Immediately after, and for the next two years, I was too traumatized to write about the loss of my passport. Then I realized it’s a good story, and I want to keep it on file while it’s fresh.
I spent four months in Spain. I traveled smart. I made it all around the country, through Morocco, on buses and planes and trains, walked around late at night and didn’t get pick-pocketed or robbed once. I was on my game the whole time. Always aware of my surroundings and always assured that my purse was zipped. At least until my last day.
I was flying home on December 21st. Clearly an amateur move. I did not take into consideration that everyone would be trying to get home for Christmas. Oh and it was snowing in Spain, because it does that often. My flight was in the morning, around 10:00am, out of Madrid. I had to get there from Sevilla, so I took an overnight bus that left at 1:00am. The bus was supposed to get into the Madrid bus stop at 7:00am and then the airport at 7:30am, leaving me plenty of time to get through the airport.
So of course every student who was studying abroad that semester also thought December 21st was the perfect day to fly out of Madrid. I ruthlessly shoved my bags under the bus, which was crammed to the brim with suitcases. I knew that was not coming out easily. I got on the bus and slept.
A little after 8:00 I woke up to some rapid speed-fire Spanish chaos. We were only at the bus stop, and because of the snow, we probably wouldn’t be getting to the airport for another hour. Ahh I knew I wouldn’t make it out of Spain without a little more disfunction. I started talking with the bus driver and another guy who had a flight at 9:45. He told us to get off there and take the subway; it would get us to the airport faster. What the hell, I had nothing to lose.
I ripped my bags out from under the bus and headed through the subway with the other guy trying to get to the airport. We were running around frantically. By the way, I only had a hiking backpack, a purse, a carry-on bag and a rollerboard suitcase with me. No big deal. I got my ticket, got through the gate and got on the subway just as the doors were closing. The guy I was with didn’t make it on but told me where I had to switch trains. I stood in panic, looking like the biggest American mess, reading the subway map over and over assuring I knew at which stop to transfer. Okay. I got off and transfered. Whew. I was feeling okay at this point. The train had a few more stops and then dead ended?!?! WHATTTTTT? I asked a lady if this train was going to the airport she said, “Nooooooo chica es una otra yadda yadda jajaja spanish.” Fuck.
At this point I realized I was missing my flight. I was trying to come to terms with it. I got on the right train and started making a plan of action. Do I play hardass? Do I go up there and start bawling? Hmmm. Hannah you’re missing your flight. Fuck.
I finally arrived at the airport and checked my flight status on the nearest screen: CANCELED! YES YES YES YES YES!!! I don’t have to pay for another flight! YIPPEEEEE! WAHOOGA! Pure. Ecstasy.
I hopped into the long line to get a new flight scheduled and reached into my purse. Where. The. Fuck. Is. My. Wallet? Is it in my carry-on? No. Is it deeper in my purse? No. Did it mysteriously jump into my backpack? My rollerboard? You’ve GOT to be kidding me.
Now what? I was pretty calm.I walked over to the pay-phone to call my parents. At this point my parents had recently moved to Florida and only had cell phones, no land line. If you were ever wondering, you CANNOT call collect to a cell phone. Whoda thunk? Shit. I decided to call my grandparents. At this point it’s about 3:00am in Ohio. I called and Papo answered, extremely confused as to why I was calling him at 3:00am. “Papo, my passport got stolen.” “Ohhhhh nooooo!!!!” That’s when I lost it. Once I heard Papo freak out, I knew I was fucked. He told me, “Hannah just get to the embassy.” Oh, duh. I needed to call you in Ohio to figure that one out?
Keep in mind that I just didn’t just have my passport stolen. I had my entire wallet stolen (the leather wallet my dad used when he traveled around Europe in college). I had NO identification, NO credit cards, NO cash, NOTHING. I have to thank the sweet lady who saw me bawling on the pay-phone. She gave me 10 euro, her name & number and told me that I could stay with her if I couldn’t figure out what to do. She had a son who was young and spoke very good English (insert her wink here). How sweet. I really needed that 10 euro…
A lady at the information desk helped me get in contact with the embassy. In true Spanish form they were closing at 1:00pm that day (at this point it was past 11:00). The AMERICAN embassy. 1:00pm. Jesus. But I first had to get a ticket before they would issue me an emergency passport. So I got back in line and of course they could only offer a standby ticket for the next day. Whatever. I had no idea if I’d even be allowed on the plane. I got my ticket and start trudging through the airport and back to the subway. Like I said, thank god that lady gave my 10 euro. Obviously not enough to get a taxi and make it there in reasonable time. I got off the subway and trudged through the snow to the US embassy. With my 43 bags.
