The More You Know: Getting Conned in Saigon, and How You Can Avoid It

Friend of the house and CouchSurfer extraordinaire Jackson Alberts is spending some time in Vietnam. He’s sent along this piece, a harrowing and somewhat dubious account of how he got caught up in a gambling con — one that is apparently sweeping through Southeast Asia. Is Jack serving up a load of bullshit, hoping to suck a bit of dough out of his editor to get himself a few more bowls of pho (and probably some mescaline)? Maybe. But that doesn’t really matter. With Jack, you quickly learn, it’s all about letting down your guard and enjoying the ride.

If you are that certain type of seasoned traveller, then the scam I’m about to reveal is aimed at you. Because kids vacationing with their parents eat at KFC in Vietnam and do not realize that the ideal meals to be had often involve going to locals’ homes and accepting what is offered. Your street smarts are exactly what can rape you. The setup I’m about to tell seems so obvious, just as long as someone else is talking. Listen to me closely, just as I wish I had listened to the two Australians I had not yet met whom the same thing has happened to. Not only in Saigon. I’ve heard of this same situation in Bangkok, Pheu Ket, and across Asia. Just like me, the Aussies had traveled plenty in Europe and North Africa. But we got taken, just the same.

The con men do not initiate. They sit on a park bench, fishing with a map or Fodor’s as bait. They are not Western, but nor are they from the country you are in. In Vietnam, nearly no one has learned English. So when this man, who gave his name as Tham Boi and his nationality as Philippine, struck up an easy conversation, I was glad for the company. We shot the shit for a tiny while. He stated he was a musician, just visiting his Uncle in Saigon with his cousin Anna and his bandmate Jerry. His Aunt was alleged to be in a hospital in the provinces, very sick, and needing both money and family attention. Thinking of myself as a difficult mark, it was not like I offered to foot her bill, but rather gave my condolences.

Then I went back to Uncle’s house, given as Mui. But he stated I should call him Uncle, as I was welcome in his home like family. He, too, was Philippine. He spoke of his experiences in the war, as a desk clerk for the Americans and the great love he had for General MacCarthur. He gave me lunch, or actually the Vietnamese servant he verbally abused did. Remember the line in “Apocalypse Now” — Harrison Ford is getting the tape deck and the spook says, “If you eat these shrimp, you will never have to prove your courage in any other way.” Same shrimp. I was told it was rude to speak over food, and abided. After, we spoke. He asked me about Las Vegas, Atlantic City, and how casinos work in America, as if he had never heard. He stated he was a dealer at a resort in Cambodia, and wished to show me how they play blackjack there. I’ve been to Vegas, sat at the three dollar tables just to get drunk for relatively cheap and enjoy myself.

Eventually, he got into mechanics. He stated there was a German who had made 20 grand with his system. He stated there was no trouble from the scheme, because the casino did not vie against the player, but rather somebody else concurred to be the house, and then the casino took 10% of whoever won. All this fundamentally made sense. The mechanics were simple, but relatively discreet. He would touch various parts of his arms to let the player know what the hole card was, which he could see because he sat at the same side as the house player. Even I knew you cannot win every game, so I asked for begin signs and stop signs. Then he added a further sign, just to make things easy in the event of an exigency. He would touch his watch, and this meant hit. But then the problem came up — you can raise every card.

Not being a mathematician, I do not know whether in a fair game this would work, but it led to the trap.

You see, both the house and the player can raise every card. When blackjack is first explained to any industrious youngster, they have a question: “What if you triple your bet each time you lose, then walk away when you win?” And Daddy, or whoever, calmly explains that you cannot afford to do this, and if you could, you would not go back down to your beginning stakes. If it were possible, the Mirage would prove to be just so.

In walks a man. He is very smartly dressed in a thousand dollar suit with a gold watch and glasses. His name is given as Mr. Chi, and he is supposed to be a gold dealer from Singapore. An extraordinarily wealthy man, you think, what those in the gaming industry call a “whale.” He makes small talk, as he is waiting for his Mah Jong partners to arrive. They are to have a fifty thousand dollar game, and he gives his money to Uncle Moi for chips, then goes to the bathroom to wash up. Uncle gets very excited. And so do I. And here, too, so would you. You’ve worked all your life for ten bucks here, and ten bucks there. Then you traveled to a third world country, where the exchange rate happens to be 20,000 to 1, and every note feels like Monopoly money. Suddenly, a man puts a giant chunk of greenbacks on the table. Enough to live in America for two years, and live an entire life of ease in Southeast Asia. Shit, enough to beat someone to death with just the currency. And he doesn’t seem all that concerned with what happens to it, the way you do not value the Grant in your pocket when you ever-so-smartly walk into the Wynn or Excalibur, knowing it will be gone, but you will be drunk and adrenaline pumped by the end of the night.

