Durian, the fragrant/foul fruit

Durian.

Number-one quality premium durian costs a small fortune.

The price of this durian is the equivalent of U.S. $54.

Chendol, a classic Malaysian iced dessert, is heavenly topped with a scoop of fresh durian.

You love it. You hate it. Or you’ve never had it. This powerfully-fragrant fruit from Southeast Asia is considered so foul-smelling by some people, they say they hate it even though they can’t bring themselves to taste it.

All I can say is: poor them. I’m obviously in the love-it camp. I can smell it from blocks away and am magnetically drawn to the stand like a bee to honey or a fly to… well, I’ll leave the similes to you.

Durian flesh is intensely sweet but at the same time, delicately flavored. Its creamy-custardy consistency can be firm to soft, and has a silky texture. Surely one of nature’s strangest inventions, its surprising, delicious interior is protected by multiple barriers. If its odor doesn’t put you off, its dangerous thorns might. And how do you crack the thing, anyway. All messages are: stay away!

Unless the fragrance entices…

The football-shaped durian has a thick spiked shell. If it weren’t so heavy, it would be a formidable weapon. Durian professionals wear an armored glove on one hand, and wield an evil-looking knife or cleaver in the other. The soft interior segments are gently prized out and arranged in a styrofoam box, where they look not unlike an undercooked omelet, or piece of raw chicken fat. Ready-to-eat durian will not win a beauty contest no matter who are the other contestants in the fruit-world. It beckons with its fragrance. By necessity, it must. A feast for the eyes, it isn’t.

I don’t know the qualifications the durian man uses to grade his fruit, especially without tasting it. Maybe they’re meant to remain a mystery. But wherever durian is sold, a range of qualities is on display. The priciest are often noted with a number of exclamation points: “best quality!!!” I’ve seen styrofoam boxes of durian ranging from about $3 to over $60. Locals scrutinize the offerings with serious concentration and buy the best they can afford.

Other durian stands sell the whole, uncut fruit. How does the buyer choose? Locals I have dined on durian with answer ambiguously.

Ladies-who-lunch and professional women visit the durian man in small groups. After selecting, they take their box to a plastic table, pull disposable gloves over their nails and jewelry, and dig in with their hands. I like the dichotomy: these elegant women visit their local supplier to quell a craving, get a quick and messy fix, then peel off the gloves, pop a breath mint, and slip back into society. The aroma will stick to them like illicit cigarette smoke.

Before I knew better, I bought durian and tried to take it home on a bus. This was in Singapore. It only took a few minutes before the bus stopped and I was ejected with my plastic bag. A taxi grudgingly drove me, but only with all its windows open despite the high temperature and humidity.

I ate too much durian in Bangkok one time and got what I later learned is called “hot tummy.” I felt light-headed, too, and had to take a tuk-tuk back to the hotel. Bangkok traffic is legendary—not even a little tuk-tuk can move quickly through it. The carbon monoxide fumes made me feel even sicker, but by the time I got back to the hotel, my hot tummy had cooled.

It seems you can now get durian in New York City, though I wonder how fresh they are. What is the shelf-life of an unfrozen durian? They’ve got to be frozen. If the NYC supply has been frozen, I’d stay away. They’d certainly not be suitable for a first introduction.

In Southeast Asia, when fresh ones are not available, I’m very happy with a durian shake. Durian cakes and custards are okay. Nothing beats the iced malaysian dessert durian chendol. I dream about it.

Hotel security: room door left open by housekeeping

Hotel room door: Mercure hotel room door left unlocked all day by housekeeping.

A lightning bolt of fear shoots down your spine when, returning late to your hotel room, you see the door is not fully closed. You know you closed it—and checked it.

Pushing the door a little you see that, not only is the door open a crack, but its bolt is thrown so that it can’t close.

This is what happened to my sisters at the Hotel Mercure in a Stockholm suburb. Luckily, it wasn’t the same day that they accidentally left their smartphone on the bed. (The phone was still there when they returned late that day.)

