Rome
Our many trips to Europe were not without some scary experiences. I remember them all clearly. The first happened in Rome, Italy, on a bus trip to the Vatican. Rita and I, crushed together in the overcroweded bus, could hardly move. Typical tourist, my money belt with the pocket in front, clearly outlined the shape of my wallet.

The bus swayed back and forth. Bored, I stared into the faces of unkown people on the way to Saint Peter's Basilica. Our bodies touched and leaned in unison. An olive complexioned man with dark hair and eyes, neatly dressed with a tie, probably Italian, moved in rhythm with me. Avoiding direct eye contact, I watched the beauty of Rome pass. Suddenly, I got a feeling that someone was touching me; I looked down and saw that my money belt zipper was halfway open and my wallet clearly visible. I abruptly closed it and stared ferociously at this cool stranger. I did not take my eyes off of him, and I tried to look ready to fight. I said nothing, just glowered at him. At the next stop, he got off and vanished into the crowd. A narrow escape, I learned that pickpockets know their business and that I had to be better at protecting my valuables.

The day turned out to be inspiring. We went to the Papal Mass mixing with the huge crowd wanting to see the Pope John Paul II. The jostling for positions by thousands of faithful separated Rita and me. I wound up buried in the center of the milling crowd while Rita, pushed to a nearby railing, lucked out. The Pope walked by on the other side of the railing, smiling and touching outstretched hands. Passing, he grasped Rita's hands between his for an instant and softly said a prayer. She felt lucky and honored to see and touch this holy man.

Florence
In Florence, the passengers climbed out of the buses slowly into a great piazza where I noticed the bands of gypsies roaming the area. I remembered published warnings to avoid them. Rita and I moved to the side of the piazza to watch for our shipmates. We noticed a tall American from our ship of Chinese ancestry leave the bus. Good-looking and confident, he wore a money belt hanging just below a trim stomach. The gypsies with young children rushed excitedly amongst our sightseers, begging for money.

A tall fellow passenger walked unkowingly into a band of gypsies. A woman, baring her breasts, while openly feeding a baby, had several young children running freely about her. A young boy, about eight, ran up to the man holding a newspaper under the passenger's face, so he could not see. In a second, they cut his money belt and carried it off. He started to scream, accusing the woman of stealing his money belt. She immediately passed the baby to a young girl and shed all her clothes revealing her full naked body to prove her innocence--she had no money belt. My eyes fixed on her nude body, thereby missing the escaping bandits, a planned distraction I'm sure. She was poor and begging for money but her trimmed pubic hair, cut for fashionable bikinis, made me wonder whether she was truly poor. We later learned that the young man lost $1,500.

Paris
Rita and I used the Metro for easy, inexpensive travel in Paris. There are 14 lines making up the Paris Metro, and I read that 293 stations handled over one-and-a-half billions trips in 1993. Just reading the names of the stations was an invitation to French history. The Metro stations are all different--large and small, below and above ground and many have exquisite beauty like the Louvre Museum area stations.

This wonderful system is not without some anxiety. We arrived at a station in the heart of Paris to return to our hotel. We left the train and headed toward the long escalator leading to the street, high above. I noticed two well-dressed men in suits, about 40 years old, talking quietly close to the foot of the escalator. Rita went first a few feet before me and then one of the men slipped in behind her separating us. The second man followed behind me. Odd, I thought, splitting us that way.

As we neared the top, Rita exited, then the first man dropped something. Bending over to pick it up, he stopped at the top end opening blocking me from exiting. The second man pushed into me from the rear. I knew I was their target. Quickly, I put my hand over my back pocket stopping him from lifting my wallet and pushed the first man on to the floor aggressively out of my path. Both disappeared into the maze of the station having failed that time. Shaken, but pleased at thwarting them, we returned to the hotel and our private happy hour.

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