Brits going on holiday urged to make Google search as soon as they land
If you're jetting off on holiday this year, the chances are you'll want everything to go without a hitch. Foreign trips can be costly, with hotels, flights, and baggage all bumping up the price - so it's crucial to cut costs wherever possible.
Travel experts say carrying out one quick task the moment you touch down could save you a lot of hassle. It takes just minutes and involves conducting a rapid Google search on your phone.
According to luxury transfer firm SCS Chauffeurs, there's a straightforward trick to dodge being ripped off by searching for 'Bank ATM' on Google Maps once you arrive - and steering clear of standalone machines in airports, reports the Express.
For Brits, taking cash from overseas ATMs could be costing hundreds during a fortnight's getaway.
Private cash machines can slap on charges of up to €10 for withdrawals, so taking money out twice daily for 14 days could set you back nearly €200 - and that's before percentage conversion rate fees.
Hadleigh Diamond, Commercial Director at SCS Chauffeurs, said: "We see it all the time. People land, head straight to the first ATM they see, and get charged eye-watering fees without realising it.
"Searching 'Bank ATM' on Google Maps takes seconds - and it could save you £20 on your very first withdrawal."
Why are bank ATMs cheaper?
Cash dispensers in airport and city-centre locations are more likely to be run by third-party operators, not actual banks, resulting in steeper charges and poorer rates.
Lots of machines provide "conversion to GBP" - known as Dynamic Currency Conversion - which frequently employs unfavourable exchange rates and incorporates concealed charges.
This straightforward search will usually find machines within or next to established banks such as Santander, ING, or HSBC.
These generally use more reasonable interbank rates, reduced charges, and don't automatically convert your currency, whilst also frequently featuring CCTV and secure cash machines away from curious onlookers.
Hadleigh continued: "Travellers often overprepare for airport delays, baggage issues and flight changes but forget about something as simple as where they withdraw their money. This is an easy win - and one of the first things we recommend before a trip."
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New Statesman
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- New Statesman
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The platform was empty. It was a serene scene: the rain had stopped and the air smelled green, the trees showering droplets each time the wind blew. My mother and I carefully stepped around the puddles as we read the plaques on the very edge of the platform. 18.10.1941 / 1251 Juden / Berlin – Lodz. 29.11.1942 / 1000 Juden / Berlin – Auschwitz. 2.2.1945 / 88 Juden / Berlin – Theresienstadt. The Gleis 17 (Platform 17) memorial at Grunewald station on the western outskirts of Berlin commemorates the 50,000 Jews who were deported from the city to concentration camps by the Nazis. There are 186 steel plaques in total, in chronological order, each detailing the number of deportees and where they went. Vegetation has been left to grow around the platform and over the train tracks, 'a symbol that no train will ever leave the station at this track again', according to the official Berlin tourist website. Were we tourists? I wasn't sure. 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My mother, sister and I started this process in 2017 without really thinking about it. The UK had voted to leave the EU, and Brits with relatives from all over were looking for ways to retain an EU passport. The Global Citizenship Observatory estimates that 90,000 Brits have acquired a second passport from an EU country since 2016, not counting those eligible for Irish citizenship. Article 116(2) of the German Constitution states: 'Persons who surrendered, lost or were denied German citizenship between 30 January 1933 and 8 May 1945 due to persecution on political, racial or religious grounds are entitled to naturalisation.' The same applies to their descendants. Mirjam died in 1990, before I was born, and Opa in 2003 – both British and only British citizens. But we had his voided German passport, his birth certificate, the notice of statelessness he'd received when he came to England in 1936. It took two years, but on 3 June 2019, the three of us attended the embassy in Belgravia and were solemnly dubbed citizens of Germany. We received our passports a few weeks later. Subscribe to The New Statesman today from only £8.99 per month Subscribe My mother wanted to celebrate with a trip to Berlin – the city where her parents grew up, and which my sister and I had never visited. Five years later than planned, thanks to Covid travel bans, we made it, honouring Opa by sweeping through immigration on the passports he had posthumously gifted us. I was prepared for the attempts at schoolgirl German, the arguments over bus timetables, itineraries and whether or not it was acceptable to fare-dodge on the U-Bahn. What I wasn't prepared for was being struck down by tears on a suburban street, faced with the reality of how exactly I had come to be there and what my presence meant. Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe, Berlin. 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