Naples panorama—view from our room at the San Francesco al Monte Hotel.
Day 1—TIME TO MAKE an announcement. Our long-dreamed of, long-worked-for project has become reality. Bob and I are making a documentary about pickpockets. The shoot starts now! We have an incredible team, and backing us is National Geographic, the fantasy of any serious documentary-maker. And we have a film director, Kun Chang, whose passion and persistence has been the engine of our project for more than four years.
Bob and I have been on our feet countless, endless days, for the past seventeen years in pursuit of pickpockets. We find, follow, and film the thieves, talk to them, and interview them. Dropping into the most fabulous locations of the world, we give short shrift to museums and monuments, and instead lurk among the tourists, preying on their prey. In the name of research, we people-watch. We’ve slowly acquired better and better video equipment, and a massive archive of crime footage.
Time to do something with it.
We’re on location now in a European city we chose for the main filming of our documentary. Over the next numerous posts, I intend to share the excitement, successes, and surprises of our journey as we dive ever deeper into the world of pickpockets. I don’t mean to be coy if I only hint of tantalizing details; certain aspects are contractually unmentionable until broadcast.
This is Part 1 of THE MAKING OF OUR NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC DOCUMENTARY, PICKPOCKET KING. The film is about us, Bob Arno and Bambi Vincent. We are “thiefhunters in paradise.” The paradise we chose for the story is the warm and wild city of Naples, Italy, home to the world’s best pickpockets. The documentary premieres December 2 at 8pm ET/PT on the National Geographic Channel.
—Originally posted 9/9/10 and soon thereafter password-protected at the request of the producer.
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If you don’t know what a pickpocket looks like, or how they distract you to steal your stuff, this book is for you. The ebook has 60 color photos, most of which are portraits of thieves.
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Think it couldn’t happen to you? Then you really need this book!
Learn:
• Why we’re such easy targets, and what to do about it;
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• Why even fake jewelry is a bad idea;
• How greed will get you every time;
• And so much more.
All the goodness of the 250-page hardcover edition has been reduced to weightlessness and improved with color images and clickable links.
From the reviews:
“Each chapter of this book, standing alone, would be worth the price of the book.”
“The bad guys are very, very good. This book shows how to make sure that they practice their arts on some other poor sucker, and not you.”
“This book is a must-read for anyone travelling further than their front door.…Moreover, it’s also highly entertaining, and in places, very funny indeed.”
“So, do yourself a favor before you travel: get a copy of Travel Advisory. When you consider the cost and stress and inconvenience of a stolen bag, it could easily be the best few bucks you spend.”
“I, too, was a victim of Barcelona street scams…” said more than a hundred people. And they described their own thieves, con artists, fake beggars, purse snatchers, scammers, fraudsters, pickpockets, and thugs. The page, Barcelona Scams, is riveting reading!
My great friend Terry Jones has just packed up his Barcelona life after 15 years of loving life in that great city. While he’s moved on to exciting challenges—he’s starting up FluidInfo—everything he’s acquired in Barcelona had to go. Along with about 3,000 books, he parted with his collection of Barcelona street scams. He gave them to me.
We met though thiefhunting about ten years ago. Terry describes the odd convergence of our ancestral histories here. While Bob and I go looking for thieves, Terry doesn’t make any special effort as a thiefhunter. He’s simply observant. He sees scams and cons all around him (and you).
Barcelona Street Scams
Have you been to Barcelona? Were you pickpocketed or hustled out of money? Tricked, conned, or scammed? If so, did you report it to the police? (I’m asking for survey purposes.) Take a look at Barcelona Street Scams. Add your own Barcelona street scams to this page. Just scroll down to the comment section below. And please do mention whether or not you bothered with a police report. And if so, how you were treated by the police.
Thank you for sharing your Barcelona street scams!
The lawlessness of Naples stunned us all. Even Bob and I, who have been there many, many times, were newly amazed at the reckless race of vehicles.
“They say the traffic lights are merely a suggestion,” our Roman driver laughed as he pulled to an abrupt halt. “Here we are.”
