Marathon training not good enough to catch robbers.

Spent the last few days trying to put together the mess that was created by the crazy purse snatching incident, which occurred less than 24 hours into my stay in Barcelona.

The actual event: (walking home from dinner on March 6th)

A rip-snatch disappearance of my purse, which felt just like when the monkeys stole my bag of mandarin oranges in Thailand, about a year and a half ago. How I wish it had only been mandarins.

I reacted quickly, chasing the two robbers down a pedestrian alley, screaming, "Give it back!" and other random purse-snatching screams, hoping they would drop it. I followed them around a few turns, like a scene out of a movie. All that marathon training didn't help me get to the robbers. And what if I had, what would I have done? Really? I am surprised I reacted that way anyway.

I'd seen so many bystanders. They all just stared. Did nothing. When I finally stopped, a local told me they usually throw the purses in the supermarket parking lot or the park. Ross just appeared at my side also like magic... he had been following my screams.

I asked Ross, "Do you know where we are?" He said no.

We called my aunt Dee, who was waiting at our metro stop with two Spanish girls, who were calling the police. The police told us to report it to the station. So they walked us all the way. At which point, we suffered our FOURTH attempted robbery. What balls to attack someone on the way to the station... I guess in Barcelona, anything goes.

That night, I canceled credit cards at the station, left my name and was told to return the following day when the translator was in.

So we took a cab home and each slept about two hours.

I kept waking up seeing the robbers running in the alley and wondering why I had been so stupid. I'm such a good traveler. I think it was just dumb moment of weakness.

The next day, we went to the internet cafe, and then to the police station, where they were very nice and filed a report. The girl translating said she'd been robbed in the same area and tried to hold onto her purse, but they just threw her to the ground and took it anyway.

Afterward I called Visa again. It took three attempts for one of my cards to be canceled, as the first girl who took the claim seemed dumb as a box of rocks. I should have hung up right away, how unsurprising that she didn't manage to cancel the card. The second call to this company was interrupted by the police report. When I called back the THIRD time, they said that they had put a hold on the card. AFTER I TOLD THEM I WAS ROBBED THREE TIMES! They finally canceled the card. I am not sure about Fidelity card services.

While I was on the phone with Visa, we watched hoards of people walk in to report robberies, sometime it was groups of two who were robbed. One homeless looking man returned two passports.

The next day returning to Germany, I felt at home, and grateful to live in a nice quiet place, where most people are trustworthy. The man at the Nuremberg airport parking just asked me when I arrived there and reissued the ticket. I could have said anything. Then he told me how he would love to live in America, because it was so big. He also said, "This parking ticket is the smallest of your problems!" Very sweet.

I got in my Mini Cooper and drove home, grateful for my nice blue car. On the way back to Weissenberg, the shoulders were covered in snow. My home. I decided I liked the cold.

I unpacked and then could not sleep as I had started to return to rerunning the events and worrying about identity theft. I did a few more business items before popping an ativan. I think that's the sort of weekend that calls for anti-anxiety medication! :)

Today all was much better...

Barcelona beginnings...

After dull optometry meeting on Friday afternoon, I jetted off to the Nuremberg airport, missing my first airport exit, something I have been known to do multiple times in the past. But still getting there and parked with a little over an hour to spare. Nuremberg is a tiny, simple airport with ample, cheap parking.

Inside the terminal, I waited, read, and ate a chocolate bar (dark) for dinner.

We boarded. The door shut. We waited. The captain came on. Flight delays.

About an hour late, we left. I wondered about my 50 minute connection time in Amsterdam but decided it was there was nothing I could do and kept reading my book. If nothing else, I´d spend a night in Amsterdam. This is the only time I relax, so it wouldn´t be the worst thing in the world.

In Amsterdam, I half ran to my flight even though I didn´t want to (thinking if I missed it by five minutes, I´d be really mad at myself) and they were boarding as I arrived, but I think I could have gotten there 15 minutes later and still made it.

The Barcelona aiport is a gorgeous modern marvel. I accidentally took a foot tour of it, as the taxi stand proved elusive, though the sign was in print the size a blind person could see. I had to get directions twice.

After much confusion on the taxi driver´s part (and overcharging me as well) I was dropped off in a pedestrian alley, and pointed in a direction to walk. I wondered if I was in the right place. Not able to come up with anything but German in my flight-numbed brain was frustrating. But finally I saw Ross standing outside and all was good.

Dee and I stayed up chatting until well past midnight, woke up this morning with a leisurely breakfast and black coffee, then headed to the subway to start our excursions.

We boarded the subway car. Dee and I were chatting.

Suddenly Ross got off. I didn´t know why.

¨My passport!¨

He took off running up the escalator.

We followed. I was confused. How did he know who had it?

On the escalator, Ross was accusing two girls of having his passport. Dee came up and had a vice grip one of the girls. I still didn´t know what was going on. If it were my passport, it would have been gone. I had no idea how they knew who it was. (Apparently a person on the subway saw and said something to Ross.) But as we all reached the top, Ross´s wallet magically fell to the ground, dropped by one of the two girls.

A nice Spanish couple was helping us and talking to us and said, ¨Romas!¨ Meaning gypsys. I think they wanted us to report them, but with our terribly feeble Spanish, I´m not sure what could be done. And what would have happened anyway?

Surprisingly, this was my first encounter like this in traveling. Ever. And it ended well. We had hard time believing that it had happened.

We got back on the subway and went on our way. Walking six miles around town, to sites. Coming upon artists on the waterfront. A delicious lunch at a cafe with an owl on the sign. Churches. People watching. The day which started in a flurry ended well.