speeding over the travel bumps

Travel is filled with some of life's best moments.

But there are also traps along that yellow rick road. One of the worst is the dreaded cancelled credit card.

Losing a credit card is bad enough no matter where you are. But having a credit card publicly refused adds that additional element of embarrassment -- as if you were re-living a scene from Best of Show.

At some point after our stop in Brisbane, I tried to download my bank account information to Quicken. Everything worked fine except for one credit card. I did not think much of it. Quicken can be quirky. But each day it refused to download.

A week later, I decided on my way back to Mexico, I would take a side trip to Oregon. Primarily to see my family, but also to buy that computer that slipped my grasp in Los Angeles three weeks ago.

I picked my flight and my seat. The only thing I had to do was pay for the privilege of joining a group of strangers hurtling through the air at speeds filled with the possibility of death.

When I hit "Purchase," I was informed I had made an error. That was not a surprise. I never seem to click every box that needs attention -- whether on reservation or tax forms. So, I tried again. Kicked back again.

Then, I noticed the message at the top of the page. My bank was declining my card. Alaska not-so-helpfully advised me to contact my bank. Easier said than done in the middle of the Indian Ocean. I tried calling on MagicJack, but the call kept breaking up.

When we checked into the Marina Bay Sands in Singapore, I handed over my credit card. Let me tell you a little about that process.

Because we were staying in one of the hotel's exclusive suites, the four of us were ushered away from a giant line that snaked through the lobby up to the reception desk. The lounge was a sanctuary with four attractive young people assisting guests to sign in. Neiman Marcus must have something similar for its high-roller customers.

When Andria ran my card, she looked quizzically at the machine and slightly scrunched her nose as if someone had just opened a bottle of 1949 Chateau Margaux that had corked. She ran it again. Same look.

She handed the card back to me apologetically informing me that something was wrong with the card. I told her I would call my bank.

After about a half hour on the telephone, I discovered the problem. My card information had been compromised at what the bank nebulously labelled a "point of purchase." The security agent would not be any more specific.

My card could have been cloned. The merchant's card base could have been hacked. Someone might have intercepted my card information on-line. She was not talking.

At least, I knew the reason my card did not work. My bank had cancelled it without informing me. The agent told me not to worry. My new card should have arrived at my house already. She was a bit concerned I did not have it.

She must have missed the part of my story that I was in Singapore. She did offer to ship a new card to to me at the Marina Bay Sands. But it would take two weeks. I told her not to bother.

It turns out the card had arrived at the house in Reno. Roy's sister picked it up and will mail it to Bend. If all goes well, card and Steve should be united on Tuesday.

I always travel with two credit cards and a debit card for possibilities like this. I used the debt card for the hotel. And I was able to activate the new credit card from my computer and use it to purchase my flight to Bend.

As disconcerting as it was to have my card cancelled without notification, the story turned out quite happily. If all goes well, I should be back in Mexico with a new computer and telephone some time next week.

Oh, and that photograph. Remember our toilet discussion from the Brisbane stop? The photograph is of an Asian toilet in the Singapore airport. (The French have nothing to do with it.) You can see the connection with the sign in that essay.

The tourist road is filled with unending diversions.