Cashing Travellers' Cheques

Cashing Travellers’ Cheques?


Previously, when I’ve travelled, cashing a travellers’ cheque was no problem. Of course, in America they are used to them and most shops and banks are happy to give you funny green notes in exchange for funny blue cheques. Even in Western Europe, they are easy to throw around; though cashing them tends to be restricted to banks. In China, the first thing I did after going through immigration was cash a cheque at the airport. Of course, they robbed me blind. After a few hours of wandering the streets of Shanghai, I’d been deprived of my readies, so had to find a bank. No problems there, but only a few handle Amex cheques. I was directed to Bank of China, on the Bund. As I was already there, it shouldn’t have been hard to find – provided I went in the right direction. Murphy’s Law, care of Chinglish and the heat meant I chose wrong. Five minutes walking and still no Bank of China in sight. Retraced my steps and there it was, two doors down from my first choice. The interior was right out of the Twenties – all marble and high vaulted ceilings: a bank as they used to be. The bureaucracy was slight but professional: take a number and wait for it to appear on the screen. Present cheque, present passport as additional proof of me and, “hey presto,” money. Total time, about 20 minutes.
In Warsaw, I couldn’t find an exchange at the airport. Bit of an oversight, but either I’d been travelling for 20 hours or they were really well hidden. Considering Poland isn’t in the Euro-zone, you would think the banks would take every opportunity to deprive travellers of their shekels. Obviously then, Polish banks are still run by gentlemen. They keep gentlemen’s hours too, not opening before 10, but working until after 5 or 6 in the evening. But as I arrived at 21.00, they were shut. I was grabbed by the first taxi driver I met, who fortuitously spoke English, and he drove me to the hotel recommended by the Poles from Moscow. He even seemed to understand I didn’t have zlotys, only cheques in Euro. Oops. Get to the hotel for a reasonable sum and then the confusion is resolved. We head for Deutsche Bank, from whom I can supposedly withdraw money courtesy of Monster Cad. Ha! Ha I say. It wanted to access only my checking account, not the credit one. Grrr. Try another bankomat. Same story. Then the driver has a brainwave. The Marriot! Vroom! Luckily, we arrived five minutes before he closed, so I was able to convert Amex Euros to spendable zlotys. Unfortunately, by the time we got back to the hotel, the total fare had now risen to exactly what I had in my hand. It was a good thing the hotel took credit cards. And the cost of my room included breakfast, plus I was within easy walk of the city centre.
The next day, after a substantial breakfast (it was free, so I packed in as much as I could), I went in search of Warsaw. Actually, it was a scouting expedition. It was now Sunday, and even the Poles didn’t open banks. So I strolled around, checking the location of the various sights, and trying to find the Marriot again. I had no money in my pocket – there were some kiwi dollars back at the hotel, but who would change them? After half an hour of casual strolling, and I do mean casual: it was Sunday and the Varsovians were saving their energy for Monday, I found the Marriot. I was too early; the exchange booth may close at close to midnight, but it opened at the truly aristocratic time of noon. This meant a bit of a wait, another expansive stroll, and more waiting. I started to get a feel for Warsaw. It was easy to navigate. Being relatively flat, it was laid out almost grid like, with the Vistula (or Wisla in Polish) cutting the city in two. The main landmark was the Stalinist Christmas cake, The Palace of Culture and Science. It was one of those gifts you want to give back but can’t. I’m sure the Poles would love to take it to the Russian border and fling it brick by brick over to the other side. But as it’s about 600’ tall, it would take a while. Stalin had the opportunity to build it because the Germans practically levelled Warsaw before they left in 1944.
Armed with zloty, I visited a few book and model stores, but nothing caught my fancy. I bought a cheap and cheerful lunch from the underground mall – 3 zlotys (~ NZ$2) got me a couple of doughnuts. The mall is under the main NE-SW street, Aleja Jerozolimski, starts at the Palace of Culture and Science, and meanders off and on for the next km or so. Fascinating. Toward the end of a lovely warm day, when nobody had tried to shine my shoes, sell me a watch or otherwise deprive me of my shekels, I discovered the “old” quarter of the city. As the Germans and Poles between them had done a considerable amount of damage to Warsaw, the Poles decided to rebuild it as accurately and as faithfully as they could. So they have an old quarter with buildings only 60 years old, but looking over 300. Like any other venerable city but without the centuries of grime. The main reconstruction stretches about 2 km along the left bank of the Vistula, and would cover about 1 sq km. It thronged with tourists and locals alike enjoying the late summer sun on the beautiful old (cough) buildings. I took quite a few photos, headed back to the hotel, and decided to work on the blog. Only to discover the battery of the laptop was flat.
No problem, plug in the mains supply, and the plug adapter, and all will be sorted. Ha! Murphy’s Law struck again. Mr Flatmate had helped me pack, and had gathered the recharger from the office floor, where lurked two or three of the buggers. Laptop wants 15V DC, was getting 19V DC. Nett result, it won’t go. The next day I took the laptop (my God! this weighs a ton) to the shop up the street. Conveniently the notices in the window were bi-lingual. A little bit of jiggery-pokery later, and the laptop was happily recharging. 50 euro please. Take travellers’ cheques? Sorry, no, but the nearest bank is 100m away, and they should cash it. Voom! I show Amex TCs at the cashier, who shakes her head, and then consults with her colleagues. Much discussion in Polish, and I’m directed to another bank 500m away. Unlike China, the directions are understood this time, and I find the street and bank no problems.
I go in, spot the system, take a number and wait. And wait. And wait. Just as I’m considering making a run to the Marriot, my number comes up. I show TCs, wave passport, sign several dozen pieces of paper, in triplicate, and get directed to another cashier. Where I wait some more. I start to think about breakfast. What I will have. My number comes up again. The charming young lady behind the desk accepts my forms, the TCs and then starts making phone calls to verify everything. Then she explains, in Polish, I have to pay 20 Zl commission. That gets through, eventually, and she hands me 50 euro in notes. Er, no. Zlotys, please. This time the penny drops on her side, and I get my zlotys. This only took 90 minutes. Back to my friendly computer technician. Who was wondering what had happened to me. It was now about 6pm. We chatted, I thanked him, and went back to the hotel to download the photos. Only to discover I’d lost the cables in Shanghai.
Next: How long is this street?!?

