How I lost all my money

So I fly to London, Heathrow Airport. Arrive there at 6:00pm or so. I sleep in the airport overnight, behind this make-your-own-business-card-machine. I wake up, stretch, pack up my stuff, wash up, and head up to the confusing mass of check in counters. This airport is so disorganized. I ask three people who tell me three different places to go. I try using an automatic check-in counter. You need to insert a debit card, for verification that it is you. No problem, right? I scour through my back, looking for my money belt with €100 in it, and my bank card. It´s not to be found. I frantically open my big pack, search it through. No dice. I run around the airport, freaking out as only Angelas do best. I retraced all my steps, asked two lost and founds... nada.

I think it may be in my big backback still, there is a slim chance, but it is checked in baggage. When I get to Madrid, I check, and it´s gone. I emailled my dad, letting him know. I feel like a loser. Last I saw the thing was on the plane to London... can´t think about it now.

Anyways, so my plans to explore the city of Madrid for the two whole days and nights I had between my flights to there and the Canary Islands was thwarted. I slept in the airport. I only had €3 too my name. I lived on bread and water, pretended to peruse the expensive airport shops, read all the things I brought with me, wrote in my journal. I did everything except sleep. It was hard. People everywhere.

Last night, at around 6:00, this guy began talking to me. An old man, about 60. We were sitting at nearby benches and he asked me to watch his stuff. When he came back, we had a convo. He lives in Cancun, Mexico, born in Alabama, going to Paris for a poker competition. His name is Rageb. I tell him some vague outlines of my travel plans. He says he has some friends in Paris and Turkey and Germany, gives me his email address. I trade him books. I see him later, and he asks to buy me a cafe and something to eat. OF COURSE I say yes. We get talking about art and history, this book he wants to write. Then he tells me I should come and visit him in Cancun. He says, if I don´t feel safe, I can even bring my mom down. He´ll pay for it. He also invites me to stay at a hotel that night, with him. Just as friends, he says. He´s telling me I am brave, wonderful and intelligent, I remind him of girls he knew from the ´60s. He seemed nice enough, but that means nothing. He said he understood if I was uncomfortable accepting his offers, and I could decline.

So I did, obviously. But I still have his email address. I think I will drop him a line and ask him about some of these friends he has... he seems to know a lot fo wealthy families, form what I gather. He said if I went to Turkey, he could get a friend to find someone to travel with me, to make sure I am safe.

So I´ll drop him a line, someday. What harm could an email do?

So anyways, I finally arrived at the Gran Canaria today, and this place is a paradise. Roser y Alfredo are so wonderful and nice. I have the house to myself while they are out with other obligations. There are two dogs here, 5 cats. It´s this open style house built into a hill, with little trails and rustic stairs connecting separate rooms, all crowded with tropical plants, palm trees and big cacti. There are these free-range chickens running around down the mountain, and tiny towns tucked away in the hills, with winding roads from place to place. Amazing.

So now, to get my money back. This isn´t going to be that simple. Another thing, I packed way too much.