The traveller’s worst nightmare

13th Oct, 2007

Well, maybe a worse nightmare would be to fall down the Spanish Steps and break your neck. Okay, this wasn’t as bad as that, but it certainly pained us considerably. We’d managed to find our way around the Metro here, and were starting to get confident. (Plus we managed a long ride on the 33 tram, which was a bit scary, but not impossible. Plus we didn’t pay, because we didn’t realise we were supposed to have a ticket before we got on.)
Anyway, about seven we got on at the Central Railway Station underground stop where there was a real crush, with people pushing and shoving to get in the door. That meant that everyone was bang up against everyone else as well, and we all travelled that way for the two stops that Celia and I were going. We got off the train at Loreto, and I suddenly realised there was a lightness in my left trouser pocket - the place I keep my wallet. Someone had nicked it, presumably during all the hustle. Consternation.
All sorts of thoughts of not being able to travel because we had no money came to mind, though in fact Celia had quite a bit of cash in her wallet (which she didn’t fail to remind me was around her waist and secure), and she still had her debit card and credit card. But I lost both my debit card and three credit cards, two of them from New Zealand, plus maybe a couple hundred euros, and my driver‘s licence.
We told the guard at the Metro exit, and he said we needed to go back to Polizei at another one of the stations (I’ve now forgotten which, but I think it was Duomo). So we did, feeling increasingly stressed, got there and found the police, who very helpfully pushed us onto the main police station near Turati Metro Station. And even though they gave us instructions how to find the Police station, it took us something like half an hour of wandering to track it down. People twice sent us in the wrong direction, which didn’t much help!Eventually we got there and while they weren’t offhand about it, they weren’t greatly concerned either. Which isn’t surprising, probably, as both they and we knew that’s unlikely we’ll see the wallet and its contents again.
Celia was feeling very low about it all, and even more, was concerned about our contacting the banks to stop the cards. And of course, I’d left my cellphone back at the hotel, so we couldn’t do anything about that until we got there. Finally we dragged ourselves home, very dispirited, and I eventually managed to get hold of someone in the UK about the HSBC cards. Fortunately that didn’t take as long as I’d thought it might, but I won’t have any cards of my own for the rest of the trip. Celia’s cards remain valid, which is a major relief, and certainly left us feeling better. Eventually.