You can save up to 20% when you change money abroad if you shop around. Maybe more.
I found myself in Rome recently, with a wad of Swedish money I wanted to get rid of. Instead of buying American dollars with the Swedish crowns and buying the euros I needed with U.S. cash, I wanted to change the crowns to euros.
For this story, the country of origin of the money doesn’t matter much. It’s just a numbers game.
I decided to take my own advice: “Before you buy foreign currency, compare the posted prices at several booths or banks. Find out whether they charge fees or commissions [or both]. Compare, and ask for better deals.”
Let’s say the Swedish cash I had to change was worth about US $800. I popped into the first change booth I found, “Forexchange” on Via Solferno.
“How many euros will you give me for 6000 Swedish kronas?” I said.
“429,” the woman said, after some poking on her calculator.
“Is that your best offer?”
“For you, 452.”
See, I could have made 23 euros without even a pretty-please. It was a terrible deal, though. Forexchange takes a fee of €4.90 and a whopping commission of 19.7%. Of course. They’re in the business of making money by buying and selling currency.
I went to another foreign exchange booth where I was offered 495 euros. Up 66 euros from the first quote. Still a bad deal.
American Express will wave its fee for Platinum Card holders, but even with this discount, I’d only get 522 euros for my 6000 SEK. Still, that’s €93 more than the first quote.
Finally, I went to a branch of BNL bank where, after locking all my metal objects into a lobby locker, I stepped into a glass capsule that shut behind me, holding me briefly captive before opening inward and allowing me to enter the bank. The offer there was €535. 106 euros more than if I’d just made a quick change at the first available place. That’s a difference of about $150 on my $800 exchange.
Even with the recent rise in credit card companies’ foreign transaction fees, I believe in using plastic whenever possible for foreign purchases. The fees are now 2 or 3%, but that’s all. For me, credit cards are convenient and economical, and I like the other benefits of using them. But I still need to buy small amounts of local currency—enough for coffee, taxis, souvenirs, and tipping. My experience in Rome last month reminded me that it pays to shop around.
In Bangkok, seemingly corrupt police are extorting large sums from foreign visitors. In South Africa, pseudo-cops are stopping drivers and pedestrians, requesting wallets in order to see identification or “search for contraband,” then absconding. In Stockholm, thieves impersonating police lured seniors into give up their PINs at ATMs in the name of “controlling withdrawals.”
This strategy seems to have exploded recently, or at least is being recognized for what it is, or at least making it into the news.
The strategist elite are those who make participants of their victims. Like the Palma claveleras, they’re in your face with a story. Their only goal is to walk away with your wallet. Consummate con artists, they’re the slipperiest, wiliest, and most difficult to detect. Garbed in a counterfeit persona designed to gain your confidence, they lay bait and entrap their prey: usually the unsuspecting traveler.
Fake Police = Pseudo Cops
These strategists concoct ingenious schemes. Who could avoid falling for what happened to Glinda and Greg? They were walking in a foreign park in—well, it could have been anywhere, this is so common—when a gentleman approached them with a camera. He asked if one of them would mind taking his picture, and the three huddled while he showed them how to zoom and where to press. Suddenly two other men arrived and flashed badges. The man with the camera slipped away while the two “officials” demanded to know if the couple had “made any transaction” with him. Had they changed money with him illegally? They would have to search Glinda’s bag; and they did so, without waiting for permission.
“It all happened so fast,” Glinda told me a few days later, “I knew something wasn’t right, but I didn’t have time to think.” The “officials” absconded with Glinda’s wallet, having taken it right under her nose. In variations on this theme, the pseudo cops take only cash saying it must be examined, and they may even offer a receipt. Needless to say, they never return and the receipt is bogus.
On first impression, the pseudo cops’ scam is believable; their trick requires surprise, efficiency and confusion: they don’t allow time for second thoughts. Theirs is a cheap trick, really. They depend on a fake police shield to gain trust; they can’t be bothered to build confidence with an act. Authority is blinding, and that’s enough if they’re fast. It’s a thin swindle, but it works.
We good citizens are trained from an early age to respect authority. It’s not easy to ask a uniformed policeman for identification, or even a plainclothes officer who flashes a badge. And if we were to request ID, how closely would we scrutinize it? Would we detect a fake? What about identification in a foreign language, Thai for example, or Russian?
