The Gothic Quarter of Barcelona is a maze of narrow streets, medieval architecture, tiny bars, and shops. It’s mysteriously beautiful and confusing, especially if you have the directional sense of a bar of soap like I do. So when I found myself alone at 2 a.m. on a deserted corner after Steve abandoned me, I was in a bit of a panic.

Let me back up.

It was our first European trip. We started in Portugal and ended with a couple days in Barcelona. On our second night, we headed out to the Gothic Quarter to seek out an Absinth bar Steve had heard was quite … colourful.

For the most part, there were lots of people around, but when we took a turn down one street, it was oddly quiet, although we didn’t really notice this initially. Coming towards us was a couple of amiable looking young guys, maybe they appeared a bit … tipsy? They were chatting back and forth, but when they saw us, we exchanged hellos and then one asked where we were from. Being friendly Canucks, we told them we were Canadian. One of the guys put his arm around Steve, standing with him side-by-side, saying, “Hey, I have a cousin in Canada.”

He’s got my wallet!

As soon as he made this move, we both clued in. Steve reeled around shouting, “He’s got my wallet!” Both of the thieves immediately took off. The lead pickpocket deftly fingered the wallet to remove the cash, throwing the credit cards and all its other contents behind him (thanks for that).

Before I could even process what happened, Steve began to run after them. I yelled at him to stop, but he was long gone. So, there I was, crouching on a deserted, unfamiliar street, picking up the contents of Steve’s wallet wondering what just happened.

You need to appreciate that this was about nine years ago, before smartphones. I didn’t even have a mobile phone. I wasn’t carrying the map (Steve was), I couldn’t remember the name of the hotel we had just checked into, and I certainly had no idea how to get back there.

Should I stay or should I go?

I waited for about five minutes, thinking I should not leave the scene. How would Steve find me if I moved? Then I started to worry. Steve just took off after two thieves. What if they had weapons? What if they beat him up? Why did I put my travel safety in the hands of someone so foolhardy? Screw it, I had to move away from this deserted spot and find a public place.

Fortunately, it was only a couple of short turns in this labyrinthine neighbourhood before I found a crowded restaurant with patrons queuing to get in. I waited near the corner thinking that I’d give it another five minutes or so and then try to find someone to help me call the police so that I could locate my dead husband.

Out of the darkness, Steve miraculously appeared. He was sweaty, breathing heavily and pumped with adrenaline. Before he uttered a word, I shouted, “You abandoned me!” Remarkably, it was one of the few times in our marriage, before or since, that Steve immediately conceded that I was right and he had done something very wrong. He apologized a dozen or so times. I still make him apologize for it today when we fight about other things.

This guy is not going to out run me

Turns out Steve chased the thieves for some time through the twisty turns. He was mad and determined that he would realize some practical benefit from recently becoming a runner. The guy who took the money passed some to his buddy, who then took off down another street. Steve stayed the course. Suddenly, the thief spun around and raised his fist to Steve. Apparently, it was with this gesture that Steve realized instantly that he had put himself in danger. Putting up his hands, he implored the guy just to give him the money back.

Clearly exhausted by this crazy tourist, the thief threw the money at Steve’s feet and took off. Steve describes what happened next as akin to when Wile E. Coyote thinks he’s finally got the better of The Road Runner only to see the ton of bricks about to fall on his head. He suddenly realized he left me behind and that he had no clue where he was and the route he took to get there. It was only by luck that he eventually made the right turn to see me standing on a corner.

In the end, the thieves made off with about 30 euros. For 30 euros, Steve chased thieves (possibly armed) through the streets of Barcelona after leaving me behind to face unknown horrors (ok, slightly dramatic, but it would have been very unpleasant to explain to the police what complete idiots we both were).

Steve’s response to this incident years later? “It was not worth risking our safety for the sake of 30 euros. But 30 euros for a great story that we tell again and again? That’s pretty good value.”

Lessons from getting robbed in Barcelona

  • Barcelona’s Gothic Quarter has one of the highest pickpocket rates in Europe. We have since become much more aware of our surroundings when in unfamiliar neighourhoods in large cites we’re visiting.
  • Never be completely dependent on your partner for navigating when travelling. For heaven’s sake, at least know the name of the freaking hotel you’re staying in (I was such a ninny!).
  • Smartphones and GPS are the greatest inventions EVER.
  • Insert your own lesson from this story here and add it to the comments section.

If you enjoyed this post, why not subscribe to Tag Along Travel? Twice a month, you’ll receive an email with links to recent posts.