During my early school years I mastered the rules of measurement called the English system—inches, feet, miles, etc., for length, and pints, quarts, gallons, etc., for liquid volume, and ounces, pounds, tons for weight. Then in high school I was introduced to the Metric system. As I grew older it was easier to comprehend but did require my use of parallel equivalents. I’m never quite sure which system to use for what. But even this confusion did not properly prepare me for the complexity of mastering a foreign currency. I’ve been embarrassed, yelled at, profusely thanked, and laughed at any number of times because of some simple misunderstanding of the local means of exchange.
When Barb and I go on a trip I make sure I have a little bundle of ones and fives in United Stated dollars on me. I started this practice a few years ago to save me some confusion. Whenever we arrive at a hotel in a new country I pretend I haven’t had time to pick up local currency and sort of apologize, as I tip the porter in United States currency. It wasn’t always like that. There have been a few times in my past where I made a fool of myself trying to look like I knew what I was doing. I either shorted the local or paid for a year of his college education.
One balmy evening in Bangkok, Thailand I settled on a fare on one of the three-wheeled monstrosities they call tuk-tuks. As neither the driver nor I spoke one another’s language, the negotiation was done by holding up fingers and then either nodding or shaking one’s head. I accepted the price of 300 baht only to find at the end of the ride the tuk-tuk’s operator had agreed to take me to my destination for 3000 baht. A local bilingual citizen at the destination settled our dispute by pointing out to me that my offer would hardly pay the driver the price of a bottle of soda.
On another occasion, I felt an obligation to tip a porter in India. I selected some paper currency I thought about equal to a dollar and handed it to this helpful young man. His eyes widened in total disbelief. He quickly grabbed the paper and showed it to the other porters standing nearby. They in turn began jabbering away at a serious level. After a few seconds, the porter came back and returned about half of what I’d given him. He explained my error to me in a language I was unable to understand. We both seemed pleased with the final results, and I resolved never to calculate the tip that I had given. It might embarrass me.
When Barb and I flew into Bali, Indonesia years go we headed directly for the ATM in the airport. We were going to spend five days there so our hope was to get enough local currency to tide us over. If we got more than we needed, we could always apply the extra to our hotel room.
The ATM machine obliged us by having the operating instructions in English, so we proceeded quickly to the point where you choose the amount you wish to withdraw. There were a lot of zeroes at the end of each number, so we picked a nice mid-sized withdrawal. We later found out we had received the equivalent of $8.00. Our bank charged us $3.00 for the privilege. All in all, not too practical.
So there you have it—my reason for using United States dollars whenever I can. My explanation may seem weak, but in the end it proves to be quite practical.