At the FENIX in Rotterdam there was an entire room filled with luggage. One emigré’s narrative was about how he heard it was cold in Canada so when he left Holland he filled an entire suitcase with socks.
I realize with this trip, like with most of our trips, I’ve overpacked. Not by much, but still, every ounce counts. This time I brought shorts, jogging and leisure. I think one day during our entire journey it’s gotten barely above 70. Most of the temperatures have been in the 40s and 50s with a short stretch of mid-sixties weather in Ghent.
But let’s talk about what we leave behind. This morning while we were standing on the platform in Liège waiting for the ten o’clock train to Brussels, I took my hands out of my jacket pockets and absentmindedly fiddled with my belt. Wait a second, I got the belt to my pants, but where is the belt to my fanny pack…that has my credit cards?
(Insert string of expletives here!!!)
I give Ella a panic stricken look. “Shit! I think I left my fanny pack at our AirBnB!” More desperate slapping around my waist. No doubt about it. A minute before the train is due to arrive and I’m sure I forgot the fanny pack. I can still see it lying by itself on the night stand in the AirBnB where I left our keys locked inside the apartment.
Ella starts jabbing at her phone to text Alexis, our AirBnB host, while I’ve moved on to slap my head like I’ve got a bug lodged in my ear. “What an idiot!” I’m shouting. “What a complete moron!” No one on the platform seems to care. Americans, what do you expect? Look who they elected!
We walk back to the drop-off curb to pick up an Uber to return to the apartment. There’s an eleven o’clock train we can catch if we can get to the apartment, get someone to open the door, and get another Uber back. My feeling at that moment is: no way. Who’s going to answer a text on Sunday morning?
The Uber ride pulls up like he’s been waiting around the corner for us, and as I get in I hear Ella talking on the phone. Alexis has called back. Ella is making reassuring noises. Could it be? Is it possible? Alexis is going to call his mom and she’s going to let meet us at the apartment complex and let us in.
Okay, wait a minute, that’s way too easy. After the Uber driver drops us off and we’re waiting in the lobby I’m foreseeing an 90-year-old woman two miles away bent over her walker as she inches her way up the sidewalk. In my mind her arrival time is 5 PM. (But she’s doing the best she can!)
We can’t have been standing in the lobby more than three or four minutes when a car drives up with a woman waving at us. It’s Alexis’ mother. She looks half our age. I wonder, since we’ve never met Alexis in person, how old is the guy? Fifteen? Enough with the family dynamics, his mother is a friendly, spirited Italian lady who not only lets me in the apartment, but gives us a ride back to the station. On the way, since she doesn’t speak English and just a little French, we manage to have an Italo-French conversation where I learn that she’s from Tuscany where she met Alexis’ father who is Belgian. Before we could too deeply into family history, she had us arriving at the station in record time. In fact, our train wasn’t due to arrive for thirty minutes.
While mulling over my forgetfulness on the train, I figure a major contributing factor was the fact that I’ve paid for everything on our trip by using the Apple Card on my phone. Only once, for an espresso at the Sarajevo Bar, did they only want cash. Add that my passport is in the thigh-pocket of my pants, and that for directions, or advice from ChatGBT, I reach for my phone. The cards and cash in my fanny pack are superfluous. So I’m getting into the habit when leaving the places we stay to simply check to make sure that I’ve got my phone.
Fanny pack, cash, among the things I could have left at home.
When we got to where we’re staying in Brussels it turns out our neighborhood was in the midst of a street fair. It was like one big sprawling flea market that went on for blocks in all directions. Passing one of the stalls, I saw what we could do if we wanted to leave something behind and make some money.
Gosh, Grub, you had me on the edge of my seat. (Oh, I know that feeling when you realize you’ve left or lost something. We went through that with Charlie’s phone that slipped out of his pocket on a taxi ride.) Glad it turned out well and you got to meet Alexis’ cool Italian mom.
Alright , finally , a travel crisis! ( jogging shorts??)
Right?! 😂
Many years ago I left my American Express card at a restaurant in Utrecht. Like Grubb, I remembered what I had done at the last minute… only not quite. I realized it the moment the train pulled out of the station as we were returning to Amsterdam from our day trip. Don’t remember how we coped. Probably we had a backup Visa card. And American Express issued cards to secondary users (Moira) with a different number, so maybe we were able to cancel my version of the card, and not hers. We also had our bank debit cards, so maybe we used them and cash from an ATM. You would think I would remember this nightmare better than I do.