Aeroflot or Lot?

When travelling with an airline for the first time, there is always the question, “What are they like?” This question is really big when that airline is Aeroflot, a name synonymous with the USSR and polyester suits. When I booked my trip, cost was a major factor; so many of my flights are with Aeroflot. (Actually, it turns out only two of them are: Shanghai-Moscow and Moscow-Shanghai. The two internal flights were with two regional airlines, Aeroflot-Nord and Tatarstan Airlines. Both are typical feeder airlines using older planes and trying their hardest to get business off the big boys while having a shoe-string budget. Aeroflot-Nord lost a 737 a fortnight after I arrived. The third Aeroflot flight turned into a code share with Lot, and Lot flew it.) Back to airport check-in.
The queue was quite short when I got to the airport – 4 ½ hours before my flight. I decided better to get there early than fight the shopping hour rush. Unfortunately, the check-in didn’t open until 4 hours before my flight. Once the desks opened, things went smoothly, with the Chinese trying to explain things to the Russians and vice versa – in English. Everything went fine for me, until I got to departure security – the bottle of wine in my carry-on luggage was “unacceptable” and had to go into the hold (either that or drink it then and there, and as I mentally labelled it “gift to host family”). I had to go back through passport control, security, immigration, duty free, food court to the Aeroflot desk. By now the queue stretched halfway back to Shanghai. Actually, it was raining, so they were all crammed into the capacious, new, and stylish terminal. How was I going to get through this lot and back to the guard who held my passport? Queue jump, that’s how. The queue was for cattle class (so was my ticket), but the business/first class desk was open and no queue. I approached it, explained the problem, and 25 Yuan later, my bottle and I were parted. The security guard with my passport recognised me, gave me a free telling off for being an idiot and my passport and I was “out” of China.
Aeroflot, who for this flight made all announcements in three languages- Russian, Mandarin and English - gave me an aisle seat. I could see out the window, but there wasn’t much to see - cloud everywhere. So I watched the film, Cars¸ in Russian. Then lunch, then another film, Mimino, set in the Caucasus and made in 1970. The Georgian was dubbed into Russian, and it was one of those gentle comedies about somebody expanding their horizons only to find they preferred home. Aeroflot gave me good service. The trolley-dollies smiled at my badly-accented Russian, and gave me a coffee better the last one by a league. They spoke English the moment they realised Russian was not my native tongue. The only thing I didn’t have was leg-room. My knees were firmly wedged into the seat ahead. And the various TV screens had different colour saturations. But it wasn’t hell.
We landed at Moscow Sheremetyevo one hour before my next flight. I thought this was cutting it close. I started to worry a bit more when we taxied to stop some distance from the terminal and had to get on a bus. Then the bus had to give way to a plane. Got to the terminal with half an hour to spare for my next flight. Hah! Transit control advised me that I was bumped to a later flight and would have to go to the “Transit” desk to collect my new ticket after processing. And then the waiting began – I had a three hour stop-over to kill. But I got to observe Russian airport security, which would have to be on a par with American. After a week, two pipes and a great discussion with some Poles heading back to Warsaw, our flight was ready.
What a difference: I had a window seat, but as it was 21:00 when we took off, the view was not. (Actually, if I cared to look, I had a great view of the wing, same as every other window seat I’ve had on this flight.) I had legroom, on a 737! Legroom, and I was given a light dinner with wine and coffee. The plane felt clean. All this and I was travelling with the peasants. Imagine what first class was like – gold cutlery? We took off at 21:00, flew two hours, landed at Warsaw, and it was still 21:00. Even the weather seemed better. I passed through Immigration, found my luggage, thanked the Poles, who also recommended an inexpensive hotel, and went in search of Warsaw.
Next thrilling instalment: Cashing Travellers’ Cheques?

