What budgeting can teach you about happiness and other things
Getting out of a financial quagmire in a foreign country with a bit of luck and spirit.
I’m going to write this story differently by telling you the ending at the beginning. Here’s the situation:
You’re in Cambodia. You discover you have access to only $68. You still have to pay for a hotel and food for 3 days, AND a bus ticket to the airport which is 467 km away. Now what?
Here were the lessons:
- Freaking out does not help anything.
- Buying things and services are (often) distractions from what really matters: love and community.
- My financial limitations — no matter how dire — are nothing compared to what others experience on a day-to-day basis.
Oh, and HSBC customer service sucks.
Discovering I had no access to cash was a huge buzzkill during my Cambodian Valentine’s Day.
The ideal Valentine’s day in Siem Reap, Cambodia would most likely include
- A relaxing walk along the river, holding hands
- Eating amazeballs Khmer cuisine for lunch, followed by ice cream, and
- Watching Star Wars in bed at the schmancy-looking hostel I booked.
This was the original plan.
This is not what happened.
Valentine’s day began with checking out of the first hostel. I tried to pay but my card was surprisingly rejected — over and over again.
“That’s weird, it must be a problem with the card machine,” I said to the manager, “I put a travel notice on my card before coming to Cambodia, so it should work.”
Though my words indicated it was the machine’s problem, not my card, my gut sank. I didn’t have a lot of cash at hand — only a few small bills in my pocket. “I will just try an ATM — I’m sure it’s fine,” I said to the lovely hostel manager, but what I was really thinking was “Shit.”
My boyfriend ended up paying for the hostel (we agreed before I would pay for hostels, and he would cover daily expenses) and we immediately went to the nearest ATM. During the walk, my anxiety and frustration grew. If the bank screwed up, this would not be the first time. Before even trying the ATM, I was already anticipating the consequences of awaking the fiery, monster version of Corinne.
Monster unleashed
Guess what? ATM was a fail. Fiery, monster Corinne was officially awake. Chris followed me cautiously as I angrily dragged my suitcase along the narrow rues Siem Reap, yelling senselessly about HSBC. People must have though I was crazy. I definitely did.
The next plan was to find a place to eat lunch and connect to wifi. I could then Skype call HSBC, ask them to fix their mistakes, and Chris could calmly eat lunch and witness his crazy girlfriend’s anger implosion.
I don’t want to bore you with all the messy details of what happened, but I will try to summarize below (feel free to skip this boring stuff):
- I activated my American HSBC card in Cambodia before traveling, but this didn’t work out becaauuuusseee
- The bank sent me a new card in November which I never received or used because I live in Shanghai, China. This card is probably still sitting on by bed in New Jersey — far, far away from my residence in Shanghai. Despite notifying them I am not using this new fancy card, for whatever reasons HSBC has grumpily ignored this notification and has deactivated my old card. When I was in Cambodia.
- The customer service representative who helped me put a travel notice on my card assured me my card would work just fine in Cambodia. Lies! Hence, I went to Cambodia misinformed about access to my funds.
- Plan B was try to access my Chinese bank accounts. This failed too because the two phone numbers on the back of my Chinese HSBC union pay card were both junk numbers.
Shit. Now what?
Valentine’s day did not get off to the romantic start that I originally envisioned.
I was frustrated. My plans to spend my final days in Siem Reap eating all the Khmer food I could and enjoying cultural activities like the Apsara traditional dance show were foiled. That wasn’t the biggest issue though: how were we going to pay for our food, hotel bill, and transportation to the airport, which was nearly 500 km away.
Beneath my fuming frustration was also a sense of guilt: why had I not been more careful? I should have spent less and ensured I had enough cash without my card, just to be safe.
I had to calm down and assess the damage: how much money did I have left and how much would I need to spend?
I opened my wallet to check what remaining cash I had. Only $28. My heart sank. Chris checked his pockets. He only had $50. “Our hostel will be $94… and this lunch is $10. What should we do?”
A stroke of luck
Both of us started searching through our bags, looking for loose change. I found a few Chinese bills (renmenbi) in my bag, but not much. Then, Chris pulled out a small, mysterious white bag from his backpack. It carries sim cards, trinkets, crumply business cards, and cash collected from a medley of countries he has been too. He opened it and had a look.
Inside, hidden between a few different cards, was a few hundred renminbi and around 1,000 TWD (~$30). He also had about 100 renminbi ($14.50) in his wallet.
This small sum of cash was a godsend. In total, we collected about $160 in various currencies — which isn’t a load of cash, but it was enough to just barely cover our hotel and travel expenses, plus a few very (very) cheap meals for the next few days. And lots of water!
Whew!
After paying for lunch — our last delicious Khmer meal in Cambodia — we walked in the heat searching for a place where we could exchange our Chinese and Taiwanese currency. It only took a few minutes before we came across a hole-in-the-wall place which exchanges money and sells bus tickets.
The woman serving us was confused by all the different currencies we placed on the table. She examined each bill, querying us on the different currencies, punching numbers into her calculator. After eyeing closely a 10 yuan paper, she rejected it because it was a little “ripped” and therefore “of no value.”
After a few minutes of questionable bill inspection, she told us the exchange rate she would give us. It wasn’t great — we ultimately lost $20 — but it’s okay. At least we could pay for the hotel and buy food for the next few days.
No longer able to afford $2 tuk-tuk rides, Chris and I walked to the hostel in the blistering sun for about one hour. We were both tired from heat exhaustion, and thirsty, so we barely spoke. I was lost in my thoughts — I felt guilty for spending too much during the trip. “I should have been more careful,” I thought, “It’s my fault that we are in this situation.” I was wearing new trousers that looked lovely, but suddenly made me feel uncomfortable. There was no opportunity to turn back and tell past self to exercise frugal restraint.
