When your Parisian dream becomes a chaotic walletless nightmare.
When your Parisian dreams get pickpocketed... but the love story continues. Nothing says ‘travel chaos’ like a missing Louis Vuitton wallet, a sketchy alley, and a game of charades at the police station.
#JustParisThings
Location: Paris, France. Mood: Eiffel Tower sparkle meets pure panic.
Paris. The city of love, lights... and apparently, legends in the art of pickpocketing.
Su and I were living our best romantic movie fantasy—sunset tour at the top of the Eiffel Tower, glowing skyline, wind in our hair, not a care in the world. I wore my cutest pink Aldo bag, stylishly positioned at the front of me like the seasoned travel girlie I thought I was. Security? Check. Slay? Double check.
Fast forward to post-sunset. Darkness had fallen, the romance dimmed slightly, and we headed to the supermarket for a quick essentials run. Su popped over to the restaurant next door to snag us a table while I played grocery goddess. For convenience (and, let’s be real, to free up both hands for snacks), I spun my bag to my back.
That, my loves, was my villain origin story.
As a few strangers passed me in the aisles, I thought nothing of it. Big mistake. I got to the checkout, reached for my wallet… and felt a sudden chill. Not the good kind.
It. Was. GONE.
I dumped my entire bag on the counter like a woman possessed. No wallet. No cute little Louis. No credit cards. No ID. Just existential dread. I ran out of the store in a panic, frantically waved Su down, and we backtracked like detectives with zero leads.
Next stop: the police station. But make it sketchy. We had to pass through a dimly lit alley that felt straight out of a Netflix thriller. And once we arrived? Plot twist: no one spoke English. We played a full game of charades mixed with frantic Google Translate to explain the situation. Ever tried miming “I’ve been robbed” in a foreign country? Ten outta ten chaos.
Just when we thought it couldn’t get worse—boom. On the walk back, a man tried to pickpocket Su. Except this time, I was done being polite. I went full Trini woman mode, shoved the guy, and got a lovely threatening knife gesture in return. Cute!
Made it back to the hotel (alive, somehow) and told the front desk. Their response? A shrug and a dry little, “It’s Paris. You’ll never see that wallet again.” Thanks, bestie.
Cue the tears, the dramatic hotel room scene, the “why me?!” moment. I called my sister to help guide me through the mess and to be the host of a three way call to the bank. I sank into my pillow and soaked it end to end with bitter tears. By sunrise, after I had somehow managed to get a couple hours sleep, I wiped my face, said “screw it,” and decided that no thief was going to ruin my adventure. Visa sent me a new card, Su still had his, and all the crook got was a piece of plastic and a fab Louis Vuitton wallet they definitely didn’t deserve.
And the best part? That trip went on to be one of the most magical of my life. Italy and London gave me life. And Paris? That chaotic, beautiful, wallet-thieving city? It was the beginning of the rest of my life with Su as that was the start of the trip where we got engaged.
Moral of the story:
Travel with backup cards in different pockets, bilingual charades skills, and a little Trini fire in your soul. Oh, and maybe keep your cute bags at the front. Like, for real this time.
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