Uncle Mui has an idea, he says. What if you do your system, just as a trial, with Mr. Chi as the house? I only have fifty bucks in my pocket, and do not think this would be worth Mr. Chi’s time. Uncle has a grand idea. Last week, Chi made two hundred thousand playing Mah Jong, and only tipped the house five hundred. Cheap bastard has to be taught a lesson. He’s got ten thousand saved up for his wife’s operation, but this is a sure thing. Play with it, he implores me, and your fifty bucks, just to keep you interested in all senses of the word. What the hell I thought, worst comes to worst, I walk out fifty bucks lighter with a good story. Mr. Chi is not a gangster, he has no bodyguard, only a driver in a late-model German automobile outside that I can see through the window. He’s reading the newspaper, also in a nice suit. When Chi is done washing up, Mui states since he has some time to kill, why not play blackjack. Chi states he doesn’t know how, so Mui explains the rules to him, even including a hard 16 (dealer must hit) just to tilt things even more in our favor. All the while, Anna is sitting at my side. I know to fear beautiful women, but she is mundane. She plays the part of the good niece perfectly, concerned for her Auntie at the same time as she would like perhaps to marry an American, but after an appropriate courtship. Play, she implores me, and I listened.

Twenty dollar hands fast turn into hundred dollar ones, with me winning nearly every time. My eyes are still on the cards, and Uncle is performing no mechanics with the deck. He’s just turning nickel chips into thousand dollar ones with a notepad that is kept meticulously, even with my fifty included. And he is touching his arms like he has the Bubonic Plague. So, I’m up to about $8,000 in winnings, and want to walk away. I state nothing, and draw a twenty. Uncle signals that Chi has 19. He has been raising aggressively all game, and each time I call, knowing what we both have. I win, but throw a game here and there to keep things looking neat. This time, Chi tries to purchase the pot. All his money goes in. Mind you, each time you won, the money actually changed hands. I felt a thousand dollars that I had made in an afternoon simply by my own courage, by pretending I was suited to this table, that I too often walked into casinos with briefcases filled to the brim. I would have had to split it, but that was fine. Mui set the whole thing up, and perhaps I only deserve a small percent. But he likes me, and wants to give me half. My ego is by this point beyond control. So I called Chi’s twenty seven grand when Uncle starts winking.

“Where’s the money,” Chi asked, and this is where shit went downhill. Uncle pleaded with him to give me credit, but Chi states his mom raised no fools, and he is fastidious. So both I and Chi put the cards in a sealed envelope, signed our names, and promised to return. Chi left for an appointment. Anna and Mui’s eyes were glazed with greed. “How much do you have he asks?” “I am a poor man,” I said, “only like five hundred.” “Get it, get it,” he pleaded. “But it’s not like that will make a difference.” “In the Philippines, when we launch a boat, everybody helps, even the children. We say, ‘If a cripple can help, what can we do?” This is the line that really gets the hooks in. You are now involved in a community effort, a part of something larger than yourself, hoping to help Auntie, Anna, and the whole crew. Besides, the rest of the money must come from a usurer, who will take a whopping 50% cut that very day. My perceived numbers would have taken a significant hit. Uncle even did all the math on a piece of paper.

At the bank, waiting on the teller, Anna was excited and imploring, while the guys were passive. I asked why, and was told that they were not in the room and did not realize how huge this was. Cash in hand, I met the money-lender at the door. He handed me a giant stack of bills. His name was given as Dong. I thought this was appropriate, as this is the Vietnamese currency. Uncle Mui laughed along with me. After producing a wad of bills in front of Mr. Chi, everything was counted on both sides. Turns out, we only had $25,500. The moneylender started apologizing profusely, and speaking about how he had to borrow it from his wife, and she will kill him if he asks for any more. Chi was threatening to walk away, when Mui finally talked him into reducing the bet. That’s fine with Chi, as long as we play for half an hour more so he has time to win his money back. He’s brought another giant stack of Benjamins. Mui kept winking like his eye is about to fall off. I just wanted to get out of there, but Chi would not play unless I concurred to at least three more games. I figured that statistically he thought he would win again in at least three hands if he kept doubling up, so I agreed.

