Why Am I Still Alive Pt. 21: Living with Gypsies (Roma) in Prague Part 2

The next morning, the four of us arrived in the old city and the four of them showed me all the sites - the clock tower, bridge, castles, arches, and secret places. We went to lunch and they paid for everything and the wine and beer were already flowing. 

“OK,” says Beto, “you may not like but we show you how we make money.” Exiting the restaurant back into the square the troupe quickly identified foreign tourists and, muttering in Bulgarian, decided their game. For this one - dice, next one was the shell game, but most often and particularly for the German and US tourists it was the currency game. 

The official exchange rate was one Koruna for one dollar but in the real world, the going rate was closer to 10 to one. So, as I had experienced numerous times, black market traders would give you a vastly favorable rate. But not all were on the up and up. Beto explained, “so… this is illegal - the black market trade… so we do it at risk. We offer 11 to 1 but actually only give 2 to 1… still better for tourists than official rate but that is how we have money for food, drinks, ladies, and our families.” He smiled. 

First I watched the dice game repeatedly and could not understand how they kept winning. After several rounds, Beto said, “Weighted dice - see, there is lead in the corner - it rolls a six ⅓ of the time vs. 1/6th of the time.” He then gave it to me (I still have it) after using a knife to peal back the lead behind one of the dots. 

“Our best money-making game is black market exchange. All of us are involved. I talk to tourist, Money pretends to be cop and the other two watch for trouble. You want see?”

I was initially repelled by the idea, but my curiosity got the better of me and so we found ourselves in the middle of the square where a “clearly just off the train” German tourist was ambling about aiming to take advantage of the black market exchange. 

Beto approached and spoke to him in perfect German and I could pick up most of the conversation. “Welcome to Prague you should change some Geld. I offer not 10 to one, but 11 to one!” said Beto. The well-dressed German man perked up at that. 

“So here’s how we do it. You tell me how much you want to exchange, I’ll count out 11 to 1 for you, you show me your money, and then we trade, and both count the money again and if we are good, we walk away - keep in mind this is illegal so we have to make sure the police don’t see us - but this is safe and easy - don’t worry.” Beto gave his winning smile. 

I watched nervously from a distance. I still didn’t know how this was going to work. 

The German said, “OK, how about 200 Euros?” Beto said “great, so I’ll give you 2200 Karuna - OK - watch - I count it for you.” He brought out his passport and counted slowly and carefully 22 100 Karuna notes on top of his passport. “OK - now show me the Euros and then we trade.” 

The German carefully counted out Ten 20€ Euro notes so that Beto could see. What neither the tourist nor I saw because it was so quick was that the moment the German turned his attention to his own money, Beto flipped his passport over with a twist of his wrist, where he was holding an exactly similar stack of bills on the other side - except that most of it was brown paper, wrapped in a couple of Karuna bills. The German completed his count.

“OK - are we good to complete the trade?” says Beto “Sure,” says the German, and they each handed each other the wad of bills.

“OK,” says Beto, “let’s count again just to make sure OK?” Says Beto, making eye contact with his mark. “Sure,” says the German and both pull up their wad of bills. 

Suddenly there is whistling and shouting. A man in official-looking garb - a policeman - is running at them from a distance out of the crowd. Even from the distance, I recognize him as Money. 

Meanwhile, Beto says to the German in rushed and hushed whispers, “Put in your pocket, pretend you were not here, don’t get arrested.” And sure enough, the German shoves the wad in his pocket as the fake police officer Money harasses Beto in Czech. The German hurries away and disappears.

They return to me moments later from various parts of the square with big smiles. I say, “I’m confused - how did you make any money?” Beto smiles and shows me the sleight of hand - pulling out his passport he shows me the wad of money - the twenty-two 100 Karuna bills he had shown to the German. He then showed me the flick of the wrist he used to flip the hidden stack of fake bills hidden on the bottom side of his passport to the top that included a wrapper of 2 or 3 real 100 Karuna bills and a stack of brown paper. This is what the German walked away with…  brown paper.

I wasn’t sure how to feel about the transaction, but clearly, the Gypsies were giddy having made several hundred dollars in an economy where that was worth several thousand. 

After that, the same conversation - “Let’s go to restaurant or club - if you want, we buy you a nice girl” they said. I expressed my reticence but we went anyway and for the evening they/we were the kings of Prague, buying champagne bottles and throwing money away left and right. I replicated their passport trick while sitting at the table as a joke to their claps and laughter and later asked them to play dice with me, breaking out my weighted die - again to claps and laughter. We were, for the moment, friends in this strange unraveling of the Soviet lockdowns and the emergent lawlessness of the new democracy. 

One moment stood out. Late in the evening, someone in the bar seemed to have an issue with me. I was speaking (innocently) with a lovely female patron from Munich in my rough German and a young man in the bar seemed to have an issue with it for some reason. As he approached, fists up, my new friends were having none of it. They surrounded him, Beto yelling angrily in German, shoving him backward. He then backed down, but not before my newfound friend became terrified and quickly made an excuse to disappear. Beto patted me on the back, “We - we! are your friends, she - no. You will find another.” Laughing they ordered another round of drinks and lit up their cigarettes.

The boys spent probably near all their earnings of the day that evening but we had a great time. As before they hosted me in their apartment outside the city, and the next day I said my goodbyes and began my return journey to Germany as documented in Pt. 1. I was never in peril until I left them. I often wonder what happened to them… (I actually had a camera on this trip and had some pictures with the boys, but I cannot seem to find that photo album, sadly)