nikki gets around

the [mis]adventures of a torontonian girl conquering the world follow ILLWRITE ALREADY for stories about voyages into the literary world

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The coolest kid in pisco

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SAD

Even though it's not snowing or unreasonably cold (relatively speaking--I did grow up in Canada), it is noticeably winter here in Peru and that bums me out a bit. I remember being in Brazil at the end of my trip in December basking in the sun by the beach and thinking --I forget what unhappiness is!

Now, thanks to my momentary ignorance of opposite seasons in the Southern Hemisphere, I remember.

Not that I regret being here. I just regret that winter exists at all.

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Peruvian cuisine gets me

In a moment of weakness today, I forewent the opportunity for cultural gastronomic exploration and landed myself at a McDonald's for lunch. As per usual, I was feeling pretty cheap. More local, independent cuisine was stretching my budget. And I was pretty vulnerable, a little lonely feeling and wanting to be connected to people at home. McD's had the most reliable wi-fi with arguably the best view of Kennedy Park. It was hard to say no. I was almost going to hit it up again, for the first time in forever having a Mickey D's double header. But luckily I had the foresight to scout the seating options to see if electricity would be available to me at all. It was not. I had a brief moment of food anxiety. Where was I going to eat now? Am I even hungry? Should I just try another fast food place? I paced up and down the block, eyeing this sandwich joint called La Lucha, where I finally settled. Although it took me a couple of walk-bys to make the decision, as I'm not typically a sandwich kinda gal, it was the strong wi-fi signal, the top qual fries, and the pretty impressive sauce bar that won me over. Sauce bars, I've noticed, are pretty standard fair here, and I really really appreciate it. Of course there is the classic ketchup. And mustard and relish (if you're at a burger bar). To my delight, it's also common to have an assortment of aiolis here and plain mayo, which most friends know is my achilles. Plus, not only is it saucy, it's creamy and spicy. That's my dream. I often make many dining choices based on the variety and abundance of the condiments I can consume in tandem with my meal, and I only wish I had several more days and stomachs and a lightning speed metabolism to try it all.

I used to answer that Thai, Japanese, and seafood of all ethnic preparations were my top 3 cuisines. But, saying seafood is just like saying - I like meat; not quite congruent with this list. So, in its place, I will have to add Peruvian.  Besides, there's a lot of seafood dishes within the culture, While I think all Thai offerings are good, and the dining experience of Japanese is so fun, eating Peruvian is all of my favourite things! Texture, variety, flavour, experience... Just ate, but I'm already salivating for more; I think it just may have shot up to the top seed. If only there were as many Peruvian restos as there were Mexican back home.

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Cena con Jose

...And that's about as much Spanish I'm going to butcher right now.

I have had several opportunities to practice, but I kind of like this lingual compromise by each party being able to understand the other language while speaking their own. I'm me, you're you, and we still understand each other.

I was spoiled at dinner, though, meeting Jose who was considerably more fluent in English than I was in Spanish, so our conversation was predominantly Anglicized. I can read fairly well and understand if someone habla mas lentamente, pero I am very self conscious of my accent, which makes me default to ignorant English-speaking foreigner more often than not.

This is why when I had went for dinner at Bembos (a burger joint. Whatever about cultural experiences -- I had already had ceviche, yuca and a Pisco sour earlier), and the person in front of me asked me what I was going to order, first in Spanish and then in English when I explained "I don't understand", me and Jose became friends. Apparently it's customary to ask the person behind you what they are ordering, although I wasn't sure if that meant he was going to treat me... I did get him to order for me, my own personal translator for a few minutes, and then he invited me to eat with him.

I was perfectly content to have dinner for 1, but the company was welcome. It's not often I make a new friend while in a lineup for fast food, but why not jump at the opportunity when it happens?

