  After spending five weeks in Europe one collects many things. My suitcase was full of dirty laundry, Majorcan pearls, scarves from the Prado, t-shirts from the University of Madrid, art copies from the Thyssen-Bornemisza and the Borghese, Spanish shawls, Italian candy, Swiss chocolate, a leather purse and a Paella pan for my ex-husband. My luggage was ominous. On the last leg of the trip, I took a train from Rimini through Italy, Austria and on to Munich, (Munchin). The train car was a "fast train" which can mean many things in Italy, but it was German thereforw quite punctual. It only started 45 minutes late. I got my seat, but had to leave my luggage, otherwise known as "Bertha" in the aisle way. Bertha was blue, solid, locked, and hard to manage, I figured she would be safe a few feet away from me in the aisle. At the Bologna stop, there was total chaos on the train and she was gone. I went after her, got off the train and tried to find her. I explained to the train hostess that I had to get off the train for a minute to pursue the thieves, she said we would leave in one minute with or without me.
I needed no reminder that my other belongings, (computer, flight coupon, whatever I had left) were still on the train, and I decided to cut bait, get back on and get help. The only thing I had going for me was that my compartment-mate spoke German, English and Italian and could help me get my point across. At first she told me to see the train "chef" and I wondered if he was the thief, then I realized that she meant "Chief," anyway, the results were no bag, but I would have to make a police report once the train stopped in Munchin. My new friend, Lizzie from Dusseldorf, tried to cheer me up, noting that I no longer had to worry about lugging bags, someone had to sniff my dirty laundry, and that I could now shop for all new things at home!
We talked about travels, shared food and fell asleep for bits of time over the next 9 hours. Although I didn't cry, my whole body felt knotted, especially my stomach. Once at Munchin, Lizzie offered to help me find the police station and to explain in German that I needed to make a report. The female officer that she spoke to was very helpful and assured her (in German) that she would help me.
Liz left to Dusseldorf and I started filling out paperwork. I filled out the forms, but was gripped with abdominal pain and had to use the toilet. I tried in German, then asked for the bathroom in Spanish. "Tienes Servicios" and she said, "you can use English. " I was quite surprised. It was bad and really stunk up the bathroom, but I couldn't find a way to flush. After looking high and low and pressing every thing, I ended up explaining to the officer that I was sick and couldn't find how to flush the toilet.
She said, "That's ok, we all use it and we don't flush because the flush is outside. " Clearly, she didn't understand what I did to the bathroom. I re-explained and she went off to take care of it for me. Mortification, the stress of being gone 5 weeks, losing everything, and still having a flight to catch in another place, made me want to cry.
Left alone in her office, I drifted from self-pity to exhaustion, and my mind started to drift. On the second desk was a name tag I couldn't believe: Assmann. I started to smile. I tried to figure out how you say it in German, and it still comes out Assmann. I may have lost my stuff, but at least I won't have to go through life as "The Assmann of Munchin! " or,"The Assmann Cometh! " or in Beatles style "I am the Assmann, I am the walrus, goo goo g'joob! " It didn't really matter how long it took for the paperwork, or what would happen at that point. I smiled all the way to the airport and giggled on the 17 hours that led me home. 
