They warn you about pickpockets on the subway in Milan, but how can you know they mean you?We’re bumping about, standing room only, in the subway on the way to the train station and a young pregnant girl is parked behind my wife Mary.
We’re still in a travelers daze, trying to figure out which stop will land us at the train station. Next thing I know, Mary is stooping to pick up her wallet, which the girl has dropped trying to ease it out of her backpack. She slinks back, away from us, and takes a seat on the subway. If she feels any remorse or shame, it doesn't show in her eyes. It’s just another day at the office for her, I suppose.
Mary buries her wallet and phone deeper in the pack and starts wearing it front-ways. I move my own wallet to my front pocket after briefly considering shoving it down in my underwear.
We’re both a little shaken by the near-disaster, and I continuously feel a little panicked when I can't immediately put my hands on my wallet. As if traveling in a foreign country isn't stressful enough...
At the train station, we purchase tickets to Venice at a self-service kiosk, but the machine won’t take my credit card or chip-and-pin card for some reason, so I wind up having to feed it most of my remaining euros. A day and a half in and we're already more over budget than a Lord of the Rings movie.
The kiosk allowed us to pick the seats we wanted, but somehow we’ve managed to put
ourselves a dozen rows apart for the 3-hour train trip. I settle in and hold my wallet with
both hands.
Next stop: Venice.