After the physical attributes of a hotel room, housekeeping holds our security in its hands. We can perform our hotel room security check and follow good security practices, but the maids can make our efforts moot.

A traditional hotel security threat has come from social-engineering burglars who enter rooms while maids are cleaning them and pretend to be the room’s occupant. To behave appropriately in these confrontations, hotel housekeeping staff must rely on their training, perhaps balanced by their own judgment and discretion. And anyway, rules are one thing; compliance is another.

Human error is a separate factor. How many times has that housekeeper finished a room, unbolted the door, closed up, and ticked it off her clipboard? Or, oops! Out of shampoo—she’ll just fetch it in a moment…

Mercure hotel management did not seem overly concerned by the security lapse. In compensation, my sisters were offered “a small dessert” at the lobby restaurant. The attitude, apparently, was that if they weren’t claiming a loss of property, well, no harm done!

I usually forsake maid service, leaving the “do not disturb” sign on the door. If you like your room tidied up (and even if you don’t), this is yet another argument for locking up your valuables, either in the safe or in your largest luggage.

Hotel room door: security: From the inside, you can see the bolt of this hotel room door was thrown. — From the inside, you can see the bolt was thrown.

hotel risk security

The three-shell game – part 3

The Pea Game

Shills and Shells

Serge, a pea-gamer in Copenhagen. — Serge, a three-shell gamer in Copenhagen.

“It’s the talk that’s important,” Serge insisted, about the pea game. Each forceful word sent a curl of smoke into his own eyes. “Not the hands. The skill is the talk.” His fingers idly spun and twirled a matchbox as he spoke. “Why you want to know this? Why you ask me?”

Because we’d watched him work the crowds earlier in the day, watched him cheat a steady stream of happy-go-lucky vacationers. Because we’d watched his team of almost a dozen men take in bets of $3 minimum, up to $75, and no one ever won. And because we hadn’t expected this opportunity, this impromptu interview with an eminent operator.

It was past 10 p.m. when Bob and I began our stroll up Copenhagen’s Vesterbrogade, away from Tivoli, away from the maddening throngs of holiday-makers, away from the Swedes who swarm over by ferry or the new bridge for a night of cheap beer. The wide avenue got darker and quieter as we walked west, the shops more utilitarian and drab.

As we approached and passed a small restaurant, a diner at an outside table leered at me, swinging his huge head like a dashboard-dog’s as I passed. His lewd look was piercing enough that I turned back, only to see the man’s head swiveled backwards on his shoulders, eyes still fixed on me.

“I’ve got to go talk to him,” Bob said abruptly. Strange: I could have sworn he hadn’t noticed the man’s stare; neither is Bob the type to challenge a man for a glance. Feeling hostile and squeamish, I hung back, concealed and feeling protected by a sidewalk sign.

Pea game: A three-shell game in Copenhagen. — A three-shell game in Copenhagen.

Bob was smiling! I crept a little closer. Speaking in German. I made out a bit of it. Bob was asking the man about immigration policies in Denmark, but I hadn’t the faintest idea why. They spoke for several minutes before Bob rejoined me.

“Who is he?” I asked, half mad, half curious.

“One of the three-shell guys we saw today.”

“You’re kidding, a pea game guy! Did you ask him about it?”

“No, I just asked him about immigration. He’s from Kosovo.”

“But let’s go back and ask him about the pea game!” I said, going from zero to zeal in an instant. “What luck!”

We returned to the con man and his partner as they sat before empty dinner plates, each enjoying beers and cigarettes. The big head swung around to look me up and down, unapologetically. Perhaps it was second nature for him to appraise his opponents.

“Serge” was reluctant to spill his guts to strangers. It took considerable chit-chat before he warmed to us even a bit. Our conversation shifted back and forth between elementary English and rudimentary German.