By the time we arrived at the hostel, we were exhausted and dehydrated. To our pleasant, surprise, the man at the front desk greeted us with iced lemon water and two mint-infused washcloths. He was so friendly (seems like everyone in Cambodia is). He gave us the schpeel about the hostel and informed us about the hostel perks —free tuk-tuk rides, coffee every day, and breakfast.
Yes, breakfast.
My food-soul did a silent leap. I thought we would have to survive on just boring, plain rice for the next three days.
After we paid our hotel bill ($94), now we just had to figure out how we could get ourselves to Phnom Penh airport and have enough money to feed ourselves.
We went to our room (left) to deliberate. We checked out the bus schedule and tickets, and found a cheap company (albeit with a dubious reputation) selling one way tickets for $7 each, making a total of $14. Once we arrived in Phnom Penh, we’d have to pay for a tuk-tuk driver to take us to the airport. This would most likely cost $10. That left us $15 to last three days.
The only thing we could afford to do was sit around and do nothing.
Which turned out to be a better-than-okay option, because the hostel/hotel (at this point, it was clear the term “hostel” did not adequately describe our accommodation) was beyond our expectations. Also, the whole point of this vacation in the first place was to spend time together.
Now that we were alone, out of the sun, and relieved of the main financial worry of finding a place to stay, my guilty feelings returned. Chris was seemingly unfazed during this entire ordeal. I, on the other hand, let my aggravation take control.
“I’m really sorry,” I said to Chris. “I’m sorry this happened — I should have been more careful. And I’m sorry I was in such a bad mood — I was just really stressed.”
“Is this really stressful?” he asked rhetorically, with a smile.
I realized at that moment, how grateful I was to have him here with me. My mind inflated this small problem into a scary monster. He helped me realize
money is a mental distraction from what is important.
I’m not going to get into a huge philosophical discussion about happiness in this story, but what science, experience, and mankind’s best stories tell us, it is not determined by money. Money is an imagined abstraction of value. Community, close relationships, and love are the real deal. Yet despite this knowledge, most of us live day-to-day as hungry consumers and disgruntled employees fixated on incoming and outgoing monetary transactions.
Obviously, everyone has needs: food, shelter, clothes, hygiene, and others. But we often get stuck in the trap thought of “if only I had $$ more, then I can pay for X, Y, Z. Then, I’ll finally be satisfied.” But often, newly-affordable luxuries quickly become mundane and unexciting (psychologically). The biochemical happiness generated by purchasing something new is ephemeral. Dopamine goes up, and then it goes down. Consumer-high over.
In contrast, when our pockets become slimmer, we can adapt. If you can adapt, you’ll discover that your happiness doesn’t significantly change. Many people don’t realize this. We are too attached to our things — too attached to really apply what we learn from cognitive science studies and love stories to our own lives. We often need a jolt, an unexpected stress, or unwanted surprise to remind us what is truly important: our loved ones.
Discovering that I had almost no money at hand turned out not to be a big deal — because I had this guy:
Love, however, isn’t enough to quell the (loud) hunger of a foodie.
After relaxing for a couple of hours, our stomachs started to grumble (especially mine). We decided to venture out and explore a market we passed on our walk to the hotel. We remembered seeing bananas and bread on display at a few stall s— maybe they were cheap.
Indeed they were. The market revealed just how cheap everything in Cambodia is. We bought a huge bunch of bananas for only $0.75, a kilo of peanuts for $1.00, and six loaves of bread for $1.50.
Asian markets are always full of bizz-buzz and vibrant colours. This one was no different — it had fruit stalls with dozens and dozens of bananas, butchers chopping rotting meat in the hot sun, and bored street food chefs, frying eggs in recycled oil.
The market revealed a snapshot of Cambodian life. Tourists passing through a different country often only see landmarks, fancy restaurants, and vacation villas. Rarely do people step out of the tourist realm and into the daily lives of other societies.
Our walk through the market was a necessary reminder of income inequality. I have the privilege of calling my financial constraint temporary. For many people on the planet, their financial constraints are worse, everyday realities. This market was by no means terrible — but one has to wonder: do the children here go to school? Is their food safe? Do they make enough money to put food on the table?
Though lower living standards in Cambodia are widespread and palpable, Cambodians have a strength I rarely see. They are so incredibly open and friendly. During every interaction we had with a Cambodian, their face expressed genuine joy. In fact, they seemed happier and more emotionally present than the rushing souls of Shanghai, or the suit-and-tie armies of Wall Street, or the fashionistas of Paris.
They were happier — with less.
Bananas and Peanut Sandwiches: our Cambodia gourmet cuisine
Chris and I returned to the hotel (our tourist realm) with bananas, peanuts, bread, and perspective, chatting about our ideals: how we want to change the world, our ideas for tackling homelessness and poverty, and the power of art as an agent of change. When we got to the room, I prepared banana and peanut sandwiches for us.
They looked a bit…dry…so I went to the hotel kitchen to ask for packets of butter and jam. They didn’t seem to think this was weird (Chris did though). The chefs kindly gave me some strawberry jam and packets of butter. With our humble ingredients and a teaspoon, I was finally able to make us a romantic Valentine’s day meal. It was surprisingly delicious!
The End
Two days of banana-peanut meals, a rickety, smelly bus trip and one $10 tuk-tuk ride later, we arrived at Phnom Penh International Airport.
We made it.
We were happy. =)
