Loss. It may just be stuff, but when it has been the only stuff you have relied on for the last month, the only constant things in a travel path that changes every other thing around you, it is reassuring stuff. The stuff you can count on, the pillow that is just right, the pants that fit in the color you love, the jacket with arms just the right length, the new shirt you bought in a neat store in London, camera, tablet, cellphone, the one-of-a-kind piece of jewellery everyone loves to comment on… it’s there. It supports your adventure. Until it is gone
After the loss of Justin’s entire bag due to theft in Santorini, he was left with a shirt (fortunately an Icebreaker), a pair of shorts, a pair of underwear, a pair of sandals, his wallet, and his good/ fancy camera. That’s it. No socks. No shoes. No passport. No pants. No clean underwear.
We endured a whirlwind of official encounters. Post authority police, city police, bus company. Finally make it to the hotel, after recovering the name via email on the computer of the kindly port policewoman who took quite a liking to Justin. Then Justin had to change all his passwords, inform his work of the loss of the cell phone, shut down the cell phone, and take other action to prevent the thief from accessing the data via the trusted device, should the thief manage to break the passcode on the device. Inform Gov’t of Canada of the loss of the passport.
Justin put on a brave face. We found some dinner, drank some wine, and even laughed a bit. But the silences were long, and the hurt was close. Bed time was late that night, and we were heartbroken. Stuff it may be, but as I unpacked my surviving bag, Justin sat forlornly on his side of the bed, taking out contact solution and a case he had just bought for his last pair of daily disposable contacts, the ones he was wearing. Gone were his glasses, new contacts, case, solution. His camera sat on the table nearby. My heart hurt. The person I care deeply about had been stolen from, was adrift on a foreign place. Hugs can only offer so much comfort.
Sleep that night was fitful and brief. I dreamed of running, of catching, of things slipping away from me, of falling. I woke again and again, the loss catching me anew, shattering my peace with the world.
The next day was taken over with more police encounters. Reports filed, cameras consulted. No news. No bag found. Everyone was shocked, this usually didn’t happen. The hope it was just taken by mistake dwindled. We were wounded. Gone was the delight we may have found in the island of Santorini, which is indeed beautiful. But for us, it was a poisoned beauty, marred irrevocably by the actions of just one lowly thief. To us, the island was shadowed, fanged and dangerous. Nevermind the logical thought of the risk. We were below average risk for theft now, having less stuff now. But logic doesn’t touch that primitive brain, which knows only a loss suffered, a danger present.
Justin contacted the nearest Canadian embassy, which was in Athens, a 9 hour ferry ride back the way we had just come. After learning we intended to fly out for Venice that weekend, they told us to come immediately to the embassy, the very next morning, and try to rush a temporary passport thru. We found out that a night ferry was leaving at one that morning, and we bought tickets. Goodbye Santorini.
Wherever you are, Be There 