Worry Dolls

Me and my mom are worriers. She won’t even object that it’s written on the internet. For Christmas, I got her Guatemalan worry dolls so that we could each put one under our pillow- the idea is to whisper your worries to the doll so that it can work on them for you during the night. In any case, I liked the idea of having one in Spain while my mom had one at home. Our dog Sadie apparently had other plans and consumed the first worry dolls whole, so my mom and I had to get replacements. While I traveled on two continents, I had not a permanent bed nor pillow, so I tucked the worry doll within my money belt. However, this did not keep me from worrying about my money and passport almost constantly. I faithfully wore the belt in the crowded Madrid city center and through the markets of Morocco. As I hiked to the waterfall and rode the camel, I wore my belt and could check often to make sure it hadn’t fallen off (see Mexico money belt experience). I either kept the money belt with me at night in the hostels, or safely locked it away. I faced very light hearted teasing from Kristin, but was determined to keep my belongings safe.

On Sunday, we travelled from Sevilla to Madrid on the fast, comfortable, and expensive AVE train. It was the last leg of our journey together, and all went smoothly although we were both tired after a night of flamenco clubbing and discoteca-ing in Sevilla with friends from our hostel. Kristin slept while I watched Mama Mia en español, which is quite possibly the only thing cheesier than Mama Mia en ingles. But I digress. After arriving in Madrid, we relaxed in the train station for a while, called Jorge to arrange to get my suitcases, and resolved to head back to our same hostel (We hadn’t made sleeping plans because Kristin’s flight required her to head to the airport around 3 am). I was excited to hop back on the Madrid metro (subway), which I love navigating, although I was less excited to do so with our luggage from Morocco. It was a simple, three stop journey on one line from the train station to the city center. I was surprised that this Sunday afternoon was our busiest metro experience to date. I was more surprised after getting off the subway, when a lady came up to me and said in English (insert British accent here) “can I tell you something? I saw two gypsy women in your bag, but I was too far away to say anything. You might want to check that you have everything. You really have to be careful about these things.” Her “helpful” advice came just as I was searching frantically in my bag for my money belt, which had been within my purse which was in my bag which was across my shoulder and closed. And was no longer there. The only time I didn’t wear the belt on the entire trip. I wouldn’t have believed that they had taken it had somebody not seen it. These pickpocketers are truly professionals. Increíble.

What followed was a trip to the Spanish police station to file a report, a trip to the American consulate to report the loss of my passport, a search for a hostel near the consulate so that I could return in the morning, and a cena at Pizza Hut (lame, but after which I felt better). After a nearly sleepless night in the creepiest hostel ever, wishing Kristin farewell at 3:15, and a long morning at the consulate, I was able to meet up with my group in the airport and travel by bus to Salamanca. (Actually the consulate people were incredibly nice and sped up the process so that I wouldn’t have to travel to Salamanca on my own). I know that had I not travelled beforehand, meeting my group in the Madrid airport would have been something of a big deal. After my trip and my experience the previous 24 hours, it seemed like a breeze! When we arrived in Salamanca, our host families waited outside the bus for us. They stared at us like animals behind the glass, and we stared back, hoping to see signals of kind heartedness and good cooking. When I stepped off the bus and met my mom with the customary double kiss, she told me immediately that the consulate had called the house because my original passport had been turned in. Apparently, these thieves were not part of the sophisticated mafias that study and reproduce American passports. What joy!

To complete this somewhat sad, meandering story, tonight I came home for cena and my host mom told me that the package from Madrid had come. I eagerly opened it, excited to see my beautiful passport in its original condition. Instead I found the entire money belt, complete with my passport, TU student ID and international student ID card, and 2 debit cards. In the corner I found my small worry doll. Although I’m out 150 euros of cash, I must say that it’s a satisfactory end to the story. Included in the package as well is the email of the person who recovered it, who I plan on thanking profusely. It all goes to show that no matter how much you worry, shit happens. But we’re capable of dealing with it, and instead of sweating the small stuff, we should focus on all of the good. Think Said and Jorge (huge help from the police station on) and Moroccon mint tea and camels and Spanish soccer and people taking the time to return your things. A lot of good indeed.