What’s the difference, anyway, between a pseudo cop—an impostor—and a legitimate but corrupt official? Both rely on their perceived authority, both act fast (before they’re found out, by the victim or others), both do the shake-down dance in one form or another. We, the good citizens, never see it coming. “It all happened so fast,” one victim told me, “I knew something wasn’t right, but I didn’t have time to think.” We’re more than victims of crime here. We’re victims of our upbringing, we who are taught to follow rules and obey laws.
Bob and I were accosted by pseudo-cops in Russia. I can tell you, it’s frightening, especially when the scene expands to include additional players. Sydney’s had them, and so has Barcelona. Stockholm’s in the news now with pseudo cops stationed at ATMs frequented by seniors, collecting PIN codes under the guise of “regulation.”
BBC News reports a horrific scam that takes place in the Bangkok airport. A number of travelers browsing the duty-free shops have been accused of shoplifting, put in jail holding cells, and forced into negotiations that amount to police extortion in exchange for their release. They’re being tricked into relying on the advice of a man who seems to be a police accomplice.
One of the victims in this report, Stephen Ingram, was taken by airport security to a police office, put in a cell overnight, then given an interpreter. The interpreter took him (and his travel companion) to a police commander who attempted extortion of over US$12,000 and threatened a prison stay of two months before they’d even get their case heard. After paying a portion of the “bail,” Mr. Ingram and his travel partner were put into a hotel and told not to leave, not to contact a lawyer or their embassy, and cautioned that they were being watched. They eventually escaped and got the their embassy, where they learned they’d been victims of a classic Thai scam called the “zig-zag.”
An Irish woman was subjected to the same scam when she made a small purchase at the duty-free shop. She bought an item of makeup, which the shop clerk put in a bag; a customary practice, right? On leaving the shop she was surrounded by security guards shouting ‘You! You! You go jail six months.” The shopping bag contained an item not paid for. Did she steal it? Did the shop clerk plant it? Did the guards? The woman was held overnight “in filthy conditions,” and eventually had to pay up to free herself and her passport.
In her case, the Irish woman thought she had purchased two items. She paid by credit card but didn’t pay attention to how many hundreds of baht she was charged. Did the shop clerk intentionally charge for only one item, as a set up? Why, otherwise, did security immediately pounce on this customer?
Both of these examples begin with the company called King Power, which runs the airport duty-free shops, and both include collusion by government officials and others. King Power has tried to substantiate some of its accusations with surveillance video, and has three cases “explained” on its website.
In an article in the Irish Daily Mail, Andrew Drummond wrote that in Thailand (where he is based), this is called the “Monopoly scam, ”
not so much because of the high amounts of money involved but the fact that victims…could buy …˜Get out of jail’ cards to escape airport shoplifting charges. These …˜cards’ were letters issued by the local prosecutor and police.
Fake police with false ID at Bangkok airport. How is one to know what's real?
Bangkok airport, it seems, is infested with scammers, corrupt officials, and according to the pictured article, pseudo-cops. There are more horror stories:
Paul Grant and Lynn Ward, both from the UK, separately reported another Bangkok airport scam. In this one, incoming passengers are instructed by a customs officer to put their duty-free items into their checked luggage when they retrieve it from the carousel, and that they should not declare the items, “or they will be prosecuted for smuggling.” When exiting the customs area, other customs agents “discover” the undeclared items, and levy hefty fines or threaten jail. ATMs are conveniently located beside the customs office, or travelers are escorted to machines in order to withdraw the large sums charged.
If you haven’t read this or another warning specifically about the shake-downs in Bangkok’s airport, you haven’t got a chance should you be chosen to be a victim.
We had a large and beautiful room at the Corinthia Lisboa Hotel in Lisbon. The business hotel’s casual restaurant, Tipico, is excellent, and features a highly-polished version of Portugal’s mosaic sidewalks on the floor. Our room contained every convenience.
Display at a tourism safety and security conference.
Bed bugs, we read, are living in hotels everywhere, dining on us. As a frequent hotel guest (200+ days a year for 16 years) I’m surprised that I’ve never noticed them. Mosquitos are attracted to me and I react badly to their bites. But bed bugs—I haven’t run into. Or maybe I repel them.
