It was almost the last thing we expected. The first person we met in the Romanian capital, Bucharest, was an Italian taxi driver.

We emerged from the airport terminal into a cold, wet night to be met with a familiar buona sera. It was a lovely surprise for us and, as it turned out, for our driver too. You know that thing of finding a small patch of common ground in unfamiliar territory? It was that. We were instant BFFs and at the end of our thirty-minute trip to town it was baci and abbracci all round. We waved a final farewell and our new friend and his taxi disappeared into the night.

Half an hour later I realised I’d left Greg’s wallet in the car. Of all the places to lose something, the back of a Bucharest cab at 10:30pm on a rainy night is not one you’d choose. But there it was. At least, we hoped it was there – still.

The upshot of the story is that after a fair bit of mucking around, a lot of help from a couple of local people and the determination and kindness of our lovely Italian friend we were eventually reunited with the wallet.

It was a relief and also a reminder – especially for me – about taking better care of valuables and the value of a caring friend.

 

Bucharest