convertible currency
traveling overseas with the sri lankan rupee is akin to having one of those exotic african currencies. wads of the stuff disappear into an ultra slim folder of travelers cheques, the size of which would make the designers of cellular phones envious. my bank manager is, in addition, generally unhappy with the fact that erratic accumulation of positive numbers sitting pretty on the spread sheet on his screen suddenly reduces alarmingly to zero. he serves me orange barley in a glass and mutters darkly about the financial mayhem facing executive sri lanka. the chappie in the next cubicle sips tea from what appears to be a silver cup. a little later as i leave the bank with dire warnings of financial ruin ringing in my ears, sliver cup slips into a bmw whilst i hail a three wheeler.
in foreign countries, any attempt to do the simplest of things can send one on a rampaging guilt trip. a taxi ride would feed a large family for a week, a visit to a museum would pay for all cloths the family needs in a month, whilst dining at a restaurant converts into the equivalent of a decent prize at the national lottery. suggesting various things to do in the uk, the pot became quite exasperated with my constant query of “how much?”. in the end he took me for a walk through hyde park, buckingham palace and the british museum for free which quite suited by budget. however, at the end of the tour he insisted on going to madame toussards. the board at the entrance said gbp 40 for per adult. eighty bucks? that’s an annual scholarship. whilst i studied an interesting poster on mel gibson, the pot paid.
restaurants are a different matter entirely. generally one is taken along with other relatives and / or family members of the host and the bills are always something out of elm street. nothing less than a trip to singapore. one hopes that the waiter will do the done thing and place the little folder with the dreaded bill sticking out closer to the host and that the said host would then do the done thing and say “no! no! let me take this”, but these are too many variables and the situation is prone to the financial crisis my bank manager, no doubt, has nightmares over.
the m’s took me one night to dinner at the cn tower in toronto. at 1815 feet it is billed as the tallest building in the world but it is really a massive transmission mast with a fancy revolving restaurant three quarter way up the bloody thing. just to get in cost 250 bucks for all of us and i could hear my bank manager groan. but, the m’s kindly paid. the view was probably similar to that shuttle astronauts get as they commute to space but as we headed to the giddy horizon restaurant for a meal and my hip pocket felt airy. from the menu, i noted that the cost of lobster would have kept a politician back home happy for a week and therefore chose the cheese sandwich. the scenery was slowly rotating but whether from the thought of the bill or the 360 degree restaurant was uncertain. the waiter approached with the bill. m did something quite unexpected. he stood up and walked away to the men’s. string theory and alternate universes flashed through the mind.
ms. m, noticing my consternation, gently informed me that the bill was taken care as the restaurant owner was known to the family. if i had known that i would have had the lobster.
in foreign countries, any attempt to do the simplest of things can send one on a rampaging guilt trip. a taxi ride would feed a large family for a week, a visit to a museum would pay for all cloths the family needs in a month, whilst dining at a restaurant converts into the equivalent of a decent prize at the national lottery. suggesting various things to do in the uk, the pot became quite exasperated with my constant query of “how much?”. in the end he took me for a walk through hyde park, buckingham palace and the british museum for free which quite suited by budget. however, at the end of the tour he insisted on going to madame toussards. the board at the entrance said gbp 40 for per adult. eighty bucks? that’s an annual scholarship. whilst i studied an interesting poster on mel gibson, the pot paid.
restaurants are a different matter entirely. generally one is taken along with other relatives and / or family members of the host and the bills are always something out of elm street. nothing less than a trip to singapore. one hopes that the waiter will do the done thing and place the little folder with the dreaded bill sticking out closer to the host and that the said host would then do the done thing and say “no! no! let me take this”, but these are too many variables and the situation is prone to the financial crisis my bank manager, no doubt, has nightmares over.
the m’s took me one night to dinner at the cn tower in toronto. at 1815 feet it is billed as the tallest building in the world but it is really a massive transmission mast with a fancy revolving restaurant three quarter way up the bloody thing. just to get in cost 250 bucks for all of us and i could hear my bank manager groan. but, the m’s kindly paid. the view was probably similar to that shuttle astronauts get as they commute to space but as we headed to the giddy horizon restaurant for a meal and my hip pocket felt airy. from the menu, i noted that the cost of lobster would have kept a politician back home happy for a week and therefore chose the cheese sandwich. the scenery was slowly rotating but whether from the thought of the bill or the 360 degree restaurant was uncertain. the waiter approached with the bill. m did something quite unexpected. he stood up and walked away to the men’s. string theory and alternate universes flashed through the mind.
ms. m, noticing my consternation, gently informed me that the bill was taken care as the restaurant owner was known to the family. if i had known that i would have had the lobster.
(inspired by an article in an old copy of readers digest left in the toilet)
posted by the scribe at 6:46 PM
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