UP THE DANUBE AND DOWN THE RHINE

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What could possibly go wrong? We were visiting Budapest, the fabled “City of Lights” on the Danube River. On our three days there, we had seen a Verdi opera, eaten goulash at a swanky restaurant, and even managed to catch a spectacular exhibition of Renaissance paintings. There was a Titian portrait that will linger long in my memory. On our final day in town, we packed our bags and headed down to the river, there to take a fourteen-day cruise up the Danube. And in an engineering feat of monumental proportions, we would sail through 66 locks up over the continental divide, and eventually float down the Rhine to Amsterdam.

The threatening November skies had left puddles on the sidewalk. Our taxi dropped us off at the dock, located just under the great “chain” bridge joining the twin cities of Buda and Pest. Two porters gathered up our luggage and led us aboard the Viking Legend, a spiffy new ship, about to set sail on its maiden voyage. At eleven in the morning we were only the third group to board. My group was composed of my sister, her husband, myself, and an actor from Stratford, Ontario: John Innes, whom we had met a year earlier on a similar cruise up the Yangtze. John seemed to be anyone’s ideal traveling companion, well-educated, articulate and congenial.

He was also a little fussy, which ironically, led to his eventual undoing. His luggage had tumbled into a puddle before boarding. When we arrived at check in, he dropped his shoulder bag on a small table and went off to dry it. The rest of us went to the counter and checked in, but not without getting his passport and ticket to check him in as well. When he returned to the counter, he announced in a shaky voice that he couldn’t find an enveloped-sized, leather wallet in his shoulder bag. As we were the only people in the reception area, I said I was sure he must have left it at the hotel or in the taxi. He insisted that he hadn’t done either, and he was now convinced that one of the porters had run off with it. Then he speculated that maybe one of the four other passengers on board had snatched it….or more sinisterly, that perhaps the thief was none other than the ship’s captain.

“John, I don’t think anyone here would try to steal your wallet. There must be some other explanation. And, don’t fret so,” said I, desperately trying to look on the bright side. “After all, you have your visa and ATM cards, and the ship’s purser now has your passport and ticket, so basically all you have lost is a wallet.” “But all my connections for a trip to Spain, that I am going on after this, are also missing.” “Well, let’s think. You’ve saved your travel arrangements on e-mail, haven’t you?” “Yes,” he said, but then in a tremulous whisper, he dropped the big bombshell. He confessed that inside the missing wallet, he had hidden five thousand dollars in Euros. “FIVE THOUSAND DOLLARS!” we each exclaimed. “IN CASH? What the hell are you doing carrying all that money around with you? And why did you leave it unattended?” Of course, there was no sensible answer to either of those questions.

At this point the reluctant captain (I call him the captain but his real title was hotel manager, which always sounded a little odd to me on a ship) called the police and one of his staff, the only one who could speak Hungarian, went with John to the police station. After three hours of questioning, he was given a copy of the police report…in Hungarian! (A language, so opaque that between England and India, only the Estonians and Finns share its roots.) Exhausted by the day’s events, John collapsed early, and spent a sleepless night, contemplating the ramifications of his loss.

The next morning the captain asked all of us into his office. He said he had a video of our check in, which had been monitored by a surveillance camera. He plopped the CD into a computer and we watched in fascination, as we saw the four of us enter the lobby of the ship. It was like watching an episode of CSI, but one with you in it. I could see myself walk in first. Then came the sister, the brother-in-law, and finally John. You could see John put down his shoulder bag and walk away (to dry off his luggage). And then we saw the most amazing thing. A short man with a ski hat was also in the lobby, unnoticed by all. You could see him eye my opened luggage. Finding nothing of interest, he walked away and examined a bulletin board. After a minute, he turned and walked straight over to the abandoned shoulder bag, reached in and deftly removed the leather billfold, which was lying right on top. He slid it into his jacket and calmly walked off the ship.

None of us had seen him. None of us was even aware of his presence. And he had stood a mere three feet away from me at one point. It was a staggering realization of how blithely unaware one can be of one’s surroundings. The video concluded with John returning to his shoulder bag and looking for the leather wallet.

Although John told us that he had five thousand dollars in cash in his wallet, none of us could verify it. In fact he and I had shared a room and a small room safe at our hotel. Our two travel wallets had lain side by side for three days in Budapest. And at no point did he ever mention the large sum he was carrying.

The discovery of the video was a mixed blessing. It confirmed that indeed he had not lost his wallet, and that there was tangible evidence that it had been stolen. But there was also no proof that there was any money in it, let alone the five thousand he was claiming. But John did take comfort in the fact that the video proved that he was not losing his mind, a fear that had been building inside him.

All of this so unnerved him, that he had a complete meltdown in his cabin the next day. I was in there checking my e-mails on his computer. Behind me I could hear him say, “Bruce, I am not good.” I turned around amazed and alarmed to see him shaking all over, staring into space and suddenly recalling every unpleasant incident in his life, and construing them in such a way that they each appeared to be harbingers of this catastrophic ending. Now it was I, who feared for his sanity.

John spent the following day firing off a stinging e-mail to the head office of Viking Ships. He insisted that the loss was their complete responsibility as there was no security on board the ship. This was indeed a valid argument, and one we each remarked on for the rest of the trip. Not once was there anyone positioned to prevent the entrance of a stranger on board. He also went on to condemn the captain, who I actually thought had been quite helpful. He had, after all, produced the video; which, if he had been as conniving as John suggested, he might have withheld. John then announced that with the police report and the video in hand, plus the e-mail sent to the head office, he could finally relax.

There were of course endless discussions of the incident in the following days and another meltdown to deal with. I began to notice that his metaphorical ends were starting to fray slightly. He became moody and unaccountably bad tempered, even resentful of the brother-in-law’s efforts at leading us through town. I think we all found ourselves pulling away from him slightly at this point. I said, “You are under no obligation to stay with us, if you want to go out on your own.” But he stuck with us anyway, and yet held onto his sullen demeanor. But with only a few days to go, it hardly seemed worth mentioning.

Once our ship docked in Amsterdam, the crew began to prepare for the ships’ inaugural reception for the company executives. John was able to corner one of them and tell him his tale of woe. Heartened by this happenstance, John said that he felt he could now finally put the matter behind him. He would contact his lawyer on his return home and await the response of the Viking Ship people. Alas when it finally arrived, they expressed their regret at the incident, but took no responsibility in the matter and offered him only $1500 towards another cruise on a Viking Ship.

So oddly enough, in spite of all the charming medieval towns, gothic cathedrals and baroque palaces we visited, the most memorable part of the trip was the heist. I am not sure what lesson to take away from it. I think I was heading for: “A Fool and his gold are soon parted.” Or “Why compound your loss by having it ruin the rest of your trip?” Or “Shit happens. Get over it!” But those judgments now seem unnecessarily harsh. So for the moment, it is ultimately the story of what went terribly wrong for one unfortunate passenger on a trip up the Danube and down the Rhine.