He had had plenty of experience with visitors, having participated in a Rotary program, which made it fairly easy to relate on topics of travel. Brief philosophical discussions about life goals and religion were unexpected yet welcomed all the same. I got to see different angles of Kennedy Park and Pizza Street (a disco district) while waiting for his friend to tardily meet him at the Starbucks. Most Peruvianly, though, was learning that potatoes were a popular staple in the country, when Jose told me he was "More Peruvian than Peruvian potatoes" to explain that he is pretty damn Peruvian, as Peruvian potatoes are very very Peruvian.

This fun fact came about at a miscommunication when I asked him where his friend was, and he said he was from Peru as well. That they both were more Peruvian than Peruvian potatoes.

Another testament that awesome lessons can be learned from misunderstandings if we put in the time to see where the other person is coming from. (Peru, in this case.)

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Personal entertainment console and in-cabin fog machine on short budget flights-- Avianca knows what's up

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4 meals, 3 airports, 2 layovers, 1 destination

All I've done today is eat and drink and fly. I don't know if I'll fit into my clothes by the time I get to Peru. I should have brought some elastic waist pants. Tough life.

My first flight, way early, the in-flight movie was Source Code. As hot as Jake is, I still couldn't stay awake, running only on 2 hours of sleep. Plus, I hate the title. Like Inception, sleeping within 10 minutes of the movie's start for the good part of an hour makes it reasonably difficult to understand what the fuck is going on. I woke up just in time to see the flight attendants roll by with breakfast, so I managed to squeeze in an order of scrambled eggs and tater tots. I stand by that decision over the waffle with fruit preserves. I do regret not taking advantage of the plane's open bar, but from lessons learned travelling home from New Orleans drunk - I don't do well inebriated in the air.

The first layover was in San Salvador, El Salvador. FYI, that is in Central America, not South America. I learned that today. So far, I am already looking over to the layover on the way back because SAL>BOG. My itinerary said that food and beverages would be available for sale. Although it was an international flight, I thought that was reasonable since it was only an hour and a half long. So I ordered some cream of mushroom soup and a watermelon juice during my hour long layover and consumed on the plane... only to find out a half hour later they were serving chicken and rice, or pasta. So I had a second dinner of pasta, and I was pretty satisfied. I was also rather impressed that walking into the cabin, they had a fog machine going on and personal entertainment consoles. I was so stoked for the opportunity to redeem my poor life decision of watching Red Riding Hood on my way home from Toronto, when I chose Blue Valentine. A far superior movie, albeit, somewhat awkward to watch the various sex scenes beside an adolescent watching cartoons. Plus, crying in planes is never cool. I'm not the most emotional person in my own life, but Canadian actors named Ryan know how to tug at my heartstrings mid-air (it happened previously during Definitely, Maybe).

Now, here I am in Bogota, Colombia. I ordered a lemonade to buy myself some time while I loitered in the dining area to try to connect to the internet (only works on my iPhone and not Macbook for whatever reason), and write. When I first got here, there were some soccer--er, football hooligans with vuvuzelas and instruments jamming. I thought they would be my dinner entertainment, but they left shortly after. I do not know if this lemonade was worth it. I am somehow still hungry, and will leave shortly to find some fries/fried yucca and internet. My next flight says the same thing - food/bev available for purchase though it is an international flight. I hope they surprise-dinner me! I am not disappointed with TACA/Avianca's dining options thus far. Only with BOG airport, in, as they have this place in such tight lockdown that I cannot escape to find me some fried starches.

How adventurous, I know. But this part of the getaway is not yet for adventure. It's about catching up on sleep before I lose more of it while getting into the Burning Man version of volunteer travel. 

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What happens in Vegas is all a blur.

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Lessons learned from Vegas

Long story short: I realized I am not cut out for Las Vegas. It exemplifies the type of travel I work so hard to avoid during getaways (tourist traps and outrageous markups), and life in general (excess).

Long story longer: at a personal level, I hate spending money on things I don't need, doing things I don't like to do. As a person who wishes money didn't exist, I hate when consumption is celebrated at such a decadent level. It hurts me to be wasteful, when these resources could be dispersed more evenly throughout the world.

