Tale of the purse snatcher (a.k.a. my contribution to Barcelona's organized crime ring)

When a strange man sits down beside you in a fast-food restaurant eating nothing and pointing to the floor in a train station renowned for pickpocketers, consider that your first red flag. That I saw nothing on the ground and that he immediately left caused me concern in my foggy sleepy I've just spent a night on a train haze. When I finally realized he had snatched my purse (probably just 3 seconds after it happened) with absolutely everything to my name of importance in it while traveling, I yelled fire in Spanish (seriously, I had no idea at the time what my purse is stolen was in spanish) and then grabbed my small backpack and ran after him. I yelled at the security guard right outside with wild gestures and kept running; she could've cared less, was guarding an ATM and couldn't chase after him. I spent a few minutes chasing the guy but he had disappeared. Crap, my running background did not help me in this instance, then again I was no sprinter, perhaps my only consolation. As I returned to the station, distraught, thinking of all the things he stole: my Ipod, passport, 200 euros, $100 US dollars, 2 credit cards, 1 debit card, medical insurance card, driver's license, and oh yeah, my dignity, I felt sick. The security at the train station was so unhelpful, another sign they see this all the time. I had absolutely no money, no coins to even take a taxi or bus to the police station to fill out a report. Customer service at the train station allowed me to use their phone to cancel my credit cards....but it was too late. The dude had already charged over $2000 on my credit and almost $4000 on my debit. Thinking of it later I wondered how he was able to do this so fast and without showing an id when it hit me: I was victim to an organized crime ring, fo sha. I had read about pickpocketers and been warned by a number of people but never thought I'd fall victim to it. Hmmm, so much for thinking I was a seasoned traveler.

I'm almost too embarassed to mention which fast food restaurant I went to but I just gotta. In my defense, you have to understand I just got off an overnight train ride with virtually no sleep and the thought of an American breakfast after 2 weeks of only toast and espresso for breakfast sounded so good--yes, I went to a damn McDonald's. They are now forever banned by me btw.

Anyway, back to my sordid tale. I trudged my way to the police station walking with my huge backpack thinking this is a huge hassle but no way I'm going to let it ruin my vacation. At least my friend, Dinah would be arriving that night. The police report was mandatory before a replacement passport could be issued. Next stop: US consolate, but ummm, one small problem. No money to get there. Here's when my luck changed: the adorable receptionist gave me just enough money to get to the US consolate.

But wouldn't you know, it was closed! US Labor Day holiday!!! Now what? I had just enough money to get to the Embassy and not even any money to replace the passport anyway. So I saw a rather cute Spanish police officer (that I was still very aware of this despite feeling more helpless than I've ever felt in my life says something, I'm sure!) and was asking how to get back to the center of Barcelona, etc. and even talking about Valencia where he's from and he was the only person I actually asked for money and he would not give me any!! He could not even tell me how to get to town, where to go next, nothing. Throughout my experience with people in positions of authority, I have to say I was more impressed with the locals and not the police. But I have to admit they were the cutest Spaniards, lol!!!! So I go to the nearest bus stop, now feeling completely helpless. When the bus driver heard my pitiful Spanglish and my attempt at trying to pay for at least a portion of the fare, he let me on the bus and showed me exactly where to go next! Angel!

But my true angel was the lady working at the American Express! Apparently, you normally need your passport, not a copy of your passport to have emergency money wired. For whatever reason, she allowed me to have enough money wired to get by for the day before Dinah arrived that night. She even served me coffee and cookies, what a doll! So the one good thing I did and would recommend to everyone traveling is to make copies of your credit cards and passport and bury them in your luggage.

Never thought I'd find out which money wiring services are better than others. My choice is Western Union, not Moneygram....in case you're wondering. What a humbling experience!! And what great friends I have to offer so much help!!

!carajo!

