Travel blog

No Honor Even Among Petty Thieves?

By on January 6, 2013
It’s been an odd, if interesting few days.  Involving something called ‘Tourist Police,’ Nigerians and a thwarted thief with a twisted sense of humor. Not all together, mind.

The hostel/hotel we’re parked next to had kindly offered us a plug for our extension cord, which we were over the moon about.

It’s an outside extension cord. Meaning weather proof. A few days ago, some fellas called the ‘Tourist Police’ were called to the hotel due to a complaint about the cord.

It was cited as ‘unsafe, it could electrocute some one walking past if it rains.’ Seriously.

We took it in stride, with confusion and smirks. The managers in the hotel were/are convinced it was their rivals, across the street that called it in.

Funny business, weird rivalry tactics.

Armando’s been super happy with being able to draw here. There’s just one eensy weensy setback: the Nigerians.

What they do, beyond space-invading and intimidating people into buying their dime-store bracelets is chase people away from his art into buying their dime-store bracelets is chase people away from his art.

They see a crowd, and surround sell.

Hell, I wouldn’t stick around if a huge man held onto my arm without letting go so he can throw on ten bracelets and scream at me for money. Ikes.

Irritating for Armando’s artistry, to say the least.

The last little occurrence left us bemused. I’ve mentioned how the ladies of the night love hanging out next to our van before work? They’re at their gossip peak of noise around 12 am, and then it gets grave-like. Rustling leaves and such.

We were just falling asleep when Armando whispered ‘Someone’s trying to steal the bikes, I’m just going to kick his ass. It’s ok.’ A bleary-eyed and minded me tried to wrap the information around my head while he prepared for battle.

He got his shoes on, had his rather large stick and the mace. He jumped out and ran around to the back- but the thief had run off. Fair enough. It wasn’t until the next morning, when he was getting ready to ride his bike, that we found out he hadn’t just tried to steal the bike. He’d left us a gift.

In the form of a bicycle lock. Grin. I know, I couldn’t believe it myself. Since he couldn’t steal it, he opted for locking it up so we couldn’t use it. The joke’s on us, a la Bicycle Thief extraordinaire. It took a few whacks with the crowbar (boy, has that thing come in handy) to break.

None of these things have made much sense to us, but I suppose if it makes someone happy- even for a short spec of a time- then that’s ok. We’ll be off towards Athens soon, and I have to admit I’m looking forward to a prostitute-free existence for a few nights.
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