Furthermore, regarding travel, I love experiencing local culture, but there is none of that in Vegas; at least, nothing that doesn't make me want to cry at the thought of hanging with a blackjack dealer on a day off. So, it's all about surrounding myself with large tourists (they sell a buffet of buffet passes as one of their attractions, unsurprisingly), and spending money on things I would never even want to pay to do at home.

What's worse is that I was with a couple completely and utterly in love, while I had recently been dumped. Third-wheeling sucks as it is, but like everything in Vegas, this level of suckage was amplified infinitely. Perhaps it is a little more appealing if you're having a girls weekend and want to be unaccountable for anything you do. But that's how I live real life, so there is no extra draw for me. Especially as the clubs are ubertrashy with stripper poles and promoted as a way to herd in slutty girls  to attract dudes that'll prove how baller he is by buying a shittonne of drinks. Needless to say, nobody is my type. Makes rebounding quite frustrating when you have to ask guys -- you're not like this at home, right? Not like it matters, because the shelf-life of any Vegas encounter is negative units of time. But when you're fully aware that the dude that's dancing with you is a total douche, it's hard to feel unaccountable.

So, to make it even remotely bearable, I spent my time shitcanned out of my mind. Or in bed, hurting from being so shitcanned the night before. 

While it was great seeing Mel and catching up, I could not get out of Vegas fast enough. Unfortunately, with my thrifty inclinations, I picked the 5 hour bus ride through some of the more depressing parts of 'Merica instead of springing double for airfare at a fraction of time. I know I am not rich, but this bus ride reminded me that I am not poor and that I should shell out a little extra so I can free up a seat for someone more in need.

As my denial faded throughout my trip about my loathing of Las Vegas, my rage grew. But at least it's not all in vain, as I have these life lessons to take away: - Don't travel there as a third wheel when you've just been dumped - Pay a little extra to fly home instead of taking the budget bus - Don't go to Vegas

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Well, my post-dumping loss of appetite didn't last long when we hit up the buffet at the Cosmopolitan. At $37, this was the most I could do to get my money's worth. Oh, and drink chug copious amounts of house wine conspicuously.

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Support My Volunteer Build in Peru!

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Southern hospitality

Now that the Canadians have returned northbound, and I had an extra day here, I have a more accurate idea of local living. Although Emmett gave me full access to his pad, Slav's invitation was much more appealing as it was roommie-free (unless you count his dog and two cats). So, barely knowing me, 2 New Orleanians have given me their house keys. I guess I look trustworthy, or something? And I guess it helps that I actually am trustworthy too. I got free roam while Slav was at work with the caveat that I walked Cleveland. Now, whenever I play Never Have I Ever, I can't say that I've never walked a dog before. Outside of that experience, it was literally quite sobering to have my last night be on a Monday. One of the biggest draws to NOLA was it's lack of last call and abundance of public drinking. However, stepping away from the Quarter, I've observed locals don't take advantage of it around the clock. Which, I guess is a good thing if that is your real life, but pretty shitty if you want to celebrate your last day of vacation. I wanted just one last night to go to The Saint so I could take a photo of this giant pixellated poster of a naked lady spread-eagle. I was somewhat responsible for it, as I had pilfered the picture that was previously in its place (a holographic Virgin Mary). But everybody was being responsible, which is one of my least favourite traits in friends, so I had a night in. One consolation was a homemade breakfast chock full of bacon, and some pleasant company. While I do not think this is a city I could live for longer than a month or two without feeling like it's closing in on me, I'm comforted to know that I can shack up here if I need a brief getaway.

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Decked out

As much as I don't love paying for hotels, I love when they're made available to me. Especially when they have outdoor pools. And especially when my Jazz-festing Liz decided to forego the fest to indulge in my company on said outdoor hotel pool. 

