My encounters with pickpockets in Europe
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Athens 2017 Athens, the eternal city and ahead of Rome in my eyes,
was a city I had first visited in 2013, returned in 2015 and again in 2017.
What made Athens particularly attractive to me was my friend Professor
Evangelos Afendras. He gave us conducted walking tours of Athens with a dose of
history at each step. Every lane, every old building had a story that drew me
closer to this city. All my previous trips were official trips, either for attending
a conference or liaising with a partner business school, but the evenings and
spare time on weekends brought me closer to Athens with every trip. It was also
home to Philomena Godfrey, a Banglorean Anglo-Indian by birth. We had a chance
meeting during an island cruise, which blossomed in to friendship. Philomena
was in to her late seventies, had migrated to Greece via Australia in her
thirties. She must have been a beauty in her times as a model for Khatau Mills!
Every trip to Athens included a visit to her home and a sumptuous meal.This was late in September 2017 and we
were in Athens, my young colleague Safal Batra and I. Safal was Assistant
Professor of IIM Kashipur. We had come
with a batch of eighteen participants of our Executive MBA program for a one
week immersion program. The group was being hosted by our partner institute
the Alba Graduate School of Business, Athens. The program, scheduled during September
18, Monday to September 22, Friday and consisted of lectures and discussion
with industry captains in the pre-lunch sessions followed by visits to
companies around Athens. We stayed at the Hotel Athinais, barely 200
metres across the road from Alba Graduate Business School. The program ended
on Friday evening and we had two full days and two nights free before flying
out on morning of September 25 Monday. As Santorini was very expensive and no
last minute connections were available, Safal had booked an early morning
ferry to the island of Mykonos, an island in the Cyclades. We were supposed
to take a cab to the nearby port of Raffina and then a three hour ferry ride
to Mykonos. Two days were reasonable enough to spend exploring the island,
which boasted fantastic beaches and nightclubs. Our hotel was equidistant from the two
metro stations of Ippokratto and Megaro Moussikis. So at around 6pm, after the program ended,
we decided to spend the evening seeing the sights before leaving for Rafina
late at night and boarded the metro at Megaro Moussikis. In every foreign visit, my essential
documents and money were always in a leather fanny-pack gifted by Tulip, my
daughter. During this trip too, I had my passport and some cash in a fanny-pack
around my waist, and most of my cash was in the inner pocket of my
all-weather Tommy Hilfiger jacket. We boarded the metro and were about to
disembark from the metro that I felt someone jostling and a hand went to my
fanny-pack. I walked forward in my momentum. The moment I alighted on the platform
instantaneously realized that my pocket had been picked. The buckle of the fanny pocket containing
the passport was open. I immediately turned back but the door had closed and
I could see the face of the person who had picked my pocket and the train
sped off. The man must have been as artist of the highest order, having been
able to open a buckle in the fraction of a second as I was walked past him. There was a policeman on the platform
and as I complained to him, he asked me whether I had lost my money or
something else. I told him that I had lost my passports. Actually I had four
passports attached back-to-back to maintain continuity of visas. It hurt
because the US visa valid till 2023 and Schengen visa valid till 2018 were
gone too. The policeman told me that the pickpocket may throw the passport
because it would be useless for him and we might just find it discarded on
the track or garbage bin in the subsequent stations. So we took the metro to
the next three stations on that line, meticulously searched the garbage bins
on the way top the exit, but alas no such luck! Next came the vital business of
registering the case, because here I was in Europe without any document to
prove that I had entered it legally, if caught it was definite going to land
me in jail. We were directed to another police station on a different line.
