I was taking pictures in the Plaza de los dos Congresos.
I had my new laptop carrier over my shoulder with my laptop and my IPOD in it.
A woman came up to me, speaking Italian, and signaled with gestures and language I couldnt understand that I had bird poop on my shirt. To my surprise, she was right. She offered to help me clean it off. I shouldnt have let her, as things turned out.
While she was brushing me off, another woman came up to me asking directions. I told her, No s矇. No soy de aqu穩. By this time I had put the shoulder bag down.
Then another woman came up, asking for directions. I remember she had a cleft lip.
Just then, a young man sitting at the base of a statue yelled, 癒Oiga, se簽or! 癒Le est獺n robando! (Hey, mister, theyre robbing you!).
Sure enough, my shoulder bag wasnt there. I went into emotional shock. WHAT? OH NO!
ANOTHER woman came up and said (in Spanish), Follow me! Well go get a policeman! There he goes! There he goes! (referring to the thief). I ran behind her, but I knew it was useless. Look as I might, I couldnt see the thief she was referring to.
I realize now that she was leading me in the opposite direction while her cohorts carried off my bag.
As I walked away I had the strange sensation that, while I had lost something, I had also been relieved of a burden. That, if it came to that, I could survive with much less than I actually had. There I was, trying to philosophize away the total screwing I had just received.
Though I knew it was pointless, I approached a policeman and told him what had happened. His answer was (in Spanish, of course), Just accept that that computer no longer exists. It was an honest and correct piece of advice, if a bit annoying. He could have had me fill out a report, but he knew that would be pointless. I realized he was right and appreciated his frankness.
As I thought it all over afterward, all these strange things that happened in sequence were part of a choreographed team-effort to rob me. They saw me taking pictures, knew I was a hapless tourist, and signaled one another to go into action.
It was, although completely evil, a clever and well-executed dance.
The policeman wasnt exactly right though. I suspect that my computer still exists; its just in the hands of somebody who bought it second hand off of one of those thieves.
No doubt they use the woman speaking Italian to throw a person off-guard. My thought was, Heres a fellow tourist who wants to help me out.
PART TWO OF CULTURE-SHOCK MISHAPS IN BUENOS AIRES
I wont relate the details of having wallets stolen twice on the SUBTE. But I will show how I learned from all these mishaps. As I was heading for Retiro Station on the SUBTE, I noticed, as the train pulled up, that a bunch of sneaky-looking guys were all heading for the train door I was headed for.
That was doubly weird because Id seen virtually nobody waiting there on the platform. They all seemed to emerge out of nowhere. So alarms went off in my head. I had felt conspicuous all the way from Boedo on the subway, sitting there with my wheelable suitcase.
As they, and I, all crowded to squeeze through the door, I instinctively (an instinct fed by experience) put my hand in the pocket where my wallet was.
There was another hand in there! The man quickly withdrew it, without the wallet, apologizing as if his hand had just somehow accidentally slipped in there.
As I felt my wallet and realized how close Id just come to losing it, I felt victorious, and knew that I had, at least this once, cut them off at the pass.
Buenos Aires has its share of crooks. I know that now. It doesnt mean the city isnt great, but it does have a shadow you have to be careful in.