Pickpocketing in Portugal
Before my husband and I left on our two-week trip to Portugal, we sat down and perused our guidebook. The obligatory warning in the section on Lisbon read: “…pickpockets galore prey on tourists, aiming for wallets, purses, and cameras. Congested areas are particularly hazardous.” However, as seasoned travelers, having visited many large cities and never having had any problems, we gave the advice the obligatory, “We’ll be careful.”
Ed owned a zippered pouch that he attached to his belt and hid inside the front of his pants for credit cards, money, passports – anything you wouldn’t want to lose in a foreign country. For some reason, he wasn’t using it the day we boarded the tramway in Lisbon to travel from our rental apartment in an area called Belem to the Rossio, or city center. Instead, he had his wallet in the usual location, back pocket buttoned, and his cash in a money clip in his front pocket. As we began boarding the tram, four or five young men, all laughing and jabbering in Portuguese, clustered around us, squishing us as we moved forward to the door. I hugged my purse close to the front of my body, making sure no one could mess with it without me knowing it. We boarded the bus and held onto posts for stability since all the seats were taken. Behind Ed I noticed a sign on the bus window written in both English and Portuguese. “Beware of Pickpockets,” it read in bright green letters. As the bus lurched forward, Ed slapped his hand on his back pocket.
He announced in a loud voice, “Someone’s taken my wallet.” The men who had bumped into us were standing close to us.
“Ed, it was these guys right here. The ones who bumped into us,” nodding my head in their direction.
Turning to them, he commanded loudly, “Give me my wallet back.”
They all looked at him with innocent faces. “No speak English,” and “You speak Portuguese?”
Knowing that their responses were diversions, Ed repeated, calmly, but still loud, “Look, I know one of you guys has my wallet. I want it back. Empty your pockets,” he pointed to their pockets.
They began removing items from their pockets, cell phones and wallets, holding them out toward us and all the while claiming in broken English that they didn’t have Ed’s wallet.
“See. Not your wallet, my wallet.” Then, adding for dramatic effect, “My wallet.”
During their pitch, suddenly, one of them broke away from the group and bolted to the back of the bus, looking down at something in his hand.
“That’s the guy who has my wallet, that curly haired guy,” Ed pointed to the back of the bus. Then in a loud voice he called out to him, “It won’t do you any good. There’s no money in it, I’m canceling the credit cards, and I’m calling the police.”
At that moment the tram bounced over to the curb, lurching as it slowed to a stop to unload passengers. The young men headed for the door. On their way out of the bus, one of them poked Ed on the forearm and pointed to the floor. Lying there, next to his foot, was his wallet! He picked it up, opened it and gave it a cursory look.
“Everything’s here.”
Later, on our way back to our rented apartment, we stopped at the kiosk where we had bought our tram tickets. A young woman who spoke excellent English was still there. We told her our story and that all the locals on the bus had either turned their heads during the incident to look out of the windows, or acted as if they couldn’t see us or hear us.
Passing her hand over her eyes, she sighed, “It’s sad. The people are blind to the problem.”
I told Ed later, “I have to admit, I was kinda’ worried that those guys might have attacked you.”
“Well,” he commented, “Pickpocketing is one thing; assault is another.” So true!