The distance from the bus station to the Metro was about 150 feet. As we dragged our suitcases to the mouth of the station, a pair of women chased after us, waving napkins, and calling out in what Dania would later deem broken Spanish. There was something on our suitcases and they wanted to help us get it off. They motioned to the sky. Bird poop? I asked. They nodded, wiping the yellow-white substance from our bags. We thanked them, and they were gone almost as quickly as they had appeared.
It was then we realized that Danias bag had been swiped. Thankfully, I had kept a vice grip on my own purse and was able to get us to the hostel. Turned out that bird poop was mustard. They had tricked us and robbed us and we had practically thanked them for it.