Street crime in St. Petersburg, Russia

Who are the players here? Spot the mark. How many pickpockets do you see?

Who are the players here? Spot the mark. How many pickpockets do you see?

Prowling and preying with impunity, the pickpocket pair cared little about hiding their business. Yet none of the mighty swirling masses intent on going this way or that, paid them the least attention.

The thieves appeared aimless at first: bouncing around the intersection, crossing and recrossing the street, pausing to look into a window, only to turn and go back the way they’d just come. To anyone glancing at them, they blended into the crowd without suspicion.

Bob and I locked onto them the moment they appeared in front of us. (I’ll tell you why in the next post.) To watch the team’s activity for more than a minute is to understand their motive.

Bob Arno on the Canal Griboyedova bridge in front of the Metro station. In the background is the spectacular Church on the Spilled Blood.

Bob Arno on the Canal Griboyedova bridge in front of the Metro station. In the background is the spectacular Church on the Spilled Blood.

We happened to be in St. Petersburg, Russia, but it could have been anywhere. The location was perfect, and well-known to us from past thiefhunting exploits: on Nevsky Prospekt, the main drag, outside the area’s only Metro station. A very busy corner, human traffic ebbs and flows to the beat of the traffic lights and the comings and goings of underground trains.

A variety of police seem to patrol the area sporadically, strolling along in pairs, stopping briefly outside the Metro station doors. They have no apparent effect on the thieves we happened to be observing.

In years past, we’ve seen certain pickpockets operating day after day, month after month. Locals and expats come to recognize them, as of course the police do.

Now locals tell us they see and hear of fewer thieves on the streets. Rather, the pickpockets prefer to work inside the Metro. Tour guides told us the thieves are more prevalent now inside the museums, in the Hermitage, and on the Navy ship Aurora; in other words, where the crowds are, where the tourists are.

Our observant friend who works at the art market on Nevsky Prospekt says the thieves stay on the move, never pausing. Indeed, that’s what we observed as we followed this brazen pair.

Always in motion, the pickpocket pair hops a bus only to get off at the next stop and walk back.

Always in motion, the pickpocket pair hops a bus only to get off at the next stop and walk back.

After they’d zigzagged around the area for about twenty minutes, halfheartedly hunting, I followed them down the street where they hopped onto a rather empty bus. If stealing aboard were their intent, they’d have waited for a crowded bus. In this case, they got on the bus simply to be transported away.

When they’d gone, I went back to my post outside the Canal Griboyedova Metro station. Sure enough, after ten minutes or so, the pair came sauntering back to the corner. This time they locked onto a mark, a stooped geezer whose shoulder bag dangled behind him.

The map-wielding pickpocket is behind the mark. The other thief is on the old man's left. (You can see his striped sleeve.)

The map-wielding pickpocket is behind the mark. The other thief is on the old man's left. (You can see his striped sleeve.)

The two trailed the old man as he meandered, staying behind him, one to the left, one to the right. The mark moved erratically and paused often: to look in a window, to cross the street, to gaze along the canal toward the magnificent Church on the Spilled Blood. Each time the thieves got close behind him, they’d get into theft position: one of them would unfold a map and use it to shield the view.

The problem was, they were a team of only two. They lacked the vital third member, the blocker. A blocker would have stopped short in front of the mark, forcing him to stand still for a moment—just long enough for the pickpocket to do his thing. A proper pickpocket crew of at least three individuals choreographs its moves like a Russian ballet.

Without a blocker, the pair couldn’t control their mark. They had to rely on natural reasons for him to pause. Alternatively, they could try to work in motion, which is much more difficult.

Oblivious victim (yellow) and the pickpocket pair (red), with map-prop open, ready to make their hit.

Oblivious victim (yellow) and the pickpocket pair (red), with map-prop open, ready to make their hit.

Finally, that’s exactly what they did. I was behind the thieves when they went for the pocket—not the hanging bag. Bob was some 20 yards in front of the threesome, but got a good shot with his new Sony NEX-VG10 video camera, thanks to its powerful long lens and stabilization.

All three are in motion among a crowd. The extraction took only a second.

All three are in motion among a crowd. The extraction took only a second.

In Bob’s footage, we see everything. The thieves’ great concentration, a hand in the pocket, the partner’s readiness. Then the extraction, the unfurling of the stolen handkerchief, the smooth passing of it to the partner. And through it all, the unsuspecting victim shuffles on.

Something heavy, perhaps a wallet, can still be seen in the victim's trouser pocket.

Something heavy, perhaps a wallet, can still be seen in the victim's trouser pocket.

