Italy is full of thieves. I've been there 3 times. Third times a charm I suppose, because that's when I fell victim.
I had been staying on Corfu at the Pink Palace. Two months into a 3.5 month European trip. The Pink Palace is essentially STD Headquarters. It's a hostel with toga parties, free condoms, flowing booze, and bad plumbing. When you arrive, regardless of the time, they give you a shot of Ouzo. Ouzo is foul. It's liquorice flavoured and they dye it pink to be cute. They had booked all the beds in the dorm rooms, so I was given my own room, for better or worse.
The checkout policy at the Pink Palace is quite ingenious. In order to leave, you must "Pre-check" out the evening before. Then you have to be up and out early the next morning. Due to the copious amounts of booze, this is nearly impossible. You arrive, with the intent of it just being a one night stopover on your way to Athens or Rome, and you leave 2 weeks later.
So I get sucked in by the Chase the Ouzo games, everyone in a circle, people with buckets run around and pour it in your mouth. If you've played before, you know you can get up and run ahead, squeeze in and get another ladle full. I dance, which is only due to the Ouzo, and I sleep on the beach. One night, I get so smashed that when I go back to my room, I strip down completely and fall asleep spread eagle on the bed. Housekeeping knocks the next morning...and comes right on it. I was so near to death though, I couldn't move to protest.
My knee had swollen up while on my journey and staying on a little longer wasn't a terrible idea. But after a few days, the swelling wasn't going down, probably something to do with the ridiculous amount of stairs. So I manage to maneuver through the checkout process and get out. A few of us were going the same way and got tickets for the overnight boat to Brindisi, Italy.
The tickets we bought were for passage, not berth. After wandering for a few hours, I realize I have nowhere to go and take out some extra clothes to use as blankets and attempt to sleep on the deck of the ship. It was cold and wet. Worst night of sleep ever.
Up the next morning and in my rush to make sure I get off, I just throw my clothes into my day bag, throw on my pack, and head off the boat. A torrent of backpacks flow off the boat, down the street, and to the tiny train station. Probably 50 of us. A few of us make plans to go for pizza. We pile our packs in a pile in the center of the small room. We take turns watching the pile. I buy a ticket to Naples. I come back to the pile. I grab my bag. I pull it away from the pile, set it next to me. I look over at my acquaintances sitting along the wall about 7 feet away. I say, "Ready to go?". They say yes. I go for my bag. My bag is gone.
Gone.
It was next to me. At least 5 people were looking at me when I said Ready to go. It was gone.
Bright red. No one saw it. Locals are obviously not backpackers. It's not hard to tell the difference. If anyone had seen a small brown guy take my bag, they would have said something.
David Blaine. That's the only thing I can think of. I'll ask him if I ever meet him.
I filed a ridiculous police report in a tiny police station where no one spoke English. I ate some pizza. And I cried all the way to Naples. I cried because I felt vulnerable. I cried because they got nothing of value. I cried because they took at least 30 rolls of exposed film.
When I got to Naples, I called my best friend at the time. I didn't know what to do. I had my cameras, my wallet, my passport. I had that extra set of clothes that I'd used as blankets. I had 2 nights booked in Naples. That's all. My friend told me to come home. And I knew then what I was going to do. I was going to keep going. And so I battled Naples traffic, through some miracle got on the right bus and found the hostel. I visited Pompeii, had some gelato, took a bus ride down the Amalfi coast and had some pasta.
And then I got the fuck out of Italy.
