Cheers to the inner me!
Two weeks ago in the town of Ibarra, Ecuador I attended the wedding of two friends from New York who I’ve known for years. They are both working professionals with bright futures ahead of them, she as a talented attorney and he as an unhinged super-villain with designs for world domination.
It was their wedding, their day, but I was the one who was showered with favors. Instead of allowing me take public transportation from Quito to Otavalo, they hired a private taxi to chauffeur my guest and I there in style, and when it came time to check-out of our hosteria, I found that charges for the room and the meals had already been satisfied by some anonymous benefactor.
My protests were admittedly feeble, not that any amount of persuasion would have changed their minds on the matter. The groom had taken a similar journey himself years ago, and knew firsthand what the financial demands of long-term travel are.
Travelling without a budget is like driving without using your break. Sure you can do it, but your trip is going to go a lot faster end a lot sooner than you expected. On the road it becomes reflexive to look at the prices of almost everything and to do cost/benefit analysis, to comparison shop for good deals and perhaps most importantly, to bottom feed. Consider this: sleeping in private rooms, taking taxis and eating decent meals can add 20 dollars or more each day to a budget. I’ve been travelling for more than half a year and am planning to be in South America for at least 6 months more. You do the math - what’s 365 multiplied by 20? Sleeping in dormitories, taking public transport and eating set almuerzos instead of a la carte at gringo restaurants has extended my trip, if I am so inclined, by another few months at least.
Time spent alongside my friends from New York meant that, for a few days at least, I was back among the company of people who were not travelling on a backpacker’s budget and who were not afraid to spend liberally. I did hold everyone up for 15 minutes at the Otavalo market as I tried to bargain that last dollar out of the woman selling Panama hats, but by and large I adjusted my behavior accordingly. I barely flinched as we each paid 25 dollars for a nice lakeside dinner, when that same amount would typically last me for an entire day on the cheap, maybe even two.
Once they had all left, I snapped back with a vengeance into cheapskate hobo mode. Alone once more and away from their influence, the real me emerged. Before checking out of my mid range hotel I pilfered half a dozen handsoaps and bottles of small shampoo from an unattended cleaning cart, grabbed three bottles of complementary filtered water, and stuffed two books from the open library into my bag, hoping to trade them for something worthwhile at the next hostel with a book exchange. Then I waved away the taxi waiting at the front of the hotel and walked 20 minutes with a 35 pound pack on my back to a hostel with dormitory rooms and shared bathrooms for one twentieth the price.
I was back. But having been in the proximity once again of people who are not afraid to spend money on services got me to thinking about the nature of budget travel, which reminded me of a comment left by Sonoko in the recent post You gotta do what you can and Let Mother Nature do the rest. To quote: also not sure if you were joking, but admitting one is cheap is not appealing. not because men have to pay for women, but because it usually indicates stinginess and a pinched, whiny attitude in other aspects of life, and i mean this for men & women & friends & all that. You’re not cheap, you’re long term traveler’s budget.
Only a true friend would stick to such a favorable opinion of me despite years of evidence to the contrary. Well no matter how cleverly you sneak up on a mirror, you will always look yourself straight in the eye. So its high time for a little honest self-reflection here.
The atavistic, resource-hording neanderthal that I reverted into was not my Mr. Hyde. This, ladies and gentlemen, was Jekyll. This was the real me. I started recalling all the ways I have cut corners on my travels to stretch that dollar and found myself cringing with shame and embarrassment. My first instinct . . . well, I mine as well share this with the world.
Below are the “worst of” cheapskate moments from my travels thus far, in order of ascending moral outrage. I am not proud of some of this behavior, but it is certainly worth documenting.
- I’ve hand-washed clothing with bar soap in public sinks to save money on laundry services.
g - I have a giant, steadily expanding hole in one of the 3 pairs of pants which I have packed for this trip. I refuse to replace or tailor them until it becomes indecorous not to do so.
g - I’ve walked to the edge of small towns to poop in a ditch rather than pay a charge to use the public toilet.
g - I always refuse to pay the surcharge which museums and historical sites impose for the privilege of taking pictures. Instead I use deceit to snap my photos surreptitiously - hiding among large crowds of people or at odd angles to conceal my activities from the guards, and often coughing to drown out the electronic sound of the picture being taken.
g - Complementary breakfast, when it comes at all, is typically a cup of tea, a glass of juice, and a piece of bread with butter and marmalade. Not nearly enough to carry a grown gringo over into lunchtime. At one hostel I was staying in I once asked for 3 pieces of bread and claimed that they were for mis amigos in a random room.
g - When clean-shaven I’ve often claimed to be a student at museums and monasteries in an attempt to wrangle student discounts from these underfunded cultural institutions.
g - One time my travel towel was being laundered so I asked the hostel if I could borrow a towel. They said they would rent me one for a dollar. I refused to pay for it. Instead I stripped the bed, carried my folded bed sheet into the shower with me and used it to dry myself it. Then I claimed that I had “an accident”, handed over the soggy bed sheet, and asked for a change of linens.
g - Once in a while if you ask politely, someone at a church will open the doors for you to step inside and take a private tour. When this happens I usually drop a few coins into the offering box as a show of thanks. I once dropped a coin into the offering box, and the coin made no audible “clink” after hitting the bottom. The man who admitted me had remained at the far end of the church, so when I was sure he was looking I pantomimed the motions of dropping two more coins into the offering box when in fact I did not. (incidentally I know that I am going to hell for this one)
With even a passing glance at this list it becomes obvious that this is not one-off behavior by some lapsed spendthrift. This is a pattern of pettiness. The unstinting mind would not have the instincts to scheme up most of this stuff, yet it comes as naturally to me as breathing, which incidentally I’m sure I would find a way around if I had to pay for the air.
So let’s drop the niceties and proclaim this obvious reality - I am cheap.
I have haggled on prices in South America with everyone from arthritic old widows to starving street orphans concerning everything from a poorly knitted pair of socks to a rented pack mule. I embrace my true self and say that I am not bothered by your judgments, your sneers, your groans of disapproval.
I say cheers to the inner me!
Ummm, someone else is buying the drinks for this toast, right?
“Be that self which one truly is”
Soren Kierkegaard
“To thine own self be true”
William Shakespeare
“Be faithful to that which exists within yourself”
Andre Gide
