This post is mostly about an infamous Barcelona phone thief, and how to avoid getting your phone stolen (amongst other things). But it’s also a bit of a juicy story, because the reason why I know these tips is from accidentally dating one, and eventually he ended up telling me everything.
Let me just throw it out there that I have an extremely uh, unique (AKA terrible) dating history. I’ve been told that “my toxic trait is being attracted to toxic men”, and as much as I like to think I’m giving troubled men a chance to prove they’re sweet on the inside, well, you can probably guess where it goes.
So here’s my story about how I accidentally dated one of the Barcelona phone thieves, and how he told me how they do their dirty work. If you want to skip the personal story and go straight for the tips, feel free to scroll towards the end!
PREFACE: I did NOT know he was a phone thief (although I suspected it, I didn’t want to stereotype him) until about a month into dating. I swear I did not knowingly date a phone thief.
Disclaimer: The guy in this story is aware I am writing it and that I blocked his eyes out on photos for his protection. He is no longer living in Barcelona, and hopefully no longer stealing.
As one could probably guess, I met the Barcelona phone thief in a dark alley in Barcelona called Born (near the “old town”) late at night. Most people do not walk alone at night there, specifically because so many people get robbed, but I’d been to Barcelona numerous times before, plus, I had to walk my dog Oscar.
I remember seeing him speed by on one of those electric scooters and he immediately stood out to me. This is because I am savagely attracted to big dudes with dark mysterious features (In case you have read my book, think Mr. TDH). He was wearing those tight trendy jeans that weirdly sag at the crotch, and a black Canadian Goose or whatever designer jacked with the gross fur around the hood.
His thick black hair was shaved short on the sides and long on the top, which he slicked to one side so it covered the left side of his forehead, and down past his deep, dark brown eyes that were framed with equally as thick black lashes. There was no smile on his face, so his lips were in a sumptuous pout, giving him the stereotypical look of “That guy is going to steal your phone”, since most of them tend to dress and look the same way.
I one hundred percent thought he was going to too. After of course my initial thought of “who is that tall, dark, and handsome guy?”. In fact, I distinctly remember putting my phone in my jacket pocket, and tightening my grip on Oscar’s leash.
As I somewhat expected, I heard the whizzing of the scooter turning back in my direction shortly after making eye contact with him. I knew for sure he was going to either mug me or ask for my number. Nothing else.
He stopped quickly right in front of me and simply said, “Hola.” in a deep, gruff voice, still not smiling, but holding my gaze intently. I stood there boldly, staring him right back in the eye, also not smiling, and giving my best “don’t fuck with me” face possible. “Hola.” I replied flatly.
“Vives aqui?” He asked if I lived there, which I knew I needed to respond smartly to. If I said yes, he might stalk me, but if I said no, he might rob me. But wait; was I a bad person for stereotyping this guy? Afterall, he was clearly not from Spain, and looked Middle Eastern. That’s when my travel knowledge sprang into play.
“Si, vivo aqui, y tu? De donde eres? No eres de espana.” I hoped to distract him by asking where he was from instead. This finally got him to smile, and he actually had a really nice smile aside from a gaping hole where a tooth was missing on the side. (Again, this is why I have a terrible dating history).
“Soy de Algeria, conoces?” He said in that sexy gruff voice, pronouncing Algeria ‘Al-HAIRR-ia’ proudly.
I told him that I actually was hoping to visit Algeria in a few months after my trip to Egypt, and that was actually the truth. He seemed to be extremely happy about that response, which I could see in his eyes that widened.
“Dejame poner mi numero en tu telefono.” He said next, pointing at my jacket pocket where my phone was. Clearly he had somehow seen from afar that I had attempted to hide it there. There was obviously no way in hell I was going to give him my phone to put his number in it, nor was I going to take it out of my pocket. And immediately I was back to thinking he was one of the Barcelona phone thieves.
“No. Sigues mi en Instagram.” I boldly replied, telling him straight up that he can just follow me on IG. Not that it was the smartest response though since it would make it very easy for him to find me through my Stories. But at the moment, alone at night in an alleyway with a 6’4’’ Algerian man, it seemed like the best response.
