mikeShriver

I seem to be perpetually short on cash when I travel. Poor planning and difficulty with the math of currency exchange usually leave me with fewer rupees, dirhams, pesos and etc. than I need.

The ATMs in Colombia are freezing cold, especially compared to the tropical heat outside. They are like single-occupancy pods of A/C. Stepping into one feels like stepping into a walk-in refrigerator. I sampled many of them in my short time in that country, due to the trial-and-error inconsistency of a my debit card. Anyone who has travelled with me could probably tell you a story about my money problems on foreign soil.

On one occasion toward the end of my stay with Torin, we caught motos into town to pick up some supplies and get me a little cash for dinners and the trip home. I latched myself into the tiny environmentally controlled pod and began to push buttons at random on the kiosk. Almost as soon as Torin and I stepped into the box, a man came up outside the glass window and wordlessly began staring at us. His eyes were enormous, and I don’t think he blinked once during this entire episode.

With him standing out there, and my inability to figure out how to make the machine spit out currency, I pretty quickly decided against the original plan, and packed my wallet deep into my bag and exited the cash-pod.

As soon as we exited the ATM, the man, still silent and with no emotion on his face, outstretched his hand in my direction. It made me pretty uncomfortable to have his attention focused on me like that. Torin looked at me with a look in his face that said ‘I have no idea what this person wants’ and gave out a little laugh that revealed he was as uncomfortable as I was. We made our way pretty quickly to the nearest main road, where we could find some transportation. The man followed close behind us, hand outstretched, eyes wide, the whole time.

Transportation is simple to come buy in most every place I visited. You simply have to choose a motorcycle, and climb onto the back of it. We jumped onto the two closest motos and spit out the usual: ‘Mampujan.,’ and off we were, on our way out of the town. The man stood on the corner we had just departed, and continued to stare at us with his hand outstretched. Torin and I exchanged looks from out motos and watched him as we rode away.

He wasn’t left completely empty-handed. As we rode off, someone thoughtfully deposited an empty paper cup into our friend’s outstretched hand.

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