The Road to Shanghai

The flight from Auckland to Shanghai was uneventful – no spilt booze, no crying babies, no sudden dash for the loo. Air NZ put on a good show, for us in cattle class (one of these days I must fly up front with the nobs). Each seat had its own screen, so I was able to watch several movies, in between dinner, breakfast and the odd caffeine and booze deprived sleep. The Bank Job, starring Jason Statham, focuses on a group of 1970s small time crims set up by MI5 to rob a bank. The object, to recover pictures of a royal having hanky-panky in Trinidad. Unfortunately, it is also used by a high class madam to store her explicit films, as well as a local sex magnate to hold his copper bribe ledger. And partway through the job a ham operator overhears the crims’ walkie talkie chatter. I enjoyed the film, but it would’ve been better if Air NZ hadn’t kept interrupting with announcements in English then Mandarin. Lightweight but fun is a good way to describe One night in Vegas (Ashton Kuchner and Cameron Diaz). Two strangers meet in Vegas, get drunk and married, wake up, get ready to split but then one wins $3,000,000. And the divorce judge makes them stay married for six months, with counselling. Predictable but they carried it off. Got halfway through Leatherheads (George Clooney and Renee Zellweger) and the plane started landing. 1920s America: college football gets huge crowds and pro football is struggling. A college player, and war hero to boot, is lured to the pro circuit. Zellweger is a reporter out to uncover the true story of his heroics, Clooney the pro player trying to save his team. This felt like a 1930s comedy, when they couldn’t show much but could imply a lot and I was enjoying it. Wonder how it ended.
Shanghai, after wet and miserable Auckland, was hot and muggy: 25+ and threats of rain. Delicious. Breezed through Customs, immigration, money change, and onto the Maglev. It was early in the day, so only doing 300km/h. While this sounds fast, the steady acceleration and smoothness of the ride made it seem much slower. I decided to use public transport to get from the airport to the hotel. This might have been a challenge, but mercifully, the public transport system is in two languages – Mandarin and English. And then a helpful local wrote the name of the hotel for me in Chinese, so after changing metro trains at an interchange, it was a matter of falling over a taxi and waving the piece of paper at him. The hotel was waiting for me. The desk clerk spoke English, so my very limited Mandarin wasn’t needed. First order of business was a shower -12 hours on a plane made me feel unclean. Then sight-seeing.
International rule number 1 – don’t sight-see when you’re low on sleep. Every man and his dog tried to sell me cheap watches, shine my shoes or otherwise deprive me of money. But always politely. So Shanghai was a bit more expensive than I wanted. I took a few photos, and then lost the cables for the camera, so sorry, until replacements arrive, no pictures, only words . Breakfast at the hotel was interesting. Decided to do the old ‘when in Rome…” thing, and had a typical Chinese type breakfast. The micro-gherkins were a bit sharp, but all in all, tasty. But the coffee was worse than McDonalds’, and that’s saying something.
Then back to the airport for my first taste of Aeroflot: would it be Soviet grey or have they entered the Capitalist era?