Today’s public service announcement is a simple one, kids: Don’t leave your backpack on the train.
It was a beautiful day, so we decided to ride our bikes to the train station one town over, take our bikes onto the train, explore new areas of Nuremburg, and then train-and-bike back home. And for the most part, it was great. But as we were wrestling our bikes/trailer/kid off the train, I forgot my backpack lying on the seat next to me. And I realized it juuuuuust as the train was pulling out of a station.
But this isn’t just any “forgotten bag” story. We had a few wrinkles, of course. This particular day was a holiday in Bavaria, so everything was closed, including the help desk at the train station. And the backpack didn’t just include hats and sunscreen, it included my wallet, phone and two family passports. Passports we would need in 10 days for a trip back to the U.S.
So we biked home as fast as we could and logged on to the lost and found page for the train system. Filled out form. Prayed to St. Anthony. Started researching how to get a new passport issued. Prayed to St. Anthony a little more. Realized I have an iPhone, so I could log into FindMyPhone!
And thanks to the wonder of technology, I could see my phone traveling (presumably still in the backpack) on the train back toward us. I gave the husband instructions and had him drive off to the train station to intercept the phone. But before it got to the station, the phone started moving down a country road. My phone was off the train! I activated the Lost Mode for the phone which displays instructions on the lock screen and activates an alert beep. The phone kept moving. I kept activating the beep. Husband kept driving. I was trying my best to give him directions to the phone, but it was taking a circuitous route through a semi-rural area.
Finally the phone rested at what looked like a residential neighborhood at the edge of a large field. I kept activating the beep and hoping it would annoy the phone finder so much that he or she would hurry up and call me. More prayers to St. Anthony.
The next day, I checked in on the phone and saw that it was still in the same place. Armed with markers, paper, tape and Google Translate, I made signs to blanket the area, offering a reward for the return of the backpack. As I was driving away, I got a call. With some very broken English and very, very broken German, I figured out that a nice lady in the area had found my backpack.
When I arrived at Liane’s apartment, I expected that she would simply hand me the backpack. But Liane had more to say. In her stern grandmotherly way, she scolded me for having my passports in my backpack. “A copy! You need copy only!” she explained when I sheepishly told her (and her neighbor and daughter, who had both come over to help facilitate and translate, apparently) that as expats we are technically supposed to have them with us at all times.
Then she showed me how she had to bury the backpack in pillows in a corner behind the sofa because of the “beep beep beep” of the phone. I apologized and gave her a reward. We laughed and smiled and hugged. She showed me pictures of her children and pictures of her favorite movie stars. She told me that she collects stamps and could I send her some postcards from America, preferably with stamps of movie stars. And she told me that her birthday and Elvis’s birthday were the same day, so maybe I could send her a birthday card too?
Sure thing, Liane. It’s the least I can do.