India
Tiruchirappalli
We flew to India from Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. After more than two years in South Korea, and then backpacking across Asia for two months, we thought we were more or less prepared for anything. But entering India was like going down the proverbial rabbit hole! For instance, in Thailand, they are expecting, nay, counting on tourists. They are waiting for you, smiling - you smile back, then you hand them your money and do all the things tourists normally do. Everyone is happy, a good time is had by all, etc. Tiruchirappalli (or Trichy, for short) was not expecting us. It's not that we were unwelcome. Far from it. It's more that we were unnoticed.
We got off the plane around 9AM, and went through customs smoothly. There was a money changer in the airport - perfect, we thought, they tend to be government run and as honest as any other bank. Not this time. It's not that the fellow was dishonest. At that time, the exchange was around 40 Rupees for 1 $US. He stated that the exchange rate was 30. Actually, he just wanted me to hand over my cash, and he'd give me back whatever he intended to give. I was smart enough to refuse that and ask about the rate. 30? Did he think I hadn't done my homework? Was he trying to fool me? Not exactly. I quoted the going rate. He calmly refused to do business with me and took the next customer in line. As we were the only people with American money, I couldn't accuse him of singling us out to be short changed. Like a rock sticking out of a shallow stream, the current of traffic simply moved past us as if we were a part of the scenery. It was the first time someone had simply refused to exchange our money, and I just stood there stunned as he went about his day. We'd been quoted lousy exchange rates before, but usually, with some polite insistence, we'd get a decent rate. This guy had no interest in dickering. We'd had our chance, we'd lost it. There was nothing else to do, we picked our jaws up off the floor and headed through security into the sweltering heat. I thought about trying the money stand again, but the security gaurd wouldn't let us back into the terminal.
There's no feeling quite like being in a strange land with no local currency. Money does not actually make the world go round, but it does lubricate its motor. Or something like that. We had a pretty good routine up to that point for entering a new country: get in, get money, get a hotel (often booked in advance). Eat. Then take pictures. Like a well oiled machine, we'd gone through 6 countries in two months without a hitch. But here we were in a province where hotels in our budget range did not have websites, the money changer refused our business, there were no tourist taxis waiting to move us along to stage three. We just sort of looked around in a daze. There was a bank machine nearby. It opened at 10... actually it was open, but the machine wouldn't turn on until 10, so we had nothing else to do but wait to see if, perchance, it might give us the time of day. It had all the right banking symbols on it (interac, cirrus), so we had reason to hope. I'd successfully gotten money out of a bank machine in the farthest corners of Southeast Asia. We sat down with our pile of luggage and waited. Chatted with some some local people, who sympathized but had no idea what to suggest. They were much more interested to know about Canada, telling us about relatives who had moved to either Canada or the US. 10 o'clock hit, and the ATM blinked to life. In went my card... and out it came just as fast. No dice! Tried it again... nope! That was a problem. So we had no money, no means of getting to a bank, no hotel... we couldn't even buy a bottle of water - the local roadside refreshment stand lady looked at our US greenbacks with surprise, like trying to pay with Canadian Tire money at Sears. A category error. All of a sudden, this guy walked up and said, "You had some trouble getting money in the airport?" I told him about the exchange rate. He nodded, "I've heard about this happening," he said. "A man will come soon, he'll give you a fair rate. OK?" Hmmm... of course I agreed, we couldn't pass up the opportunity. Sure sounded like a scam though - can't get money in the airport, and conveniently, a sympathetic local happens by to help us out. Brilliant. Sure enough, up trotted a young fellow with a stack of bills, asked if we needed to change money. 40 to the dollar? Yep, 40 to the dollar. I should have asked him where he came from, why he helped us, how they knew, and why the heck the airport stand wouldn't change our money. But I didn't. We just traded bills, shook hands, and he ambled off into the dusty countryside. Fake bills maybe? There had to be a catch. But the drink stand lady, who watched the exchange, was happy enough to let us buy water. The man who had first approached us now asked if we needed a taxi (we did). They dropped us off by the central bus stand with no particular ceremony. My scam-radar had been going off like a tower bell, and it was entirely wrong. Welcome to India.