Luckily we had bought weekly metro passes. The search for that police station
involved repeated asking for directions. This was Friday evening. The police
station had a deserted look and there were just two young policemen. We were
asked to wait. I had my visa and passport copies in my phone as also my
flight ticket out of Athens. I had to wait for half an hour before the man at
the desk saw my visa, passport, hotel booking on my phone and finally my case
was registered. The policeman seemed bored, but helped me fill up the form,
which was written in Greek, and finally I had a copy of the original police
report. Then we slowly made our way back, by then it was well past 9pm. I
decided to go to the Indian Embassy. I asked Safal to continue with the
Mykonos trip alone, as it would be imprudent for me to travel without a
passport, even within Greece. Safal steadfastly said that he would like to be
with me. So the trip to Mykonos went down the drain. It
was during one of our evening walks around Athen earlier during the week my
Greek friend Dr Evangelos Afendras had shown us the Indian Embassy. Little did
I know that I would be required to visit it so soon! Predictably, the Embassy
was closed, as it should be late on a Friday night. I pressed the bell and
banged the gate for a good ten minutes before a person came down to the gate
and enquired. I explained my plight, pulled rank, explained that I was an IIM
Director on official work and that my flight out was on early morning on
Monday. I demanded to meet a consular officer. Finally I handed my visiting
card with my contact number. Safal and I then had dinner, a very morose dinner,
slightly alleviated by a liberal dose of ouzo. I felt guilty at having spoilt
the trip to the island for Safal. On an inspired moment, I phoned my secretary
Ravi Gupta back in India and got my Twitter password. I posted a lengthy tweet
to our then Foreign Minister, Madam Sushma Swaraj, explaining my plight. By the
time we went to sleep it was well past midnight. Precisely at 8am, my phone rang and it was from the Indian Embassy. The person over the phone asked me to reach the embassy at 10.30am with two photographs and copies of my passport and Schengen visa. Breakfast forgotten, it took some time to locate a studio in the lane behind Athinais Hotel and get my picture taken. A quick cab ride I was at the embassy and at exactly 12.30pm I had a temporary travel document that enabled me to catch my flight back to India on Monday morning as planned. What amazing efficiency! The embassy person informed me that my tweet to the Foreign Minister had worked, because it was officially tracked by a senior Foreign Service officer on behalf the minister. This was one the small but significant changes instituted by Ms Swaraj, God bless her departed soul! |
Rome
2019 Cut to 2019. It was a
family trip consisting of wife Shampa, daughter Tulip, son-in-law Manu and
yours truly. In the sixteen days between December 22, 2019 to January 4, 2020
we had planned to spend Christmas eve in Barcelona, Christmas in Lisbon and
usher in the new year in eternal Rome, before resting a little at Athens
prior to return. Shampa and I had seen Athens before and Tulip had been to Rome
before, and Manu had seen neither. He wanted to appreciate the buildings of
Rome, architect that he was. So eternal city of Rome was allocated the
maximum of four days. Having gone through
Barcelona and Lisbon, we reached Rome in the night of December 28. Rome stay
was planned till the morning of January 1, 2020. From where we stayed Free
Hostel, Rome’s biggest rail and metro station Termini was a 15 minute walk. The
ladies had planned trip on December 29th morning to the famous
flea market at Porta Portese which opened only on Sundays. Sunday morning we took
the Green Tram Line 3 from Manzoni for Porta Portese. I was nearest the exit
and as I exited the déjà vu occurred! Same jostling at the shoulder and a
deft hand snaked in to my left jeans pocket. Unfortunately for the
pickpocket, I followed him out of the tram. Three steps down from the tram
and I caught the man by his collar from the back and in my sternest voice
asked him to give me back my purse! He was a seedy looking man, short and
thin. He looked at me, perhaps not used to being confronted by a foreign but
belligerent victim, perhaps shamed! He gave small sigh, said “Ok”, calmly
handed me back my small black card purse and quickly disappeared in to the
crowd. By that time, my entire family had followed me down, mystified by my
sudden rush from the tram and found me holding my card purse. The story came
pouring out of me and my sudden release from the adrenaline rush left me
rather drained. Realization dawned that I had created a record of sorts,
getting my purse back from a pickpocket in the Mecca of pickpockets! |
The flea market is amazing; time and again I
was tempted to buy a pair of Italian boots from one of the myriad stalls, but
somehow managed to control myself. The return was planned by the same tram,
to get down at the eponymous station Circus Maximus. With the earlier
traumatic
