After a few minutes of her leading me through the airport, however, I discovered that my young guide’s grasp of how things worked in big city
At the end of the hallway we reached an ATM. She pointed to the ATM proudly with an eager smile and asked me if I could change money there. I looked back at her in mild disbelief. My faith in her as a knowledgeable native was quickly fading. Doggedly persistent, she asked a few more people and led me down the flight of stairs we had just ascended. This time she insisted on helping me drag my oversized suitcase down the stairs.
Reaching the bottom floor, she led me to a man standing by the exit wearing a thin-lipped grin and heavy eyebrows that darkened his eyes. His small black fanny pack was bursting at the seams, presumably with money. He was more than willing to change currency for me.
I asked him how much I could get for U.S. $100.
“720元,” he responded, a figure I knew to be well below the official exchange rate. I didn’t bother asking why he had set up operation so close to the exit.
In my halting Chinese, I tried to explain to him that the correct amount was closer to 800元. In the midst of our stumbling conversation, with my new female friend serving as somewhat of an interpreter (though her English never exceeded the phrases “I’m hun-ga-lee” and “no mon-ay”), a small crowd of people gravitated to us.
I didn’t know what to make of the crowd. I wasn’t afraid of the sudden group people, which seemed to have materialized out of thin air, but I didn’t understand who these people were or why they were so interested in my business with the money changer. They obviously weren’t working in league with him, as some argued with him and others with me about why he was charging either too much or just right.
I continued to insist that his fee was too high, and he continued to insist that it was fair, with our respective backers in the audience actively interjecting their own ideas of an appropriate amount. Finally, the money changer explained patiently that he was a private individual, not a bank, and thus was not bound by the official exchange rate. This was good enough for the crowd, which seized upon this explanation and repeated it back to me in successive waves.
“He’s a private individual, not a bank,” they echoed, as if each new voice that said the same words stood a better chance of getting through the thick skull of the lao wai. So much for haggling, I thought. I handed over my $100 bill in concession, and he placed 720元on the table while inspecting my bill.
I had failed miserably in my first attempt to bargain, but I comforted myself in the knowledge that I had now overcome one of the several obstacles I was facing. Equally encouraging, my new female companion had proved herself useful after all. Now that I had Chinese currency, I could…
“No good!” The money changer thrust my $100 bill back into my hands, shattering my thoughts.
I looked at him in disbelief.
“What’s the problem?” I asked. The man pointed disapprovingly to a small tear in the crease running down the middle of the note. “No good,” he repeated.
“No good,” several voices in the crowd offered in explanation.
“Are you kidding?” I asked in English, not expecting an answer. I shoved the bill into my pocket and handed him another. He held the new $100 bill up to the light and squinted, the surrounding members of the crowd craning their necks for a better view. This bill also had a noticeable crease down the middle, but no tear.
“No good,” he repeated, pointing to the crease and pushing the note back at me.
My female companion waved him away dismissively, snatched the Chinese currency off the table, and marched off, towing me with her by the shirtsleeve. Great, I thought. Go ahead and add “ripped off by a private money changer” to my list of newbie errors in
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