I needed cash. I wasn’t going to be like the other tourists, constantly mollycoddled— expecting to use their American Express card to make every small purchase across Europe. I ran out of the café in Sarajevo and found an ATM. I explained the situation to my traveling friend, Elaine and excused myself. I left her seated drinking a cold pint and eating a zeljanika, a flaky pastry filled with cottage cheese and spinach. Elaine had biked all the way to Bosnia from County Clare in Ireland, covering up to one hundred miles a day. She took ferries to traverse the Celtic Sea, the English Channel, the Mediterranean and the Adriatic Seas and then hopped on her bike again. If anything, she had earned the right to a few cold pints and a greasy appetizer.
I sprinted through the quaint, romantic old village streets of Sarajevo until I found an ATM. Of course it was in the local language, Serbo-Croatian. I searched for a translation. 
The only English option was hidden behind a British flag. It stared back at me with the weight of 800 years of colonial rule. No! Selecting the hated Union Jack was not an option for a proud Irish-Scottish-American. I made my way in Serbo-Croatian. I mistakenly took out 2,000 km’s (convertible marks) confusing the currency with that of Croatia and Hungary. I had taken out half my life savings in Bosnian marks but my national pride was still intact!
nice one – although your conditionings remain! best alan >
Next time going to Europe you have to take your money with you, because not ever companion is going to want to wait for u to come back from the ATM. How your refusal right for not wanting to use the translation that has to Confederate Flag. It terrible refusal profiling. i applaud your dissection, to back your saving has to suffer.