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?!?