The thieves weren’t fazed by their lousy haul. They stayed right on their prey, attempting another hit on the same pocket. They must have seen or felt the weight of something hefty inside (by “fanning“), and it was clear that their victim was oblivious to them. So was all of mankind, as far as they were concerned. They operated as if invisible to the world.

Or as if they’d paid for the privilege of haunting this stretch of Nevsky Prospekt for this time period. We’d been told more than once over the past 13 years that pickpockets pay police for permission to work at a specific time and place. We have not confirmed that this system is still in effect but… old ways change slowly, if you know what I mean.

Cagey thief not fond of being photographed hides his face then peeks: "still watching me?"

Cagey thief not fond of being photographed hides his face then peeks: "still watching me?"

On previous thiefhunting expeditions in Russia, we’ve used hidden cameras, or at least unnoticeable ones. This time, Bob’s bulky Sony, held up to his eye and aimed directly at our quarry, made his interest obvious. One of the pair noticed and, when he crossed in front of Bob, hid his face with his jacket. Then he peeked: still filming?

Pickpocket victim

The victim eventually wandered off and stood on the canal bridge until the pickpockets gave up on him. Still unaware of his followers, he trudged back down the block to the bus stop and sat on the bench. Perhaps he was aware of something amiss, because he began an inventory of his belongings, starting with his wallet, taken from the same pocket the handkerchief had been stolen from. Did he notice the handkerchief was gone? Was there something else stolen that we didn’t catch?

© Copyright 2008-2011 Bambi Vincent. All rights reserved.

More on pickpockets in Russia:
Russian Rip-off: pickpockets and thugs

Bolshoi Bandits: more pickpockets in Russia

How pickpockets use razor blades

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An opportunist pickpocket—part 2

Plaid-the-pickpocket

La Rambla, Barcelona—On observing the behavior of someone like Plaid, we label him a suspect. We follow and film, yet we can’t be certain he’s a thief.

“He could be a pervert,” police have told us. “Watch his eyes.” Plaid’s eyes said wallet. His furtive fingers opening buttons said pickpocket. We stayed glued to his back until he gave up.

“Let’s go talk to him.” Bob was already trotting toward him. I had to run to catch up.

“Scuza,” Bob called, “por favor…” He was mixing up his languages in the excitement.

Plaid stopped and bestowed an empty grin on us.

“Do you speak English?”

Plaid goes for a backpack

“No, no English. I speak French. And I speak Algerian.” Plaid held up his hands as if he were off the hook and turned to continue on his way.

“En francaise, c’est bien,” Bob said, dredging up his French. “We want to talk to you.” He tossed the video camera to me.

“Okay, nice to meet you.” Plaid offered his hand. Bob shook it without hesitation, neatly stealing Plaid’s watch at the same time. I was still fumbling with the camera so half the watch steal was filmed upside down.

“We’d like to ask you some questions.” Bob dangled the watch in front of Plaid, who glanced at his naked wrist then back to Bob. He broke into a bewildered smile.

“That’s superb. Please…”

Plaid in the ready-position

Bob will often steal something from a thief then return it for a reaction. His unique talent instantly establishes rapport with an outlaw and, more often then not, they’ll talk to us.

Plaid, an opportunist pickpocket whose method is stealth, is a lone wolf. He works solo, without a partner. His neat clothes and haircut, decent shoes, and polite manner are calculated to blend into a crowd. He’s a chameleon. We call him a gentleman thief, a type almost impossible to detect.

“I want you to explain for me—”

“Why me?”

“Because we have watched you work.” Bob tried to explain that he is an “artiste,” a stage performer, but Plaid couldn’t grasp the concept of stealing as entertainment.

Bob Arno steals the pickpocket's watch

“Please, don’t tell anyone what I do. I know this is bad work. You know, this is Spain, and there is no job for me. I have no papers… that’s why I’m doing this. Because I have a child to feed. See, I have reasons to steal, because I need to feed my baby.”

He tried to give Bob a little advice, one pickpocket pal to another. “Use your brain, be smart. You don’t need violence. Use your mind.”

The pickpocket took a few steps backwards, itchy to make his escape. “You need patience to do this. Now I must go. Let me say good-bye.”

And the gentleman thief was gone, an invisible germ in an oblivious crowd.

Excerpt from Travel Advisory: How to Avoid Thefts, Cons, and Street Scams
Chapter Five: Rip-Offs: Introducing… the Opportunist

© Copyright 2008-2011 Bambi Vincent. All rights reserved.

