WHAT do you do when you travel to a country where there is a banking panic, with ATMs only doling out limited amounts of cash? Greece has put a limit of €60 ($67) on withdrawals from its cashpoints, and tourists are evidently worried about whether they will be able to lay their hands on enough hard currency. The country is doing its best to put on a business-as-usual face for visitors. It is emphasising that the limit does not apply to those with foreign debit or credit cards. The tourism ministry says that it “does not anticipate any inconvenience in visitors' every day holiday experiences... as there are adequate fuel supplies, products and services”. Still, worries that the ATMs might run dry prompted George Osborne, Britain’s chancellor of the exchequer, to warn visitors that they should stock up on enough euros to last the whole of their trip before heading to the country.
That may be sensible. And not just in countries on the brink of a banking crisis. Gulliver has repeatedly failed to learn the lesson that relying on ATMs when he gets to his destination is a foolhardy strategy. Yet, it is a measure of how much I take the modern world for granted that I still usually travel abroad with nothing but plastic in my wallet. I often come unstuck. In Honduras, on a Sunday, I was driven around for half a day looking for a bank that would take my card; the taxi fare ended up costing about 50% of the withdrawal (the driver knew a captive market when he saw one). In one of the more remote Ryanair airports in Italy, there was no cash machine, and so a long trudge into the nearest town—a good hour there and back—was required in order to withdraw money for a cab. Meanwhile my partner at the time, who had pointed out my foolishness back in London, stomped around the airport waiting for my return.
The present-day Mrs Gulliver brooks no such idiocy. Before we go away together, I am dutifully sent to the Post Office to collect great wodges of foreign cash. She spends her time sorting coins and low-denomination banknotes from several jam-jars in our bedroom, which are filled with miscellaneous currency. All booty is then sensibly divvied up equally between us, in case of disaster.
Of course, we never spend it all. We still end up paying for all our meals and holiday tat with a debit card. It is, after all, much easier. We return home with a wallet full of notes and pull a new jam-jar from the shelf.
She argues that it is better to be safe than sorry, and that getting money in bulk beforehand costs less than paying commission on each transaction. But that is flawed logic if you never use it. Meanwhile—partly out of stubborness, partly out of laziness—when I travel alone on business, I stick to my tried and untrusted routine. I almost came unstuck a few months back touching down in Milan late at night. The door to the ATM machine did not like my Visa card and the taxis only accepted cash. It was all alright in the end, though. It always is. I hope.
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