Gently, we hinted that we’d seen him in Strøget, the pedestrian shopping street, that afternoon. He looked from me to Bob, questioningly. Yes, we’d seen him doing the three-shell game; he appeared to be quite proficient. We saw him take in large sums.

Serge smiled nervously, trapped in his seat as Bob and I stood at the edge of his table. His younger partner sat silently, lacking English and German.

“I make the game also,” Bob confided, “but only on stage. I’m a magician.”

Serge visibly relaxed a notch. He balanced his cigarette pack on its corner and spun it under a fingertip, considering.

“There is not trick,” he tried, “just talk and fun.”

“I know the game. I’m interested in you. How many in your team?”

“Eight. Sometimes ten. Many men to share money.”

Serge had been operating the three-shell game for twenty years. First in his native Kosovo, then in Germany for six years, and finally in Copenhagen. Having fled the war in Yugoslavia, he had no papers in Denmark, he told us. What else could he do? How could he earn money?

“This job,” he said, “it is just to make fun for the tourists.” Palms up, fingers spread, shoulders hunched. “People see that it’s easy to win; they want to play.”

This is Part 3.
Read Part 1.

Excerpt from Travel Advisory: How to Avoid Thefts, Cons, and Street Scams
Chapter Eight: Con Artists and their Games of No Chance

con copenhagen denmark three-shell game

The three-shell game – part 2

How the 3 shell game works.

3 shell game in Barcelona. — Three-shell game in Barcelona.

Video tape is a wonderful diagnostic tool when it comes to sleight of hand. In slow motion, we can see the phenomenal skill behind the Copenhagen teams’ manipulation. In other words, they do more than simply mix up the boxes with great speed and confusing baffles. They provide onlookers with fleeting peeks of pea as it’s shuttled around the mat, as it’s switched from box to box, moved from corner to corner. The player knits his brow in concentration, trying to follow its progress. The operator’s hands stop. The player is sure he knows where the ball is. Or is he? He hesitates.

If a player is about to make a winning bet, a shill quickly intercepts by turning over one of the boxes, throwing down his money, and ending the round. House odds rely on the operator’s ability to hoodwink the spectators with bluffs and psychology.

In New York and Las Vegas, the 3 shell games are played curbside, with bottle caps and a ball of sponge. The Spanish gangs we’ve studied in Barcelona’s Plaça de Catalunya are a brutal incarnation. They use vegetable props: the thick ends of carrots or small potato halves hollowed out to make shells. The game is played standing, on a rickety cardboard box-cum-table. Spotters are vigilant and malevolent. They want a crowd, but scrutinize the gathering individuals. Anyone who doesn’t appear to be a happy-go-lucky tourist-type gets a threatening once-over, an in-your-face stare, or a menacing growl. Cameras are blocked and overly-curious non-players are swiftly made to leave.

All 3 three shell gamers use the highly sophisticated techniques of professional magicians—or is it the other way around? In any case, it’s a method that ensures the punter will never win. The pea is manipulated by any of several methods, some of which use principles of magic I will not divulge except to say they employ a simple gimmick which is neither smoke nor mirror. The most common trick utilizes a miniature version of palming; you can call it thumbing. It allows the operator to sneak the ball out of and into any of the three shells or boxes. He can place it in a seemingly impossible location and guarantee a player will never win.

At the shrill whistle of a Spanish spotter, spectators see more magic. From within their very midst the operator vanishes and all traces of his game disappear. A flash and puff of smoke are all but real. Gaming pieces are gathered or flung away, and the cardboard box is flattened and tossed against a tree or trashcan: non-incriminating evidence. The team disperses like panicked pigeons and, when the coast clears, reforms its gambling gaggle.

3 shell game in Copenhagen. — 3-shell game in Copenhagen.

In the aftermath one day, Bob and I found a young German tourist weeping on a sidewalk bench. A girlfriend tried to comfort her, though she, too, was distraught. Through angry tears, the girl sputtered her tale: she’d lost too much money, goaded and cajoled to bet in a fast-paced game she only vaguely followed. She’d been separated from her friend, surrounded by strangers, and pressured to play.

