Saturday, July 05, 2014

Swindlers and the universal formula

I am a jaded traveller.

I have been approached by more touts, swindlers and con artists in countries around the world than I can recollect, sometimes avoiding treachery, sometimes being taken in, and I have learned to recognise them. They will try to steer the conversation, but if you pre-empt the answers they want then you control the encounter. After some practise, you can even have fun with it.

There is a formula.

1: They approach you.

You're always a target, as there's no avoiding looking like a tourist.

In Beijing, I needed to get to the Canon service centre to fix a jammed zoom lens. The building happened to be located in a touristy area with numerous high-rise hotels. A tubby Pekingese man standing on the side of the footpath like a bird plucking insects around a light addressed me as I walked past him: "Hello!"

2: They engage you.

A typical opening involves complementing or commenting on something you're wearing.

For me, it is always my distinctive hat. In Mérida, Mexico, one guy immediately recognised it as Aussie. "Hey," he called, arresting himself mid-stride from crossing the street. "You are from Australia, ? Sydney? Melbourne?"

I took off my hat in Istanbul's Grand Bazaar. One merchant pointed at my hiking runners, which are hopelessly stained from years of wilderness trekking, and called out in sudden eye-bulging admiration, "Nice shoes!"

My Pekingese friend's opening was: "You look like a cowboy."

3: They always ask you where you are from.

And be it Australia, Brazil or Singapore, the good ones will find something common to talk about.

Once, three months after a certain unpopular Australian prime minister was ousted by party machinations, an Ethiopian taxi driver asked me: "Is Julia still in power?" I laughed so loud at his adroit grasp of foreign domestic politics that I didn't mind him charging me double the usual rate.

The stupid and unimaginative ones, like my new Chinese friend, will say: "Ah, Australia! Kangaroos! Koalas!" attempting to conjure a camaraderie of trust by reciting a charm of the bleeding familiar.

"Earthworms! Ants!" I said to him.

He looked perplexed.

4: They are inordinately friendly.

Anybody might be friendly, but swindlers will offer help when you haven't asked for it.

A gypsy man standing near the entrance to the alcázar, the Moorish palace in Seville, approached me when I was loitering, looking for camera angles. To him I looked uncertain, which, to a swindler, is like blood in the water to a shark.

"That is the alcázar," he said, gesturing with a sweeping hand. "This is the entrance. Come, I will tell you a bit about it." It's a common ploy; they give you some generic history as they walk with you and then ask to be paid for their services as a tour guide.

In Beijing I had a piece of paper with the address of the Canon repair building written on it in Chinese by the hotel receptionist. He told me to ask someone on the street which building it is. I showed it to my new Pekingese friend. "Why, it's this one right here!" he said, pointing to the next building. "But why? There's nothing in there." I told him I needed to repair my camera. He almost jumped with glee. "I will come with you and help you!"

5: They will try to latch onto you.

In Istanbul, the carpet sellers always ask: "What are you looking for?" with an immediately ready response of: "Oh, I will take you there! Come on!" and stepping away quickly so you are instinctively compelled to keep up with them. The Turks are particularly good at this business and are hard to repel without some eventual element of arsehole-ness coming into it, either on your part or theirs.

I told the tubby Pekingese that it wasn't necessary for him to accompany me.

"But they don't speak English!" he protested (an untruth, but he was desperate not to lose a fish he thought he had caught).

"Maybe not, but they understand a broken camera."

6: They reveal their agenda.

If, like Bruce Lee fighting back Han's men, you manage to deflect all of these advances, you are ready for the reveal.

In Istanbul: "In Turkey it is our tradition to offer a cup of tea. I have a shop just over here, very close. I invite you for some tea." (It is a carpet shop. Prepare for some pressure selling trapped in the spider's lair.)

In Havana: "I know the best place to eat! I take you there!" (Havana has an extraordinary number of "best" places. These guys get a kickback for soliciting customers. On arrival they'll often ask you, if you'll buy them a drink for taking you there: "One mojito for me?")

In Beijing: "I am an art student. We have an exhibition at a gallery over here, and today is the last day. Come have a look. Just a few minutes."

I was blunt with my tubby Pekingese friend. "I'm not interested in art. I am here to get my camera fixed. Thanks for your help."

I was later approached by two art students in the same area who delivered all of the same lines. The following day in the Forbidden City I was helped by yet another art student. I subsequently saw a notice at a hostel that the "art student" scam is a common one, with warnings not to buy into it.

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