Rolling out of bed sometime in the mid afternoon, I decide to be good to myself today and do nothing. That is until I realise my bank card is missing.
Did it fall out somehow? Did the pretty girl from Leon fleece me as I bought a round of drinks? With a rush of blood to the head, did I throw it behind the bar, yelling that the booze was on me? This was one of those moments they warn you about on your travels. All the guide books say have a back up card, watch what you’re doing, don’t keep cards and cash together, etc, etc. I had done none of these things. I tend to fly by the seat of my pants. If it happens to me, it happens to me. Still, leaving it behind in an ATM wasn’t the brightest move I’ve made on my travels.
So it dawns on me where it is. After a quick trip to discover the bank is of course closed (it is Sunday), the security guard tells us to come back tomorrow, with a passport. The more i think about it, the more I’m confident that is where it is. I’m surprisingly relaxed as we wander the streets, and wind down a more or less chilled out day.
Of course that doesn’t happen, and for some reason, in spite of beings sans card, I opt to go out on the town with an Australian I had met in Utila. In a Karaoke bar, my companions are greatly amused to see a local girl continually pass notes across to me. She sends over her number. Then she sends over a note with hearts and “call me” written on it. Then she sends over a request that I buy her a drink. I manage to appease her advances by sending back my facebook details. Hopefully she won’t remember them.
Cardless
Rolling out of bed sometime in the mid afternoon, I decide to be good to myself today and do nothing. That is until I realise my bank card is missing.
Did it fall out somehow? Did the pretty girl from Leon fleece me as I bought a round of drinks? With a rush of blood to the head, did I throw it behind the bar, yelling that the booze was on me? This was one of those moments they warn you about on your travels. All the guide books say have a back up card, watch what you’re doing, don’t keep cards and cash together, etc, etc. I had done none of these things. I tend to fly by the seat of my pants. If it happens to me, it happens to me. Still, leaving it behind in an ATM wasn’t the brightest move I’ve made on my travels.
So it dawns on me where it is. After a quick trip to discover the bank is of course closed (it is Sunday), the security guard tells us to come back tomorrow, with a passport. The more i think about it, the more I’m confident that is where it is. I’m surprisingly relaxed as we wander the streets, and wind down a more or less chilled out day.
Of course that doesn’t happen, and for some reason, in spite of beings sans card, I opt to go out on the town with an Australian I had met in Utila. In a Karaoke bar, my companions are greatly amused to see a local girl continually pass notes across to me. She sends over her number. Then she sends over a note with hearts and “call me” written on it. Then she sends over a request that I buy her a drink. I manage to appease her advances by sending back my facebook details. Hopefully she won’t remember them.