This is Part 2. Read Part 3.
Read Part 1.

Excerpt from Travel Advisory: How to Avoid Thefts, Cons, and Street Scams
Chapter Eight: Con Artists and their Games of No Chance

Barcelona con copenhagen denmark scam spain three-shell game

The three-shell game

Pavement wagers.

Copenhagen’s pedestrian shopping street is an ideal venue for the three-shell game, also called the pea game. Several competing crews set up there. They choose locations in the middle of a block along the narrow lane, which is swarming with jolly people from all over the world, shopping, slurping ice cream, and munching ambrosial Belgian waffles as they meander.

Three-shell game

A pair begins the game: a barker, and an operator. The operator drops to his knees, produces a small rubber mat not much bigger than a mousepad, and begins manipulating his pieces. Instead of the traditional walnut shell halves, he uses three matchbox trays reinforced with tape. His pea is an aluminum foil ball.

He slides the boxes madly around his mat, his hands a blur.

“Lef’, ri’, mi’l! One, two, three. Where’za ball?” He is sloppy—on purpose? One box goes sliding off the mat.

Immediately, a man places a bet and wins. A shill. Another man, another bet, a loss. Laughter rings out, but it sounds hollow and false. Hands fly over the mat and in the process, a box is briefly tipped, revealing the ball.

Quickly, an audience gathers. Everybody knows: a crowd draws a crowd. Excitement builds. Money changes hands. Bills are flashed and stashed.

“Totto-lotto, mini-casino! Wanna play? Twenny bucks!”

“Just looking.”

“Lookie-cookie. Sir! Wanna play? Where’za ball?”

The barker’s narration lures. The operator’s manipulation tempts. Imagined winnings seduce. It looks so easy: you can see the ball! Bets are placed: an easy win, a stupid loss… and soon enough, a tourist tries.

Five team members immediately close around him. They joke in any language, whatever is called for. A moment of suspense and camaraderie is staged. The operator is on the ground with his game, kneeling before his rubber mat, hunched over his boxes and ball.

“One, two, three, four. Lef’, ri’, mi’l! Where’za ball?” He’s tightly surrounded by the six standing men: the barker, the transitory player, and some shills. For a moment, no one else can see the game. The player chooses, a cry goes out in sympathy. The circle opens and the spectators are once again included as the loser slinks away.

But wait! Arms around the player’s shoulders, a conspiratorial back-pat. “You can do it! One more time, double or nothing!” So encouraging, so friendly, who’d guess these guys were in on it? Moments later, the player turns away, shakes his head, wonders how he could have lost so much so quickly.

Bob and I run after him.

“How much did you lose?”

“Fifteen hundred crowns!” About $260.

“Where’re you from?”

“Bhutan.”

“Why did you play?”

“I’ve never seen this game. It looked fun.”

“This is one game you can never win.”

“I know that now!” He hikes up his backpack and strides away.

Bob and I follow our noses to a waffle stand and wait for a fresh one hot off the iron. A rosy-cheeked girl hands it over, steaming and blackened, caramelized surface stuck to its parchment wrapper. Standing on a street corner, we savor the chewy sweetness of this European street snack. It has no relation to American waffles.

“See the guy in the pink jacket? Bob points with his chin, chewing.

“No.”

“There near the trash can.”

“That’s an orange jacket.” I reach for the waffle.

“Orange, then. He’s a spotter.”

“For the three-shell guys? How can you tell?”

“Just watch him. And his partner over there, in plade.”

“Plaaaaad.”

“Plaaaaad.” He wants to get the word right next time. But he won’t. “They’re looking for police. They were there before, too.”

We finish the waffle and watch a while longer.

A crowd forms around a three-shell game in Copenhagen.

“Now!” Bob says, and we’re off. The orange and plaid guys walk full speed up the lane, weaving deftly through the oblivious crowd. We follow in their wake.

