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We sat with our beers on the balcony, giving our heads a shake and putting things into perspective. Most people you meet who have travelled any considerable amount of time will have had some similar experience — hell, people get mugged in our home towns!
First we started investigating all the back alleys along the main road the lads had ran down, thinking that they would have just wanted to get off the road and out of sight as soon as possible to rifle through our stuff to check their ill-gotten gains. We looked in every bin, every skip, every hedge and every filthy out-building we could find, investigating any brightly coloured, vaguely bag-shaped lumps and getting very strange looks from all the little old men and babushkas who were sweeping their paths and tending their goats and wondering what the hell these idiot tourists were doing, looking in all the bins!
We got to the end of the road and searched the dubious and illegal meeting spot looking underpass and not one clue had been found, so we decided to head back through the bit of woodland next to the river, which was one of the prime clue hunting spots for the policeman the previous night.
That could be the Lonely Planet! And indeed, there it was in its full floral faux leather glory with its contents seemly strewn around willy-nilly in the muck. We saw all the make-up, visa cards, her purse…and then there it was! What were the chances? Thank you gentlemen thieves! We had a walk over the river that had some girders and a rusty JCB in it and through the market which was just closing up for the day. We were obviously more in suburbia now as the streets were wide and lined with big square concrete blocks of flats which housed a bizarre range of shops nestled beneath them, including a number of evening wear shops with their bridal gowns turning lovely shades of grey on display in the dusty streets.
