CRIMES AND CONS IN BUCHAREST, ROMANIA

October 18, 2008

I have only experienced culture shock on one occasion.

That was on my arrival in Romania, one cold Bucharest night. My train arrived at the station after a wearying journey from Hungary. The mucky station was full of human debris. Weary travellers sprawled all over the floor, some using their suitcases as bedding.

Most people were asleep, shuffling in a foot-tired sort of way or puffing away on cigarettes. The only ones who moved quickly were amputee-beggars who raced around on homemade skateboards. They used one fist for propulsion and the other for profit. The sights, sounds and smells were overwhelming. I grabbed my backpack and with my guidebook in my hand, walked out into a cheerless night. Outside, drunkenness was the normal state; men urinated as they walked along the road. I felt total isolation from all that I knew as normal. The next day I was arrested.

In the morning I had met another solo traveller, a Canadian called Patrick, and we had arranged to spend the day together. We were walking down a Bucharest street when a middle-aged man stopped us.

“Hello,” he said, his English near perfect, “You are American?”

“Australian,” I corrected.

“Ah, you want to change money?”

We did not.

He then asked me if I could tell him the exchange rate of the Australian with the American dollar. I was amazed by the ignorance of this amateur banker - he really did need some help. I informed him of the rates and we began to walk away.

“Wait. Wait. What about the Canadian dollar?”

We were incredulous. He seemed to have no idea.

Suddenly, and without warning, four large men in sombre grey overcoats surrounded us.

“You are under arrest!” said one of the men, “This criminal you are talking to is a black-market money changer.”

The banker burst into tears. He began to plead and grovel to the police on bended knee but was ignored.

“Passports, please,” the policeman demanded.

“Wait a minute. We were just giving this man some advice,” I countered, “He came up to us. We have not changed any money.”

“Passports, now!”

“Could we please see your identification,” Patrick asked. The policeman produced a grubby piece of paper. The words were all foreign, but the photo was clearly our man. He repeated his demand for our passports.

We handed them to the policeman and were herded away from the main street and then pressed against a wall at the entrance to a narrow alley.

The policeman pointed to the snivelling banker and said, “This man changes counterfeit money.” He patted the bulge of the money belt that lay against my stomach, “Show me your cash.”

The situation did not feel right. We had only been talking to the moneychanger for seconds. How could we have been so unlucky?

We had been in Romania for less than a day and so had not had time to become accustomed to normality. We could only fall back on rules that would have applied equally well at home. Rules such as - That which seems to be totally out of the ordinary, is out of the ordinary.

Perhaps this explained why the amateur criminal, still blubbing, was begging for leniency in English but it did not explain who our arresting officers were.

Neither Patrick nor I had any intention of opening our money belts and so the proceedings had reached an impasse.

The police changed their approach. The main officer walked further into the alley and with him went our passports, which swung lazily in his right hand. The three other officers gently pushed us after him. I looked at Patrick and then at the four big men. It seemed unlikely that we were being propelled further from the main street for more of this gentle cajoling. It was time put the ‘Rule’ to the test. Time for me to place a double or nothing bet.

I broke away from the three and running up behind the main officer, grabbed the passports from his hand.

“Go!” I yelled to Patrick, “I’ve got the passports. Run!”

We both sprinted out onto the street, craning our necks to see if we were to be chased. But no one followed. We watched the alley for a few more minutes but the men did not appear.

Later that day, we went to the police to report the incident. Not surprisingly, we had no trouble identifying them this time. We found them in a building clearly marked ‘POLIŢIE.’ They were all sitting around in uniforms; sipping coffee, joking and smoking. And not one of them spoke a word of English.

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