How do you render an individual helpless in a foreign country? You cut off their funds. When traveling to the confused country formerly known as Burma (Myanmar), you have to bring cash, preferably safety pinned to your undergarments. I'm definitely from the school of plastic-as-currency, with the exception of Vietnamese Pho restaurants and happy hour at the bar (it's just more efficient). Not having access to ATMs was already making me nervous, but having to carry thousands of dollars on my body throughout Southeast Asia (I wonder if those guys at the beach in Krabi noticed the bulge in my bikini and if that made me more or less attractive?) made me sick to my stomach.
To continue, I had my best couture seamstress whip up a white cotton muslin pocket, grabbed a handful of safety pins, and I was ready for my trip (This is a gross exaggeration on my part as I had to get many vaccinations and take anti-malarial medication that gave me nightmares, but more on that later). I was forewarned by my mother that the Burmese love clean, crisp one hundred-dollar bills (envisions rap video on a yacht...), but I did not take this seriously enough.
In my first attempt to change my brand new hundred-dollar bills, I walked into this travel agency that doubles as a black market money changer.
Trish (in tentative Burmese), "Can I change dollars here?"
Burmese Girl, "Yes, the rate is 830 Kyat per dollar."
Trish, "Great. Here is three hundred dollars."
The Burmese girl takes my money, unfolds it, presses it flats, holds it up to the light, scrutinizes it, scrunches up her face, and says, "I can only give you 800 Kyat per dollar."
Trish, "But it's new."
Burmese girl, "I'm sorry, but your bill was folded in half."
Trish (resignedly), "Ok. Fine."
The irony is that every time I paid a Burmese bill with my crisp 5000 Kyat note, I received my change in disturbingly unsanitary looking bills. Anything less than 1000 Kyat denomination came back as a crumpled blackened mass of paper that felt like used Kleenex tissue in your pocket. I am a chronic pocket-emptier and would frequently reach into the pocket of my hoodie and reflexively dump my 200 Kyat notes into the wastebasket and then quickly retrieve it once I saw the dark mass amid the various white receipts (the Burmese loves to give official-looking receipts that never get checked) and white napkins in my peripheral vision. Three second rule, right?
This predilection for fresh C-notes does not stem from aspirations for riches and fame, but rather a calculated method of currency control by....er... the guys upstairs (as Cherry, my new Euro-Burmese friend in Mandalay, referred to them). By arbitrarily limiting the number of dollars that flow into the economy, they can keep exchange rates artificially high and more importantly, prevent the US dollar from becoming the major form of currency; you know in case they decide to print new Kyat in multiples of six or some other random number that is now the fortuitous number because some high level official dreamed it so. As a traveler, you consciously know you have money in your pockets, but if it can't be used, it really loses its value. Next thing you know, you're over-tipping the luggage porter at the airport your slightly used US dollars because they are worth(less) to you now.
To my non-Asian friend that joined me on the trip, let's call him Darren, I'm sorry I didn't make it more clear when bringing in bills that you have to request clean, crisp bills from the bank-teller. I especially berated him for accepting five hundred dollars worth of used 1's and 5's. Who does that??? Everybody knows that it's an unsaid rule when requesting 1's and 5's from the bank, it should be crisp, clean bills, right? Sorry, my bad, Darren.
To continue, I had my best couture seamstress whip up a white cotton muslin pocket, grabbed a handful of safety pins, and I was ready for my trip (This is a gross exaggeration on my part as I had to get many vaccinations and take anti-malarial medication that gave me nightmares, but more on that later). I was forewarned by my mother that the Burmese love clean, crisp one hundred-dollar bills (envisions rap video on a yacht...), but I did not take this seriously enough.
In my first attempt to change my brand new hundred-dollar bills, I walked into this travel agency that doubles as a black market money changer.
Trish (in tentative Burmese), "Can I change dollars here?"
Burmese Girl, "Yes, the rate is 830 Kyat per dollar."
Trish, "Great. Here is three hundred dollars."
The Burmese girl takes my money, unfolds it, presses it flats, holds it up to the light, scrutinizes it, scrunches up her face, and says, "I can only give you 800 Kyat per dollar."
Trish, "But it's new."
Burmese girl, "I'm sorry, but your bill was folded in half."
Trish (resignedly), "Ok. Fine."
The irony is that every time I paid a Burmese bill with my crisp 5000 Kyat note, I received my change in disturbingly unsanitary looking bills. Anything less than 1000 Kyat denomination came back as a crumpled blackened mass of paper that felt like used Kleenex tissue in your pocket. I am a chronic pocket-emptier and would frequently reach into the pocket of my hoodie and reflexively dump my 200 Kyat notes into the wastebasket and then quickly retrieve it once I saw the dark mass amid the various white receipts (the Burmese loves to give official-looking receipts that never get checked) and white napkins in my peripheral vision. Three second rule, right?
This predilection for fresh C-notes does not stem from aspirations for riches and fame, but rather a calculated method of currency control by....er... the guys upstairs (as Cherry, my new Euro-Burmese friend in Mandalay, referred to them). By arbitrarily limiting the number of dollars that flow into the economy, they can keep exchange rates artificially high and more importantly, prevent the US dollar from becoming the major form of currency; you know in case they decide to print new Kyat in multiples of six or some other random number that is now the fortuitous number because some high level official dreamed it so. As a traveler, you consciously know you have money in your pockets, but if it can't be used, it really loses its value. Next thing you know, you're over-tipping the luggage porter at the airport your slightly used US dollars because they are worth(less) to you now.
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| Darren (not his real name), counting the "good" bills |
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