A saga (and it ain't no Star Wars)

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I've been asked by a bunch of people to relate the details of my extreme bump in the road. Given that four of my friends randomly received calls from the Canadian embassy in Brussels, I suppose curiosity is warranted.

So here is the harrowing tale.

I had arrived in Brussels the day before, the first leg of my trip away from the comforts of David's lovely England home, and lo and behold, my bag got stolen. Not my entire pack, mind you, just my day bag. Picture it: it's about ten in the morning, I've just headed out into the bowels of Brussels for my first bout of sight seeing, and I stop into Macdonalds for a bit of breakfast. Egg Mcmuffin and hash browns, to be exact. I take a seat at a table right beside a large window and begin to enjoy my food. Things are good. The trip is now full swing ahead, and I'm enjoying it.

And now let it be a lesson to you - if something seems weird, it is. A random guy comes up to the window and starts talking to me. I can't hear a word he's saying through the glass, and I make it known. He pulls out some random piece of paper and shows it to me, trying to get an answer about something. Again, I gesture that I don't understand him. Fine, he implies, and he walks away.

Fifteen minutes later I get up to leave and.....my bag is gone. Just gone! The panic sets in rather quickly. I put two and two together and realize that my mute friend was a distraction while another person nabbed my bag. I ask the counter if any bags have been turned in, I make a hard search of the entire restaurant, but deep down I know right from that original moment, from my first glimpse of that empty place on the floor where my bag once rested, I have been had. It is gone forever.

Now, I feel that I have had four, maybe five legitimate freak outs in my entire life. Let's combine those, shall we, add a bit of "You've got cancer," with a touch of Christian Bale, and you have a fair idea of my state of mind in that moment. Allow me to explain the magnitude of this incident with a list of the contents of my bag: My passport, my $2000 railpass, my travel insurance, my ipod, my glasses, my phone, and....well, isn't that enough. I had my wallet in my pocket, as usual, and, thank the lord, my camera in my other pocket, so all they got was my case and my charger (but chargers ain't cheap to replace over here, let me tell you that). So why did I have all my bear essentials in there, you ask? Well, I've always thought it was "safer" to have them on me at all times. I feel slightly better leaving my underwear back at the hostels than I do my travelling livelihood. In this case, it turns out that having left everything in a room occupied by ten other broke and hungry backpackers was the safer choice.

All right, so I walk back to my hostel, still in a sense of denial, but shallowly planning my next move. I know that my first priority is my passport, but my fear lies more so with my railpass. Passports are always replaceable, but even though I had insurance on my railpass, I kept the insurance - you guessed it - with the railpass (didn't think that one through Abra). I knew that if I wasn't able to get the pass back, the trip was most likely over, or at least would only go so far as my money would take me, which definitely wasn't until October.

I headed to the police station to file a report, something I would need to claim my insurance later. As I was standing in line at the station a frantic Spanish girl came barging in, cut to the front of the line, and declared "My bag was just stolen!" Victim two. She was among the most unreasonable people I have ever witnessed. It was seriously as if she thought the police would just have her bag for her behind the desk. "Oh yes, we have it right here for you, mam. Of course. We're the police, after all." She was young, and probably dumb (so what was I?). I, however, was keeping my cool. I refer back to my friend Will's words when we found out he wouldn't be able to come on the 6 Week, "It is what it is." Five years ago, yes, I probably would have wept a little and then just dug my own grave and hopped in. Age adds a bit of composure, thankfully.

Anyway, the police were, as to be expected, most unhelpful. As I sat down with the guy to explain everything and fill out the report, I started jiggling my pen in my hand, a clear result of my anxiety, to which he causually reached over and just took it from me, like I was a child with a rattler. I know, they deal with crap every day, and I was just another dumb tourist who let down his gaurd, but c'mon.

Next, I headed for the Canadian embassy. When I walked in I was told by the security gaurd that they were at lunch. "Oh, the embassy is at lunch." So I diddled in a nearby park for a while and then decided to quickly visit the car museum, as it was in the area. When I finally got back, they were very helpful. Oh, the Canucks. I filled everything out, basically just doing another passport application, and was told my temp passport would be ready in 48 hours, which was just enough time for me to head to Bruges and come back, which is what I did. We decided I'd pick up my official replacement in Berlin when I got there. Humourly enough, I needed four guarantors for the new application, and of course I knew nobody's address or phone number. I ended up just hopping on facebook and pleaded to whoever happened to be on chat. So, a shout out to Billy, Bryn, Laura, and Ken. Thanks for the help.

Meanwhile, I had been in contact with my sister and she called Sunseekers for me, where I had bought my insurance. I talked to her on the phone that night and Sunseekers had found out that Eurail had a copy of my insurance, so I was in the clear. The bad news, I still had to pay for another one and then I'd get reimbursed upon my return. So let's thank credit cards for keeping the trip alive.

My day of sightseeing was shot, but I ended up going out for drinks that night with some people from the hostel, who were sensitive to my plight. Among them were my three girls from Dehli, who were laugh out loud hilarious. The next day the four of us packed up and headed to Bruges. It actually ended up being probably the best part of my trip thus far. Met some great people, did a gong show of a pub crawl, and, well, regrouped.

Mostly what I felt was anger. You might think I was angry at myself, and I was in part, but mostly I was angry at the thieves, nay, at society in general. How has it managed to produce such spoilers of virtue? By nature I'm not a violent person, but in those first few days if I had found that perp, well, insert your own imagination here. Now though, I only feel pitty for them. At the end of the day, they nearly ruined my life for another person's passport, a railpass with my name on it, a set of glasses with my perscription, and an ipod that was full of music probably far too sophisticated for their artless ears. They got no money, no credit cards, and certainly no dignity. And it's always nice to know that there are at least a few people in the world that I can confidently say I'm better than. Seek help, you ugly and lanky demagogue. "Ï award you no points, and may God have mercy on your soul."

Whatever, I'm over it. Things happen and we have to move on. I picked up my temporary passport a few days later in Brussels, and my new railpass was also mailed to the embassy. I was greenlit to continue. Right now I'm mostly just missing my ipod. Like, reaaaally missing it. What am I supposed to do on trains, read?

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