We opened the cards, and a stack moved to my side of the table. All the dope in the world could never make you so high. Anna is cheering, I have butterflies and Harley Davidsons hopping around my stomach. I’ve just made about twenty grand through luck and balls. But Chi’s wad was infinite according to the character sketch provided me. Of course, knowing what I do now, I think sometimes Chi and Mui change places, and if the mark is a girl, so do Tam Boi and Anna. But when they are standing in front of you, with backstories and favorite brands of cigarette or reasons for not smoking, problems and dreams, disbelief is not only suspended, it disappears for longer than you can imagine. Only days later did I realize what had happened. I even repeated the farce of being the cripple man for Uncle Mui’s fishing boat. Another tapped out ATM, and another winning hand, and another after that. The stack of cash I’m set to make is now enough to purchase a small hotel here, and live out my days in paradise.

Finally, on the last hand, I’m holding 13 to the house hard 16. The adrenaline is so thick in the air that Mui not only signaled the “hidden” 10, but flashed the top card in an incredibly sloppy manner. It’s a seven, but Mui gave the hit signal anyhow. Even though I did not want to, and stated no twice, he still hit me. I turned the card over, knowing I could not lose with a 20 anyhow. Then Chi magically drew a 5, and all the air went out of my lungs. He picked up both stacks and walked out. I got yelled at by Mui for hitting when the dealer would have busted, and a sob story from everyone about dear Auntie who is going to go without medicine and Dong’s wife who is going to have him killed by the Vietnamese mafia. Writing, I realize the house has to stay on a hard 16.

Sure, I’m an idiot, but if I were any smarter during this process, I could well not be around to write about it. I do not think Westerners get killed in Saigon, simply because it’s a Communist country that quixotically relies on tourism. But I was in an ugly spot, that began only with bad seafood. If I’d lost my head and started thrashing about, shit easily could have turned violent. Hide, if neither ego nor wallet, intact, I’ll give you some general lessons I learned the hard way so hopefully you will not have to.

Here’s where many people would say, “Don’t trust strangers.” But I’m a CouchSurfer, and previously had only good things come of people being hospitable to me randomly. I still believe in the innate goodness of the world, and one bad turn will not change that. But there were some signs that seem obvious in retrospect.

First, we changed taxis. Tam Boi alleged the bill was too high. In New York, a taxi meter scam ran epidemically for three years on locals and tourists alike before anyone noticed. If anything, the shift made me trust everyone’s thrift more. But the only reason anybody has ever actually changed taxis is to make sure they are not being followed, and keep you disoriented. Second, if you know drug dealers or have seen the second season of “The Wire,” you know what a burn phone is. If not, it is a disposable telephone purchased for about twenty bucks with minutes already loaded and no name given, also called pre-paid. Well, in Third World countries, they have burn houses. Pay attention to what is on the walls and on the bookshelves. Even if there is a maid, no house is so immaculate that it doesn’t look lived in. Walk out of an empty house, even if it has a television.

OK, now we get to the pontificating part, or what I learned about life. When your mom told you, “If something seems too good to be true, it is,” she was not lying. We may have forgotten this in this era of 0% interest rates and credit default swaps, but pipers must be paid. Don’t try to fuck other people. Even if they are not supposed to notice, the way Americans tip their first few days in a new country and do not lament it. Even if they are purported to have done some wrong, if you did not see it personally, do not try to help avenge it. In Vietnam, people who know English generally have a good reason to do so. Finally, rich men did not get to be that way by being stupid. Only you did, if only because you think about yourself poor (live on 5000 Dong a day, then state that) and you take offense at being called stupid. We’re all stupid sometimes, especially me.

After all is stated and done, I’m somewhat thankful. I’ve learned a bit about the world. And having significantly less money when travelling can be a good thing. You move slower, look for work, shop around. It becomes less about seeing this and then that and then going home, and more about becoming attuned to your environment. As they say, “In Vietnam, misfortune is more common than money.”

More Source:

Getting Conned in Saigon, and How You Can Avoid It - The More ...
The More You Know : Gridskipper
Ho Chi Minh City travel guide - Wikitravel
Thieves & Beggers, Ho Chi Minh City - Warnings or Dangers ...

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Submited at Thursday, November 11th, 2010 at 3:00 pm on Europe by dave
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