He pulled out his own phone, which was an old beat-up Chinese smartphone. I automatically assumed that if he were a phone thief, he would have a nicer phone, right? While he was doing that, I also evaluated the rest of his ensemble. He was wearing Jordans, and basically everything I could see was designer, minus the crappy phone. Definitely had to be a thief or one of the guys who sells fake designer items in Barceloneta.
Anyway, at this point I was both trying to save myself from getting robbed, and of course, slightly intrigued. After a month of being in Barcelona in the winter, he was actually one of the most attractive men I’d met (keep in mind my taste for tall, dark, handsome, and toxic), who actually boldly approached me like this.
“Buenas noches!” I declared, after giving my IG handle and watching him become instantly impressed with the follower count and photos. Definitely not the best move, since he probably now knew I also had money, but again, it was late and I was just trying to get out of there.
And I did. I made it back up to my flat safely, locked all the doors, and went to bed.
The Barcelona phone thief of course DMed me before I even got back up to my apartment that night. He asked to meet me the next evening after he got off work. I was so glad he mentioned work because that gave me a super casual excuse to ask what he does for work that has him getting off late.
He told me that he sells phones.
I forced myself to envision him in a neon polo shirt selling phones at one of the many Orange shops around Barcelona, but I couldn’t not see the vision of a sketchy alley-shop displaying the hundreds of iphones stolen from tourists on a daily basis. I tried to pry a little more, asking which phone shop, but he just kept saying it was a “used phone shop in Raval”.
I’m still not sure if at that time I was desperate (I had recently broken up with an ex) or intrigued, but I agreed to meet him the next day, as long as it was before 7pm. He immediately agreed and said to just tell him where to go and he’d be there.
So I found a little restaurant far enough from my apartment that he wouldn’t know where I lived, but also in an area I knew well in case something happened. I chose a super casual little pizza place with two euro glasses of wine, and got there early to down two of ‘em before meeting with a potentially dangerous man.
He didn’t text as he was arriving like men usually do, instead I just saw out of the corner of my eye, his tall, sturdy frame casually strolling in my direction, eyes locked on me and not moving anywhere else. Sexy or scary?
“Hey.” He said gruffly. Hey? Suddenly he speaks English? I assumed it was because he realized I’m from the U.S. because he definitely never said a word of English otherwise.
He sat down opposite of me, leaning over to stretch a three foot arm down to pet Oscar. My tiny fluffy dog doesn’t discriminate against anyone, and happily twirled around his hand so he could scratch him in his desired areas.
While he did so I further evaluated him to determine why I was so strangely attracted to him. Scratch that, it wasn’t strange. As I’ve said multiple times, I am attracted to big dudes with dark features, and likely also who seem potentially toxic and dangerous. His lips were literally perfect. So were his eyelashes. And all of his teeth besides the one missing. He wore another thick black jacket which made him look even more sexy yet suspicious, and a different pair of alleged Jordans.
When the waiter came, he asked in broken Spanish for a Coca Cola, and another glass of wine for me. Being obnoxiously observant, I asked if he doesn’t drink because he’s Muslim. He said yes. So I tried my best to tell him my funny story about how my assistant in Egypt would never carry a bag of mine if it had a bottle of wine in it.
By the way, most of our dates required the use of Google Translate app, because he really didn’t know that much Spanish, he didn’t know any English, and I only know a few phrases in Arabic. So we communicated mostly via app in Arabic, and just passed the phone back and forth. In the beginning, it was definitely only HIS phone being passed back and forth. But eventually I used mine too, which made it even more confusing to figure out if he really was a Barcelona phone thief.
We had many, many “dates” like that one. Always meeting at the outdoor seating area of a random cheap restaurant during the early evening hours when I felt comfortable. It was winter, so I used the excuse that it’s too cold to meet any later at night, and he never questioned it, and was always on time.
He was patient, polite, yet persistent. Not in a sexual way; in fact we never even kissed until over a month later of seeing each other every day. But he definitely wanted to see me every day. Even if just to walk with me when I walked Oscar, especially at night. Sometimes I got the feeling he was actually protecting me.
Don’t think I hung out with him EVERY night though. Let’s not forget I have my best friends and a big social circle in Barcelona. I didn’t tell anyone about him besides my bestest of friends, and they constantly reminded me he was probably a phone thief.
