Cuidar nosotros bolsos en Madrid

I approach the UCD library on Sunday evening and notice Dan socialising out front.  The first thing that strikes me is the fact that his belongings are not with him.  They are inside the gated entry that I soon go through.  After printing off class materials for our exam the next day I exit and see both Dan and Liam still avoiding the plague of things called studying.  They have now been out there at least 30 minutes. 

Another moment I sit inside this large concrete block and contemplate thoughts other than retail horticulture-the topic at hand for today’s study session.  As my mind drifts and wanders I notice the contents of the desk in front of me-and the missing occupent in its seat.  Books, papers, bag-all common study items.  Then my eye centers on the laptop strewn haphazardly across the table and I realize I’ve been sitting here not studying for a while now and I have yet to see laptop’s owner.  Well that’s fine and well but isn’t he/she at all concerned about the possessions left behind?

I have reverted to thinking about these types of things-where personal belongings might have wandered off to when one looks away-since my recent jaunt down to Madrid.  While there, I quickly realized, unlike the Irish, the Spanish are fond of taking other people’s valuable items.  They are so fond of this pastime that I in-fact got my purse stolen from between my feet (from between my feet, Regan’s feet, and within Kaitlin’s direct line of sight to be more exact) within the first couple hours of my arrival. 

It’s an extremely vulnerable feeling to realize you are in a foreign country (where they don’t speak your native language) without even one piece of ID and no money.  Luckily, I was for once smart enough to tuck my phone into my pocket or I would have been without my last line of security-a very short amount of money on my phone-just enough to call my mom and let her know I was safely in Madrid and had just been robbed.  For those who can imagine my dear mother’s histeria (something I am glad to have missed), it was a moment of truth.  The instant I realized my purse had not just been kicked aside under the table and was in fact gone, I stepped into the loo to make my phone call.  I silently waited for a connection and had a brief chat about the contents of my purse that were now missing.  In the last few moments before I hung up tears started to come down.  I allowed them to fall silently for a few seconds before I brushed them aside and exited the room.  Later the girls told me I was remarkably calm for someone who now had so few possessions and no easy path ahead to getting out of the country. 

The next morning we rose early to find the tourist information office and make a police report.  By the time I arrived at the police station (the one solely for tourists) and sat in a small room for at least an hour, I was called before one of the policia to confirm my report.  After giving all the details the policelady walked over to a shelf in the corner with a large number of purses, pulled mine off the shelf, and asked if it looked familiar.  Bingo.  Inside, were some dear possessions that I had never even hoped to see again:  my passport, driver’s license, student ID.  Judging by the fact that not only could my thieves wrestle a small heavy object from between my feet without notice, but could also drop it off at the one place I would know to look, they were professionals. 

The girls paid for my meals for the weekend but the lack of camera made touring the city glum.  On Monday morning Kaitlin offered me a euro and said, “Here’s a gift.  You might need it.”  I thought about buying a drink but for some reason I decided to embrace my dehydration and save it for later.  I was to travel home that afternoon alone since Regan and Kaitlin didn’t need to be back for class until a day later.  We waved goodbye outside the metro near the airport entrance and the girls took off for more sight-seeing adventures.  Much to my surprise, when I went to walk through the gates, I was stopped and asked for a ticket-the price of which cost exactly one euro.  That evening I arrived back in Dublin alone with 34 cents to my name and 14 cents on my phone.  Enough to get me effectively-nowhere-in Dublin.  Despite this fact it never felt so good to be back home in Dub where the people are amazingly friendly and helpful. 

So today I walk out of class and set my jacket and bag down in the Ag Block common area with all the other bags.  I wander off for a bit, socialise, and come back to find my stuff exactly where I left it-untouched.  For a brief moment it flits through my mind that someone might want my purse, or my cell phone, or perhaps if they’re really desperately bored- my International Food Marketing notes.  But that soon passes as I smile and sigh-and think, it’s good to be in Ireland.

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