Unrelated posts:

An opportunist pickpocket—part 1

Pickpocket Plaid

La Rambla, Barcelona—On one crowded summer Sunday, Bob and I patrolled the perimeters of the street performers’ audiences. Of all the thieves and con men we watched that day, and there were many, “Plaid Shirt” was the slickest. I locked onto him because of his smile.

A Spanish folksinger had attracted an audience of hundreds. Backpackers were camped long-term on the ground, and people stood four and five deep behind them in a giant circle, enjoying the free concert.

Plaid Shirt was neatly dressed and I almost eliminated him on the basis of the thick wallet in his back pocket. His gray plaid shirt tucked into dark blue jeans did not grab my attention. The windbreaker he carried over his arm was a tip-off, but not a dead giveaway. I had considered a sweater myself that morning, and wished for one in the evening.

Plaid in a crowd

Can you identify the pickpocket in the crowd?

What raised my antennas was his behavior. Plaid Shirt sidled up close into the back of the attentive audience. After a minute, a man beside him turned and glared at him. My suspect smiled in response and took half a step back. But that smile! It was the paradigm of shit-eating grin.

Plaid Shirt slowly and calmly relocated, pressing himself into another section of the crowd. He did this repeatedly, never staying more than two minutes in one spot. I tagged onto him, stepping right in behind or beside him. Whenever he turned to leave, I swiveled away or moved in the opposite direction.

Plaid gets a long, hard look

Later Bob joined me with his camera. Plaid continued his pattern of getting close, then backing off. When he was glared at, he proffered his cat-ate-canary grin; but more often he was not noticed at all.

Round and round the periphery we went. After Bob got some footage of Plaid, I moved even closer and learned his secret specialty. With absolute stealth and fingers like feathers, Plaid lifted the flaps on men’s cargo pockets—those low-down side pants pockets—and unbuttoned them. Despite his use of a jacket for cover, I saw him unbutton three cargo pockets and one hip pocket, on four men. He probably opened many others I couldn’t see.

I did not, however, see him steal any wallets.

Why did he leave each mark after only opening the button? Did he sense the men had felt him? Was he just setting up for a later approach? Most of his targets seemed not to have sensed anything amiss.

Amazed that he hadn’t wisened to me, I began to think of Plaid as a hapless fool. We’d circled and circled the audience together, moving in, pausing, moving on. For forty-five minutes I followed the pickpocket’s balding head while he failed to notice me. With my bright white dress and big curly hair, it’s not as if I were totally inconspicuous. If he’d gotten anything, he would have left, at least long enough to dump the leather.

Plaid gets another glare.

Meanwhile, Bob dared not get close, although he may as well have. Plaid was concentrating so intently he wouldn’t even have noticed a six-foot-five videographer hovering over him. But Bob hung back while Plaid and I traced a flower-petal design around the hand-clapping fans, curving in and out at irregular intervals.

Plaid moved in behind a man with a child balanced on his shoulders. The man swayed gently with the music and the child tapped her thigh. Plaid lowered his jacket and positioned his body, attempting to block sight lines. I snuck in closer, in time to watch Plaid lift the flap of the father’s cargo pocket, and slowly open the button. I motioned for Bob to come near. This was a good opportunity with enough of a view.

Plaid worked meticulously. Stealth was his main operative, with nerve and patience tied for second and a goofy smile his ace in the hole. He kept his face forward and head straight; only his eyes flicked down now and then. Father and child were oblivious. The music swelled.

Plaid took a half step away. No reaction from the mark. He moved back in and lowered his jacket again. Bob slipped up behind me and I edged away, letting him have the sightline. In the background now, I went crazy not knowing. Was Plaid extracting the wallet? Was Bob getting it on camera? What would we do afterward: alert the father or try to talk to Plaid? I crept up, trying to see.

Interruption!—

Have I described La Rambla’s comical chair patrolman? He controls the rows of chairs on the upper end of the boulevard, collecting a few coins for the privilege of resting tired feet in prime people-watching seats. With his many-pocketed vest, visor cap, and change-purse at his waist, he looks like a circus clown’s imitation of a policeman. For years we’ve seen him waddling around his territory, a stern eye on his lucrative concession, quasi-defender of all he surveys.

—A shrill whistle blew, not far from our ears.

The superintendent of chairs marched toward us, pointing.

“Pick-pock-et!” he said, the whistle dropping from his mouth to his chest. “Attencione!”

Plaid's disarming smile

The concert continued. The father and child still swayed to the music. Only three people reacted to the pretender-officer’s accusation, and we three rearranged ourselves into an eccentric perimeter parade.