I remember one night though, when I was out at an event with my friends, and I wanted to go home early, that I was actually scared to walk home alone. I was in a really fancy ball gown and heels, and there were no taxis in sight or cars on apps. It was about one in the morning, and I texted him telling him I couldn’t find a taxi and wanted to go home but was a little scared to walk alone. Within ten minutes he came and found me on a scooter, and brought me to my apartment on it, ballgown and all.
Before I continue with my forbidden romance story, I want to explain a little bit about this guy’s life.
One of the first things he told me was about his horrific experience escaping from Algeria on a small boat packed with other hopeful migrants. He said he thought he died. To this day, he really believes he died, because all he can remember after days crossing a treacherous passageway, was waking up in Barcelona.
When I asked him why he left Algeria, he said it was because there was no way for his family to make money there, and so he left to make it elsewhere to send back to them. He spoke about his mother all the time, and how much he missed her. He even said that I should go visit her if I do actually go to Algeria one day. He also spoke passionately about how much he really, really loved Algeria.
Of course I pried more. I asked how he was able to live in Spain without a visa, and how he was able to work. This was when the truth started coming out little by little. I knew it made him uncomfortable, I knew he knew I’d flee once I found out everything, but he continued to tell me.
He was living in the outskirts of Barcelona in an old apartment complex where about six or more migrant guys like him shared a one bedroom apartment. They share clothes, food, scooters, everything. And they all allegedly work at this “phone sales shop”. Most of the time, when I’d ask what he was up to, he would say hanging out with his friends in Born, which, if you’ve been to Barcelona, I’m sure you’ve seen. Groups of young Middle Eastern and/or Arabic guys, dressed like they’re ready to go out to a nightclub, just sitting and chatting for hours as they eye the many tourists passing by. Again, I hate to be stereotypical, but yes, those are the Barcelona phone thieves, amongst other things.
Anyway, some other things I got out of him about his life, was that many of the migrants like him end up paying for a woman to marry them for a visa. When he told me he was considering that, we had already been dating for about two months, and I told him I definitely wouldn’t be Ok with it. I also told him he could enroll in a language school for half the cost and easily get a student visa that way. But everything he knew was from what the others had done, and what had worked for them.
I also asked how he planned on taking a flight without a visa into the EU, and he told me they were making him a fake passport. This is when I really started to question my decisions.
It took me about three weeks to trust the Barcelona phone thief to even hold my phone. Like I said before, when we used the translate app, we usually used his phone. But mine was faster and easier, so cautiously, I used mine, and he never seemed the least bit interested in it.
About a month after seeing each other almost every day, I finally let him up into my apartment, but spoiler alert! Since he’s Muslim, being in a woman’s home when you’re not married is technically forbidden, so he would only stay for a couple hours at a time and then leave.
I could tell he was always nervous about being seen going in or out of my apartment as well. There were several of the Pakistani “supermercats” near where I lived, and the shop owners and workers always seemed to be watching him, along with the other guys who look like him and roam around Born.
He spoke to them like he knew them, and I could tell a few times that they were talking about me. A couple of the Pakistani men starting saying hi to me, which they usually never do, so I wondered if he either asked them to watch out for me, or if they respected that I was actually treating a Muslim migrant like a regular person rather than a thief.
I wasn’t sure if he was nervous around them because they would judge him as a Muslim disobeying their religions rules, or because maybe he actually was a thief, using his money that’s meant to be sent home to meet up for meals all the time. I remember one of our first dates, before I knew anything about him, I asked him to meet me at one of my favorite brunch spots. It’s a bit pricey, but since he was wearing designer clothes, I didn’t think much about it. This guy was basically sweating with nerves, and said multiple times he was worried about being seen at a nice restaurant, and with me. It became evident he had never gone somewhere like it, because he hated his meal and refused to eat it. I felt bad that I didn’t consider his religious dietary restrictions and cultural preferences, and even worse that he still insisted on paying for both of our meals
But wait! Keep in mind I still wasn’t fully sure he actually was a thief. Again, the designer clothes, his always fresh cut scruff and hair, and the fact he always threw down cash and insisted on not getting change back, was a bit confusing.
