Today my new pals from last night woke me up at 10, scandalous stuff. We then just took our time strolling round the Old Town and taking in the general Quebec pleasentry.
A strange thing happened when Eric (the Filipino who lives in Sydney) was taking one of the hundreds of pictures of us that day. An individually styled old guy who looked like an ex French pimp offered to take a pic of all 4 of us (in gestures, he didn’t speak a word of English) and after this he started trying to communicate something else to us, vaguley regarding beer we gathered. He then returned from his bag with 4 perfectly ice cold beer cans (Blue Ribbon no less!) for us and then trundled off quite happily. A weird but nice moment.
We followed this with a nice spot of lunch at a little Italian joint. Then we all said our goodbyes as the 3 or them were all leaving the hostel for different escapades.
It’s at this point that my day took a serious nose dive. Remember when I thought I lost my HSBC debit and credit cards in Vegas and they then turned up after I cancelled them leading to a whole host of aggravating chain reactions? Well something similar has occurred with my one remaining source of access to the Send The Bugger Back coffers.
I nipped out earlier to pick a few groceries up and get some dosh and I’m pretty sure I must have left the card in the ATM and it’s then wolfed it. When I got back to the hostel I realised the card was missing after a shower, this is the most likely explanation.
The cash machines are a right pain in this country, for some reason my card only works in less than half of them. Also they are all different; some you swipe in fast horizontally, some fast vertically, some you get the card back after the money, some before and some after pressing a few buttons. This is my attempt at mitigation for me being a f*ckwit readers. Though coincidentally, Petr the Czech lost his card last night too.
After hours of working out my best course of action and more very expensive phone calls to the bank and family back home I should now be back on track hopefully.
Papa Bowen can ring Western Union and wire the dosh I need for the remaining few weeks of the trip (which I’ve dilligently calculated) to a pickup point near the hostel in Boston which luckily closes at 22:00 otherwise I’d be sleeping rough for that night. He’ll get the spondulicks back on return of the Donn-I (emphasis on the I) with outrageous demands for interest too no doubt.
This will have a knock-on effect when I get back as I will have to do a change of address form before I can get a new card which will all take bloody ages, it may mean hanging out back in Manc for longer than intended. Basically, it’s all a right ball ache.
Another strange thing that has happened today is that I’ve gone from 5 pairs of socks at the start of the trip to 1.75 today. After washing 4 pairs yesterday (not sure what happened to the other pair, maybe in the land of a thousand bellies) I put them out on my bed to dry and then when I got in last night I just chucked them all under the bed. This morning all that was left was 1 complete pair, 1 full sock and 1 that had half missing. Truth is indeed stranger than fiction. I can’t even get to my spends to remedy the situation for a while either. Great.
Now that my fleeting friends have left, everyone else in the hostel appears to be a cheese eating surrender monkey. Blimey, time to do my bit for French-Anglo relations eh.
The photo is of Canada’s ‘Venereal ‘Disease Digest’ sister publication for French Canadians.