Kill bed bugs with heat
A large display at the recent California Tourism Safety and Security Conference caught my eye. The company provides a bed bug-baking service for any size space. Four hours at 130° does it, they say. Maybe less. Confidentially. So your neighbors (or other hotel guests) don’t know you’ve got bed bugs.
Ick.
After twenty years of baking this decadent dessert, which I’ve called by a name I’m quite fond of, I must finally, if fleetingly, commit to its spelling. I’ll take its lovely, ambiguous, oral name, so full of interpretation, possibility, and nuance, and relegate it to a finite, deficient, inadequate written one which prevents the mind from wandering.
A Malvalous dessert.
Twenty years ago (wow!) Bob and I took a one-year contract in South Africa. We were given an apartment with two servants, a cat, and pesky baboons (another story), and a rudimentary kitchen. At some point I started baking a dessert recipe that I found in the local alternative newspaper, The Weekly Mail. Part of a flour ad, the recipe had a dull, generic name, something like Snowflake Flour Pudding, or Baked Apricot Pudding. I’ve called it Weekly Mail Pudding ever since but, not having written of it, I’ve never had to spell it. I’m sad that I must now, in order to tell the story of the pudding. Bob and I refer to it so casually that, when I serve it to friends, I forget how odd the name sounds.
Carmelized comfort.
Malva Pudding
That was the first third of the story. The third third is the recipe itself, at the end. The second third is this. A few months ago in Cape Town, I suddenly came to realize that this dessert is properly called Malva Pudding, and is a South African classic of Dutch origin. (I should also mention that pudding is a generic British term for dessert. This one is a moist cake; not at all a custardy pudding.)
Bob and I stopped at a Cape Town cafe for coffee. I sat down and opened the laptop while Bob looked at the treats on offer. He returned to the table with a gorgeous little cake, not much bigger than a muffin. Its deep brown, shiny surface had large pores and a little buttery froth, like an over-tanned face with a smudge of Coppertone. The cake was not decorated or garnished. It looked moist, and smelled like toasty caramel. Makes my mouth water just thinking of it, even now.
“What’s that?” I asked Bob.
“I don’t know, it just looked good,” he said.
“Looks like Weekly Mail Pudding,” I said.
One bite confirmed it. Examining the cafe’s display case, I saw that the cake was labeled Malva Pudding.
Subsequent research indicates that apricot jam is one of the dessert’s defining characteristics. I never sense much flavor from the jam. Therefore, I’ve always used whatever jam I have on hand: ginger, orange, raspberry…. I used pomegranate jam in the one pictured here.
I give you my scrumptious version of this recipe on the conditions that, if you call it anything at all, you call it by its lovely, ambiguous name; that you refrain from writing its name; and that you forget any spelling of the name that you’ve seen here.
The recipe:
Weekly Mail Pudding
1 Egg
1/2 cup sugar (125 ml)
2 T jam (25 ml)
1 cup milk (250 ml)
1 t baking soda (5ml)
1/4 t salt (2 ml)
1 cup CAKE flour* (250 ml) (or “self-rising” flour)
Directions
1. Preheat oven to 350 F. (180 C)2. Butter a glass baking dish, at least 12″ x 7.5″x 2″. (18 x 30 x 5 cm) Preferably a little larger.3. Beat egg and sugar and salt together well.4. Add the jam and mix well.5. Mix the milk and baking soda together.6. Add flour and the milk mixture alternately to the egg mixture, beating well.7. Pour into the greased glass ovenproof dish.8. Cover the dish with a lid of foil.9. Bake for 40 minutes.10. Meanwhile, make the sauce.
Sauce
1 cup milk (250 ml)
1/2 cup water (125 ml)
1 cup sugar (250 ml)
4 oz. butter (125 g)
1 t vanilla (optional) (5 ml)
Directions
1. Place all ingredients together in a saucepan. (Use a large enough pan; say 2 quarts or 2 liters. Don’t walk away; it will boil over!)2. Stir until the sauce boils, to dissolve the sugar.3. Boil mixture for 5 minutes.4. Take the pudding out of the oven, uncover it, and stab it here and there with a knife.5. Slowly pour the boiled sauce over it.6. Return it to the oven, uncovered, for 15-20 minutes or until the pudding is brown.