We had only a morning to shoot the scene and, as we hadn’t made an appointment with the con men, we’d need luck as well as efficiency. Would they be working? Would we find them on the corners we know of? Would there be any ships in port, full of potential suckers? Bob and I felt the pressure. We’d brought a network news crew all the way to Naples with no certainty whatsoever.
By 9:00 a.m. we were rigged and ready. Bob directed our driver to park at the ferry terminal, where hydrofoils depart for Capri. A small cruise ship was just tying up. That was a good sign.
I banished Bob to the wrong side of the street. Since we had brazenly filmed here several months before, it was possible they’d recognize him. No visible video cameras, we specified, or they’d never offer the sale. We must all be extremely cautious because we don’t know how an angry Napolitano crook might react. Neither do we know if any of the others loitering on the corner are their thugs. What we do know about is the proliferation of mafia gangs in Naples, their turf wars, and their violence.
From the maritime terminal parking lot, we observed the opposite side of the street with binoculars. A large news kiosk hulked on the corner, open for business as usual.
ABC 20/20’s investigative reporter Arnold Diaz and I crossed to the corner where we hoped to find our prey, who’d hope to prey on us. The rest of the crew trailed us at a distance. First we paused at the news kiosk. With hundreds of magazines on display, it would be good for at least ten minutes, time in which we could scrutinize the characters who hung around. Most were selling knock-off watches and showed their wares eagerly.
I noticed two scooters parked on the sidewalk. Both had roomy, lockable storage bins perched on the back. Aha! These, I knew, were where the con men kept their props. Another good sign. Of course, scooters are everywhere in Naples; these could belong to anyone.
Arnold and I moved halfway down the block and examined a shop window full of watches. Our corner seemed quiet. Other than fake Rolexes and cheap leather jackets, there were no deals to be had. Perhaps it was too early. We ambled back toward the magazine stand, wishing for a proposition.
“Cellphone?” A middle-aged man held out a shiny new-model Nokia. “Try! Call your home. I sell cheap.”
“Really? I can try it?” Arnold looked around to be sure the camera crew was in position. “How do I call America?”
“I don’t know, better call Italy,” the man said.
“I don’t know anyone in Italy,” Arnold said. “But it works? I believe you.”
After a little negotiation we settled on a price. $200 for two cellphones. “We can call each other, honey!” I said to Arnold, as he counted out cash. He counted slowly, giving Glenn Ruppel, our segment producer, and Jill Goldstein, our hidden camera expert, time to move into position to catch the switch. The two looked so completely innocent, standing there against a shop window, not ten feet from us. Glenn’s eyes roved everywhere as he pretended to be in an intense conversation on his cellphone. Jill seemed to be bored waiting for him. She looked down at her sneaker, turning her foot a bit as if examining the shoe. In fact, Jill was not looking at her shoe. She was looking into a hole cut in the top of her fanny pack, in which she had a video monitor. Jill had hidden button-sized cameras in the side of her clothing, in order to face away from the action. With the monitor, she could check that she was positioned correctly. Bob was across the street, watching the same scene he’d seen so many times before.
The salesman put the two phones in a box and looked around for his colleague, who came trotting over with transformers. They added these to the box, closed it, and put the box in a translucent plastic shopping bag. The salesman tied a tight knot in the bag.
Arnold handed over the money.
“Have you visited the castle?” the salesman asked, and pointed across the street to the thirteenth century Castel Nuovo. His English wasn’t too good, but he got his point across. He pointed, and our eyes couldn’t help but follow his broad gesture. In that instant, we knew, he and his accomplice swapped bags.
“Did they get it?” Arnold asked me. I glanced over at Glenn, still rapt in his phony phone conversation. He waggled one hand. What does that mean?! Sort of? A little? Don’t know? What to do now? We couldn’t very well back up and replay the scene. Arnold took the knotted bag and the deal was done. There was no hand-shaking.
