The Great Train Robbery

It was as I stood up to collect my things and depart the train in Amsterdam that I realized that I had been robbed. My bag was missing and for one brief moment I thought maybe it had shifted to another part of the baggage rack above my head. It was a brief moment, though, and when it became clear that it was gone. All of it. My computer -- gone. My camera -- gone. My passport -- worst of all -- gone.

I held it together when I went to speak to the conductor just long enough for it to dawn on me that even if I could get a replacement passport from the embassy -- it would likely only get me home to England and I would have to cancel my trip to the US this week. It would mean that I wouldn't see the friends I haven't seen in two years. It would mean I couldn't go wedding dress shopping with my mother. It would mean I couldn't hug my father -- someone who went through a horrible car accident this summer and who more than pretty much anyone in the world I wanted to hug.

I immediately was thrown back to a night when I was very little -- about 4 years old -- when our family returned from an evening out to a home had been burgled. As we walked in our house, the robbers were flying out the back door. Dad turned around and quickly herded the rest of us right back out the front door and Mom took us to the neighbor's house. I remember sitting there -- being told that robbers had come to our house to steal our things. I was especially worried about my Holly Hobby doll -- the one with braids you could pull to close her eyes at bedtime. I just KNEW the robbers would take something so precious. (As you can probably guess -- it was actually sitting untouched in my bedroom as they had opted for more lucrative items.) I remember feeling scared and vulnerable and I remember just how I felt when I saw the fear in my parents' eyes when they ushered us out of the unsafe house. Here I was, a business woman in her 30s, on a business trip, with all the sensibilities of an adult -- thrown back completely to the feelings of a vulnerable 4 year old. I'm ashamed to admit I had a volley of hot wet tears running down my face.

To be fair -- part of my "losing it" had to do with fear, but part of it had to do with anger. This same week, my colleague had her computer stolen at Gare du Nord in Paris and I had been targeted a couple of times on the street (as I stuck out like a sore thumb walking in a suit in the middle of the day with a suitcase) by unsavory folks. I was angry at the professional criminals that conduct these thefts. I was angry at myself for not taking better care of my possessions. And most of all, I was angry that some bad person had taken away the opportunity for me to see my family.

After reporting the crime to the police, I received a phone call with the very last 30 seconds of charge left on my phone -- from a number in the Netherlands. A very kind man and his boyfriend had been out for a night at the bars in Rotterdam and came to find a bag turned upside down on their car, with my business card set inside. It had been emptied of my computer and camera (and my asthma inhaler?), but miraculously, my passport was intact. These kind souls turned the bag into the police and I was able to claim it the next day and continue on my work travels. Because of these kind people -- I can now see my good friends married this Saturday, go wedding-dress shopping with my mom, and give a big hug to my dad.