fake – Pickpocket Bob Arno

Turkish counterfeits

How one thing leads to another…

Bob and I were enjoying a delicious dinner in a small Turkish resort town. It was a balmy, late-summer evening and the restaurant was in a narrow alley; our table was outside, on the edge of light pedestrian traffic.

We had a beer and some raki along with this gorgeous mezze plate and warm bread fresh from the oven. I was hoping to save room for the oddly chewy Turkish ice cream, but that didn’t happen. We lingered, letting the meal stretch and be the night’s main event.

I noticed a large bottle fastened to the wall across the alley. It appeared to be a plastic water bottle. Why was it perched there so prominently? To hold flowers? rolled-up messages? a broom? It seemed to be partially full of something…

Eventually, I had to get up and go look. Bottle caps! It was about a quarter filled with blue plastic bottle caps. Why? I asked our waiter, who explained that when the bottle is full of caps, it could be traded in for a wheelchair. Huh.

Turkish counterfeits: The mysterious door opposite our restaurant, and the water bottle that got our attention. — The mysterious door opposite our restaurant, and the water bottle that got our attention.

Turkish counterfeits: Bottle caps equal a free wheelchair?Bottle caps equal a free wheelchair? — Bottle caps equal a free wheelchair?

But, really? This seemed more like a hoax to me. Whatever…

As we considered the bottle on the wall across the alley, our focus shifted to the door at which it was mounted. It was an elegant entry surrounded by rich woodwork—at odds with the glass-fronted commercial establishments up and down the lane. It was warmly lit, while the surrounding shops flickered cool florescence. Could the doors lead to an upstairs guest house or hostel? We looked at the upper windows but could ascertain nothing. The glass doors were blacked out from the inside, reflecting alley activity, emanating mystery and privacy. This lent it a bit of foreboding, but that feeling was tempered and conflicted by the welcoming light. Come hither… stand back! Could it be an apartment house? The iron gate folded to the side implied a need for security.

After a while, it occurred to us that there was regular traffic into and out of the door. We hadn’t noticed at first, but once we began to pay attention, we saw that a couple or group would enter, then leave ten or fifteen minutes later. The visitors looked like tourists, not locals.

Again, we asked our friendly waiter. They sell copies inside, he said, knockoffs. But you have to know someone to get in. It’s the shop at the end of the lane. If you ask the right questions, you’ll be taken behind the wooden doors for the good stuff. He looked left and right, leaned in and whispered. No—just kidding.

Turkish counterfeits

When we finished our dinner we strolled to the shop at the end of the lane and asked what we thought might be the right questions. A boy brought us to the wooden door and gave a secret knock—the code! (Slight exaggeration here.) The door opened to a bright and immaculate shop. Its walls were lined with shelves of colorful leather bags, satchels, purses, and duffels. Its spotless marble floor reflected more of the same. Racks held belts, and a small section displayed red-soled Christian Louboutin shoes. The goods were branded Prada, Hermes, Gucci, Chanel… all the big expensive names.

Turkish counterfeits: Turkish bread to go with mezze. — Turkish bread to go with mezze.

The quality seemed excellent. The prices were high—in the hundreds of dollars, but not the thousands. This lower-cost merchandise was likely made in the very same Italian factories as the legitimate designer items, from the same bolts of designer leather, cut and sewn by the same expert craftsmen. Read how counterfeit items are made in Italy and why they are for sale. Could these items have been made in Turkey, which has a thriving leather industry of its own? I doubt it. Could they be imitations from China? Not likely. I’ve been to the Beijing copy district, where shop after shop displays branded goods with impunity. Those items, while good, are churned out factory-like, without attention to precious detail as is the custom of Italian artisans. Or… perhaps in Beijing I didn’t know the right questions to ask.

Fake jewelry doesn’t thwart pickpockets

Almost all of the opportunist pickpocket’s dirty work is preventable. I agree, it’s not practical to live in preparation for the worst at any moment. Bob and I say, practice safety as a habit. Stash your valuables wisely, and try not to send signals that you’re worth a thief’s effort. Other, easier targets will always be there to tempt the opportunist. Don’t make him even glance at you. We say, forget the flashy jewelry when you’re out and about.