What´s in a name, anyway? If your name is carajo....a lot...well in the spanish speaking world anyway. I can´t believe I´m admitting my middle name but it´s just too funny not to share. In the official Spanish dictionary it means damnit! Seriously. (Hmmm, maybe it would be a good idea to get those computer people at the hospital to take off my middle name when I chart. Really, what Spanish speaking person is going to take the recommendations of someone named carajo seriously!!) And if you watch films dubbed in Spanish, you get a slightly different meaning: expletive after expletive after expletive, bleep, bleep bleep. Carajo! Carajo! Carajo! This I knew from my trip to Guatemala last year. Well, according to my sources in Spain, it means that and a little more: carajo is also "the male´s instrument" specifically, the balls. I cringe even writing this. I love my parents dearly but seriously, what were you thinking? I know they had no idea, I was afraid to tell them and relieved when they couldn´t stop laughing!! So if I ever move to a spanish speaking country, you´ll have to forgive me but I´m gonna need to change my name. So here´s a thought for all you parents to be: prior to choosing a name, it might be prudent to research the meaning in all languages!!

PUMA--carless in Andalucia, don´t do it!

So I had to do it, I finally broke down and bought a watch. Since those trains and buses run on this thing called a schedule. What? You mean it´s not possible to just show up and go wherever I want on a whim? Now that´s my idea of dream traveling.

So about this schedule thing, the buses actually leave on time, if not earlier, the trains not as much but still I´ve been impressed. In the cities at least. Until I decided to be stubborn and visit the small Andalucian towns without a car. So to borrow a term I just learned, traveling in the tiny little towns in Spain without a car is a royal PUMA (pain up my a--). Especially one in particular, that I´m going to name because I´ve never been more frustrated in my life: Arcos de la Frontera. Gorgeous town, horrible experience. It didn´t help that NO one could understand my Spanglish, nor I their whatever they were speaking. Wassup with the mumbling or maybe they speak a dialect of Spanish, totally indecipherable to English speakers. And they thought I had the accent! Ok, now I´m exaggerating but how is it possible that two bus drivers and multiple passengers could not understand the difference between Cadiz and Jerez? Surely it can´t be me, ha! I even spelled it out when they questioned me, C-a-d-i-z, oy. Due to this miscommunication, I missed two buses, found out there was not even a bus to Cadiz (where I was trying to go) despite their schedule showing one. So 2 1/2 frustrating hours later, I was on a bus to Jerez where I then had to transfer to a train to get to Cadiz!! Cadiz better be damn amazing, I was thinking the whole time, that and if I have to spend another night in Arcos, I would die. Dramatic? Me? No! Only later did I find it amusing that a whole group of young people were trying to translate for me, so many voices shouting in Spanish to the bus drivers!

So to report, Cadiz was worth it: the oldest town in Europe, along the ocean and bay with the typical Andalucian Moorish influence. And now I´m even happier in the quintessential Spanish town of Seville. This city girl has her groove back and will be sticking to the tourist spots...for a bit anyway.

Solo travel: the ultimate form of narcissism?

Yeap, that´s what I´ve decided. At least extended solo travel with no real purpose other than to explore (or for normal people: rest and relaxation). When you´re on your own, you get to decide absolutely everything! There is no compromising. It´s wonderful!! Aside from realizing you don´t have to compromise, that it is just you making every single decision, even the mundane ones. And once you´ve perfected the art of taking pictures of oneself, that´s when you know you´re a true solo traveler....or possibly narcissist.

I have to say I garnered much different responses when traveling on my language immersion trip last year than this one. People are just more impressed when there´s a purpose, whatever that may be: language immersion, volunteering, mission trips, etc. Why is it that one should feel guilty for traveling just to travel?? To experience a new culture and perhaps become even more culturally sensitive? Or even to appreciate what you already have? I learn so much while traveling, yes, about myself, but obviously, of the world too. So that´s my defense of traveling just to travel. Ok, I´ll get off my soapbox now. Does anyone out there feel the same?