Counterfeit money

Anybody heard reports of dodgy/counterfeit/stolen Eastern European banknotes circulating around PP? It could be genuine but one of the Viets in my neighbourhood just asked me to convert a D100,000 1993 Croatian Dinar. According to the exchange sites I checked, it's worth over $15,000USD. He also asked me to exchange two 50,000 Polish Zloty , which aren't worth much. My Khmer-Viet girlfriend is suspicious and asked the obvious question- "Why him ask YOU do for 10% but not do himself?".
It could just be he figures being an impoverished Vietnamese, that the bank will give him grief, but on the other hand, I don't want to end up jailed & deported having just married the love of my life here in Cambodia.
I probably sound as green as- I'm not- but if I've learned anything here it is that people get used by others & I don't intend on becoming another barang burned by a slick crook. Any input welcome, cheers all & Happy New Year.

Totally worthless as the dinar was in 1994 replaced by the kuna.

Value is zero.


Cambodia expert team

Actually Joe, I checked it out; it's a '93, collectable & valued at $15354USD.

Actually Joe, I checked it out; it's a '93, collectable & valued at $15354USD.

Actually, we both stand corrected Joe: in your case its not totally worthless, in mine, its not worth 15k. The problem lies in most currency converters (including XE) still valuing Dinar as Kuna. Looks to be worth between $15-$70USD. I wasn't expecting much more considering the fact a barefoot Khmer wideboy I don't even know, walks into the house of the only Barang in the neighbourhood with the old "Boy, have I got a deal for you my best brother..."

Respek. … -Currency/

Check this, the value of a 100000 dinar from 1993 is $1.89  :D



According to your source, which is one of an overwhelming variety that I periodically amused myself reading in between counting passing Honda Dreams today. I've got more positive things to do than argue with you over the possible monetary return of something that never happened- really.
My original question was specific regarding whether anyone's circulating copy money & the character that walked in my door today told me he "makes money"- hence my interest.
I never really gave a shit what it was worth because the guy is so patently dodgy I had no intention of potentially forfeiting my privileges in the Kingdom behind a 'too good to be true' magic beans deal. Thanks nonetheless for such confidently delivered peripheral detail Joe, I hope you enjoyed yourself as much as I did ;-)

Good you judged the guy and the circumstances correctly, well done!

You have to take your hat off to them when it comes to creative hustles. Toughie for me is that I'm the only barang in a very Vietnamese enclave in peripheral PP. They're lovely people, but there seems to be an unwritten rule that I'd be a moron to trust anyone except my wife and a connected guy I inadvertently spared a long lag a while back.
I was on my way to the Chinaman's shop for two bottles of vodka yesterday afternoon- happily minding my own business & enjoying the walk when an old man from three doors down (he does a great job of impersonating the Chinaman from Steinbeck's Cannery Row) braced me, then urgently hustled me towards his gleaming Honda Dream.
I told him I was walking to get vodka but his manner was so assertive I decided he either needed help, or he'd decided I'd made the grade as a 'local' and was going to take me to a cockfight/opium den/political meeting. Although I had no interest in any of the above, I believe in embracing chance however, so I hopped on the back of his motorbike.
Fifteen kilometers later, after heading in a straight line, on the same road the whole way out into the lotuses, he stopped the bike & started muttering in Viet & prodding at invisible beasts with his fingers in a most agitated manner. I dialed my wife, and said "Honey, can you ask this venerable reprobate what is on his mind? My peach, cherry & grape juice is getting warm & I fancy mixing it with this lovely cheap vodka from the Chinaman. Please can you instruct him to bring me home?".
My wife is Khmer- Vietnames, she's tiny, she is beautiful, she is also ferociously protective of me & well aware of the fact I've probably only survived in Kampuchea this long because I'm big, ugly & a Kiwi with a winning smile.
My new mate was less than cheery after speaking with her & made a huge fuss all the way home about his arthritic fingers. Meanwhile my phone kept ringing with a growling female voice repeatedly demanding "Where you NOW??" Then the moto ran out of gas, I helped him push the brute to a servo & even shot him 5000KR for gas.
When he got me near home, he stopped & demanded muy-prahm dollar. I told him to come to the house for a drink & discuss it with Chen. When he did turn up he demanded dop-prahm dollar & I told him to piss off and quite honestly reminded him I'd never asked him to take me anywhere & that I'd been minding my own business up until he butted into my vodka flavoured daydream. A huge scene erupted whereby he related that the truth was that I'd braced him as he drank his tea & then specifically demanded he take me to my friend's house three km away.
Chen pointed out that I was clearly a liar because I had her completely convinced that my Khmer language skills extended as far as ordering beer & buying Metfone top-up cards, yet here I was giving detailed directions to homes of friends she didn't even know I had. "Baht! Bahtbahtbaht! Him BAD man!" screeched the Terror of Tuol Sleng.
While I finally got to mix my drink. Chen enquired that perhaps his English was of par & that I'd instructed him thusly in my own tongue- what, she sweetly enquired, did he ask you? Could you repeat it in English? The whole bloody street became involved- fortunately taking my side for the most part because they all know I'm practically a deaf mute in any Asian language conversation.
In the end she took him to the communal shrine & said she would not only give him the $15 he was demanding, but she'd also give a further $20 to the Buddha as an offering- conditional on him swearing his story was true.
The old bastard baulked that this and slouched off muttering darkly, leaving me to be lectured yet again, by my mouse sized spouse to trust no-one except her & my legally ambiguous guardian. So, after all that, I wasn't surprised to find hustlers lining up at my door this morning before I'd even finished my baguette. So, while I thank you for the compliment Joe, I don't feel it's deserved because if I'd fallen for the old 'Can you cash this for me whiteman?' gag, I really don't feel I deserve to live here or possibly even exist beyond the company of amoebas.

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