My Brush with Pickpockets and Thieves in Spain
Thai tourist's selfie captures London pickpockets stealing her purse (YouTube link)
Pickpocketing in Spain isn’t just a rumor—it’s something many travelers encounter without warning. During my trip, I came face‑to‑face with two very different tactics used by thieves in Barcelona and Madrid. These stories aren’t meant to scare anyone away, but to show how quickly things can unfold and how important it is to stay aware.
My Personal Experiences in Spain
Here’s what pickpocketing activities looked like during my own travels in Spain.
I walked into the basilica with everything I owned for the trip — my carry‑on, my backpack, my whole day packed into two bags. The church was quiet, cool, almost too still. I slipped into the last row, set my bags beside me, and lifted my camera toward the vaulted ceiling.
Two minutes. Maybe less.
When I turned back, my backpack had vanished. Not a sound, not a shadow, not a single clue. Just gone.
And suddenly, the morning rewound in my mind. The older man who had drifted beside me on the way in, glancing around with that jittery, restless energy. The way he slid onto the bench to my left, even though my bags were on my right. At the time, it felt odd. Now it felt deliberate.
A distraction.
My pulse kicked up as I scanned the entrance. That’s when I saw her — an older woman in a long robe, sitting perfectly still on a small stool near the door. She didn’t look at me. She didn’t move. But something about her presence matched every warning I’d ever seen about pickpocket teams.
The robe. The stillness. The way a bag could disappear beneath the fabric and be carried out without a trace.
It all happened in silence — a quiet, practiced choreography. And I realized I had walked straight into it.
Sabatini Gardens was almost empty that afternoon — quiet, still, the kind of place where footsteps echo a little too loudly. I was walking along a deserted path when a couple suddenly called out to me, waving urgently as if something was wrong.
They pointed at my clothes, insisting there was something dirty on me. I assumed it was bird droppings — annoying, but harmless — so I stopped to check. That’s when they closed in.
The woman leaned toward my right side, the man toward my left, both of them pointing at streaks of green liquid smeared across my backpack. Before I could react, they were already offering toilet paper, dabbing at the stains with exaggerated concern.
But the “mess” didn’t stop spreading.
Within seconds, more green liquid appeared — on my jacket, my pants, my backpack — as if it were materializing out of nowhere. They kept wiping, circling me, switching sides, closing the distance inch by inch. The woman fussed over my right shoulder while the man drifted dangerously close to my anti‑theft bag on my left.
That’s when the alarm bells finally went off.
The man’s hand hovered near my zipper a moment too long. The woman blocked my view with another wad of toilet paper. And suddenly, just as quickly as they had appeared, they backed away — tossing a few more tissues toward me before walking off without a word.
Only later did the pieces fall into place.
A coordinated pickpocket team.
The green liquid likely hidden in their sleeves.
The toilet paper — far too much for a casual stroll.
And the stains that mysteriously multiplied only when they were “helping.”
A classic distraction scam, executed in silence.
Backpack Stolen at Basilica of Santa Maria del Mar
I walked into the basilica with everything I owned for the trip — my carry‑on, my backpack, my whole day packed into two bags. The church was quiet, cool, almost too still. I slipped into the last row, set my bags beside me, and lifted my camera toward the vaulted ceiling.
Two minutes. Maybe less.
When I turned back, my backpack had vanished. Not a sound, not a shadow, not a single clue. Just gone.
And suddenly, the morning rewound in my mind. The older man who had drifted beside me on the way in, glancing around with that jittery, restless energy. The way he slid onto the bench to my left, even though my bags were on my right. At the time, it felt odd. Now it felt deliberate.
A distraction.
My pulse kicked up as I scanned the entrance. That’s when I saw her — an older woman in a long robe, sitting perfectly still on a small stool near the door. She didn’t look at me. She didn’t move. But something about her presence matched every warning I’d ever seen about pickpocket teams.
The robe. The stillness. The way a bag could disappear beneath the fabric and be carried out without a trace.
It all happened in silence — a quiet, practiced choreography. And I realized I had walked straight into it.
Sabatini Gardens was almost empty that afternoon — quiet, still, the kind of place where footsteps echo a little too loudly. I was walking along a deserted path when a couple suddenly called out to me, waving urgently as if something was wrong.
They pointed at my clothes, insisting there was something dirty on me. I assumed it was bird droppings — annoying, but harmless — so I stopped to check. That’s when they closed in.
The woman leaned toward my right side, the man toward my left, both of them pointing at streaks of green liquid smeared across my backpack. Before I could react, they were already offering toilet paper, dabbing at the stains with exaggerated concern.
But the “mess” didn’t stop spreading.
Within seconds, more green liquid appeared — on my jacket, my pants, my backpack — as if it were materializing out of nowhere. They kept wiping, circling me, switching sides, closing the distance inch by inch. The woman fussed over my right shoulder while the man drifted dangerously close to my anti‑theft bag on my left.
That’s when the alarm bells finally went off.
The man’s hand hovered near my zipper a moment too long. The woman blocked my view with another wad of toilet paper. And suddenly, just as quickly as they had appeared, they backed away — tossing a few more tissues toward me before walking off without a word.
Only later did the pieces fall into place.
A coordinated pickpocket team.
The green liquid likely hidden in their sleeves.
The toilet paper — far too much for a casual stroll.
And the stains that mysteriously multiplied only when they were “helping.”
A classic distraction scam, executed in silence.
Travel Smart: Final Thoughts
For practical advice on avoiding these situations, see my full travel‑safety guide:
These experiences taught me that awareness is the best defense. Spain remains an incredible place to explore, and with a few smart habits, you can enjoy every moment without worry. Stay alert, trust your instincts, and let your travels be defined by discovery—not disruption.
