So it turns out there is a point when the ATM decides to say NO.

Or in my case

NO. NOW BACK THE HELL AWAY FROM THE TERMINAL, TURN AROUND AND GET OUT.

Could be that withdrawing thousands of dollars worth of rupiah (which runs into the billions so high that I can’t even count it without getting vertigo) over the course of 5 days is not such a wise thing to do before checking your bank balance. The little minus sign next to the big number. That apparently means something.

Then John goes and hops off to Singapore taking his plastic with him and leaving me with a stinking jeep which now ain’t getting a clean, a small child who is going to be dining on fruit mentos tonight, 2 episodes of Man Men till the end (hmmm what would Joanie do?) and not enough cash it would turn out to pay for the taxi to the airport, the exit visas, the small issue of our rent and our return visas (and if I don’t pay that one I don’t get our passports back).

It’s time for a glass or five of wine whilst I reflect but oh, I forgot, wine here costs $20 and I HAVE NO DOLLARS. I have no money.

There you go. That’s how long it takes to travel the world before going broke. 6 months and 9 days.

And to think planning used to be my forte.

One time in Greece when I was about 20, I ran out of money on my last day. I called my dad reverse charges and begged him to wire me some so that I didn’t have to sleep on the streets of Athens and prostitute my way back home. He told me he was busy in a meeting and hung up.

So the path to daddy is closed. I’m going to have to man up and figure this one out all by myself.

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