I went for one last holiday swim. When I got back, all my stuff was gone

I’ll never feel as lost in the world as the time in Thailand a swim cost me my place in it. Stupid, yep, I know: I left everything (passport, wallet, phone) on my bed, while I ran outside for a last-minute dip in the sea before check-out. The door was ajar when I got back; everything valuable was gone.

Murphy’s Law had it that I was travelling solo, without a friend in the world. A person’s phone is their identifier; everything in it; bank accounts, phone numbers etc define you as different to everyone else. My passport validates me; my driver’s licence serves as back-up. Without any of them: am I really me?

There is no good country to be robbed in. But Thailand isn’t even close to okay. For starters, when your passport and valuables are stolen – including all your cash – the first thing you must do is to pay cash. Police reports (for insurance) don’t come for free. No money; no report. But at least I’d managed to borrow some money off a sympathetic neighbour at my villa.

The policeman tells me I must go to Bangkok to get a new passport. Fortunately, I have a flight leaving soon anyway for the Thai capital, from neighbouring island, Koh Samui.

But we don’t exist in this world without proof of our existence. I read Joseph Heller’s novel, Catch 22, for high school English. In it, the novel’s hero, Yossarian, is mistakenly declared dead during World War II and must prove to authorities – who don’t believe him – that he’s not. I’d thought the premise ridiculous … then.

“You need photo ID,” the check-in lady says. I tell her I’m flying to Bangkok to replace my photo ID. I show her my police report. She calls for her boss. “Sorry, we can’t let you on this flight,” he confirms.

I have to get to my embassy to prove who I am: but I’ve got to get there without having to prove who I am. Fortunately, beyond its airports, cash still rules in Thailand. I have enough Baht left to buy myself a ferry ticket to Surat Thani, on the mainland (it’s two hours: which is 35 minutes longer than my original flight to Bangkok).

There are buses from Surat Thani to Bangkok – a distance of 640 kilometres – which take about 12 hours. I can pay with the little cash I have left, no ID required. Except the last one for the day left 20 minutes ago.

Accommodation options ask to see my passport. I walk until I find one who doesn’t care who I am. Next morning, I leave at dawn and make it to my embassy in 16 hours, not 12.

I’d called the embassy when I was first robbed (using my neighbour’s phone), so my passport will be ready tomorrow. Friendly staff there help me have cash transferred from my family, and assist in changing my flight home to tomorrow night.

But next day at airport immigration, there’s a problem with my freshly made emergency passport. The Thai authorities wish to see my Thai entry stamp. I tell them my entry stamp is in my passport, just not this one. I show them the police report. I tell them I want to go home. I’m led instead into a small room where I sit for over 90 minutes watching the clock on the wall as the time goes past my scheduled flight.

Tomorrow, they won’t mind my absent stamp (go figure) and I’ll make it home. There I’ll buy a new phone, order a new driver’s licence and 10 year passport and exist again. Mrs Thompson – my high school English teacher – guess what? I’m the modern-day Yossarian. Eat your heart out, Joseph Heller.