Grinning, Arnold immediately began to untie the bag. The salesman and his colleague, watching warily, hurried away. Arnold tore open the box and looked inside. A water bottle. No cellphones.
“Hey!” he shouted. “Come back! Stop!”
The two men jumped onto their scooters and roared off into the crazy Naples traffic.
The five of us reconvened.
“Did you get it?” Arnold asked eagerly.
“I don’t know, we’re not sure.” Jill and Glenn said.
“Why don’t we try to interview a police officer,” Bob suggested. “They’re all around us. Let’s see how they react when we show them the water bottle.”
“Good idea,” Arnold said.
We walked across the street to the passenger ship terminal, where we thought there might be a chance of finding an officer who spoke a little English. No luck, but with Bob’s mixture of languages and the water bottle in the box as evidence, they understood perfectly.
“Allora,” the officer said, and threw up his hands. It was the all-purpose Italian expression that here, now, meant: idiots! you get what you pay for!
The switch: crude carving made to roughly resemble the original offering.
Souvenir Sucker
Our friend Russell, a magician, works a considerable amount of time each year in Asia. A streetwise New Yorker, he knows pretty much all the tricks played from the East Coast to the Far East.
Russell was in Bali recently, between jobs. He was on a bus crowded with tourists when traffic ground to a halt. The morning was sweltering. Windows were open. Occasional clouds of dust wafted in, more welcome than rain, which would force the closing of windows and bring the interior humidity to Beverly Hills spa levels.
As traffic slowed, then stopped, a raging hoard of pleading faces surrounded the bus. Vendors reached up to the open windows offering their wares. Wood carvings, silver jewelry, and stamped batik sarongs danced in the windows like props in a puppet show. Vendors had only desperate moments to tempt these tourists before they and their dollars vanished down the road.
Always a sucker for souvenirs, Russell scrutinized the merchants, looking for something new. He was not disappointed. He noticed an intricately carved something glowing in the sunlight as its hawker flourished it. The expert salesman caught Russell’s interest and pushed his way near. He proffered his wares for inspection. It was a hollow piece of bone—cow or sheep, Russell guessed—carved with delicate figures in classic Indonesian poses. So thin, it was, the light shone through the bone in warm amber tones.
“Twenty dollar,” the vendor said, scratching a long dark scar on his neck.
“I’ll give you five,” said Russell.
“Ten.”
“Okay, ten.” Russell reached for his wallet and took out an American ten while the vendor wrapped the bone and passed it through the window.
The bus began to move and the vendors scattered reluctantly, some trotting alongside the bus for another hopeful moment. Soon the bus picked up speed and the locals were left in the dust.
Pleased with his find, Russell unrolled his carving from its plastic bag. He stared at it.
It had looked so much finer a moment ago. Now, the blocky figures hacked into the bone felt sharp against his fingers. The delicate details were gone. He held it up to the light. No glow.
The bait: beautiful, intricately carved bone offered for sale in Bali.
Cheated!, Russell thought. They got me, a world-wise New Yorker. He rewrapped his booby prize and looked out at the passing lime-green terraced rice fields, the tall spirit houses, and offerings to the gods placed in the roadside gutters with care.
We ran into Russell in Bali as someone else might bump into a coworker at the grocery store. Together, we strolled along the waterfront of Cape Sari and through an open-air market. Fat pigs and goats lay suckling their broods beside stacks of bamboo furniture, while chickens stood waiting for sale, one to a bell-shaped woven basket. Souvenir t-shirts hung limply above varnished seashells and carved Buddha heads. Postcards outnumbered food items. Just a few years before, we remembered, only eggs and cloth were sold here. As we browsed and wandered, Russell told us about his morning rip-off and, laughing, promised to show us his white elephant.
“Shit! There’s the guy!” Russell pointed and, there, unbelievably, was the man with the scar on his neck, offering the same beautiful piece of carved bone. The three of us watched with fascination as the man made a sale, as he pulled a plastic bag out of his cloth satchel and adroitly swapped artifacts.
