The Hoodie Heist

You won’t believe what happened to me.

Most of my blogs could start that way. Seriously.

ZC and I were exploring Siena the other day... and we happened to come across a local market. It was mostly clothes, plants, and shoes... nothing touristy at all... and no artisan stalls. BUT... I happened to find a hoodie that looked cozy... and it was only €6. Steal of a deal! It was off-white, which isn’t usually my best colour, but for that price… and because it felt so snug, I bought it.

It was only €6, after all.

Back at our accommodation, I pulled it out of my bag to put on... the perfect cozy finish to a chilly day. I slipped it over my head and immediately felt something hard hit my head... and then my hand. It was very out of place, like a piece of metal or hard plastic... that definitely didn’t belong on a comfy hoodie.

What the... ??

IT WAS AN ANTI-THEFT TAG!

I can't make this sh!t up. A proper security tag. Full on.

“You’ve GOT to be kidding,” was all I could think.

Why on earth would a hoodie at a market stall have an anti-theft tag?

All I could think was: stolen goods.

Perfect. Just perfect.

I’d managed to stumble into a whole new level of thievery.

Double whammy of inconvenience.

Sometimes these 'inconveniences' can be funny and make great blog stories. Other times, like right at that instance, it's infuriating. Mostly, I want a break from the hassle. A few breaks.

So... yet another hoop to jump through.

I checked online straight away to see if the market would be there the next day. No luck... it was a weekly Wednesday market from 8:00–13:30. I had no receipt, and I’d paid cash.

Then I started hunting for ways to remove the tag. Everything I found online involved gadgets like magnets, wire cutters, and screwdrivers... as well as complicated operations that seemed borderline terrifying. The fear of rupturing an ink vial and ruining the hoodie made me hesitate... yet tossing it in the trash felt wasteful. I have a flight from Geneva on Monday, and there is no way I could try to pass through airport security with an anti-theft tag.

I could only imagine the guards’ faces.

Siena

Siena

Siena

Most of my online research suggested taking the item to a cobbler, a dry cleaner, a laundromat, or a tailor... however, those services were few and far between. So my best bet was to head into town the following day and plead my case with some store owners.

More on that later…

Speaking of anti-theft, I decided it was for the best to keep both my credit and debit credit cards locked. After all, I was still pretty wary about having handed them over to strangers in the first place. Dumb, dumb move. I am still kicking myself. It feels smarter to keep them secured until I get home and can replace them.

Better safe than sorry, right?

Sure... it’s a massive hassle... but I’m hoping it’s a lesson I’ve learned for good.

Time will tell.

What lessons have I picked up so far on this trip? Honestly, I feel like the moment I landed, I was enrolled in my very own version of reality’s “travel lessons”... an extreme, intensely hands-on kind of learning experience, tailor-made just for me!

How lucky I am...

So far...

1. Make sure you're on the correct train ✔️

2. Don't drag your raincoat over cobblestones and carry-on wheels ✔️

3. Try not to fall ✔️

4. Don't give strangers your entire credit card catalogue ✔️

5. Charge your phone before you go out anywhere ✔️ (this is a constant lesson)

6. Don't leave a market with an anti-theft tag still on your item of clothing ✔️

I'm probably missing some... and I’m sure this is just the beginning (on this trip). Many more lessons are probably waiting for me just around every corner.

I need to start a book of travel lessons.

You know... to help others.

Anyway… that morning, we took the bus into Siena to explore a bit. I was genuinely excited... as I’ve always remembered really liking Siena. However, I encountered a slight issue with paying for the bus. For some reason, my credit card wouldn’t work, even though I’d "unlocked it" precisely for this purpose. Every time I tried, it made that awful, soul-crushing grunt sound that machines only make when a card is declined... and loud enough for everyone to hear. I had no idea what was going on... and honestly, it only worked to freak me right out.

What if thieves had somehow managed to access my card and had drained it? Although nothing had appeared on my online account... yet... but that sometimes takes a while to process. Maybe the credit card company had cut off my credit??? All these scenarios were barrelling through my mind in a loop of doom... and I was getting more paranoid by the second.

Thankfully, no ticket checker appeared... and I made it to our destination without being arrested... or heavily fined. I could see it now... I'd be the next Amanda Knox... desperately pleading my innocence over nothing more than a declined credit card on a 9-minute bus ride.

Piazza del Campo

Here's a little blurb about this fascinating city...