After about two months I stopped trying to pry into his “job”. I trusted him enough to sleep over a few times, though of course, he always had to sneak out super early to avoid being seen leaving. I started getting used to the many stares I got walking around town with him (most locals and tourists would stereotype him as a thief or terrorist), and slightly enjoyed the look of surprise on the many Muslim store-owner’s faces.
I’d try to get him to come to certain things with certain friends; my best friends definitely didn’t approve or trust him, and to be honest, I was also nervous in case he did actually steal something from them. He was reluctant to be around my friends anyway. His lack of Spanish and English made him extremely insecure, and he’d usually just hide behind me, poking me every now and then with his phone to read a translated messgae.
One day, I asked him if he wanted to go to a new art gallery installation opening that my childhood best friend was hosting. That’s another story by the way, but one of my first ever friends of life happens to now live in Barcelona with his boyfriend from the UK, so I get to see him every once in a while.
The gallery was a bit far outside of town, so we took a taxi which he insisted on paying for. By the way, after learning his story of migrating to Spain, I stopped suggesting to go anywhere costly, because even as someone with nothing, he would never let me pay for anything. So we mostly ate pizza, tapas, and I had my 2 euro wine.
Inside the gallery it was just a few people but I could tell he was uncomfortable. We looked around, trying to understand the abstract installation in the larger area, but it was actually the main exhibit that caught his attention so drastically that he ended up admitting he was a thief.
The art installation was a three foot attempted replica of a Patek Phillippe watch that the artist said was inspired by a watch his grandmother gave him. Must be nice.
He could not stop staring at it, and was excited to tell me how inaccurate the replica was. He knew every tiny detail about the watch, and looked at it like he wanted to kiss it. So of course I asked him how he knew so much about $100k+ watches, and finally he told me. He doesn’t steal phones. He steals watches. And not just any watches; only the most expensive ones.
As you can probably imagine, I insisted that we left the gallery shortly after he divulged this tid bit of information. The last thing I needed was for the real Patek Phillipe watch to be there and mysteriously go missing.
I honestly didn’t know what to say. Basically he lied to me for the last two months, and all I could think of was that I let an actual professional thief sleep in my bed and take up a lot of my time. I’d given him the benefit of the doubt, I’d seen past the stereotypes most other people would shun him for, and I’d been an idiot, because one of them was actually true. He was a thief.
My mind went back and forth between empathy and morals. It’s true, I felt bad for him; he had no visa, he couldn’t speak the local languages, and therefore couldn’t work, so had to resort to a life of crime. But I couldn’t help but think about all of the people getting robbed, especially since I’ve heard of so many people I know getting phones or bags snatched. And it was by the people he lives and works with.
It was a long taxi ride back and the last thing I wanted to do was start a fight or show my disappointment and slight fear. He looked extremely uneasy as well, likely wishing he didn’t tell me all of those details about where they all stay and that they are all there illegally.
Finally he asked via the translate app if I was upset. I wrote back of course I was, and he just sighed, rubbed his forehead and looked out the window. It was a very confusing moment, but I can’t honestly say I didn’t see it coming. I just thought it would be way less drastic than stealing things that could land him in jail forever.
Finally for some reason I decided to translate app-ask him, “how?” I wanted to know how the hell he is stealing these things, both because I was intrigued with what seems impossible, and because I could then at least warn people, like I’m doing with these posts.
He took his own watch off his wrist, which I just then realized was probably stolen, and put it on my forearm near my elbow, where it wouldn’t slide off. Then he typed that by the end of the day, the watch would not be on my arm.
The first thing that came to my mind was “What does he mean by the end of the day, does he seriously think I’m going to keep hanging out with him?”, but I obliged. We got out of the cab and walked through Born towards my place while I text translated him a million questions.
I asked, “How many watches have you stolen?”, “Who gets all that money if they’re worth so much yet you share a studio with six people?”, “Isn’t there any other job you can get?”, “What if you get caught?”, etc. etc. His main response is that he has no other option besides being homeless and begging for money, or going back to Algeria.
The money that they get from re-selling the watches and phones is split within a massive community of the the thieves, the people that sell them, the people that hide them, and of course whoever is running the whole crime ring. He doesn’t get much, but it’s enough to live decently and send money back to his family.