It was the classic bait-and-switch, expertly performed. Russell grinned, not at all displeased at having been duped this way.
“He’s a magician!” he said. “Did you see how he used misdirection? Fucking great!”
For a highly skilled young street performer, Russell has been known to toss ten bucks into a hat, and that’s all he’d paid this con man earlier. But he wasn’t quite satisfied.
He strode up to the shyster who, of course, didn’t recognize him at all.
“How much?” Russell asked, and the two repeated their earlier negotiations. Bob and I watched from a distance.
“You don’t have to wrap it,” Russell said, when they’d agreed on a price.
The vendor’s face fell. “Yes, must wrap!”
“No. Besides, I want this one.” Russell held onto the fine sample.
Detail of the offered carving, and the corresponding area on the crude replacement.
“And the guy started to panic,” Russell told us later, with absolute glee. “And behind me, another vendor, a woman, began to laugh and point at us. You could tell she was happy to see this guy getting caught.” Russell was laughing so hard he could hardly talk. Now he flourished the fine bone carving as the vendor had, triumphant. The sun was low and glowed through the delicate design of the salesman’s floor sample.
“I’m gonna put them side by side on a shelf,” he told us, “one beautiful, one crude, and a story to go with them.”
[This Bait-and-Switch series started here. More in the next post.]
Our first clear capture of the actual swap occurred on a sidewalk. The partners were running after their customer, afraid they’d lost the sale. They did the switch behind him, right out in the open. It’s beautiful in slow motion, like world-class magic. You see the “magician’s assistant” hand over one sack, turn, and tuck an identical one under his jacket.
When the sale had been concluded, Bob told the victim he’d just been swindled. The man didn’t think twice. He turned and bolted down the street, caught the con men, and got his money back, no questions asked.
In later visits to Naples, as our equipment improved, we used tiny hidden cameras with remote controls. This allowed us to get the ultimate exposés, including the scenes we helped capture for ABC 20/20.
Eventually, we were introduced to a trio of swap-thieves. I was waiting on a corner with Luciano-the-tram-thief while Bob fetched a translator. He was gone forever, it seemed. Meanwhile, it was my job to entertain Luciano and keep him from disappearing, from going back to work. We tried talking, but both of us were frustrated.
“Pacco,” Luciano said, pointing toward Bait-and-Switch-Central where a few men offered video cameras and cellphones to innocent but greedy foreigners. He waved them over. I tensed, wondering if they’d recognize me, worried about what Luciano was telling them about us. These were mobsters, intimidating men impervious to laws. “Pacco,” Luciano said again, indicating the three men who each had an electronic item in his hand, and I understood that pacco, Italian for package, was the slang term for their swindle. Also, that they all spoke rudimentary English.
“I am Davide,” one of the pacchi said, “and my friend is Guiddo and he is Giandamo.” I was obliged to shake their hands.
“Amigos, four years,” I told them, patting Luciano’s arm. Luciano said something in Napolitano and they all nodded. The pacchi told me that they “change” packages. I said I know, they sell water, or salt. They laughed. I was dizzy with conflicting emotions: high on being “inside” this fraternity of impermeable criminals, and full of fear and revulsion at the same time. With a jovial facade, I took a camera bag from one of them and made a show of tugging a zipper on it, as if it couldn’t be opened. They laughed again, knowing I was referring to the trick of gluing or melting zippers to delay the discovery of the scam.
We struggled with conversation until a few tourists wandered over and the pacchi pounced, pitching their wares. I got instant sweat in my armpits and a heartbeat in my throat. They caught my eye and I gave a barely perceptible nod. Inside, I was petrified. They carried on, eyes flicking back to see that I wouldn’t interfere with their scam. I couldn’t believe they let me stay in the vicinity. One piercing look and I would have fled.
Their quarry eventually decided against the purchase and walked away. The pacchi waited an instant, then ran after the mark making the switch without cover, in front of my watching eyes, and calling behind the mark: “Papa, papa,” hoping now to make the sale at any ridiculous price.
