The Trileros of Las Ramblas: Part 1
Within two hours of arriving in Barcelona I’ve been offered cocaine, hashish, hooker and 5 euro genuine Ray Bans.
I’m in the right place if I want to find a con artists.
Barcelona is packed full of them. Everyone you meet on the street is working an angle. The guy running the hostel pocketed our cash ‘off the books’. We got 11 euro change from a 20 euro note for a 3 euro beer. Illegal street vendors stalk the streets selling beer, handbags and coke (both the canned and small plastic bag varieties).
Some of the street vendors have taken to spreading their wares out on large blankets. The corners and edges of the blankets are attached to half a dozen pieces of rope that the salesman holds in his hand. As soon as the police show up, the vendor pulls the ropes, slings the sack of product over his shoulder and legs. An entire mini marketplace can spring up in seconds and vanish just as quickly.
But I’m not here to shop. I was looking for the Trileros.
For many years, the Trileros have plied their trade on Las Ramblas, the most famous tourist strip in Barcelona. They invite passerbys to play a game of Trilero or, as it’s more commonly known, The Shell Game.
To win, you have figure out which of three matchboxes has a small white ball hidden under it.
Like most people, I’ve long known that the game is fixed, that it is impossible to win. But what I’m here to learn is why people play. What makes a perfectly reasonable, rational person who shuns lottery tickets and rolls their eyes at time share apartments hand over 50 euro to a complete stranger on the street?
I’ve set myself up with my special tourist outfit.
Backpack. Loud shirt. Sunglasses.
I’ve got my camcorder and a semi hidden camera. I’ve also got a 20 euro note burning a hole in my pocket itching to be bet and lost.
The street itself is little more than a kilometre long. But its jammed full of human statues, flower shops, hawkers, beggars, restaurants and even pet shops. A tourist could spend hours here without seeing it all.
I avoid the buskers and shops and keep my eye for the crew. Every time I see a crate or box that the Trileros could use as a makeshift table by heart leaps. Each time I pass a police officer, I am crushed.
After 45 minutes wandering up and down, I come across a strange sight. A vegetable crate has been set on it’s end on the side of the street. Standing about 2 metres away are five people. One woman and five men. They stand several metres apart, avoiding each others gaze. Suddenly, one man takes out a wad of cash and hands piles to four others. This man is the boss, handing out cash for his accomplices to gamble with. They’re called boosters and cappers in English, but in Spanish it’s Palos Blancos or White Woods.
This is it.
I sneak around the corner and get out my video camera. Holding it by side, I walk back to where they are set up and strike up conversation with a man handing out fliers for Spanish guitar concerts. The camera is trained on the men who are fixing a piece of cardboard to the top of the end of the crate to give it a flat surface.
I head across the street to get a better look as the game begins. The accomplices start betting straight away, winning and losing as the Trilero mixes the matchboxes on the top of the table. Tourists quickly come over, peering at the game, trying to follow the white ball. No one is convinced the bet.
All this while, I’m struggling to get my camera back out to film them at work. I have to keep the camera hidden because any hint of being filmed and the game is over. Suddenly, I feel two eyes in the back of my neck.
Without realising, I’ve sat down directly in front of the look out for the crew. He’s set up on the opposite side of the road to watch for police. And now’s his breathing down my neck.
He yells what sounds like “Auga” (the Spanish for water) and the games breaks up. They don’t vanish straight away. They wander off a few feet, looking around, wanting to come back. I’m reminded of pigeons. You can scatter a flock of pigeons but they won’t go far.
But the jig is up and the crew have now gone, heading down the side streets.
I’m not sure if they’ll be back.
And even if they are. I’m not sure they’ll let me get close enough to film.
Have I ruined my chances?
TO BE CONTINUED……
