The Story of the Chinese Farmer

In June 2017, I watched the massive blood-red Strawberry Moon rising up behind the Copacabana skyline and decided to break my long-standing travel rule: Even in places where you feel comfortable, be cautious (It’s a rule I’d created I during a tour of Central America after speaking to numerous travelers who’d ran into trouble in places where I’d felt completely safe). I hurried back to the rental apartment, grabbed my Canon 6D from the safe – a camera I’d spent a full month’s wages on only a few months earlier, and headed out again.

Rio de Janeiro seemed to have changed since my previous visit in 2011. Copacabana was a lot busier in the evening, it was better lit, and I didn’t sense any danger when I sat down on the promenade between the Posto 5 lifeguard station and a packed restaurant.

The worst of it is I’d already missed the opportunity by the time I got there. The moon was too high and had lost all its colour and size, the blue in the sky had turned to black. Out on the beach in front of me, groups of kids flew kites on the breeze. Beyond them, waves crashed on the shore in bursts of white. I’d been snapping away for all of five minutes when I heard a threatening voice at my ear. I jumped onto the sand to run, but realized after only a couple of strides that it would be a mistake. I was running into the darkness, into more danger. So, I turned to fight, but the leader pulled a gun from his waistband and pointed it at me. My chance had gone. Two guys pulled at the strap of my camera. I gripped the camera body in both hands and shouted – ‘Carta memoria! Carta memoria!’ – dividing my attention between them and the muzzle of the handgun. I let go. Another guy was in my right pocket grabbing my wallet. A fifth took my phone from the left, shouting ‘senha’ at me – Portuguese for password. I gave him the correct one, fearing I’d be shot if I didn’t.

The four who’d taken everything ran off, but the guy with the gun pointed at me stayed. ‘You already have everything,’ I tried to convey to him without speaking.

The gun was in his right hand, he lowered it, pulled the slide with his left, took aim at my belly again and squeezed the trigger. I checked my body as he ran away. No giant hole, no blood, no pain. There had been no deafening blast of a muzzle report, just the click of the hammer on the firing pin. He’d pulled the trigger to make fun of me; to show me I’d just been robbed by a guy with no bullets.

I looked with eyes full of appeal to a middle-aged couple who were sitting on a bench a couple of metres to my right. They’d been there throughout the whole thing. The man looked at me with disdain. A waitress from the packed restaurant came over and offered her condolences. I walked to the police station and was all but laughed at. Back in the apartment, I sat on the bed humiliated and furious with myself and the robbers. In that moment, if the police had caught them and given me the choice between street justice or formal arrest, I’d have chosen the former. It took a long time for the anger to dissipate.

Back home in Scotland, I found an old TLR at home and decided to give film photography a go. The light meter was broken, but armed with the sunny 16 rule, I took to the streets. It was a completely different experience for me; an experience I might never have had without the robbery. On digital, I’d take the same shot multiple times with the intention of choosing the best one and deleting the rest, though I never did. With film, I slow down and focus on getting all the variables right before pressing the shutter.

Now, in 2025, I have a small collection of analogue cameras. My current favourite is the Olympus 35RC. When I take a medium format camera out, there’s a commitment to be made. I need a bag to carry it in, I need its lenses. It draws attention when I take it out and fuss around with it to get my shot. Not so with the 35RC. It slides into my pocket and waits there, drama free and ready to fire at will.

I haven’t been back to Brazil since the robbery, but for all its dangers, the passion of the Brazilian people and the natural beauty of the place are magnetic. I’ve been thinking of returning for a while now. Maybe I’ll bring my Olympus 35RC. Maybe I’ll try to catch that Strawberry Moon again.

The following photos (and featured image at the top) were taken in September 2025 using my Olympus 35RC with Ilford Delta 100 film.

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P.S. If, like Hamish, you missed the Chinese farmer reference, check this video out and let Alan Watts introduce you to it here

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