SE Asian Adventure Part Deux: episode 6- adventures in foreign banking
I withdrew $22.33 last night at the airport ATM. I chose the third highest amount, 300,000 rupiah thinking it would be sufficient for at least a few days. I was wrong. It was enough to pay for the cab from the airport but nothing more. In the morning I walked down the streets of Kuta, Bali to look for an ATM. After getting in at 3 am, I didn't have a lot of time to explore the neighborhood. I came across CIMB bank and a security guard opened the door and asked me in broken English what I was doing. I pointed to the conversion chart on the wall and he pulled a number deli style from a machine and I took a seat.
I am number 82. The numbers on the screens above the 4 tellers read 000, 057, 059, and 060 respectively. They do not change as customers come and go. I have no idea when it will be my turn. The news plays recaps of the closed airport, volcano reports and updates on Wimbledon. The Balinese speak very softly and seem to take more personal space than Americans making them somewhat difficult to understand. After the glut of English speakers in Malaysia and Singapore, this is more of a challenge.
I go outside and try and fail to get the ATM to accept my card. The ATM required a mobile number and a 6 digit pin good only for that bank. I come back inside and ask the guard when it will be my turn. I gather that the screens that show the ticket number don't work and that I have 4 more people in front of me. I miscounted and try to go to the teller when I think it's my turn. She puts up a hand and I sit back down.
I see a man start unloading a giant black bag onto the counter. In it are bricks of money, stacks of blue and pink bills rubber banded into 4 inch stacks. I try to estimate how many millions of Rupiah he's depositing and how worthless most of it is.
The front desk lady at the Hostel empathized with my confusion with the number of zeros one must be accustomed to in order to properly count out a payment. She said there have been proposals to chop off 3 zeros and create a New Rupiah but each time it's voted down because the older generations won't understand the change and think their bank accounts have been robbed. She spoke of an economic downturn in the 90s where many people lost they money they had in the banks which still haunts the older generation.
When it's my turn, I go up to the teller and show her my American dollars and explain the ATM won't work and I need Indonesian money. She calls over the first teller who had me sit back down and who also speaks better English than the woman whose window I'm at. The first teller asks if I have an account with the bank. I of course do not. She tells me I need to go to a money changer. They will only exchange money for people who have an account. Where is the money changer? In the mall, she says, vaguely pointing behind her. I thank her and leave.
It's hot. I know we need to check out at noon. I have less than a half an hour to find the mall, the money changer within it and get back. I enter a glass sliding door flanked by a waterfall and tropical plants. The air conditioner blasts me. I ask a man at the info desk where the money changer is. Upstairs he says and vaguely points behind him. The Balinese find it rude to point with the index finger so they are forever making sweeping gestures to show very specific places. I head in the general direction he indicated.
Indonesia is by no means a wealthy nation, but they sure capitalize on the western (and now also Chinese) travelers who come for vacation. I pass Armani and Louis Vittione. Pravda and designer brands I've never heard of. I see an escalator behind the makeup department.
Upstairs is hardly the lavish mall of the first floor. Low ceilings and fluorescent greet me and lead me down a white hall punctuated with mostly closed doors. A travel agency and the "Money Changer Bank" are the only two businesses that appear to be open. The Money Changer is an old lady behind a counter. On my side are a few pens and forms to be filled out (name, nationality, currency to be changed, etc.). On her side is a folding table, a giant calculator and a lock box. On one wall hangs a blue and red business calendar. That's it.
I write that I want to change $200 into Rupiah. She shows me the conversion on the giant calculator then counts out 100,000 bills. She makes me count them again for accuracy. She gives me my carbon copy and tells me to have a nice day.
I hustle back to the hostel to pay and relay my struggles. The woman asks if I tried the ATM in the corner store next door. I hadn't. Steph tries and can only take out 200,000 Rupiah at a time. She gives up after 3 transactions.
We pay for the taxi and ferry ride from Kuta, where we are, to Nusa Lembongan and back to Ubud. Tonight's air B and B has been paid for online. I've read there's only one ATM on the whole island and with my luck it'll be from CIMB bank and will reject my card. The nice thing about tropical islands is once you're there, the sun and surf are free.
I am number 82. The numbers on the screens above the 4 tellers read 000, 057, 059, and 060 respectively. They do not change as customers come and go. I have no idea when it will be my turn. The news plays recaps of the closed airport, volcano reports and updates on Wimbledon. The Balinese speak very softly and seem to take more personal space than Americans making them somewhat difficult to understand. After the glut of English speakers in Malaysia and Singapore, this is more of a challenge.
I go outside and try and fail to get the ATM to accept my card. The ATM required a mobile number and a 6 digit pin good only for that bank. I come back inside and ask the guard when it will be my turn. I gather that the screens that show the ticket number don't work and that I have 4 more people in front of me. I miscounted and try to go to the teller when I think it's my turn. She puts up a hand and I sit back down.
I see a man start unloading a giant black bag onto the counter. In it are bricks of money, stacks of blue and pink bills rubber banded into 4 inch stacks. I try to estimate how many millions of Rupiah he's depositing and how worthless most of it is.
The front desk lady at the Hostel empathized with my confusion with the number of zeros one must be accustomed to in order to properly count out a payment. She said there have been proposals to chop off 3 zeros and create a New Rupiah but each time it's voted down because the older generations won't understand the change and think their bank accounts have been robbed. She spoke of an economic downturn in the 90s where many people lost they money they had in the banks which still haunts the older generation.
When it's my turn, I go up to the teller and show her my American dollars and explain the ATM won't work and I need Indonesian money. She calls over the first teller who had me sit back down and who also speaks better English than the woman whose window I'm at. The first teller asks if I have an account with the bank. I of course do not. She tells me I need to go to a money changer. They will only exchange money for people who have an account. Where is the money changer? In the mall, she says, vaguely pointing behind her. I thank her and leave.
It's hot. I know we need to check out at noon. I have less than a half an hour to find the mall, the money changer within it and get back. I enter a glass sliding door flanked by a waterfall and tropical plants. The air conditioner blasts me. I ask a man at the info desk where the money changer is. Upstairs he says and vaguely points behind him. The Balinese find it rude to point with the index finger so they are forever making sweeping gestures to show very specific places. I head in the general direction he indicated.
Indonesia is by no means a wealthy nation, but they sure capitalize on the western (and now also Chinese) travelers who come for vacation. I pass Armani and Louis Vittione. Pravda and designer brands I've never heard of. I see an escalator behind the makeup department.
Upstairs is hardly the lavish mall of the first floor. Low ceilings and fluorescent greet me and lead me down a white hall punctuated with mostly closed doors. A travel agency and the "Money Changer Bank" are the only two businesses that appear to be open. The Money Changer is an old lady behind a counter. On my side are a few pens and forms to be filled out (name, nationality, currency to be changed, etc.). On her side is a folding table, a giant calculator and a lock box. On one wall hangs a blue and red business calendar. That's it.
I write that I want to change $200 into Rupiah. She shows me the conversion on the giant calculator then counts out 100,000 bills. She makes me count them again for accuracy. She gives me my carbon copy and tells me to have a nice day.
I hustle back to the hostel to pay and relay my struggles. The woman asks if I tried the ATM in the corner store next door. I hadn't. Steph tries and can only take out 200,000 Rupiah at a time. She gives up after 3 transactions.
We pay for the taxi and ferry ride from Kuta, where we are, to Nusa Lembongan and back to Ubud. Tonight's air B and B has been paid for online. I've read there's only one ATM on the whole island and with my luck it'll be from CIMB bank and will reject my card. The nice thing about tropical islands is once you're there, the sun and surf are free.