It was only a matter of time. After enough days on the road, visiting enough towns, making enough stops, we were bound to have a decidedly negative experience.
We were in Bariloche, a popular skiing/camping destination in northern Patagonia. Being between seasons, we did neither skiing nor camping, but had rented a car to explore the surrounding Lake District. On the last day of our trip, on our way to the airport, we stopped downtown to pick up a snack before the flight. In Bariloche, downtown means a two-by-six block area with chocolate shops every other store and ice cream shops in between. We parked and spent about half an hour in one of those chocolate shops, enough time to sip hot chocolates. When we returned to our car, we found the driver door ajar and the back seats leaning forward. We opened the trunk and there was nothing.
We stood there, realizing what had happened. We had our wallets and phones on us, and our umbrellas, since it was raining, and nothing else. Our backpacks were gone, and so were our daypacks, which meant our passports and cameras were also gone. There was a guy working on the sidewalk right next to our car, but he said he just got there and didn't see anything. All the storefronts within eyesight were closed. There was a police patrol a block up, but they just directed us to the police station. We filed a report, got some signatures, and the policeman nodded in a way that conveyed, "Okay, that's all."
There wasn't much else to do. Our flight was in a couple hours, so we drove to the airport. Luckily, for domestic flights in Argentina, a California driver's license is enough identification. It was a bizarre experience flying with nothing. Security was a breeze and we obviously had no baggage to check in or claim. I don't imagine I'll ever travel lighter. At least I hope not.
On the flight, in lieu of reading material, we had time to think about the things we did wrong. We left our daypacks in the trunk. We never do that; throughout the trip, we always kept the important stuff in our daypacks and our daypacks on us. It was a combination of bad timing and getting too comfortable. At the end of a trip, when a town had become familiar, we didn't even think about it. They must've seen us get out of the car. It also didn't help that our car had a sticker on the window, advertising the rental agency and, equally effectively, our status as tourists. While we don't feel guilty, we still feel stupid.
We're lucky we didn't see it happen. There was no confrontation, no violence. It could've been so much worse, and we're grateful it wasn't. We also feel no bad will toward Argentina because of this. When we related this story to Argentines, we were surprised how many responded with some combination of knowing all too well and apology. This could've happened anywhere. We've never felt unsafe here, and we still don't.
That said, it still sucks to get robbed. Personally, I've never had so much stuff stolen. Yes, it's just stuff, but it's my stuff and Lauren's stuff and our stuff. And it's those possessive modifiers that determine a given stuff's replaceability. For me, there are two losses that hurt the most. One is my camera, not for the machine itself but for the 800 photos I took on our trip. The other is my journal, which had almost two years worth of writing done on buses, planes, cafes, and campgrounds. Sure, it came from my head in the first place, but there's a reason I wrote it down. Nothing I rewrite can match the level of detail conveyed by its bled-ink corners, endured in a rainstorm on the Strait of Magellan. Stuff, at its best capacity, helps its owner retain experience.
Oh well. After a few days of a kind of mourning, accompanied by guilt for mourning material possessions, we moved on to silver linings. There's no better excuse than losing all your clothes to get a bunch of new ones. We got to experience what it's like to go to a U.S. embassy as a U.S. citizen: pretty much like flying first class. And we didn't lose all our photos because we had taken some with our phones. Thank Apple for the panorama feature:
 |
| Lakes, Part I |
 |
| Lakes, Part II |
 |
| Lakes, Part III |
 |
| This is when I wanted to see what would happen if I tried to take a panorama in a moving car. The result may not surprise you. |
So we continue traveling. We'll take even more photos, write more, and stay cautious. Our stuff will come and go, but we'll thank it for helping take us places, and for reminding us of the places we've been.
 |
| Thank you and goodbye. |