Slimed in Barcelona

Knowing that Barcelona is full of pick pockets, I had my pocketbook strap across one shoulder and snapped into my coat. Anything important was in the pocket under the flap in my pocketbook and that was inside. I also held onto the bag. When we stopped to look at the living statues along Las Ramblas, I was aware of who was around me. Once when bumped, I grabbed my bag. Living in Boston, had made me street savvy…or so I thought.
On the way to Gaudi’s architecture, I felt something warm and gunky hit my head. A bird had mistaken me for a toilet. A kind man offered me water and tissues and helped me to clean up, and kindly cleaned me of my pocketbook, all my credit cards, my passport and all my identification
At the police station nearby they have people able to speak multi-languages ready to help the constant stream of people who come in. If only they were as efficient in catching the crooks as they were in processing their victims.
They helped me call to cancel the credit cards and provided me with the documentation to cross the Spanish-French and French-Geneva borders.