Siena, nestled in the heart of Tuscany, traces its origins back to the Etruscans before becoming the Roman colony of Saena Julia. Though modest during Roman times, the city flourished in the Middle Ages, emerging as a powerful and wealthy independent city-state. By the 13th century, Siena was in its golden age—thriving through banking, trade, and wool production, and leaving behind stunning landmarks such as the Piazza del Campo, the Palazzo Pubblico, and the magnificent Duomo. Its fierce rivalry with Florence defined much of its medieval history, and while the devastating Black Death of 1348 brought decline, Siena retained its artistic and cultural brilliance. In 1555, the city fell under Florentine rule and later became part of the Grand Duchy of Tuscany, joining the Kingdom of Italy in 1861. Today, Siena is celebrated for its beautifully preserved medieval character, rich artistic heritage, and the exhilarating Palio di Siena horse race that continues to animate its historic square each summer.

Our time in Siena was brief... a quick stroll through the city’s winding streets to see the main sights and then finished off enjoying our packed lunch at the old fort, taking in the breathtaking view of the city.

We visited the Cathedral of Siena, which was almost as beautiful and impressive as my favourite Duomo in Florence, but slightly less awe-inspiring.

We wandered through Piazza del Campo, Siena’s iconic shell-shaped medieval square, famous for the famous Palio twice a year. This is one of the oldest horse races in the world, still held today, with the tradition of horse racing in Siena dating back to as early as 1238 or 1239. Rising above the square is the majestic Torre del Mangia, standing about 102 metres. Visitors can climb it for panoramic views of Siena and the surrounding Tuscan countryside. I had already climbed it on a previous visit, and ZC had done it as well, so we gave it a miss this time.

We also stopped to admire the Bank of Siena, founded in 1472 and recognized as the oldest bank in the world still in operation. When I say “oldest,” I mean the longest in continuous operation, not the very first bank ever.

I remember thinking how red Siena looked... though oddly, this time it didn’t seem quite as "red."

Siena Cathedral

Siena Cathedral

Siena Cathedral

But… onwards and upwards... and back to me, dealing with my stolen hoodie.

Always a hassle.

The following day, we returned to Siena, and this time I had my theft-tagged hoodie safely tucked into my backpack. I was determined to find a place to remove the tag. I’d even drafted a little plea into my notes in my phone... explaining what happened, insisting I wasn’t a thief, and begging for help. Then I translated it into Italian... my best shot at survival. And help.

I must have tried four or five shops. Everyone was very nice. Either their tag removers were the wrong size or they didn’t have one at all. Most were sympathetic to my issue... and a few even offered suggestions on where to go, but nothing and nowhere worked. I was close to giving up… and fairly certain I was just going to toss my heisted hoodie in the bin.

Oh... and did I mention it was pouring rain?

Piece of Pizza??

Depleted and soaked to the bone, I pretty much gave up on ever getting the tag removed. It was pretty draining. ZC wanted to pick up a fruit loaf from a spot in the town centre, so we headed that way before heading back to our accommodation. By this time, the heavens had opened, and it was absolutely hammering down. And I mean literally dumping rain... like someone had opened a drain directly above us.

I was a walking puddle.

Naturally, I didn’t have a rain jacket... because I’d trashed it on the streets of Rome. All I had was a light spring jacket, which was already tight and uncomfortable due to the bulk & layers underneath and my big pizza belly. And my jeans? Completely drenched... and heavy. Every step was a soppy struggle.

I looked... and felt... like a drowned rat. A scoundrel... soaked to the bone... lugging saturated & stolen goods around Siena... on the hunt for an accomplice to my “crime.”

If I’d been working in a store and someone as soaked & pitiful as me had stumbled in with a drenched, muddy white hoodie still sporting an anti-theft tag… I probably would've either shoo'ed them out or called the police.

Again... Amanda Knox.

Finally, a very posh store took pity on me.

At first, they said no... or at least, I thought they said no. I assumed it was because they either didn't have a machine or didn't have the right machine to remove the tag. I was devastated... and not even on the verge of giving up. I'd already given up. They were my final kick at the can. The only reason I went into the shop was because ZC had gone to buy fruit cake. It was a simple choice between standing in the pouring rain… or trying the shop I was already standing next to.

I chose the shop.

The oldest bank in Siena

There were two ladies behind the counter, exchanging little looks, as I made my plea. Finally, one of them asked to see the hoodie. I pulled it out of my drenched bag and handed it over to her. She took one look, said something in Italian, disappeared for a moment... and then... miracle of miracles... came back with the tag OFF!

I ran to hug her, but let’s be honest... she didn't want a hug from me. Being mauled by a soaking-wet, bedraggled me was the last thing she wanted. The other lady didn’t look thrilled about the decision to remove the tag. I’m sure everything about the entire scenario was sketchy. I tried to explain that my only crime was buying it at a market... even offering to show my passport... and give my phone number.

I was practically pleading my innocence.

I think they believed me… I hope they did. I’m not sure they were as convinced about the market stall man I purchased it from. Their expressions said it all: there was definitely something shady going on there.

And yes, I’ll say it again... stolen goods.

They made me remove the open anti-theft tag from the shop… and dispose of it far away from their establishment. Which I did.

Thug life… I’m just not cut out for it.