Oh my god I made it. By this point I’m the biggest American mess that Madrid has seen. I start talking to them and give the short story. It was about this time I realized where my wallet was stolen. In the chaos of getting off of the bus and onto the subway I had to get a ticket to get through the gate. I bought the ticket, walked about 10 feet to the gate, inserted the ticket, walked through the gate, pulled the ticket out, put it in my purse and zipped it. From the time I bought the ticket to the time I got through the gate was the only time my purse was unzipped. Yep. 15 seconds. That’s what you get for being a big American mess with 43 bags.
The nice man at the embassy told me they could issue an emergency passport so that I could hopefully make the standby flight the next day. They told me it would be 70 euro for the emergency passport. Apparently I didn’t think about how I was going to pay for this. By this point I had called my parents and gotten things sorted out. They were sending my aunt to a Western Union to wire me some money. OF COURSE the money wouldn’t get to Spain in time for me to get my emergency passport that day. “Is there anyone in Spain you can have send you the money?” Teresa. The lady I babysat for was my true family in Spain. She was the sweetest. I didn’t really want to call her and ask for money, but I was stuck.
Now Teresa, a professor, comes to do research at Indiana University each summer. She gets a call from the United States Embassy in Madrid and starts panicking that she’s done something wrong in her multiple stays in the US. Did something not go right with her passport? Her work visa? She’s freaking out. (What am I doing to this poor lady?!) Being the amazing person she is, she sent her husband to wire money over within the hour. Wow. Thank you a BILLION Teresa. I still cannot thank you enough.
Finally, I got my passport. I got the hell out of there, found my way to a Western Union and got a cheap hotel. At this point, I was so delirious I was in a zombie state. I found the biggest, greasiest gyro that I could find, bought a bottle of wine AND champagne, some cigs, and made it back to my hotel to wallow away for the rest of the evening. I talked to my dad and he thought I was really “out of it” from the rough day. Well, true. I was also pretty drunk by that point and high on nicotine because there are no light cigarettes in Spain. I talked to Teresa and thanked her multiple times. She said she would not take any money in return. Again, thanks Teresa.
The day was over but the journey was not. Should I keep going? This is getting long. It’s just too good though.
I got to the airport about 4 hours early the next day, had a small quarrel with the taxi driver and made it to the front of the line to *hopefully* get on a flight home. I met some girls who just finished their Peace Corps service in Morocco. I just remember they had awesome henna. And gee golly whiz we all got put on a flight! Layover in Zurich, then to Chicago, then back to Cleveland…I took what I could get. The entire Barajas airport was filled with families who had been sleeping there for days waiting for a flight. I was lucky.
Not surprisingly the flight to Zurich was an hour late. There were so many of us transferring though, that they actually held the plane for us. It was a 20 minute layover. I figured my bags were lost in the ether. I made it to Chicago and one of my bags was there at customs! Which was better than I was expecting, and it was the one with the Christmas presents in it! To align with the chaos of the rest of my trip, my flight to Cleveland was delayed. I somehow made it back by Midnight. I then flew to Florida the next day (don’t ask) to spend Christmas with the family.
In all the chaos I was trying to figure out where my bag was, where it should be sent, etc. Seven days later I got my bag! I noticed the zipper on the front pocket was open. Wait a second. That’s the pocket my journal was in. WAS in.
After being stripped of all my material items, I was stripped of my journal. The one I wrote in every day in Spain – I had to start a second journal while there. That was the most depressing part of the whole experience. It wasn’t every single lost passport stamp I’d gathered throughout my life…well okay I’m still sad/bitter/upset when I think about it, but just as upsetting is the loss of my journal.
I wish I had a better ending to this story but at least I have a good story to tell.
