Coming Home

After spending five weeks in Europe one collects many things. My suitcase was full of dirty laundry, Majorcan pearls, scarves from the Prado, t-shirts from the University of Madrid, art copies from the Thyssen-Bornemisza and the Borghese, Spanish shawls, Italian candy, Swiss chocolate, a leather purse and a Paella pan for my ex-husband.
My luggage was ominous.

On the last leg of the trip, I took a train from Rimini through Italy, Austria and on to Munich, (Munchin). The train car was a "fast train" which can mean many things in Italy, but it was German thereforw quite punctual. It only started 45 minutes late.

I got my seat, but had to leave my luggage, otherwise known as "Bertha" in the aisle way.
Bertha was blue, solid, locked, and hard to manage, I figured she would be safe a few feet away from me in the aisle. At the Bologna stop, there was total chaos on the train and she was gone.

I went after her, got off the train and tried to find her. I explained to the train hostess that I had to get off the train for a minute to pursue the thieves, she said we would leave in one minute with or without me. I needed no reminder that my other belongings, (computer, flight coupon, whatever I had left) were still on the train, and I decided to cut bait, get back on and get help.

The only thing I had going for me was that my compartment-mate spoke German, English and Italian and could help me get my point across. At first she told me to see the train "chef" and I wondered if he was the thief, then I realized that she meant "Chief," anyway, the results were no bag, but I would have to make a police report once the train stopped in Munchin.

My new friend, Lizzie from Dusseldorf, tried to cheer me up, noting that I no longer had to worry about lugging bags, someone had to sniff my dirty laundry, and that I could now shop for all new things at home! We talked about travels, shared food and fell asleep for bits of time over the next 9 hours. Although I didn't cry, my whole body felt knotted, especially my stomach.

Once at Munchin, Lizzie offered to help me find the police station and to explain in German that I needed to make a report. The female officer that she spoke to was very helpful and assured her (in German) that she would help me. Liz left to Dusseldorf and I started filling out paperwork. I filled out the forms, but was gripped with abdominal pain and had to use the toilet. I tried in German, then asked for the bathroom in Spanish. "Tienes Servicios" and she said, "you can use English." I was quite surprised.

It was bad and really stunk up the bathroom, but I couldn't find a way to flush. After looking high and low and pressing every thing, I ended up explaining to the officer that I was sick and couldn't find how to flush the toilet. She said, "That's ok, we all use it and we don't flush because the flush is outside." Clearly, she didn't understand what I did to the bathroom. I re-explained and she went off to take care of it for me.

Mortification, the stress of being gone 5 weeks, losing everything, and still having a flight to catch in another place, made me want to cry. Left alone in her office, I drifted from self-pity to exhaustion, and my mind started to drift. On the second desk was a name tag I couldn't believe: Assmann. I started to smile. I tried to figure out how you say it in German, and it still comes out Assmann. I may have lost my stuff, but at least I won't have to go through life as "The Assmann of Munchin!" or,"The Assmann Cometh!" or in Beatles style "I am the Assmann, I am the walrus, goo goo g'joob!"

It didn't really matter how long it took for the paperwork, or what would happen at that point. I smiled all the way to the airport and giggled on the 17 hours that led me home.