Fake jewelry doesn’t thwart pickpockets

“But this is a fake Rolex,” some say smugly. “I paid $20 for it in Miami.” No comment on the purchase of counterfeit goods, but do you really want to be mugged for a fake Rolex? Do you believe a criminal can tell the difference? Not even in Naples, where Rolex-robbing is as common as running red lights, can a thief tell before he’s got it.

“These are CZs,” women tell me, tugging on glittery boulders in their earlobes. “It won’t break me if I lose them.” Listen: losing the earrings is not the point. You’re sending a signal to anyone who cares to pay attention: “Look at me! Notice my wealth!” The one who tunes in may or may not want those CZs; he may decide to linger and observe and find your Achilles’ heel, the chink in your armor. It’s not coincidence when a bag is snatched in the one moment you look away. You’ve been stalked. Why? You are attractive. You are wealth.

Yes, you’ll look like a tourist

If you are a tourist, chances are you look like one. That’s not a put-down. We can’t possibly look like a local wherever we are [despite all the “experts” exhorting us to]. We don’t dress, act, or sound like the natives, even within regions of the United States. I’ll never forget the time Bob and I came back to the States after six months in Sweden.

Fried egg on asparagus spears with roasted hominy (or chickpeas) and sliced avocado. — MY take on a “dippie.” Nothing like the Orwigsburg version.

We flew straight to Orwigsburg, Pennsylvania, to do a private show. I had never felt like such an alien as I did in that town; and that thought had solidified long before a roadside breakfast at the “Family 3C’s” diner, where the perky little waitress asked “Where are you guys from?” with the unsaid ending: “space?” Was it because I asked for the definition of a “dippie,” a menu item with no description?

The big boss of our Orwigsburg client had described his employees, his “boys,” as backward and painfully shy. He said we’d think they seemed dumb, ignorant, but that they’re highly skilled at their individual jobs, good workers, loyal. At the party, Bob and I looked at all these beefy boys with their hefty wives, trying to figure out their lives and values. They didn’t look dumb; they looked innocent and close to the earth and less worldly than anyone we’d encountered in many years. Perhaps since we met the Masaai….

The event was held in a dismal lounge at a Quality Hotel. The pitiful effort at decorating (helium balloons rubbing against the low ceiling) matched the pathetic catering (macaroni salad, bbq chicken). This was the big party of their year! To be fair, I must add that the boss’s warmth and generosity toward them (and us) was impressive.

Culturally speaking, this was as fascinating an experience as any other exotic destination we’d visited. And on the positive side, we spoke the language. Somewhat, anyway. As always, I tried to pick up a little, so I can now order a “dippie” and expect an egg. But what would the Orwigsburgers think about being considered exotic, a fascinating study? I suspect we and the natives examined each other with the same dubious skepticism and sideways looks, like two isolated cats meeting for the first time.

Anyway, there we were in our own America and no doubt stuck out like two city-slickers in a dairy barn, similar to the time I showed up in Boyd, Texas for a show wearing New York black instead of dirty denim. Who knew? We didn’t mean to stand out—we just did.

The point is, most travelers can be seen as travelers, and a traveler is at a disadvantage. When we travel, we’re the foreigners. We’re outsiders, even if we don’t realize it. We don’t have street smarts, even if we do at home.

Dress down

Bob and I say, prepare yourself in advance. Travel light in order to travel confidently. Leave your shiny sparklers at home. On the road, lock up what you love. On your body, tuck them in. The idea is to enjoy your journey without worry.

Excerpt from Travel Advisory: How to Avoid Thefts, Cons, and Street Scams
Chapter Five: Rip-Offs: Introducing…The Opportunist

fake pickpocket tourist Travel Travel Advisory

Fake police, aka Pseudo-Cops

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.

In my book, Travel Advisory: How to Avoid Thefts, Cons, and Street Scams, I categorize thieves as either opportunists or strategists. Fake police are a specific type of strategist. They’re operating in small U.S. towns and cities as well as abroad. And it’s easier than ever to gear up for the job with fake badges and uniforms.

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THE DUPLICITOUS STRATEGIST

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.

Excerpt from Travel Advisory: How to Avoid Thefts, Cons, and Street Scams
Chapter Seven: Scams—By the Devious Strategist

fake police pseudo-cop scam sweden