On Monday morning I arrived in Bangkok by way of Kiev. My travel time was 25 hours, the majority of which was spent next to an infant who was watching cartoons sans headphones and considered me her personal footrest. For some reason, I wasn’t all that annoyed, which is the first and last time I’ll say that about coming in contact with a human foot.
People will tell you that the indignity of air travel is worth it once you arrive. I will agree. It’s been some time since I’ve been on a “big” trip—one where the travel time is counted in days and the weather at your destination varies so drastically that your face starts to melt the second you step off the plane. I forgot what that was like—to be in an unfamiliar place, draped in lightweight down and struggling to remember how to say “thank you” in a language no one expects me to speak.
A few hours later, sitting by the rooftop pool at my hotel, after spending much of the day walking around the city, dodging tuk-tuks and sipping straight out of a coconut, I had a moment. How lovely it is to be somewhere that maybe isn’t exactly new, but is, at least, different. What a life I live, to wake up in Helsinki one morning and then go to bed in Asia the next night. Look at this view that I can enjoy while answering emails and making edits to a research report that I am writing on behalf of businessmen who would be amused by how impressed I am with the view at the Bangkok Travelodge. So lovely was that feeling that I almost forgot about leaving my debit card in the ATM at DMK airport earlier that morning. Almost.
Yeah, I did. But luckily I realized it within a few hours and was able to cancel the card through my mobile app. There were no charges on the account which, in my post-travel haze, I considered a perk. One less customer service agent to call! Later, after the benefit of a full night’s sleep, I recognized that the absence of fraudulent charges implied that the card, which I left in an ATM alongside an exchange counter, was most likely turned in to the kiosk staff by whatever honest passerby happened to find it. Had I realized that sooner, I might have taken a trip back to the airport just to see if I was right. But now it was too late.
But no harm no foul. In fact, I was a little excited. All these years, I have been diligently carrying around three different cards issued by three different banks and spreading those cards across several different bags just in case something like this happens. And now here we are. A card was gone and I had two others to use. I couldn’t be more thankful that I started that system and kept doing it even after years of not needing to use use.
Finally, I thought, as I pulled my German ATM card out of my fanny pack. This is the moment I’ve been waiting for. All this over-planning finally pays off.
When people ask me for tips about solo travel, I always start with the practical ones about banking and money. Take multiple cards and split them between bags; never carry all your cards and cash in the same place; don’t take your passport out for field trips unless you know you need it; carry copies or pictures of all those things all the time.
I stand by that. But I will also add this, having now recognized a pattern in my biggest travel mishaps to date: Be extra careful when you’re going someplace familiar. It’s like that old statistic about car accidents happening close to home: you pay less attention when you think you know what you’re doing.
I suspect that the reason why I forgot my card in Bangkok is the same as reason why I lost my phone to a pickpocket on the airport train in Paris: because I was comfortable. Yes, I was coming off a long and not particularly pleasant flight and wasn’t at my sharpest, but the real reason for my takedown was my confidence. I had been through those doors several times before. I knew the exchange rate by heart and how to get to the city and what it would cost. I was confident in my own experience, which anyone will tell you is how mistakes happen.
I wrote this post the day after I arrived in Bangkok. Since that time, I have arrived to Penang where I managed to use the ATM without issue. I checked into an Airbnb, which boasts an even nicer rooftop pool and an amazing view from my room. I made plans to meet up with one of my favorite blog friends, Sand in my Curls, who has been living here for six years. She and I were most of the way through a bottle of wine, comparing notes about living the expat life and daydreaming about nomading, when a team of 15 immigration officials swept the bar and rounded up all the employees. Neither of us were carrying our passports, though we both had copies of our documents. Still, the immigration agents told us this was a “very big problem” and wandered away. Then without any explanation, he seemed to change his mind. He sent us on our way without even letting us stop to pay the bill. “You’re lucky tonight,” he said, as we walked into the parking lot. “You’re very, very lucky.”
I had to agree. Going to the Malaysian equivalent of an ICE facility, however briefly, is not exactly how I wanted to start leg two of my trip. And because I didn’t want to begin the third with even less luck in the bank, I went back to the restaurant the next day to settle the bill. I’ll take all luck I can get. And in the mean time, I’m still going to enjoy the view.
Whoa, wait, WHAT. That is not where I saw this story going.
I KNOW. if you and i ever meet, we should just have emergency services on standby. put the three of us together and we’d have to meet in a padded cell.
I can’t even BELIEVE that happened to us. I know the immigration police make checks on a lot of the bar and restaurant workers, but US? I mean come on! We were just minding our own beeeezzwax, not to mention LEGALLY in the country with some sort of documentation to prove it! Another lesson learned: take a picture of the entry stamp in your passport, just in case some power-hungry a$$hole decides to pick on you!
And by the way, I think we would have fun in a padded room!
Ha! Really? You can’t believe it. I can believe it. LOL. But seriously, legality aside, I feel for the people who were working, who were also minding their own beeswax, who got caught in that. Sad all around. And yes on the passport stamp… once upon a time, when I was more on my game, I used to do that. I am slipping. :)
Good point about the being comfortable. It’s funny how quickly that can happen, and then the dumb mistakes.
Me on day one in a new city/country: This neighborhood is seedy. Are those teenagers casing me? Am I going to get food poisoning from this restaurant? *arms wrapped around phone safely zipped in backpack carried in front*
Day three: Oh man, I OWN this town! *leaves phone on restaurant table*
Oh I know the feeling!! I truly do. BONJOUR PARIS! I HAVE COME BEARING GIFTS.
Safe and happy travels to you :)