The spotters reach the tight knot of people gathered around their colleagues, but they don’t stop. They don’t even pause. They hurry to the next corner, to alert their bookend pair of spotters. Yet, the gaming gang has seen them and that’s all the signal they need. They scatter. In the blink of an eye the game is over, the gang is gone, and the crowd is left wondering what they were gathered for, if anything at all.

This is Part 1. Read Part 2.

Excerpt from Travel Advisory: How to Avoid Thefts, Cons, and Street Scams

Chapter Eight: Con Artists and their Games of No Chance

con copenhagen denmark scam three-shell game

Hotel oddity #37

The floating sign. As if the preponderance of signs in hotel rooms were not in-your-face enough.

For this hotel in Berlin, messages stuck on walls and set on tables are not loud enough. They have to be SHOUTED, thrust at us, rudely forced forward into our airspace.

And they are everywhere. Poking from the minibar, floating in front of the television, rising above the telephone.

Important messages, like this one: “Have you thought about breakfast?”

Yes, I always think about breakfast in the bathroom. At this moment in the bathroom, I can’t help but think of breakfast. Thank you!

hotel odd signs

Four cows in a truck in Egypt

Four cows in a pickup driving down the road in Egypt.

Four cows appeared like a mirage, sizzling in the squiggly heat waves off the never-ending road. Our hot, monotonous drive across Egypt had dulled my mind. Beige and blue miles of litter-strewn nothingness and finally—I’m hallucinating? Had Egypt Air not lost our luggage and required hours of driving back and forth, I’d never have seen the cows.

Four cows squashed sideways in the bed of a pickup, bouncing down the highway, foaming at the mouth from… anxiety? thirst? delirium? Our driver told us they’d be driven 300 kilometers. He didn’t say they’d arrive alive.

egypt travel

Avoid becoming victim of theft and scams on vacation

On the set before filming this live segment for ABC News, Bob Arno stole a wallet from one of the camera operators. The producers asked him to do it.

Bob snuck away with the wallet, brandishing it to the other nearby staff who’d gaped as the theft occurred. They were unaware of Bob’s topic—theft and scams—or at least of his skills.

Almost simultaneously, a uniformed security guard blasted into the studio—the scene of the crime—having witnessed the thief on his monitor.

“He was ready to throw your criminal butt out of our studio,” laughed host Susan Casper.

The wallet was presented to the cameraman on-air.

advice con pickpocket scam travel tv

Outrageous excuse delays return of found lost luggage

“We can’t export your found lost-luggage because it contains an artificial hand which requires the permission of the ministry of health.”

I’m starting with the punchline of our recent Egypt Air debacle. “Shall we retain the artificial hand and release your bag?”

Lost luggage

We’d flown to Cairo and on to Hurghada, where only two of our bags made it. The lost case contained our stage props, including the gypsy costume you see in the photos. I wear a doll in a sling, which appears to be supported by what is actually a fake arm. The arm is sewn to the doll.

Apparently Egypt’s ministry of health was not concerned about exporting an artificial child.

The missing prop bag was still in Cairo, Egypt Air officials said, and would arrive on the next flight to Hurghada. So next morning, we made the hour-long trip back to the airport and—of course—no luggage.

Promises… delays…. Finally, the bag arrived in Hurghada. A driver was sent to pick it up. It took too long though. By then we were down to the wire. The driver, finally on his way back with the bag, gave his ETA as 20 minutes. But we were forced to move on. We could not wait. After all, we’d come to perform and the show must go on. Props or no props.

The suitcase was passed to DHL, who was to ship it to Dubai, the next stop on our Middle East tour.

“We need a detailed list of what the case contains,” DHL now requested. Our exhaustive reply included “Fake female arm with jewelry and sleeve (stage prop).”

DHL piddled around with lazy, ineffective emails and before they were ready to ship, we’d left Dubai, too. It was an unfunny comedy of errors, and we were beginning to wonder if we’d ever see our bag again. Instructions were revised: DHL must now ship the bag to the U.S.