You might serve the pudding with whipped cream, ice cream, or custard, but I think that’s overkill.
Cape Town’s Table Mountain.
Kitchen notes:
•No cake flour? From 1 cup all purpose flour, subtract 2 T of it. Add 2 T corn starch.
•Yes! you can use soy milk instead of dairy!
•Placing a sheet of foil on the oven floor may save a nasty clean-up.
I came across some calceteiros in the process of creating the gorgeous Portuguese mosaic sidewalks.
In time, shoes polish the mosaics to a slippery shine.
In Lisbon, a Carpet of Stone Beneath Their Feet is an excellent article on how calçada (patterned pavements) are made, the history of the mosaic pavements, and Escolas de Jardinagem e Calceteiros, a City school where this unique stone paving is taught. Highly recommended, if you enjoyed my little article.
I’m sure it sounds obsessive to mention the necessity of onboard watchfulness when you fly. The likelihood of theft while on an aircraft is low, granted; but it’s unpredictable, and that’s the problem. If you’re carrying valuables, say cash, jewelry, even credit cards, you may as well continue with your precautions. The risks are to the carry-on items you can’t see: those in the overhead compartment can be ransacked practically under your nose—or above your nose. Those under the seat in front of you are vulnerable if you sleep or leave them while you get up. [Read Kayla’s experience, below.] I want to stress that these are low-probability scenarios, especially if you’re not traveling alone. Your degree of precaution must harmonize with your comfort level and the value of the items you carry.
Sadly, suitcases are occasionally compromised while in the airlines’ possession. The odd unscrupulous employee needs only the moment of opportunity. It’s well-known that most luggage locks are next to useless. Keys are generic, and even combination locks have certain pressure points which free latches.
Halliburton
Bob and I believe in hard-sided luggage. The ones we use are aluminum, made by Zero Halliburton. They’re not for everyone, being both heavy and expensive. But when our bags were forced with a crowbar or other tool somewhere on the nether tarmac of the Miami airport, the locks and hinges held tight. Shiny scars in the seam, as if gnawed by a metal-eating mouse, were the only evidence of serious tampering.
Who’s throwing your luggage around?
As we watch our silvery Halliburtons trundle off toward baggage handlers in Lusaka, in Santiago, in Mexico City, filled with sound and video equipment or perhaps with our favorite shoes from Florence, we’re eternally grateful for and confident in their sturdy locking mechanisms. Even more so after trying desperately and failing to break into our own locked suitcase when it jammed once in London.
Of course bags like these do call attention to themselves and an argument can be made for using inexpensive luggage. One world-traveling couple we met swore by the cheap stuff. After repeated thefts from their Louis Vuitton cases at Heathrow airport, they resorted to department store brands, buying new bags every year or so. A small price to pay, they say, given the cost of their trip and value of their belongings. That’s their argument, but I don’t buy it. I say buy the best bags you can find and afford and use their locks [whenever possible].
“Kayla,” a 15-year-old girl, told me how her wallet was stolen on a cross-country flight. Her mother and sister supported Kayla’s story. The thief was a 35ish woman sitting next to her. In the middle of the flight, the woman bent down and pretended to be digging in her purse. But Kayla felt something and looked, and could see that the woman was digging in her (Kayla’s) purse. Kayla said she was too scared to say anything. The woman got up and went to the bathroom. Kayla checked her purse and found that her wallet was gone. She told her mother. Then she and her mother told a flight attendant. The flight attendant found the wallet in the bathroom, missing only Kayla’s cash. Kayla was still too afraid to say anything to the thief. When the plane landed, the woman just left.
Thieves are thick on Lisbon’s two main tourist trams, 15 and 28. Within five minutes of arriving at a tram stop for #28, we’d pegged a pair of pickpockets. One carried a flat messenger bag and a newspaper, the other carried a jacket in the sweltering heat.
They stood well away from the gathering crowd waiting for #28. I was among the crowd; Bob watched from across the street, then down the block.
When the tram eventually lumbered along its tracks toward the stop, it was as if a director had called “action!” The waiting passengers tried to anticipate its exact stopping point; the two thieves moved in; Bob got into line; I kept to Bob’s right, camera aimed at his back pocket; one pickpocket threw his jacket over his left arm and went for Bob’s (prop) wallet; the other pickpocket got behind me, trying for my purse.
