Fodor's Spain 2007

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When I was a kid, I used to cut school and hop the Lackawanna Railroad for the 30-mile ride into New York City. Through a number of such trips, I developed modest street smarts; for example, keeping a $10 bill in my shoe so that if I were rolled or otherwise ran out of money, I could manage the fare back home.

Six years ago, after 40 years of corporate travel, Jean and I rented an apartment in Paris for a two-week vacation. Not without a little pride, I considered myself to be a seasoned world traveler, overlooking that I had usually been met by a host and whisked here and there without having to give a thought to finding my way or personal security.

So I was unprepared and vulnerable when, climbing the stairs out of the Barbès Rochechouarte Metro station, I was jostled by a man while his accomplice abruptly stopped in front of me, kneeling down to tie his shoe. Annoyed at the rudeness of Parisians, it wasn't until I reached the top of the stairs that I realized that my pocket had been picked.

Having left my brains in my Sunday pants, I was carrying everything of value in a single wallet: cash, credit and debit cards, California Driver's License and my passport. Une désastre!

Pickpocket "photographing" his "wife." C'mon! No woman would pose dressed like that.

When I told the police inspector that the theft had occurred at the Barbès Rochechouarte Metro station, she rolled her eyes and said, "Ooh la la! Barbès Rochechouarte! Of course! All our robberies occur there." When I repeated my tale to the U. S. Consulate officer, she said, "Oh yeah! Barbès Rochechouarte. Everybody gets robbed there."

It occurred to me that if everybody knew about the thieves at the Barbès Rochechouarte Metro station, why the hell wasn't the place saturated with cops. The only patrols I ever saw were in Les Halles; trios of cops strolling aimlessly, sucking on cigarettes and cokes. (But then, it isn't good for one's serenity to question the priorities of the French Civil Services. That way lies madness.)

One week later, carrying two new wallets, a temporary passport, a new Visa card and €100 carefully distributed in different pockets, I was getting off the metro, again at Barbès Rochechouarte, when a man stopped suddenly in front of me, while from the left, I felt a hand go into my pocket. Furious, I grabbed the hand and yelled at the top of my lungs, "Pickpocket! Pickpocket!" (Actually, I tried to use a sort of French accent: "Pique Poquette! Picque Poquette!")

All of the bystanders immediately turned their backs. (Ya gotta love the French.) The thief pulled his hand out of my grip and sped off, this time at least without profit. I was so proud to have foiled him that I strutted for weeks. Ain' no pickpocket gonna mess wit da man!

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Travel-savvy, Jean and I arrived at the airport in Madrid yesterday, where I decided immediately to master the subway system rather than take a taxi to our hotel. I bought a Madrid Metro ticket good for ten fares from a machine, fumbling with my bag and wallet and change before getting everything back into my pockets.

I wound my way through the subways of Madrid flawlessly, arriving after three transfers at a station within one block of our hotel. I slept for a couple of hours, then I got up and reached into my pocket. No wallet!

Impossible! We checked all our pockets, all our baggage. No wallet!

I was enraged. Hadn't I learned how to handle myself in Paris? I'd been in Madrid for less than an hour, and some creep made his way undetected into my pocket. He was so smooth that I didn't notice the theft for several hours.

Pickpockets work the crowds at Puerta del Sol. Note the Metro sign.

On reflection, I figure the thief saw me fumbling at the ticket machine, observed me putting my wallet into my (supposedly secure) left front pocket, and got it during the crush at the train door.

It could have been worse. Well I had learned the lesson about distributing valuables about my person. The pickpocket got cash and a couple of bank cards. We immediately cancelled the cards. Meanwhile, we had carefully preserved more cash and other cards, so that we wouldn't be in a crunch if something like this happened.

Compared with the trauma in Paris, this incident was more of an annoyance than anything else. And I learned a little more about how to maintain security while traveling. Like never flash your wallet in a train station.

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"Men should carry their wallets in the front pocket..."

Fodor's Spain 2007