should always leave the scene. If say I had run over somebody, for instance, it wouldn’t matter if it had been my fault or if that person had darted out in front of me. The crowd would beat me to death and burn the car. That’s how it is here. There is no such thing as justice in this country. I’m doing fine, though. Actually and surprisingly, my head doesn’t hurt at all. And now with my head shaved in the middle, I look like the monk Martin Luther for real!