Daylight Robbery
Madrid, Spain
Day 2 begins with a cappuccino and donut (of course), then straight to the Prado (of course). I was warned about the sheer size of the gallery and to ensure I see my priority list first, and whatever else in the remaining time. So I seek Goya, which I’m not that impressed with, but it had to be done; Hieronymous Bosch, which completely satisfies and thrills me, particularly as I’d just been listening to the Clouds song, ‘Hieronymous’ on the walk down. I am for the first time impressed with the Still Life section, as I’ve never really thought glass bottles, bowls of fruit and random objects ‘just sitting there, still’ are all they’re cracked up to be, but the intricate detail and precision in the works I see makes me appreciate the ‘artistic talent’ required to produce such meticulous masterpieces.
I then scout the halls for Rubens’ Three Graces. Miraculously, not only do I find it with ease, but there is absolutely no one in the room – not even a security guard with a glare that says, ‘don’t even think about taking a photograph’. So, guess what? Of course I do! I was delighted, not to mention reassured, to be reunited with women shaped how women should be – a comforting change from the saturation of media waifs! Up and down the various floors, I see as much as I need to as it becomes more and more crowded and stuffy, so it’s time to buy a few postcards and be done.
With an even bouncier stride, listening to my headphones to avoid being tourist prey to thieving predators, I head back to Puerto del Sol, inconspicuously snapping more pics along the way. I feel so comfortable here. I make like a tourist and sample some tapas and a local brew. Completely satisfied, I seek the sunshine and chilled atmosphere of Plaza Mayor and relax.
Too much, it would seem.
The incident that follows alters my trip dramatically. This is the bit where I’m robbed – yes, in broad daylight!
Relaxing in the sun, I’m approached by a classically guised, very well-groomed, erm, robber, who distracts me by asking questions in Spanish, pointing to a map. As I causally reply, “Sorry I only speak English,” he’s still managed to have me bury my head in the map, and his accomplice has taken my purse.
Two guys sitting on either side of me MUST have seen it all, but they are probably so familiar to the consequences, they refrained from intervening.
Perhaps they were plants. A girl approached me, again speaking Spanish, to which I replied the same. In English, she said something about those guys – plural – which was my first realisation that there was more than one. I thought she was just giving me a warning, saying “Be careful of guys like that.” As my expression was unchanged, and I still hadn’t even realised what’d happened, she was expressing all the frustration for me by then emphasising, “those guys just stole your purse!” and went off shrugging when my expression in reply was still a confused “huh?”
Only then did it hit me. My bag was still next to me, so I don’t even know if they slipped it out or put it back or it had happened right in front of me.
The mad thing is, I can never find anything in it when I rummage through. I was in disbelief and didn’t want to fumble through it now. So, reluctantly, without looking, I felt around like a blind person, hoping to clutch my purse. But sure enough, it was gone.
Oddly, my passport and tickets were left untouched. Fortunately for me, though not for my robbers, I was using my ATM card, so was only taking small amounts of cash out at a time and had virtually no money left as I was just about to go to the bank to get my accommodation money out. However, I was now in a situation with no money, no Spanish, unpaid accommodation and could see no way of communicating what had just happened. I was stunned. Though obviously upset, crying wasn’t going to resolve anything.
I went directly back to my hostale to try to communicate, hoping they’d be able to advise me where to go. In broken English, I was told not to worry, that so long as they hadn’t taken my passport I’d be fine. Never mind the fact that I had no money to pay them, and therefore nowhere to stay, knew absolutely nobody in Madrid – bar the two strangers who I couldn’t call now anyway – and wouldn’t be able to eat, drink, let alone be merry for the remainder of my trip. The only thing I could think of was somehow getting to the airport, trying to change my flight and get back to Dublin, or camp out until my flight on Tuesday. What else could I do?
Contrary to the ‘ever-helpful’ woman’s advice not to bother going to the police as they won’t be able to get my purse back, I went in the hope of finding someone who spoke English. So, I went to the Tourist Information Centre, found out that the nearest police station was inside the metro, asked if I could enter without a ticket as I needed to go to the police, was granted permission to do so, spoke to the police officer who merely gave me a report to fill out but didn’t respond to my request to speak with someone who spoke English. I filled out the form anyway, knowing it was pointless, but it gave me something to do for a while instead of panic.
Then, a miracle happened. A girl sitting next to me doing the same turned to me and said, in the voice of a thousand angels in perfect harmony, not to mention, English, “Did you have something stolen?”
I couldn’t believe it. Yes!
Not only was it comforting to have someone who spoke English, and to at least converse with someone who was in the same distressing situation, she turned out to be an absolute godsend. Not only did this complete stranger empathise with me, she (Sabine) decided that I was in a much worse situation than her, so she took it upon herself to help me out.
I don’t know what she had planned for the rest of her Saturday afternoon, but she said she wasn’t going to leave me until I had something sorted. And, although only having lived in Madrid for two months (she is French/Italian, so speaks ‘Italian-Spanish’), she became my invaluable translator! She let me use her mobile phone, she came with me to my hostale to explain my situation and negotiate my staying there still until I had some money, to which my ‘lovely’, obliging hostaliers, said, ‘no way jose, no money, no room’, or words to that effect.
We then went to the Tourist Information, where she again explained what had happened and enquired about emergency accommodation for people in this situation. Unfortunately, there wasn’t such a place as we’d been led to believe, BUT we were able to contact the Australian Embassy, which got the ball rolling. The Embassy’s advice was, as we’d thought, to negotiate staying in the hostale until I could get money wired from Ireland or borrowed from the Embassy on Monday, but when I said my hosteliers were refusing anything but cold, hard cash, they said they’d call the hostale and act on my behalf, as guarantors. Ironically, the amount of money they were talking about was only about 20 quid, and I couldn’t believe they’d sooner tell a single, female traveller who’d just been robbed, to sleep on the street!
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