Like most getaways (and days, I guess), I rarely have an idea of what I'm doing until I'm actually doing it. I woke up this morning rather hungover and hung out at Slav's to delight in the A/C and cable TV. I don't care if this doesn't make sense to do while traveling -- this is an ideal holiday to me.

I'm sure the guys would have let me tag along to their Saturday shenanigans, but I'm glad I got the call from Liz instead to spend till sunset hanging poolside with Jen, and then to follow up with post-pool/pre-dinner wind-down in their dark, airconditioned, cable TV'ed room before venturing out with the other Canadians. Yes, hours getting sunsoaked, followed by cave-dwelling is the dream. 

It's strange how perhaps 5 hours passed by so fast under the sun, only having been girl-talking, sporadically splashing about, fending off advances from douchey bachelor parties (NOLA drinking game - 1 sip every time you see a bachelor party, everybody), and dozing off in the lounge chairs. 

Kaely and Brett joined us in their sunburnt dinner attire and we headed out to Frenchman to get a more local experience than stoop-hanging and pool-lounging. We ended up at the Marigny Brasserie, where Slav and Emmett worked at one point in time, and caught some lovely dinner theatre as buskers jammed at the corner. 

Then Liz and I had a deja vu moment of stupidity when we took the longest detour around the Marigny to meet up with the guys at R Bar (which was just down the street from dinner) for an even more local experience. I realized, however, that some people don't care for this experience. They DO want to go to more 'cultured' areas where other tourists may coincidentally be searching for the same experience - in NOLA's case, this meant jazz bars instead of neighbourhood dives. So we parted ways so they could gear up for last day of Jazz Fest, and I could continue taking advantage of public drinking and no last call. 

The last time I felt this level of stoked was when Josh took me to Abdi's birthday party. If it weren't so small, I'd love to move here.

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Stooping to new levels

Okay, my standard travel philosophy has been to charter new territory before backtracking. After all there is only so much of the world to see, and so little time. But I guess when it comes to domestic flights, I am a repeat offender when convenient. Obviously, with Montreal and Los Angeles (before I moved there) this was in play. Now, added to this repertoire is NOLA, especially since it's like a little honeymoon place between me and Liz. Although this time, it's not just the two of us; it's a friend from Toronto and a couple from Calgary hitting Jazz fest with Liz, while I hangout with my New Year's friends Slav and Hassan. I kinda decided this trip on a whim-- Liz had this planned with her buds for a while, but I remained on the fence considering flights to MSY were cheaper from Toronto than from SoCal. As a matter of principle, I am pretty stubborn about booking fares when cross-border travel is cheaper than domestic. But when I came back from Southby and saw that tix had gotten down to $300, and realized that gas was roughly $300 each to drive to Austin for SXSW, it was a no-brainer.  Southby also reminded me I don't do well with crowds. So while they're jazzing in the scorching humidity, I'm pretty stoked to just chill with Hassan and crew. I had full access to his bud Emmett's house upon arrival, and got to nap in airconditioning. Talk about southern hospitality. Now, they've got a crew around, BBQing deer and drinkin on the stoop before hitting the bars. Kinda sounds familiar (at least the latter parts). When it comes to domestic travel, this is exactly up my alley. Forget tourist traps and festivals. I'm gonna hang out on the chillest stoops of America.

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Free Fun @ Fader Fort Forever!

My home away from my home away from home.

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SOS Austin- please provide a floor for christina @brick_mortarLA and me to sleep on #strandedinsxsw

I am notorious for making travel plans without having actual plans. The thought process tends to be - is there something cool going down? Am I free? Can I probably find a free place to stay? Cool, let's do it.

When I agreed to come to Austin with CP, she had painted a picture that we'd be staying at her bro's place the whole time, with free reign over the crib. Meeting the bro's roomie proved this luxury untrue. While it was her spring break too, she was consumed with writing a paper for Law School. With her stress levels, we had assumed it was due shortly after the break, but after asking her, discovered it was due way later in the term. Plus, she expected us to be out by Thursday. This level of high-strung, anal retentiveness was surely not conducive energy to my lackadaisical South-by spring break.

