An Unwelcome Travel Experience
Our morning was going great, despite the grumbling about getting up too early, until we stepped off the subway at the Coliseum and Scotty realized his wallet was lost. He said “lost” at first, but he was just in denial; the rest of us immediately used the word “stolen”.
We think it was the two young women who were very slow to move out of way when we tried to get off the subway. Perhaps it included the young man who had been sharing our pole with us. Either way, someone got the wallet. We looked around for the police station the people at the subway mentioned, but never found it so we went onto the Coliseum instead. (We later filed a police report at the train station, but that is more for our credit than in hopes of recovery.)
When we got back to our hotel I logged onto my accounts and checked my email. We had alerts from the credit card companies about strange activity and I indicated that we were not the ones spending the money. Only one specified an amount which was for $650 so they were definitely a busy shopping group. We think we are okay with a back up credit card, but I’m sure we’ll have more to work out at home.
The rest of the day went well – the Coliseum and then lunch followed by the Sistine Chapel and St. Peter’s. More on that when I have a good enough internet connection to post pictures.
July 28th, 2010 at 5:12 pm
[…] The story of my brother-in-law getting his wallet stolen on Rome’s Metro yesterday reminds me of the many things that make me uneasy about the place. Upon our arrival back in ‘98, Brian, too, was swarmed by a gaggle of Roma girls who no doubt were after his credit card. By some good fortune (probably his immediate impulse to start swatting at them, derived from his withered patience after more than a year in Macedonia), they did not succeed. Our experience was further undermined by the ubiquitous appearance of sad-looking people dully hawking noisy, colorful toys on the street. We figured them to be among the legions of Bangladeshis and other virtual slaves from Southeast Asia who arrive in the country illegally and are cruelly maintained by some sinister mafia. Also in Rome, we had one of our most unpleasant hostel stays ever: the “Oliver”-like conditions along a long table at its one, 30-minute breakfast sitting, hosted by sneering proprietors, are particularly memorable. We constantly found ourselves lost in the city, unaided by its almost defiantly unhelpful signage. Finally, the Vatican, while objectively gorgeous in all of its over-the-top riches and opulence, struck us as … a bit distasteful. […]