Travel Scams I Fell For So You Don't Have To

I consider myself a reasonably intelligent person. I have a college degree. I can do mental math. I've never forwarded a chain email. And yet, I have been scammed on four different continents by people whose techniques were, in hindsight, embarrassingly transparent.

The worst part isn't losing the money. It's the walk back to your hotel afterward, replaying the interaction in your head, watching yourself fall for it in slow motion like a highlight reel of bad decisions. "Why did I hand that guy my wallet? He said he was a police officer but he was wearing cargo shorts."

I've compiled my complete catalog of failures here so that you might benefit from my humiliation. Consider this a public service funded entirely by my poor judgment.

The Friendship Bracelet Scam (Paris, 2018)

This one is a classic, and I use the word "classic" the way you'd describe a con artist — with grudging respect.

I was walking up the steps to Sacre-Coeur in Montmartre when a guy approached me with a big smile and a piece of string. Before I could react, he grabbed my wrist, started wrapping colored thread around it, and launched into enthusiastic conversation about where I was from and how much he loved Americans.

By the time he finished the bracelet — which took maybe forty-five seconds — it was tied in a knot I couldn't undo without scissors. Then the mood shifted. "A gift," he said. "But a donation for my family?" He didn't ask. He stated. And suddenly two more guys appeared, standing close, creating this wall of social pressure that made me feel like refusing would cause a scene on the steps of a church.

I gave him twenty euros. For a piece of string that fell apart in the shower that night.

The move here is simple: keep your hands in your pockets when strangers approach. If someone grabs your wrist, pull it back immediately and firmly. Say "no, merci" and keep walking. They won't follow you. They're working a fixed location and there's another tourist thirty seconds behind you.

The Fake Monk Blessing (Bangkok, 2019)

I was near the Grand Palace, jet-lagged and vaguely spiritual in the way that only happens when you're in a country with beautiful temples and haven't slept in twenty-two hours. A man in orange robes approached me, smiled peacefully, and placed a small gold amulet in my hands. He then gestured for me to bow my head and gave me what I assumed was a blessing.

I was moved. I felt like I was having a genuine cultural experience. Then he pointed to a laminated card with suggested "donation" amounts. The minimum was 1,000 baht. About thirty bucks.

Now, thirty bucks isn't a lot of money. But the principle of it — the manufactured spiritual moment, the laminated price card, the robes that I later learned were a costume — that stung. Real monks in Thailand don't solicit money from tourists on the street. They don't carry laminated pricing guides. This was as authentic as a fortune cookie in Beijing.

I paid because I'd already bowed my head and it felt too awkward to un-bless myself. The amulet, which I briefly imagined had some spiritual significance, turned out to be plastic.

The Taxi Meter "Malfunction" (Rome, 2019)

You will hear this one from literally every person who has taken a taxi in certain cities, and yet I still fell for it because knowing about a scam and recognizing it in real time are two completely different skills.

Landed in Rome. Fiumicino airport. Exhausted. Grabbed a taxi. The driver was friendly, chatty, asked about my trip. About halfway to the hotel I glanced at the meter and noticed it was climbing unusually fast. I mentioned it.

"Ah," he said, with the casual dismissiveness of a man who's had this conversation eight thousand times, "the meter — sometimes it runs a little fast. Don't worry, I give you fair price at the end."

The fair price was eighty euros for what should have been a forty-five euro ride. I knew the approximate fare because I'd googled it. I even had the number on my phone. But I was tired, my Italian was limited to food items, and the driver had my bags in his trunk. I paid the eighty.

What I should have done: agreed on a price before getting in, or insisted he reset the meter, or simply showed him the official rate on my phone. The official rate from Fiumicino to central Rome is fixed — it's posted inside the taxi, which I discovered on the ride from my hotel to the airport three days later. That was a fun moment.

The "Closed Attraction" Redirect (Istanbul, 2020)

This one is elegant in its simplicity and I'm almost not embarrassed because it's so well-executed.

I was walking toward the Blue Mosque. A well-dressed man approached me and, in excellent English, said, "Excuse me — the mosque is closed right now for prayers. It reopens in about an hour. But I know a place, very beautiful, a carpet shop with a wonderful tea room where you can wait. My cousin owns it."

The mosque was not closed. It was open. Right there. With people walking into it. But this guy said it with such authority and casual friendliness that I just... believed him. And followed him. To the carpet shop. Where his cousin served me tea and then spent forty-five minutes trying to sell me a rug.

I didn't buy a rug, which I consider a partial victory. But I did waste almost an hour in a carpet shop instead of visiting one of the most beautiful buildings on earth, which I consider a comprehensive defeat.

