Tales of Spain: Heartbreak and Tragedy


No pictures today.  And, possibly, no pretty pictures to make all of you have food envy for a while because my camera, my Canon Rebel XT, my baby, was stolen right from under my nose this morning on the train from San Sebastian to Bilbao.

P and I were fast asleep on the first EuskoTren out of San Sebastian this morning, after having spent an entire night wandering around the city because we missed the last train out last night (what we did in the period of the night is another story altogether, which I would revel in sharing . . .  if my camera had not been stolen), and apparently it was stolen approximately 5 minutes before I woke up and realized it was missing.  By three Spanish punks.

Ohhhhh, when I get my hands on them, they are deadmen.

What makes me most depressed is the fact that I have so many photos on it.  I would be better if it had just been the camera shell itself– it’s expensive but replaceable.  The photos, however, are not.

I am depressed.  Heartbroken.  Crying inside.

Now, my friends, what do you think I should do (other than file a police report because I am on my way to do just that– which will be an interesting affair as my Spanish is still insufficiently good to do it properly)?


2 Responses to “Tales of Spain: Heartbreak and Tragedy”

  1. 1 Sara

    Ohhhhhhhhhhh, Jeanne!!! I feel your pain b/c my camera was broken by some dumb French chick in Paris. I would file a police report, but at this point, it looks like it’s a lost cause. 😦 Don’t worry though – justice will be served.

  2. 2 Jeffrey Yang

    How did you know it was three spanglish punks? You noticed them stealing?

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