Bob returned just then with an aura of urgency that dominated my attention; the pacchi scene faded out like a movie transition. Officially introduced now, it’s unlikely we’ll be able to film the Naples switcheroo again.
What astounds us most about Naples’ bait-and-switch game is not the fact that it occurs right out in the open in full view of surrounding residents and businesses. Nor is it the perpetuation, the reliability of finding these guys on the same corner, year after year. Nor is it the fact that they haven’t been bashed up by a returning pack of angry victims.
No, it’s that the crime is committed smack under the noses of Naples’ law enforcement agencies. It is, apparently, tolerated, at the least.
The primary location of bait-and-switch activity is directly across the street from the city’s maritime terminal. Visiting cruise ship passengers congregate in the area, and must traverse the corner to walk anywhere. They usually pause there, either gathering the nerve to cross the wild traffic, or recovering from just having done so. Other people are in the area to catch ferries to Capri, Sorrento, or Ischia. There on Via Cristoforo Colombo, tourists and, presumably others, are scrutinized by Marine Police sentries. Naples’ City Police patrol by car and, in packs of five, on foot. There is also the Falchi Squad, the civilian-dressed motorcycle cops who look for “micro-crime.” All these, and the republic’s military force, are usually present on this intersection.
Yet, with all but a nod and a wink, the fearless mobsters carry on.
Your greed + a deal too good to pass up = bait and switch:
One package contains the real item; the other is "rocks-in-a-box"
Buy-a-Brick
“Pssssst. Come ’ere. A brand new video camera with flip-out screen. In the box. $250. Here, have a look, try it out. Look, here’s the box, and all the accessories. Battery, a/c adapter, microphone. Only $225? Mama mia! Okay, it’s yours! Here, we’ll put it in the box for you, see? And a bag so you can carry it easily. Okay, thank you very much. Here’s your bag.”
You saw him put the camera in the box. You saw him put the box in the bag. So how did you end up with a sack of salt?
A better question: What were you doing trying to buy a thousand-dollar video camera on a street corner? What were you thinking?
Yes, the seller looked like a decent man, he seemed okay. But that wasn’t his son with him, it was his partner; and their performance together is as precise as a tango. Not only that, there are four or five teams per corner in the hottest areas, competing with such subtlety you’d never suspect they’re running a scam. After all, if they let on, you’re not likely to buy from any of them.
Bait and switch
As usual, observation tells the story. The swindler approaches you with the camera and, once you take it in your hands, he summons his partner, who brings a plastic shopping bag through which you can see a box. The box is opened for you and you see that it contains the promised accessories.
How can you go wrong? You’ll take it! You place the camera in the box yourself, tuck in the flap. You dig for your cash, which you cleverly placed in a pouch beneath your shirt, or in a money belt, or in your sock. You offer the money and take the bag. You even shake hands. What a deal. What a steal!
What you never noticed was the critical switch. You were intentionally distracted for an eyeblink, while the “son” passed by with an identical box in an identical bag. The bags were swapped. It’s the classic bait and switch.
You might think it difficult to fall for a scam like this one, but it happens many times a day on a certain corner in Naples. Ship officers and crewmen are primary targets because the con men know their ships depart shortly after the purchase and it’s unlikely they’ll return. Ordinary tourists are also easily tempted.
Bob and I first observed this trick in 1994, and have watched it develop over the years to include cellphones. In the beginning we were afraid to film it. From pickpocketing and bag-snatching-by-motor scooter to extortion and murder, all crime in Naples is said to be mob-related. The Camorra, Naples’ mafia, is made up of some 80 clans and thousands of members who operate in the city. Not that Bob and I knew that when we began our audacious stake-out of these grandfatherly crooks. But the vague knowledge we had was intimidating enough for a couple of lightweights. If you want to infiltrate the bad guys, you better know what you’re doing.
