Thursday, 19 September 2013

Paris - A sense of vulnerability and loss ... - The 5th of September 2013

The moment I got off the metro station at Abesses and realised I had been stolen quite a high sum of cash and the credit cards I was carrying with me I felt completely numb. The sense of vulnerability and loss didn't hit me but afterwards when Police refused to take my complaint because I was a non-resident and "my" Embassy let me down once they would only be able to help had I been stolen my passport, which I hadn't. This is just to put it mildly because the unbelievable sequence of almost ridiculous dialogues with any of the previously mentioned parties might be worth written in book format.

I was on my way to Uzbekistan  ... a trip I had longed for and fought for by putting money aside every month ... and the truth was all I could think of then was what had happened to me and not what might happen during that trip of a life time. C. gently provided me with the necessary money to cope with the situation, upon my request, and despite the fact that his gesture will always remain in my heart, it was everybody else's absence of compassion  and sympathy I couldn't get rid of then.

I lost a full day and a half walking around from place to place, whilst phoning in a desperate attempt to sort some things out and yet throughout the whole process in the back of my mind I kept on rewinding the sequence of events from the moment I first (and last) used the wallet in Paris (still at Orly airport) and the one I realised it was gone (two hours afterwards). It just made no sense because at no particular moment did I feel anyone close enough to be able to have taken the wallet without me noticing it.

I should have been able to put away those thoughts of hopelessness and enjoy Paris but I just couldn't. My flight to Ourgentch was at nine in the evening but I was at Charles de Gaule airport at eleven in the morning, as if wanting to anticipate the next "phase" and fly away from there as soon as possible. I have only been stolen money and my documents twice  and both of those times were in France. This time was harder, not necessarily because of being on my own and dependant but furthermore because I realised those who should have sympathised with me and the unfortunate circumstance I found myself in were not up to their duties, at least the ones they have undoubtedly been trained for ... (I can just vaguely wonder what it might have been like had I not been able to speak French).

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