As we reached the door of my apartment, he looked at me uncomfortably. I asked “Que pasa?” and he held up his wrist with the watch back on it. I honestly had no idea where or when he got it off of me and put it back on him, but I needed to know how he did this magic trick. He told me he was paying attention to how I was holding onto my purse on my left shoulder, the same arm the watch was on, and knew I’d switch shoulders eventually because it was heavy. When I went to switch arms, he casually pretended to answer a phone call, which I remembered, and he switched behind me from my right side to my left side, brushing my arm but then putting his free hand in his pocket. He said when he went behind me, he was able to squeeze the clasp, and when he brushed me, he prevented me from feeling it drop. Then he easily caught it and put it in his pocket, while still talking on the phone. I was honestly shocked.
Next, I needed to know about the phones.
I basically told him that if he ever wanted to speak to me again, I needed to know everything. Who was targeted for phone theft, how they do it, what happens to the phones afterwards, etc.
He was a bit vague, but from what he told me, and what other victims have told me, here is the typical target:
In my opinion, anyone can be a target, and it just depends if you’re doing something that makes it easier for a Barcelona phone thief to snatch your phone. Here are the most common ways to get your phone stolen in Barcelona:
Again, if you are holding it loosely while typing — the most common way for a thief to take your phone is by running, biking, or scootering by and simply snatching it out of your hand, even in broad day light.
To avoid this, try to avoid using your phone in the streets! Your texts and social media scrolling can wait! And again, don’t stand near bike lanes or the narrow streets where bikes are allowed but not cars.
Keep your phone in a cross-body bag, and keep that bag in front of you with your hand over it.
If you need your phone for something like GPS, I’d recommend starting your route before you start walking, and using one ear pod to listen to the directions. Never put both headphones in in case you need to listen for a bike or scooter approaching.
It’s called “pick pocketing” for a reason. Don’t leave your phone in a pocket that’s easily accessible, unless you plan to have your hand in your pocket at all times. Same thing goes for open bags without zippers. That’s even easier to take a phone out of than your hands!
Again, use a cross-body bag with a zipper, and keep it in front of you with your hand on it at all times.
Many people are used to putting their phones on the table when you sit down to eat or have a drink. Well don’t do that in Barcelona. There are so many people that come up to the tables trying to sell something, ask for money, or just distract you while someone else swipes your phone. I actually saw this happen in Milan at a table next to me and had to help the guy point out the woman who did it.
Keep your phone in your zippered bag, and keep that bag on your lap or in front of you. DO NOT hang it on the back of a chair, or put it on an empty chair.
In general, if you decide to go to a club or festival in Barcelona, there’s no real way to prevent your phone from getting stolen. Pick pocketers and phone thieves can easily unzip a cross body bag, grab your phone, and zip it back up without you noticing.
Your best bet is to either leave your phone at the hotel, or get one of those under-shirt pockets. Just be sure that the obvious string that goes around your neck isn’t visible!
After the story climax of finding out he was a watch thief, the universe finally decided to wake up and come have my back. It was still all very confusing for me. I really liked this guy, but there was no way I could actually date a watch thief, and a career change wasn’t looking promising in his near future.
He acted like nothing had changed, and that everything was still the same between us, and I guess I did too. Mostly because I was a bit worried what might happen if I suddenly broke things off because I knew the truth. He knew everything about where I lived and what I owned. He could very easily take everything from me, and what I worried about the most, was Oscar.
Luckily, my visa was about to expire, so I had to leave Barcelona in a few days anyway. Before finding out he was a thief, I was a bit sad about it, and I knew he was really sad about it too. He would ask me every day if I promised to come back, and constantly re-verified exactly how many months until I was allowed to come back for another tourist visa. But now, I was basically putting on a grand performance of acting like everything was fine, but secretly counting down the minutes until I could get the fuck out of there.
I made excuses for not being able to see him most of the remaining time I was there. He seemed to buy it except for one of the days, when I threw Oscar a birthday party at Vegan Junk Food with my friends and their dogs and of course put it on my Stories, and he saw it. I felt bad because he was legitimately upset that he wasn’t invited to Oscar’s birthday; he really liked my dog. Well, and he really liked me, so I can only imagine how he felt seeing all of my non-thief friends invited to the party but not him. I just told him it was a girls-only thing.
