Upon arriving in Kassel and meeting my house family, my sister had planned to take me out on the town to experience some down-home German culture. I sure did experience something — mostly panic in the aftermath — but we’ll get to that, all in good time.
First of all, we took the bus and the Straßenbahn (tram) which I found quite different from home, and very convenient. On every bus and tram, there were maps and overhead digital signs that showed the next stop on the route, so one could easily find out where to get out. AND they were ALWAYS on time — something you don’t always get in Halifax, right?
We went to a friend of Josephine’s place, who was having a party, and (this is how more than a few of my stories go) we got a little inebriated. German champagne is pretty tasty. We then headed to a club called Galeria Royal, which was pretty neat. This type of place is known as a ‘box club’ because of it’s size — rather small, maybe 40 or 50 feet squared. Anyhow, after my third Jack & Coke, and after dancing a little bit with my new-found German friends, I took off my jacket and stuck it under a table off to the side, where other people in my group had done the same, thinking nothing of it.
As a side note, Josephine had mentioned before leaving that I should bring my passport as my ID. Wary of losing it, I asked her why my license wouldn’t suffice. She told me that sometimes bars don’t accept something they may have never seen before, so a passport is the best bet. Alright, I thought, it’ll be ok, and I’m responsible.
What I remember after dropping my jacket is scattered: hanging out in the club, going outside to cool down, getting in a cab, and Jo and a friend bringing me up to my room. Good life choices, Q.
I woke up the next day, and I don’t really remember what time it was, but I do remember sleeping most of the day to get right again, which didn’t happen completely until a few days later. I looked through my jacket to get all my stuff organized, and my passport wasn’t in it. I asked Jo if she had taken it from me, to keep it safe or something. No, she said, don’t you have it? I didn’t want to alarm my parents by telling them I lost the most important thing I took with me the first night in the city, so I didn’t tell them, but they knew all the same. A few days later my guest mama came to me, asked if I had lost something, and asked me to tell her what happened, so I did. She then said that she knew, and had called the club and they had it. Lucky me! But she was rather upset that I didn’t tell her to begin with, and told me that if I have any problems she can help.
So the next evening I went down to Galeria with a few friends to try and get it back. It was past 8, when the website said they were supposed to open, and there was indeed music playing inside, but the front door was locked. Knocking desperately over the bass and vibrations inside, a man came to the door, through which we yelled, trying to understand each other. Here’s a rough account of our conversation:
“Can you open the door?”
“I don’t have a key.”
“Do you know if there’s a passport that was found here?”
“No, you’ll have to check in the back office.”
“Where is that?”
“Through the [sketchy] alley on the side and inside, on the second level.”
So a venture through to the back of the building proved successful and we found the office. There was a nice man inside and a badass James Bond poster on the wall. When I asked if there was a Canadian passport found the past weekend, his answer was, “OH! You’re Quentin! Yes, I have your passport right here.” All was well and I got my identity back.
I will say, from that point on, I never took my passport out of the house again, and every other time I went into a bar, my license worked just fine.