Angel Fingers

        It's ironic, but sometimes a bad experience can turn into a good story.

        Scheduled to be our last day in Santiago, Chile, we chose to take in local sights we had missed at the beginning of our journey. Our quest led to a unique downtown park named Cerro Santa Lucia – a serene area of castle-like buildings, shaded terrazas, and a maze of quiet paths rising out of the big city madness. Our final steps led us to a crow’s nest viewing area that mimicked a castle tower. From this highest point stretched a 360-degree view of Santiago and the rugged snow-capped Andes. The view could have been breathtaking on a clear day. However, like many large, metropolitan areas, smog got in the way. We could barely distinguish the mountains through the brown haze that marred the sunny day.

        Our sightseeing complete, we decided to return to our hotel via the Metro – Santiago’s state of the art, super fast, super clean subway. Descending into the subway entrance, we stopped to buy tickets. After paying the fair, I thrust my wallet deep within my left, front pocket.

        Surrounded by a crush of people in the Santiago subway car, Sandra and I grasped poles to keep us upright during the ride. I peered out the window, anxious to see the word Baquedano – our stop. When we slowed at the station, I motioned for Sandra to get off. Despite my attempt to follow her, a burly man with a briefcase stepped in front of me, blocking my exit for two or three seconds. As I stepped on the platform, the door swooshed shut behind me. Acting out of habit, I checked deep inside my left pocket. I was amazed to find my wallet gone. Yet, I had felt nothing.

        I decided to report the theft to the police right away. So, in a hurry, but without panic, we ascended the stairs to the station’s entrance where we found a uniformed, female security guard near the ticket booth. I explained to her what happened as best I could in my survival Spanish. She asked me where the robbery occurred and if I had seen the thief. Then, motioning us to follow her, she guided us through a maze of descending stairways to a tiny police precinct deep within the recesses of Baquedano Station.

        The Chilean police force is a national organization known as the “Carabineros.” They are a proud, professional-looking group known for their dedication to duty and honesty – not for taking bribes. We had seen them throughout our travels in Chile. In their green and khaki uniforms with the single black stripe running the length of their trouser legs, they looked spotless, serious, and efficient -- all “spit and polish.” The two male Carabineros manning the desk looked the same.

        Although they spoke virtually no English, we managed to communicate in Spanish. Both officers were kind and polite. After the security guard reported the robbery and left, they asked me to list my information: my name, name of my hotel, USA address, and what was stolen.  With practiced fingers the younger officer searched through a small, cardboard box and turned over dozens of recovered stolen credit cards. He was looking for a Capital One credit card to learn the phone number. Unable to find one, he called our hotel, explained the situation to the multilingual person at the desk, and asked her to help me contact my credit card company to cancel it. He passed me the phone, and the desk clerk confirmed the hotel would help us. Then, taking the phone, he turned to me and asked, “Su pasaporte?” I showed him that I carried my passport separately in a pouch under my shirt. “Bueno,” was his relieved response. “If a thief steals your passport,” he explained, “you would have big problems.”

        The formalities completed, we all began to relax. Sensing a captive audience of Americans, the silver-haired older officer, with a wry smile, asked if we liked the presidential candidate Barack Obama. We said that we liked Obama, but not Bush. “Obama, si. Bush, no.”

         The older officer nodded and smiled. "Chilenos like Americans. We like the United States also. But we don't like your president. Disculpe me (forgive me), but Bush es muy loco.”

         The younger officer turned and, with a wide-eyed, caricatured expression and a shake of his head, spat out in English the words, “Bush? Crazy!”

         The older officer continued in Spanish, “How are police in the United States?”

         Sandra assured him, “They are okay.”

         With a twinkle in his eye he asked what we thought of the Chileno police.

        Our answer, “La policia de Chile son muy bueno (very good).”

        He beamed at us and rose to his feet. It was time to leave. He assured us that the staff at the hotel would help us cancel the credit card. “They can speak English. Besides, we asked them to help you,” he informed us. Then donning his cap and jacket, Senor Carabinero escorted us through a back exit. He shook our hands and, forming a playful smile, asked us to tell everyone we knew that in Santiago the Baquedano police are the best. We told him that we would. He then strolled with us to the street corner and pointed us in the right direction to our hotel four blocks away. We turned back to say “Muchas gracias”; he responded with a doff of his cap and a graceful bow.

         When we reached La Chimba, our hotel, the desk clerk was expecting us. She explained that the pickpockets in Santiago were so notorious that they were given a special name: “Dedos de Angel” – angel fingers. They had the ethereal touch of angels. Wispy and vapor smooth.

        She helped me locate the international number for VISA account assistance and place my call. I discovered that the delicate fingers of this fallen angel had already “swiped” my card for charges of about $90, $65, and $40 in various shady Santiago locations. The Capital One card representative canceled my credit card and blocked the purchases.

        I felt a little sour about my stolen wallet. But I am glad that it happened on the last day of our trip rather than the first. Also, the Carabineros really did impress Sandra and me. (We hope that American police would be as helpful.) And we do think that in Santiago the Baquedano police are the best. Unfortunately, we are also impressed with Santiago’s “angel fingers” in a negative way.

        After all, I didn’t feel a thing.