This week’s Monkey Business is about the time in my life when I felt most alive.

It may be a cliché of travel ads, but it was a novelty for me: I once lost my traveler’s checks in Bali, which left me penniless in the third world and led to a week of… living intensely.

Monday
Climb a mountain in the morning and upon my return to the hostel, realize my money belt is gone, along with all my money, mostly traveler’s checks. I am in a very remote area, and have to call Visa, but have very little cash for the phone. Get told the only phone that allows collect calls is in a neighboring town.

Freak out.

The story spreads around the village, and some kid on a scooter ends up giving me a ride to the village with the phone. I call Visa and they say I need to fax them a police report (Police??? FAX??? here???).

Find a police office, which is basically a tent. They manage to make me understand that they want me to go to the police office in the village where I lost the belt. I somehow explain that I can’t. They grudgingly type up the police report on an old typewriter, asking me all sorts of questions in Indonesian. It takes forever. Then I ask for my copy, and they type me a whole other one. They’re pissed at me, especially since what I lost is about three years of the average Indonesian’s salary.

Find a telephone office with a fax. Spend most of my remaining money (16$) faxing. Call Visa again, they say that department opens only tomorrow. Hitch a ride back to village where my hotel is, and get fed by the kind innkeeper.

Tuesday
Return to the village with the phone. Call Visa and they say, this is the London office and you need the New York one because you have US funds. It’s 4 am in New York so I have to wait 5 hours.

Wait 5 hours in park. I shit you not. Watch many wild dogs fornicating. Call New York, they say call London because you’re in Indonesia. Argue. They say okay, but the claims department is only open tomorrow. I freak out. I have no money.

A woman passes by. She only speaks Indonesian, but feeds me a snack, gestures that I should stay put, and leaves. A boy comes by on scooter, tells me in English his mother sent him. He brings me to their home, and translates my story for his family. They give me a bowl of rice and insist that I sleep there that night. I sleep on the floor of their humble, bug-infested home, managing to feel good knowing I have found good people.

Wednesday
Call New York claims department. They take a lot of my information and say they need 24 hours to verify it, before they can wire me money. Return to the village where my hotel is. By this time I’ve called my mother and told her the whole story, and the whole extended family is freaking out, calling my parents every few hours for news. Will I get my money back? Will I be able to come home? What will become of me?

Thursday
I want to return to the village with the phone, but the innkeeper says today is a Hindu holiday, and if I go outside I’ll be hugely disrespecting their religion. Spend the whole day in my hotel room, worrying, reading, writing.

Friday
Go to the village with the phone and call Visa New York again. My story doesn’t check out! Something about having US traveler’s checks from a Canadian bank. They pass the buck to Visa London, who say they can’t help if New York doesn’t okay it. Visa London however, much more sympathetic, say they have gotten in touch with my parents to check me out, and they inform me that both they and my parents spent the last day wondering what had become of me. They called each other regularly for news!

They make me wait another 6 hours for some other department to open. Wait 6 hours with the nice family, then I get informed that I will get new checks tomorrow! The kicker is, it’s in a faraway city, and the bank closes at noon on Saturday.

Saturday
Travel to the city early in the morning, and make it to the bank with 24 minutes to spare. They have no idea what I’m talking about. They won’t issue me checks, they won’t let me call Visa. I guess it doesn’t help that by this time I look like a bum, I’ve been wearing the same clothes in 30 degree weather for days. They draw me a crappy map to the phone company. I must call Visa and sort this out in the next 20 minutes, because I have about 3$ left and the bank will soon close. I’ll be stranded in a South East Asian city without a dime or a roof.

Run out of the bank and hire a guy on a mule (yes, a mule), shoving my remaining fortune in his hand. We get stuck in traffic. I’m freaking. Finally jump off the mule and run down the street to the phone company, turn the corner… and… see that the phone company building is now a pile of rubble. Aaaaaaaaarrgh!

Notice that they’ve set up a tent with phones. Phone Visa London (with whom I’m now on a first-name basis), they give me the name of another bank, I beg them to give news to my Mom, because I now have 11 minutes left!

Run run run, make it in time, get my money, practically kiss the guy at the counter, and go order a burger.