Eventually we began to film from across the street, and then to acquire bits and pieces up close with an exposed camera held casually. After all, tourists carry cameras and shoot the sights, so ours wouldn’t be incongruous. The following year we were more brazen, and carried a small digital video camera hidden in a shopping bag with a hole cut for its lens. This worked fairly well, though we were nervous as a thief in the act. It was this setup that got us our first clear footage of what we’d seen with our eyes so many times: the switch.
The move is simplicity itself; its timing perfection. The salesman tries to back up to a corner of a building, usually a magazine kiosk or a phone booth, anything to shield the substitution. That allows him to lower his hand and the bag while his unseen partner does the swap.
Our first clear capture of the actual swap occurred on a sidewalk.
In Naples, Italy, media reports concerning our upcoming National Geographic pickpocket documentary have stirred up serious controversy. A large number of citizens have become upset, despite not having seen the film. More than a thousand have signed a petition demanding that the program not be broadcast this Sunday, September 25, in Italy.
The petitioners believe that the film will give Naples a bad reputation. (Uh, Naples already has a certain reputation, folks.) Whether broadcast in Italy or not, the documentary, Pickpocket King, will play in the rest of the world, with most countries airing it between now and the end of the year.
Naples deserves much more treatment and attention from the NG. The “documentary” shot with the help of actors is detrimental to the image of Naples from the title, but rather affirms the false! According to ministry data Napoli is not in any way being the first city in number of pickpockets! A giant transmitting information such as the NG this “documentary” yet another deal, free low blow to the city of Naples to zero the work of active citizenship and associations that try to do every day out of Naples, a new image, the true, that of a big, beautiful capital of Europe is unique in the world! Among the many, even our work, our tribute to the City of Naples, to which we have dedicated an entire project “Another Naples” http://www.oceanus.it/it/progetti/another-naples.html Here following the first 1000 signatures collected in less than three days, from September 23 to 20 at night, to ask the non-airing of the “documentary” National Geographic “Naples, the King of pickpockets” scheduled for Sunday, September 25, 2011.
I have pruned the 1,023 petitioners’ names from the post.
Bob and I want to emphasize that we adore the city of Naples (from a visitor’s perspective, of course). While shooting the documentary we made a conscious effort (easily accomplished) to highlight the beauty and charm of Naples.
Afterwards, in the editing room, the filmmaking team of director, producer, and editors had a story to tell and a finite number of minutes in which to tell it. Sadly, much great stuff was cut which portrayed the good, the bad, the beautiful, and the ugly. As always after a successful “shoot,” all parties to the making of the documentary were disappointed to see the loss of this fantastic scene or that poignant image because ruthless editing was required.
Here, Bob Arno replies to Oceanus ngo and the issues raised:
Hello Oceanus ngo. Thanks for sharing your concerns. We are not representatives of National Geographic, and we have no influence as to the program’s title. I even doubt that its head office has editorial input in the marketing of its programs outside the United States.
While I cannot address your dismay over the title, I would like to comment on a more sensitive point: the prevalence of pickpocketing in Naples compared to other European cities.
Real pickpocket statistics are impossible to acquire anywhere. First, how do you define “pickpocketing?” Tearing a handbag off a shoulder from a scooter? Ripping off a Rolex? A wallet or passport cleverly extracted from a fanny pack on a bus?
Official statistics are based on police reports. Reports tend to fall into multiple categories. We’ve written extensively about all this here.
We have spent considerable time researching Naples, actually in Naples, every year for the past 18 years. We research many, many other cities as well.
In the summer months, Naples has more cruise ship visitors than hotel guests. How likely is it that a typical cruise ship passenger experiences a theft in Naples, versus in St. Petersburg, Barcelona, or Istanbul? All these cities have pickpocketing at various level, and all cater to cruise ship passengers.
This brief reply is not the forum to explain all the complicated details of statistics. The majority of travelers, and especially those who visit this blog, are more interested in intriguing anecdotes of various cons and scams, and how to protect themselves when traveling abroad.
Here is a summarization of my thoughts regarding this Sunday’s broadcast:
1. Generally, only 30% (or fewer) of victims ever bother to visit a police station to report a theft, and even fewer cruise passengers because their ships usually depart at four or five p.m. A rule of thumb: there are usually 70% more incidents than statistics show.