The lesson: if anyone tells you an attraction is closed, walk to the attraction and check for yourself. It takes sixty seconds and will save you from a tea-and-carpet ambush.

The "Helpful" Photo Scam (Barcelona, 2021)

I was at Park Guell, trying to get a photo with the mosaic lizard, when a guy offered to take my picture. Normal interaction. Happens everywhere. I handed him my phone.

He took the photo. Then he took five more. Then he said "very nice, very nice" and started walking — not running, walking, casually — toward the exit with my phone. When I caught up to him (in about three seconds because he was genuinely strolling), he acted offended and said he was just trying to find better light. Then he asked for a tip for his photography services.

I was so relieved to have my phone back that I gave him five euros, which was absolutely his plan all along. The brief scare followed by relief makes you grateful and generous. It's weaponized psychology. Brilliant and terrible.

Now I take selfies exclusively, which results in worse photos but fewer hostage negotiations.

The Currency Confusion (Marrakech, 2022)

Morocco uses dirhams, and the exchange rate is roughly 10 dirhams to 1 US dollar. Simple enough. Until a vendor in the souks quotes you a price and doesn't specify the currency.

I negotiated what I thought was a fair price for a leather bag — 300, I assumed dirhams, which would be about $30. Reasonable for a handmade bag. Shook hands, felt proud of my haggling. Then the vendor said, "Three hundred dollars."

I laughed. He didn't.

What followed was a twenty-minute negotiation that started from a position of maximum awkwardness because I'd already agreed to a number. We eventually settled on 250 dirhams, which was still probably too much, but by that point I was sweating through my shirt and just wanted to leave the interaction.

Always, always clarify the currency. Point to the number on your phone's calculator. Say "dirhams?" explicitly. And never shake hands until you're both clear on what you've agreed to.

The Wi-Fi Honeypot (Multiple Cities)

This isn't a person-to-person scam, but it's gotten me twice and it's worth mentioning. Free Wi-Fi networks in tourist areas with names like "Free_Airport_WiFi" or "Cafe_Guest" that are actually set up by someone sitting nearby with a laptop, intercepting your traffic.

I connected to what I thought was the cafe's Wi-Fi in a coffee shop in Prague. It wasn't. It was a network with a similar name set up by someone at a nearby table. I only realized this when I got a fraud alert from my bank two days later. Someone had tried to use my credit card information in a city I'd never been to.

The fix: use a VPN. Always. On every public network. It encrypts your traffic so even if the network is compromised, your data is protected. I use one now religiously, and it's about five bucks a month, which is significantly cheaper than dealing with credit card fraud from a foreign country.

How to Not Be Me

I've learned a few universal rules from being the generous donor to various international scam operations.

Walk with purpose. Scammers target people who look lost, confused, or overly friendly. Walking like you know where you're going — even if you don't — makes you a less appealing target. Check your maps before you leave the hotel. Know the route. When you need to check your phone, step into a shop or cafe.

The word "no" is a complete sentence in every language. You don't owe anyone an explanation. No, I don't want a bracelet. No, I won't follow you to your cousin's shop. No, I'm not interested. Say it clearly, don't smile (smiling signals that you're still persuadable), and keep walking.

Never hand your phone to a stranger. Use a selfie stick. Ask a fellow tourist — someone who's clearly also visiting, ideally with their own camera gear — or just take the photo yourself. I know it sounds unfriendly. It's not unfriendly. It's practical.

Research common scams before you go. Five minutes of googling "[city name] tourist scams" will prepare you for 90% of what you'll encounter. I didn't do this before my first few trips because I thought I was too smart to get scammed. I was not too smart. Nobody is. These people do this eight hours a day. You are not their first tourist.

Keep a decoy wallet. When I travel now, I keep a secondary wallet with a small amount of local currency and an expired credit card. If someone demands my wallet — which has only happened once, in a sketchy part of Naples — I hand over the decoy. My real wallet is in an interior jacket pocket or a money belt. It's not paranoid. It's preparation.

For more on packing smart for trips, I wrote a whole guide on how to travel with just a carry-on. And if you need trip ideas that won't break the bank after reading about all the ways travel can go wrong — don't worry, most trips are great. I just happen to attract scammers like a bug zapper attracts moths.

The Silver Lining

Here's the thing: every one of these stories is now a dinner party story. The Paris bracelet, the Bangkok monk, the Rome taxi — I've gotten more entertainment value from retelling these than I lost in the scams themselves. The twenty euros I gave the bracelet guy in Montmartre has generated approximately $200 worth of laughs over the years.

Travel is supposed to be unpredictable. Some of that unpredictability involves getting swindled by a guy with string. It's part of the experience. Just try to make it a cheap part of the experience, and you'll be fine.