Plaid beat it around the circle and we followed. He still didn’t seem to be aware of us, the witless dolt. Like Plaid, I dodged cars in the street where the crowd stretched to the curb, but Bob was slower with a heavy camera-bag on his shoulder. I waited for him, keeping an eye on Plaid who had abandoned the game and now stood at a closed lotto booth.

What was he doing there? He was facing an inward corner, a niche in the wall of the kiosk, very close, but looking away, toward me. He was doing something with his hands. I stared at him, not worried now about being noticed. As before, Plaid looked innocently away from his busy hands.

Bob reached me. “Where is he?”

“One o’clock. At the kiosk. I bet he’s dumping a wallet!”

Plaid finished and strode away. I ran to the kiosk and, raising my sunglasses, peered closely into the dark shadow of the niche.

Foul fumes hit me in the face.

“He was peeing! Disgusting!”

More on Plaid in the next post.

Excerpt from Travel Advisory: How to Avoid Thefts, Cons, and Street Scams
Chapter Five: Rip-Offs: Introducing… the Opportunist

© Copyright 2008-2011 Bambi Vincent. All rights reserved.

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Hotel oddity #18

Toilet phone shelf
Toilet phone rest

China World Hotel, Beijing— Very nice room. In an effort to think of every detail, there’s a little glass shelf installed on the bathroom wall, toiletside. Lest you load it up with toiletries, which might seem the obvious thing, it’s etched with the image of a mobile phone. And for those over-actively vibrating phones, there’s a tiny guardrail. Cute!

© Copyright 2008-2011 Bambi Vincent. All rights reserved.

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Fully warned and aware; pickpocketed anyway

Good pickings

My old friend Avis perused my blog just before her recent trip to Spain. Then she wrote me, doubly concerned. She and her 25ish son were heading to Madrid, Barcelona, Seville, and day trips from those places. She was mostly worried for Zac, who didn’t take the threat seriously. She planned to use a small backpack for herself.

Immediately, I replied:

Briefly, I don’t recommend a backpack unless you plan to carry it on your chest. It’s totally out of your control back there. Try to find a bag with a short strap that fits close to your armpit. More later…

The next day, when I had more time, I provided more thorough advice to my friend:

Great trip you’ve got planned but, yeah, you have to be careful. Zac should not carry a wallet in his back pocket. Tell him that the easiest victims are the ones who say “it won’t happen to me.”

Strip your wallets of anything not necessary. It’s best to carry your passport (when you must carry it) and big cash in a pouch under your clothes. It can be one that hangs around your neck under your shirt, or our favorite, one that hangs inside your pants and has a loop that your belt goes through. These come in several sizes and different materials. Pickpocket proof!

Use a credit card for most purchases so you don’t need to carry a lot of euros. Make photocopies of both sides of all the cards in your wallet, and your passport first page, and keep the copies in your largest luggage. If you can, email the copies to yourself. That way you can get them from any computer any time.

Watch your bags at all times. In the airport, getting out of the taxi in front of your hotel, checking into the hotel, renting a car, etc. Don’t put your bag on the floor or back of your chair in a cafe. If your (or Zac’s) jacket is hanging on the back of a chair in a restaurant, make sure the pockets are empty. Don’t let yourself get distracted by someone asking an innocent question. I know I’m making it sound scary but really, if you pay attention, nothing will happen. If you look away, something might disappear.

Be especially careful on public transportation, getting on and off buses and trains, and going down the metro stairs. If your stuff is in front of you or tucked under your arm, you’ll be okay.

Search barcelona on my blog and read those stories for examples of the creative ruses that trick people into losing their stuff. The pigeon poop ploy, the swipe off tables, fake football, pseudo-cops, and endless good samaritan tricks. Sorry, but it’s true.

A new website just started called RobbedInBarcelona On twitter they’re @RiBCN, and they have a fb page “I know someone who got robbed in Barcelona.” They’re trying to shame the city into doing something. Just read the quotes they translated.

Still, bcn is one of my favorite cities in the world. The food, the mood, the architecture, the galleries…

Pretty good advice, I thought. But not good enough. Avis reported back after her trip:

There’s no other way to say this or to soften the blow, my shame… I had my wallet with my 2 credit cards and debit card and drivers license and 150 in Euros and ?? US money stolen on the metro after landing at the Madrid airport on my first day! The rest of the trip was great. Honestly I can’t figure out how or when the theft occurred, those guys are good, and yes I had a terrific traveling money thing to stick in my pants, but I was going to do it all when I got to the hotel, I did remain vigilant and yet I was got. Zac sez I manifested it and maybe I did.

One way to avoid pickpockets!