2. Some cities “massage” these reports even further for various reasons. I do not know what the official daily or weekly counts are in Naples. There may be a political agenda, for example, requesting more funds for police; or the opposite, less money for law enforcement.
3. A large number of tourists who “visit Naples” head straight out of town for Pompeii, Capri, and the Amalfi Coast—cruise ship passengers, for example. While these tourists have officially “visited Naples,” they have not strolled around town. Of those who do experience the charm of the streets of Naples, and especially of those who brave public transportation, the proportion of pickpocket incidents is higher than in any other city we have researched (and we have researched many around the world). This conclusion is based on our constant survey of visitors to Naples, the number of pickpockets we have observed “at work” and interviewed, and the vast number of times we have been pickpocketed ourselves (sometimes several times in a single day). Granted, our wallet is empty for the sake of research, but we do not make it easy for or tempt pickpockets. We simply behave as any tourists.
4. Some cities with pickpocketing problems have used more draconian legal maneuvers to fight the crime. For example: in Paris video cameras are mounted on train platforms coupled with new legal statutes. In France, it is now a crime for a pickpocket (who already has one conviction) to begin even the first step in a sequence of moves to extract a wallet, such as “fanning,” which is brushing against the victim’s pockets to establish where the money is.
Professional pickpockets even have their own lists of cities where they like to visit in order to practice their “art.” Barcelona is number one in pickpocket-preference, because of the ineffective legal system. Paris, on the other hand is now disliked because of the cameras and the new law.
5. Compared to other Italian cities, for example Rome or Bologna, an uninformed visitor stands a higher chance of a pickpocket confrontation in a concentrated area, including on local transportation. That the skill of Naples’ pickpockets is exceptionally high. We say this after having witnessed in excess of 500 pickpocketing incidents around the world.
6. The double-threat of pickpocketing coupled with credit card fraud is not high in Naples. “Shoulder-surfing” and breaking of credit card pin codes is higher in other cities. It is the actual extraction skill and success rate that is exceptionally high in Naples.
7. Media across Europe and especially travel companies always warn their travelers to be very careful when visiting Napoli. This is a reputation gained over many years of visitors returning home with unfortunate experiences. It is also true that Napoli today has regained a reputation as a fun city with energy and flair.
We, personally, consider Naples one of the most charming cities in Europe. An absolute “must see” for any traveler; the restaurants, the shopping, the old city, the waterfront, the coffee shops, the great historical sites, the extension of the Amalfi coast, side trips to Capri and the unbelievable warmth of the people—its friendliness!
Yes, an entire program could be made about the pulse of the city and its people. But is there a “will” to clean up the criminal mess? It will take a monstrous effort, a strong focus on correcting a certain social malaise, and the re-education of those who are still in the quagmire of criminal activity. We’re back to money and available funds in a time when all of Europe is contracting.
Nobody wants to hear what two outsiders like ourselves have to say about the measures which are necessary. You have your own experts. But I am confident that if you can direct sufficient energy into giving the hundred or so professional pickpockets in Naples opportunities for new jobs, you would be able to clean up the image of Naples within two years. Expose the problem and offer alternatives. Others might say: why help these bastards?
8. The Italian media in Napoli has mentioned (in the few articles we have managed to read) that the program depended on actors and that it is not a true documentary. This is not so. I have not seen the Italian version of the program, so I cannot speak with absolute authority on this matter. But I can say that, apart from a short demonstration of bag-snatching from a motor-scooter, there are no actors. There is also a short segment in which two former pickpockets are interviewed and asked to re-enact some moves. They are not actors either. Since they gave up pickpocketing to find new careers, they also hoped for small parts in movies. Hopefully this will happen for them.
Their parts are brief, and the film does not concentrate on their action, or their participation. All the other pickpockets in this documentary are themselves; not actors, but professional thieves. I have seen some of them “working” trams and buses over a ten-year period.
