Metro madness in Roma!

Should you be unfortunate enough to be pickpocketed in Rome DON’T do what I did!

A leisurely day spent sunning ourselves on the beach at Ostia – Rome’s seaside destination of choice – ended in dramatic fashion when I fell victim to a gang of three borseggiatori prowling the Eternal City’s Metro system in search of pushover tourists.

But it didn’t go to plan for them as the ringleader felt the full force of a Scotsman with his dander up – and a packed train got a free lesson in Anglo Saxon swear words which put some on the edge of their seats.

I was standing close to an exit door in a packed carriage as the gang boarded at Manzoni station, the stop before our San Giovanni destination. The boss man, a squat and stocky 40-something who looked South American in appearance and wearing a bright blue t-shirt, was accompanied by a young guy in his 20s.

Both stood in front of me facing the door but a sour-faced young woman accompanying them caught my attention when she insisted on ploughing into the crowd despite there being little room to move, and she ended up squeezing into a space on my right side.

Maybe she picked me out because I had the classic gullible tourist look – t-shirt, shorts, trainers, sunglasses and on my bonce my favoured Borsellino hat – I did look the part after all.

Later, as we went over the incident, mio amico and long-time Italian travelling buddy Scott Douglas, said he thought she had attempted to lift his phone out of his back pocket.

I am pretty well-travelled in Italy and have no fear of using public transport, which is usually quite safe, and my misplaced confidence was bolstered by the fact that my wallet is very small and fits neatly into my front pocket.

As we reached our stop at San Giovanni and the train slowed, a well-practiced distraction technique kicked in. The squat ringleader started coughing and doubled over, apparently in distress. It seemed he was in trouble and needed help, and the young accomplice acted concerned, placing an arm around him.

Like other passengers around about me I turned my attention to the “cougher”, wondering if he was having some kind of fit – and that’s when she pounced – though I was not aware at the time that I had been dipped.

As the train came to a halt the coughing victim seemed to improve enough to walk on to the platform, followed by the two others.

Fortunately, and instinctively, I patted my front pocket and immediately realised my wallet was gone. Trying to compute what had happened I shouted to Scott: “I’ve been pickpocketed, my wallet is away”.

The gang of three were in front of us and heard me start to make a fuss – and then a second distraction, again well rehearsed. The young guy pointed up the mobbed passageway and said “la donna” indicating a young woman disappearing in the distance.

My mind was trying to process what had happened and despite my suspicion that the thieves were standing in front of me – the coughing fit didn’t sit well – I headed up the platform to try and catch “la donna”.

Luckily, Scott called me back sharpish – “Raff, it’s them, it’s definitely them”.

I turned on my heels, saw the younger guy standing to my left and my first instinct was to to grab him – but then I saw the ringleader standing on a train about to head in the opposite direction.

The doors were still open and with no time to think I jumped on board, with Scott on my heels. And the fun began.

“WALLET!” I demanded to squat man, repeating the word as bemused passengers looked on. Naturally, he feigned surprise and protested his innocence, but I kept up the demand with a few choice swear words thrown in for good measure.

Suddenly the Italian word for wallet came to me – “PORTAFOGLIO” I demanded, in full throttle shouting in his face and adding in “POLIZIA” as a threat.

He kept up the pretence of an innocent accused and started opening his bag, taking items out to show me he didn’t have my wallet but I kept at it, in his face.

In what seemed like an eternity but was likely only seconds I began to have a niggling doubt that I had made the wrong call, but we were getting verbal support from some passengers who had probably witnessed this kind of thing before.

And then magically the young guy appeared with my wallet.

It seems the female pickpocket had been out of sight, further up the train. No doubt concerned about the almighty fuss we were causing – and backed up by onlooking passengers – he had gone to retrieve it and handed it back to me, claiming I had dropped it on the floor. There had been no cash in it and I was relieved to find all my bank cards were in place.

The squat “South American” then proceeded to receive an intensive lesson on the pronunciation of a particular swear word favoured by Scots in a variety of guises and which loosely translates as ci vediamo la prossima martedi (check Google Translate).

“It was not a pretty sight” – was Scott’s later assessment of the stand-off as we tried to reduce our adrenalin levels over a cold beer. I was lucky, very lucky, and in hindsight it was not the smartest move as anything could have happened.

Would it put me off returning to the Eternal City? Not a chance – this could happen in any major capital – but I am certainly more careful to stow my phone and wallet in a bag which I keep in front of me, limiting the opportunity to be dipped in busy pickpocketing hotspots.