Sounds like the boy’s gloating. Schadenfreude, anyone? Impressed with the slickness of her thieves, Avis related just how diligent she’d been:

I was careful to bury my wallet in the bottom of my zipped bag. On top of it was a book, glass case, papers and my passport, which was in the “travel wallet” on the very bottom. The bag was my everyday purse: a woman’s purse-type backpack that I could wear with the straps on my back (in other words nice fabric and small; not a school or travelers’ backpack). It has zippers and a pocket in the front which were untouched. I did not have it on my back EVER, rather on one shoulder so that I could hold it with one arm, or in front of my body. My best guess is that the theft occurred on the escalator when it must have swung behind me and when I obviously couldn’t see behind me and movement was occurring. The zipper was only open about 5 inches (amazing!)

I told Avis that pickpockets do try to close the zippers they’ve opened, if they have time. Gives them a few more seconds to get away if the victim should happen to glance at her bag. I’m sorry that I didn’t warn my friend to prepare herself immediately, even before stepping off her plane. After a long overnight flight, groggy, distracted, burdened with luggage, navigating an unfamiliar Metro system and trying to find a hotel you’ve never seen, you’re at your most vulnerable. Pickpockets know this. As proof, Avis added:

The receptionist at our hotel in Madrid said 3 other guests (currently staying in the same hotel) were robbed at the airport. 3!!!!

The lesson I learned from Avis’s experience is this: at the risk of sounding like an alarmist, stress early preparedness. Stress that bags don’t have nerve-endings, and therefore need to be in line-of-sight. Emphasize that while we are busy with travel concerns, thieves are focused on finding the chink in our armor. A moment of distraction is the gift of an opportunity to a pickpocket.

Read: Purseology 101 and Pocketology 101

© Copyright 2008-2011 Bambi Vincent. All rights reserved.

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A pickpocket cab scam

Tim Hopkins and his father

Traveler Tim Hopkins reports on an “ingenious cab-theft scam.”

Lessons learned, disaster averted

I recently purchased two copies of your book, one for me, and one for my father. We had planned a trip to Africa, and after reading the book, I wanted to be ready! I had purchased a PacSafe Wallet Safe, with a zippered opening, and a pretty strong chain. While in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia, we were victims of a cab-theft scam that was ingenious! The hotel had arranged a cab for us, and when he dropped us off at the restaurant, we exchanged cell numbers, and tested them. He said to call for our ride home, and left.

After dinner, we called him, and he said he’s be there in 5 minutes. Exactly five minutes later, another similar cab (they are all very dilapidated and patched-up) shows up, and flags us to come get in. Dad asked the driver if he had been sent for us, and of course he said, “yes, yes, come on!”, so we got in. As he started to roll away, he asked us where we wanted to go. I realized he wasn’t our guy, and told him to pull over and let us out. He said, “no problem”, and pulled over. Small problem, though—he had removed the inside door handles! I tried to get the door open, as did Dad from the back seat—and the guy starts to reach across my lap (I am in the front seat), pulling on some wires he had rigged in the door, yelling “push, push!,” and causing quite a fuss. He “couldn’t get it open,” and had me sit more forward, hollering and fussing, and pushing, and slid down behind me to work the door. “Push, push!” “I am pushing!,” jostle, fuss, fuss, yell—quite a scene in that little cab! Finally the door pops open, and I pop out. Dad didn’t wait for his turn, and came over the front seat and out. The guy shut the door, and took off. I reach behind me, and no wallet! Just a dangling chain, broken or cut about halfway down!

Fortunately, I had followed your advice, and this was a ‘disposable’ travel wallet, with around $100.00 worth of local money, two of my four cards, and a license; mostly very replaceable stuff. Essentially it was his to steal, and he got it! The beauty of it was that for a hundred bucks and three phone calls, I got a combat lesson in what “the fuss” feels like. We were both astounded at how we had prepared, yet were still unable to recognize the escalation of the situation. This has let to our adopting some new policies!

    1. Use only verified cabs. We should have waited for the driver, specifically.
    2. When traveling together, we always get in the cab one at a time, and the first one looks it over. Especially for door handles!
    3. We should recognize “the fuss,” and when it starts, should both say “stop, lets settle down a second here,” and reassess.
    4. Splitting up travel wallets is mandatory, and works when all else fails. 

I also bought a Pacsafe DuffelSafe and Pacsafe backpack, which are both slash-resistant, and lockable (also with a cable for securing to an object). These were both great for the hotel and when leaving bags in the car for things like shopping or our safari.

Thanks again—you have a fascinating job.
Happy travels!
Tim and Don Hopkins

© Copyright 2008-2011 Bambi Vincent. All rights reserved.

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