If those in Naples who are fortunate enough to have a stable job and income are concerned that National Geographic will cast an ugly image upon their beloved city, I say they are wrong. This documentary does not portray Naples as especially dangerous or threatening. It simply follows my hunt for a specific individual, and shows how I then “connect” with his team.
One might say that I am “fooling” the thieves—our term is “social engineering”—because our ultimate goal is to educate the world on the methods of skilled pickpockets. The outcome, after watching a film like this one, is that the viewer will better understand how to behave when traveling, and how to avoid the unfortunate incidents they will never forget. In that endeavor we are extremely successful. Far more so than the police. We make people aware—through this platform, through books, and through stage presentations in which we mix “reality” with comedy show-business. The lasting impression is one that is never forgotten. We have literally thousands of thank-you notes to prove the success of our campaign.
I’m thrilled to announce the availability of my book, Travel Advisory: How to Avoid Thefts, Cons, and Street Scamson Amazon for the Kindle. Only $9.99!
On iTunes.
And of course, the hardcover edition is still available.
Book blurbs:
Unsuspecting travelers face an obstacle course of pickpockets, scams, cons, and rip-offs. In the places people love to visit most, the authors find, follow, film, and interview the thieves who target travelers. Why do the criminals spill their guts? What do they say? And how can we avoid their trickery? Based on ten years of trekking through paradise with hidden cameras, Travel Advisory: How to Avoid Thefts, Cons, and Street Scams explores the risks, exposes the methods and motivations of the perpetrators, and teaches travelers how to avoid becoming a victim. With 60 color photos.
By George H. Sutherland—(Paradise Valley, AZ USA) – See all my reviews
This book is simply amazing in providing what many books on the subject do not and cannot, because most writers do not have the depth and breadth of personal knowledge required. Bambi Vincent & Bob Arno have done an extraordinary amount of research, covering many countries over many years. The wealth of details gives the reader what are possibly the best weapons against the many cons covered in this extensive advisory – education and awareness. … [It’s long.]
By Randy Given—(Manchester, CT USA) – See all my reviews
After reading some brief articles online, I was wondering how a whole book could be made out of the subject without getting really dry. This book managed that. Lots of ideas (to watch out for!) and very interesting reading. I’ll definitely be more prepared and already used some ideas on my recent four trips.
By Allan M. Gathercoal “fdoamerica”—(Norcross, GA) – See all my reviews
Most of the time, especially when traveling, paranoia is good!
I have traveled extensively internationally for the last 15 years and consider myself travel savvy. Recently, in Peru, I have been robbed of my passport, camera, credit card and ultimately, my peace of mind. This robbery happened in broad daylight, 100 yards from a policeman (in Peru the police are known for their collaboration with criminals and their corruption). If I would have read “Travel Advisory” before this trip, I am sure I would have been more vigilant, yes, more paranoid. Thus, I would have correctly thought, in a paranoid way: I am “fresh meat” among unseen predators.
When a giant corporation closes its shutters and bolts its doors against its own client, its like a reverse prison. I, the client, feel like a tiny, pesky ant searching for a chink in the fortress wall so I can shout in my small voice: “hear me, and respond without boilerplate.” I’m almost deafened by the fortress’s PA system which occasionally blares “NO. JUST NO.”
The fortress does not spend time formulating thoughtful replies or building strong arguments. Those mundane activities are not necessary for fortresses, which have shutters, boltable doors, huge legal departments, and very large boots for squashing pesky ants.
All this over $725.
Come to think of it, $725 is exactly the average fee I’ve paid H&R Block for tax preparation each year for the past ten years. (I don’t have handy our prior twenty years’ fees.)
H&R Block is using bully tactics. Its M.O. is to stand impenetrable and unresponsive while its clients exhaust themselves arguing H&R Block’s arbitrary defenses.
Apologies. I have not allowed this blog to become a platform for personal complaints. But wait a minute. The theme of Thiefhunters in Paradise is thieves, thugs, and gangsters… So this report fits.