We were already incredulous over this real-life display of inefficiency–and then the punchline came. We figure someone was fishing for baksheesh. “After inspection, we found item like artificial hand. We can’t export artificial hand.”

OMG! Seriously? Are we supposed to offer a bribe, or what? Was this extortion? Was Egypt accusing us of an illegal arms export?

I wrote back indignant: “This is NOT an artificial hand, it is a hollow PLASTIC PROP for our show!” I pointed out that the “fake female arm” was number 22 on the proforma invoice I had submitted, and attached a photo of myself with the artificial hand holding the artificial child.

And that was it. The bag showed up at our house the day after we returned home.

More lost luggage

But that’s not all. We flew home on Qatar Airways. We checked our three bags to our final U.S. destination. Upon landing in Houston, we claimed our three bags, took them through customs, and re-checked them for our US Airways flight. All three went missing!

Two days later, we had them back. So I’m not complaining. Just reporting an extreme travel farce. Travel is glamourous!

baggage corrupt egypt flying luggage scam travel

Pickpockets prefer women. Why and what to do.

Pickpockets prefer women!

It’s not that we’re any less savvy. It’s the darn handbag. It’s simply easier for a pickpocket to slip his fingers into a bag than into a pocket. Or worse, to grab the whole bag. Our research proves it: pickpockets prefer women!

Anti-Theft Tips for Women

Don’t send signals that you’re worth the thief’s effort. Forget the flashy jewelry when you’re out and about. Knock-off watches and costume jewelry are no better; the thief can’t tell they’re fake.

Public restrooms: Rude, but true: you may or may not notice a hand reach over the door and snag your bag off the hook at the most inopportune moment. Loop it around the hook and keep your eye on it. Dropped coins in the stall beside could be a distraction ruse.

If you carry a purse, try to give it nerve endings: hold it snug against your body, never let it stick out behind you, especially never let it stick out behind you open.

Use a wide-strapped bag and wear the strap diagonally across your chest, or a short-strapped one with the purse tucked under your arm.
Keep your bag closed properly. If it has a flap, wear the flap against your body.
Keep your wallet at the bottom of your purse.
Never hang your purse on the back of a chair in a public place, where it’s out of your sight. Keep it on your lap. If you must put it on the floor, tuck the strap under your thigh, or put the chair leg through it.
Be sure your purse is in front of you as you enter revolving doors, board trains, etc.
Never leave your purse in a shopping cart or baby stroller.
Never set your purse down in a shop so you can turn your attention elsewhere.
To prevent a drive-by bag snatch, walk far from the curb, on the side of the street towards traffic.
If your bag is snatched, let it go. It may be impossible to fight the instinct to hold on, but try to ingrain that thought. You can get seriously hurt in a bag snatch.

Pickpockets prefer women. Secure your fanny pack zippers with paperclips, or anything to slow a thief. — Secure your fanny pack zippers with paperclips, or anything to slow a thief.

Fanny packs may not be the height of fashion, but they are very safe if you secure the zippers, which are easily opened by practiced thieves. Use a safety pin, a paperclip fastened to a rubberband around the belt strap, or string. Anything to make opening the zipper more difficult.Hotel lobbies are not secure enough to leave bags unguarded.

Business travelers:

Don’t leave your purse, laptop, or briefcase unguarded at hotel breakfast buffets. “Breakfast thieves” specialize in stealing these at upscale hotels.
Always make sure your hotel room door closes completely when you leave.
Do not carry your electronic card key in its folder marked with your room number.
In nightclubs, do not leave your drink unattended. Drink-drugging is a growing problem.
Stow your stuff safely in underclothes pouches.

For a summary of common (and not-so-common) thefts, cons, and scams, see Pickpockets, Con Artists, Scammers, and Travel.

handbag pickpocket purse theft thieves tips travel Women

PICKPOCKETS, CON ARTISTS, GANGSTERS, THIEVES, AND TRAVEL