Walking along the quiet street towards the bus and driver and guide, all of which would take us out through the countryside to the beach for a week, my straw hat was stolen.
Lifted right off my head.
I wouldn't have been angry if I hadn't needed that hat so much. It was a period in my life when sunshine gave me instant headaches as soon as it touched my head.
The culprits were two young men and a boy about fourteen, who was hanging out with them and obviously learning the ropes of distracting tourists to get what they had their eyes on.
They ran, the boy rode, all laughing while I yelled, "They stole my hat!"
I couldn't have chased them and caught up with them, but many of the men could have. But they didn't.
I yelled again, and the guide, a little man, and the driver, took off after the thieves. They could run as fast as the wind.
They caught the boy and his bike, but he refused to talk, so they confiscated his bike until they returned from the trip to deal with him.
It was a sight to see those two Cubans hauling that dilapidated old bicycle back to the bus, because they were chatting loudly and happy.
When they reached me, they held up the bike in triumph, grinning like crazy, and in broken English splattered with Spanish, they told me the story, then said how sorry they were that this happened.
I was too. They took this theft personally, as if they alone were responsible for the wayward morals of unknown citizens.
As we left the city, I thought, well some young lady will receive a foreign straw hat from her eager boyfriend, a hat that had a ribbon the color of summer roses wrapped around the base of the crown. And she would never know where he got it.
Lifted right off my head.
I wouldn't have been angry if I hadn't needed that hat so much. It was a period in my life when sunshine gave me instant headaches as soon as it touched my head.
The culprits were two young men and a boy about fourteen, who was hanging out with them and obviously learning the ropes of distracting tourists to get what they had their eyes on.
They ran, the boy rode, all laughing while I yelled, "They stole my hat!"
I couldn't have chased them and caught up with them, but many of the men could have. But they didn't.
I yelled again, and the guide, a little man, and the driver, took off after the thieves. They could run as fast as the wind.
They caught the boy and his bike, but he refused to talk, so they confiscated his bike until they returned from the trip to deal with him.
It was a sight to see those two Cubans hauling that dilapidated old bicycle back to the bus, because they were chatting loudly and happy.
When they reached me, they held up the bike in triumph, grinning like crazy, and in broken English splattered with Spanish, they told me the story, then said how sorry they were that this happened.
I was too. They took this theft personally, as if they alone were responsible for the wayward morals of unknown citizens.
As we left the city, I thought, well some young lady will receive a foreign straw hat from her eager boyfriend, a hat that had a ribbon the color of summer roses wrapped around the base of the crown. And she would never know where he got it.
Bet you looked fan-darn-tastic in that straw hat too! Wonder if that girl is still wearing it? Never knew Cuban men were so chivalrous. Wonder if that kid ever got his bike back? As always, your biggest fan, J
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