Day 10

Well I'm not going to tell you what Prague is like just yet, because so far I've only seen a train station, a police station, several metro stations and the Dutch embassy. I was going to start this post with a completely different title: Game Over. But after careful consideration and some peptalk I decided not to.

Why Byron! Why!

I'll tell you why, but first you can read about the first part of my day.

I got up at 8, which is the earliest I've gotten up since my 6:00 am in Paris, when I missed my train. There's just something about trains, or maybe their schedules, that makes people rise at the crack of dawn. The two English youngmen would join me on this journey to Prague, I'd made a reservation, but they decided that they'd see if there were available seats. So we walked to the metro station, got some tickets, and forgot to punch them, as we found out in the metro. Well, not so big a deal we thought, until we got to the train station and we were stopped by a ticket controller. She asked us for our tickets, and we thoughtfully handed them over. She nodded her head so fast that if you'd put a lightbulb in her ears it'd shine brighter than ever before. She started talking to us in Hungarian (Ignoring the fact that we, 3 English speaking people with backpacks probably would not speak any Hungarian) and we attempted to look confused, saying: 'English?'

She vaguely said that we had to punch our tickets and showed us how to do so. After 5 minutes we were (thoughtfully) informed that the fine was 5000 HUF. (about 30 Euro's). We had (really!) absolutely no money with us except euro's. I had a 1000 HUF note and handed it over, well I didn't hand it over, she just grasped it out of my hand. After 2 more minutes she'd gathered 5000 HUF and kept on nodding her head, asking us is we maybe had Euro's. We had shitloads of Euro's with us but were smart enough not to tell her so.
We were pointing to our watches and trying to explain we had only 10 minutes left, and she said that just 10000 for the three of us would do. Here's an official ticket controller haggling with tourists about a fine. After some haggling she suddenly let us go, and we were absolutely convinced that this money would not be seen anywhere other than in her pocket...

We got on the train and commenced on a relatively uneventful 8 hour journey to Prague. Uneventful, up to the last seconds. You'll find out why later on. Me and the English youngmen said goodbye to each other and I went to look for my hotel, which I found half an hour later. When I checked in I got a cold feeling all over me and felt as if a dementor had sucked all life out of me: I had left my wallet in the train.

Thank God, all my real valuables were in my moneybelt, but all my Euro's, my ABN Amro card, my driver's license and God knows what else, was in my wallet. Why did I need the wallet? The train staff only accepted Euro's for their ticket fines... That's a joke. They only accepted Euro's for the warm can of coke that I'd bought. I freaked and immediately went on the internet to look for lost and found departments of just about anything. I'll spare you the details.

So far it really wasn't a big problem, I would just have to cancel the bank card and apply for another driver's license. But when on toilets people tend to remember things they usually don't - and in this case I remembred that my Interrail ticket was also still on the train. I panicked so fast that the shit was shooting out of my ass like a continuous bullet, and once again I'll spare you all the details. I called my parents, got some peptalk, and went to the station for more information. There I encountered somthing that did not satisfy me: A female gothic was on shift for the information desk that day. So I gathered all my courage and explained my situation to her. She spit out her chewing gum and told me to go to the international ticket office. There I encountred what seemed to be her boss: When I explained her my situation she got quite angry at the gothic, who then led me to 5,493 miles of corridor to another boss and asked her what to do next. The boss told her that my train was over the German border by now, and there was nothing they could do.

So I went to the police station and had them write an official document of my issue for my insurance. (That is, after several attempts of communication and saying 'Dokument') When I sat in the interiogation room (Yes, those rooms with one side see-through windows and nothing but a chair and a table, I've always wondered what they actually looked like) filling out my document I realized that my passport was also on the train.

Oh no!!! @(#*_)$*(#^!!!!!!!!!

After 10 minutes of panicking and receiving the Dokument, I went to the Dutch embassy to find out that they were closed, and I borrowed the cellphone from a Czech (very kind) and called the ambassador. (How many people can say they sat in an interrogation room and spoke to the Dutch Ambassador 30 minutes later?) He told me to take it easy and come back tomorrow morning, not all was lost.

On my way back to the hostel I strumbled across an internet cafe and asked them if I could make an international phone call, which I could. I called my mom and dad, and received some soothing peptalk, after which I went back to the hotel. When I was sitting in the subway I realized that I really didn't leave my passport on the train, but the hotel staff had taken it as an insurance that I'd pay my bill!!! Thank god!! So at least I got my identity back.

When I was with that feeling that I had absolutely no proof of identity, I suddenly thought of a classmate of mine: Besfort Muslija. He's a refugee from Yugoslavia, and had absolutely no nationality, just a Dutch 'Green Card', and I figured that my situation really wasn't that bad... If I wanted I could even apply for the Irish nationality, he can't even get out of the Schengen countries.

Anyways, I'm back in the hotel now with a alcohol free beer (drinking age is 18 here) and a computer. And now that you've heard the whole story, I'm gonna call my mom and dad to tell them my passport isn't lost.

Byron