Early in each trip the money conundrum rears its personal head and strikes down my serenity. I think I need to do an inventory on this . . . again. Our tour company recommended packing light suggesting that we use our hotel's quick and efficient laundry service instead. Well, we did this - in our ridiculously expensive 5 Star hotel - and wracked up a $35 bill for a few items. I mutter about this, not caring that much about the money itself (remember the $20 tip at our first hotel?) but objecting to the high cost of a pretty routine service.
SuperK doesn't care for the muttering, rightly pointing out that we're spending so much money on our trip and then letting a small amount become large in my head.
I protest that I don't care that much - suspecting that I do - and partially defuse the situation, skating away relatively unscathed, much to my relief.
After our tour ends, tired, we decide not to go to the streets to look for a dinner place, punting to one of the hotel's restaurants and what did I expect would happen? I open the menu and am appalled at the prices. I'm getting ready to suggest that we bolt when SuperK - who knows me too well - exclaims: "What: You're not thinking of leaving?" I freeze, caught, exposed, found out, and endure a tongue lashing, well-deserved.
Chastened, I let go of the money. For a while. Temporarily. On the bus today the tour company begins to update the tipping guidelines, and off I go again over the matter of a few more bucks. I get annoyed that in these poorer countries tourists end up paying for the services that I think I'm paying too much for to the tour company. I'd rather they pay their people and tell me what it's going to cost up front.
Plus, I bit down on something hard at dinner last night and I'm sure I destroyed a tooth. Worrying about weird health matters always trumps trivial money matters.
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