Slowly, we all mounted the tram stairs. I knew the thieves hadn’t succeeded, because they boarded also. If they’d gotten anything they wouldn’t have; but they still thought they had a chance.
Bob and I were both using new video cameras, and we both missed the shot. I had the better opportunity. Perfectly positioned, I saw everything. But I didn’t press the record button hard enough (though I thought I did). I missed the money shot.
The thieves moved to the back of the tram, where another pair, a man and a woman, joined them. It looked like they planned to work together. We were pretty sure they would try to block a departing passenger and pickpocket him on the stairs. Bob wanted to be that passenger, but I wanted to wait and see how their game played out.
A good samaritan warns of her city\’s thieves with a laugh.
Meanwhile, a woman looked at me with a big, friendly smile. “His wallet,” she said, patting her hip, “it’s dangerous…that way.” Laughing, she pointed her thumb behind her toward the back of the tram. To Bob she said “In her pocket is better.”
As the tram trundled on, I wondered why one of the pickpockets moved on my purse.
Signs onboard don\’t help boarding passengers.
It’s made of thick, rough leather, has a narrow opening high in my armpit, and a deep shape. It would be impossible to get into—unless the man had a razor blade. Even with a blade it would be a challenge, but the cutpurse wouldn’t necessarily realize it. Not particularly stylish, the purse is perfect for thiefhunting. I found it in Beijing.
Two Portuguese pickpockets in Lisbon
Too soon, the tram came to the end of its line and no one departed in front of the thieves. As the team of four dispersed, Bob accosted the original pair. We learned that they’re Portuguese, as was the third man, while his female partner was Bosnian. One of the thieves got busy on his mobile phone and wandered off—we guessed he was speaking with the third man.
Portuguese pickpocket\’s technique.
We kept up a conversation with the second, who was willing to talk. He demonstrated his technique, nipping the wallet between his first and second fingertips.
Bob and I waited for the next tram to go back. So did the foursome, smoking, separated, cautious, on the grassy area at the end of the line. We got on; of course they didn’t.
The old elevator tower: scene of many crimes.
We learned that pickpockets are also active on the stairs around the old elevator tower, despite the presence of security guards. We didn’t spend much time there. Worse, gang activity has increased dramatically over the past year, with immigrants arriving from the favellas of Brazil. Car-jackings are commonplace, even in the city center. Graffiti was everywhere.
Not all graffiti is this colorful. Many buildings are this dilapidated.
The whole city is crumbling. Peeling plaster and missing tiles made for some interesting textures on the walls. Unfortunately, Lisbon can’t pull off the elegant flaky-paint look the way Venice does. Lisbon just looks terribly dilapidated, its glory days over, deteriorating as we watch. Its structures are still grand, but they’re dressed like homeless derelicts, with the same empty-eyed glower, all dignity and self-respect burned off by neglect.
What I have always loved about Lisbon (and other Portuguese cities) are the sidewalks; and these, I’m happy to report, are still immaculately maintained. Black and white mosaics of smooth marble cubes, they are still neat, level, and polished to a slippery shine. The designs are different wherever you walk, some simple geometric shapes, some extravagant patterns, even signs of the zodiac. I’ll post about the making of these mosaics later.
Lisbon\’s lovely marble mosaic pavements.
Next day, same place. Waiting for tram 28. We’re melting in the heat and up shuffles this guy, with a thick, dirty sweatshirt tied around his waist, and a messenger bag. Not too obvious, is he? When the tram neared he dragged himself into position, and stared blankly up at the shouting driver. The driver was not shouting at him; he was saying something about a broken door, that the tram was going out of service. No one got on. Our man trundled away, like a tram off its tracks, with no discernible destination.
Drink-drugging as a means to theft and/or sex is not new, but on the rise. It’s increasing in Colombia and known to be an M.O. in Russia, Hong Kong, Thailand, Ecuador, and many other countries. I didn’t expect to see Tokyo on the list, but there it is. Sad.
I forgot where I heard this, but it’s funny: When given a drink by a stranger, say “It’s one of my country’s traditions to trade drinks with the host.” Hard to imagine doing that.
Anyway, it’s a good idea to keep this in mind when offered food or drink by a stranger. And try not to leave your food or drink unattended.