This became a sore point between me and CP. I didn't wanna stay in a place where we were clearly unwanted -- I much rather would have preferred sleeping in her car. BUT for some reason (never defended), she vehemently denied me that luxury, so we had very little choice but to scramble.

And while this was a really tense moment in the trip, it warmed my soul to see how many people were out there and willing to extend some assistance to 2 chicks in a bind. Over a couple of hours, we contacted several friends of friends of friends who may have people whose floors we could sleep on in Austin. CP's friend Drew who was in town for the film portion from Miami, was going to help us out until his bro got sunstroke and couldn't host company. I tried roomie's friend Ramon, but to no avail. JBP in NYC connected me to a friend in LA who had a friend in Austin who agreed to help us out. But, we inevitably found ourselves at an ex-roomie's of CP's friend's ex-bf's house.

How many degrees of separation?

To boot, neither the resident nor CP's friend's ex-bf was there, but rather a band also from LA were hanging out for the week, along with their Canadian documentarian (who had been living in LA too).

Shooting the shit over drinks and a jam session into the early hours of the morning beats walking on eggshells for the sake of a Law paper any day. But I don't doubt that that would be true of any of our other options. Anybody willing to take a couple of strays last minute during SXSW are heroes in my book.

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Sixth Street, Austin: Where my worlds collide

Like so many of my travel experiences, the end of the day would have ended so radically different if it didn't begin the way it did.

It started off simple enough. Check out the MTV Garage to get copious amounts of food and booze and then move onto the next. There were several things going on, but MTV promised BBQ and fried delights as well as beer AND liquor. Sold.

But when we got to the garage, the line was around the corner and barely budging. It was one of those situations that the longer you spent in line, the harder it felt to bail. So we hung in there while others did not. 

One of those others was this fellow Julian. I know this because I caught up with him at the Fader Fort while I was looking for Christina, whom I had lost at the end of the Matt & Kim set and couldn't reach because she had misplaced her phone. I told him it was a 3 hour waste of my life as all the BBQ was gone, we were only allotted 4 Coronas, and the fried food (snickers, brownie and funnel cake) that we gorged on really weighed me down. To redeem the evening, we exchanged info so he could give me the deets to this dance party later on, then parted ways so I could resume looking for Christina and then take a nap at the Fader Fort lounge upon failure.

All the while, I was getting a little stressed about our accommodation sitch, as Christina's bro's roomie was ostensibly getting weary of our presence and I was getting uncomfy with her unweariness. My roomie had put me in touch with an old bud from LA that had just moved to Austin, but even though we hung out the day before, Ramon was MIA.

Post-nap, I wandered aimlessly along 6th, spotting friends of friends from Toronto whom I told about my sleeping predicament, and exchanged numbers with them in case I got desperate. And I also saw my friend Mel that I met while biking up Figueroa to Echo Park ages ago, and we randomly ended up at the same gallery!

Reunions in different cities always remind me of how small the world is :)

So Mel, her boyfriend Tony and I had a search party going on for Christina, despite getting a text from Julian saying that it was Christina and we needed to meet up... For whatever reason, I got a strange vibe from Julian and wasn't ready to ditch the reunion for this specious claim. 

Surprisingly, yelling "Christina" at brunette chicks wearing red tops wasn't effective. But when I finally got an insider info text from Julian's phone, I finally believed Christina was with him and 8 hours after we were separated, I found them.

How would I have found Christina if Julian hadn't been in line and I hadn't told him I was looking for her? How bored would I have felt if I didn't have Mel and Tony to keep me company? How nice was it to see some Toronto in Austin (rhetorical question - it was comforting!)? Who knows? It worked out the way it did, and we made it home safely, albeit, to her bros house for hopefully what will be the last night before we can find somewhere more welcoming.