The second half of my year abroad has, sadly, got off to a somewhat disastrous start. A matter of hours after touching down in Spain on Saturday, I realised that I’d lost my rucksack in which I was carrying, amongst other (less important) things, my laptop. I have no idea where it is. I’m almost sure that it didn’t make it into the hostel with me, meaning that it went missing somewhere between the taxi, which dropped me about 200m from the hostel, and the front door.
I’m trying to remember, as my wonderful parents (pictured in the main photo, which was taken on Saturday) keep reminding me, that, yes, it is extremely annoying to have lost all of my work and photos and, yes, the chances of getting it back become slimmer with every passing hour, but, ultimately, the rucksack contains only material objects. They can be replaced. Several people have tried to reassure and comfort me with kind words, with promises of giving me their notes if necessary, with similar stories that ended well, but what I am struggling to deal with is the sense of hopelessness, not to mention the fact that I feel horrendously stupid for allowing it to happen in the first place and also for not being able to remember exactly what happened or when I last saw it.
I’ve called Granada’s two main taxi companies countless times, have been back to the place I took the taxi from to see if the same driver was there, and went to the lost property section of the local police today. Everything has proved fruitless. I’m going to check lost property every day this week and continue to call the taxi companies, but I don’t think that success will be had. Sadly. I sporadically fall into a pit of total despair, and the only way to delay the next tumble seems to be by keeping busy. Which hasn’t proved too difficult so far.
The rucksack incident has overshadowed everything else so far, which is a shame because I would be having a fab time if it weren’t for that. Everything about the hostel is great: the work (reception duty, cleaning…) is chilled, the location is good, and the people are nice – they’ve been very kind and helpful when I’ve been close to tears and are even speaking Spanish with me despite (extreme) rustiness on my part. Hopefully by next week I’ll be thinking a bit more rationally and be able to enjoy the experience for what it is instead of being constantly distracted by what-ifs.
I’ve given up on using quotes as titles for posts, largely because it always took so bloody long to trawl through GoodReads trying to find an appropriate one that it’s easier if I just write a less interesting, more straightforward title myself. Also, I might well be writing posts using the WordPress app on my phone for the foreseeable future, so forgive me if they look considerably less swish than normal.
Forgive me, too, for the somewhat downhearted tone of this post; hopefully, within a couple of weeks, I’ll be able to “put it down to experience”, as my mum would say, and move on. In the words of Margaret Atwood (maybe not originally, but in The Handmaid’s Tale was the first time I came across them): Nolite te bastardes carborundorum. Amen to that.