Finally the day came to leave, and he was there right on time to help me bring all of my luggage down stairs and into the taxi. He looked like he was about to cry, and I’m not going to lie, I was a bit sad too. But as soon as the taxi door shut, I felt majorly relieved. I felt like I was escaping to safety and not looking back.
As soon as I landed in Florida, I checked my whatsapp, and of course there were several messages from him, including video messages. I was in the car with my mom, so I didn’t listen to them or respond, both because I was planning on never speaking to him again, and I wanted to talk to my mom. Suddenly my phone rang. It was him video calling me.
“Who’s that?” My mom asked. “I’ll tell you about it after we have wine.” I replied, knowing she’d find the story funny but would also be mad that I let the whole thing happen.
When he finally stopped calling, he texted instead, saying he saw that I read the messages, so why didn’t I answer the phone. Oh shit, is this how it’s going to be? I responded and told him I was with my mom and that I’d talk to him later.
Well, this was not what he had in mine. And for the next few days, the texting and video calling happened non-stop, regardless of me telling him I was busy. Finally, I had to just block him in whatsapp. Except I forgot he also could reach me on IG. Shortly after he realized I had blocked him, he wrote me a novel-length message on Instagram calling me every rude name known to man and saying things I’d expect to hear from a toxic verbally abusive male from USA. I guess they exist in all cultures.
Anyway, after getting that message, I was glad I made the decision not to make him angry when I was still there in person. I blocked him on all of my Instagram accounts, and prayed that he would be long gone by the next time I got to Barcelona. And he was.
The following year, I was planning to return to Barcelona, so I unblocked him on Instagram to check his account and see if he was still there. His recent photos showed him in Algeria, and I breathed a huge sigh of relief. I scrolled to see how long he’d been there, in case he was just visiting, but it seemed like he stayed in Barcelona a few months after I left, then went back home. Even though he was a complete dick to me at the end, I still subconsciously hoped he didn’t get caught and deported. I hoped he went back voluntarily, and was happy to be there.
So that’s the story of how I accidentally dated a Barcelona phone thief! I’d love to say it taught me a valuable lesson, but a month later, I met my next boyfriend; the toxic Colombian guy in Mexico who ended up being a former male stripper, hated my dog and job, and who may or may not be involved in money laundering. Don’t worry, it’s been almost a year since we broke up, and I haven’t dated anyone toxic since!
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View Comments
I think you're a writer/blogger with a good imagination.
I'm not buying your story about the phone thief.
You're too hot for an illegal immigrant from Algeria missing a tooth !
And you don't speak a common language...?? And he's a broke living with 6 roomies also illegal...
And you block out his eyes on the pics??
C'mon, whatever... Hot girls like you have dating opportunities EVERYDAY... from guys that speak English, have real careers, have money, etc.
Most people would want to FULLY expose a thief , in order to protect others from that same guy.
I think you're writing only to make content for your page/website and keep people engaged.
As a single guy , I can't buy your story ... but you do have a future as romance writer.
- James Doolin ( I was in Malaga Spain in Sept. 2023 )
Haha I don't need a good imagination, things like this happen to me all the time as a full time traveler! Sorry to disappoint ya, but this story is definitely real, (obviously, hence the photos) and I didn't fully expose him because obviously I really did care for him!
Women are amazing. I can't see why you find him handsome. He looks scruffy from the start.
Yes, and that's what I like ;)
Good one. I enjoyed reading that and I'm glad you're safe.
Thanks Gabi!
That was one crazy story. Thank you for sharing with us, considering how I’m sure all of us have experience a toxic relationship or two. I think all relationships, good and bad can be a learning experience.
I'm glad you were smart enough to ease out of the situation instead of ending up in danger in Barcelona. This is exactly why I stopped dating. I'm attracted to the dark, toxic ones too. My ex also used to be a male stripper which I was in denial to find out.
Ommmgg I feel ya so much!! I was in denial about it too until he decided one night to do the lap dance for me, thinking it was sexy, but all I could think about was how many women he did that to and well, let's just say it was one of the MANY reasons why we broke up!
I. DON'T. EVEN. KNOW. WHAT. TO SAY