(old) The joy of shopping.

Despite yesterday’s hassle it really was nice to be in Argentina, starting with breakfast. The Inti huasi hostel offered a nice spread of things we hadn’t seen in a while. Coffee, toast, dulce de leche, or course but more exciting, were the corn flakes. I’d never thought I’d get excited by breakfast cereal but that’s what backpacking does – you get excited by simple little things. And we’d just about forgotten about yesterday’s little border scam. We helped clean the slate by moving into the no-free nice room with private bath (including bath tub) and handing in our laundry. More excitement. Then it was time to actually explore Salta. Last night some of the other guests had been talking about the cheap empañadas sold at a little place on the main square and the promise of cheap and tasty food was a good reason to head to the square for lunch. The hostel was in a residential area but not to far from the centre of town. It was a good thing it was in a quiet area and it was Sunday because we needed to get used to civilization again. Sure we’d had a brief peak at it when we were in Chile but for some reason here in Salta it was immediate and stronger. There were stoplights! And street signs! There were huge grocery stores and trash bins on the corner. But it was also so green, lush and warm after our time in the desert. After freezing in Bolivia it was nice to be wearing shorts again, even if the strange clothes added to the disorientation.

But despite all this civilization, Salta was spookily quiet. It was Sunday and Mother’s Day in Argentina, meaning, everyone was at home or in church rather than out in the streets. It was a good thing because I’m sure I looked like an idiot gawking at all the beautiful buildings and shop windows. I’ll admit I was suffering from a bit of culture shock. Unlike the culture shock I experienced in Costa Rica, this was a good culture shock because the culture was Latin American not North American. And Salta was definitively Latin American. It was one of Argentina’s oldest cities and it was lovely. The square was old and leafy and surrounded by a pink cathedral, colonial archways and beautiful old hotels. But our destination was the empañada café. We found it and ordered a plate full and a couple of sodas. They weren’t super cheap but they were super tasty and the view from the sidewalk table let us take in the locals on a lazy Sunday.

We paid our bill and continued are informal walking tour. The main square was surrounded by pedestrian malls that were empty, all the shops being closed. There were beautiful buildings everywhere and evidence of ongoing restoration. A police station looked like a Moorish castle. The legislature looked like a palace. And family homes looked like Parisian townhomes. And the quiet streets we were able to appreciate them all without distraction.

However, one of the main attractions of Salta was the shopping mall. Adrian had walked there last night to fetch his McDonald’s. And now it was my turn to visit. After 7 months on the road, I was down to one pair of pants and a pair of shorts and my shoelaces had snapped rendering my trainers almost unwearable. The mall was the first modern thing we’d seen in Salta and it was tastefully tucked between the hillside suburbs and the old town centre but still in walking distance and despite it being Sunday it was open. Unfortunately, the shopping was not the best. The stores were all way out of their price range and even if we had been able to afford them, the designer duds did not come in my size. Le sigh. Just as we were about to leave disheartened, we came across a small outdoor gear store. They didn’t have much but I saw that they carried my Solomon sneakers with the annoying laces. I asked if perchance they had replacement laces in stock and they did – for less than I’d seen them sold for in Canada. Hallelujah! I bought two pairs just in case. I know it sounds like a petty thing, but honestly finding replacement laces for these super high-tech shoes was something I didn’t expect to happen and I was glad I ignored Adrian every time he told me just to buy a new pair of shoes.

We’d walked around town, had lunch, been through the mall and still had half the afternoon left. So we decided to take in the city’s major tourist sight, the funicular, called the teleferico in these parts. We walked to the park and found the boarding station that would take us up San Bernardo hill for a view of the city and surrounding countryside. The station looked like something from the 1920s and I was wondering about the safety of heading up inside a rickety old car. But a plaque inside the building revealed that the funicular was only 20 years old. It blended in perfectly with the old city but was shiny and new. And I’m glad because the funicular went high up and was high off the ground (photo above) and I didn’t want our journey to end in a crash to the bottom of the mountain before we'd had a chance to appreciate it. We decided not to walk down the mountain and purchased return tickets (Salta was small and walkable but we’d walked it all and our feet were tired.) and then hopped into our very own car.

The speakers pumped in classical music and in both Spanish and English welcomed visitors to the funicular and to Salta. I’m glad there was something to distract us because we were really far off the ground and every time the car traveled over a junction, it shook and swayed precariously. But the views were spectacular. Not sure they were worth the price of admission but close. And once we were at the top and on solid ground again we had time to take everything in. An annotated photo marked points of interest to look for, and I have to admit that I got most excited finding the large prison. But after looking around, there wasn’t much to do up at the top of the mountain. So we headed back down.

We walked through the park and to the grocery store where we loaded up on supplies for dinner as well as our first bottles of Argentinean wine. The good stuff was only $3 (the cheap plonk was $2) so we bought 3 for the next few nights. Perhaps not the smartest move because that night as we sat talking to Silvie and Tasha, the two English girls also staying at the hostel, we finished them off. So much for rationing. But I figure my success at the shopping was a good reason to celebrate.

Making a list checking it twice

a peek into my obsessive compulsive planning mind 

No this isn't a post full of the Christmas spirit. Rather this post is a list of lists. No, wait! Come back! Actually, I'd like to run too. 

We've entered the home stretch. Less than 3 months to go and so much to do, hence the lists. Lots of lists. 

But you've already seen the first one. The "Where are we going?" list. And that only took a year to compile. And it's only rev.7. 

The second list is medical. There's the list of doctors to visit. Travel Doc. Family Doc. Eye Doc. Dentist. 

Then there's the list of shots to get. And their prices. Oy-vey.

Yellow Fever - $75 - already have 

Typhoid - $30 - right before we leave

Hepetitis A - $120 - already have

Hepetitis B - $90 - first shot done, second shot due now, and the last shot we'll have to get on the road (the Doctor reco'ed Costa Rica as a good country to seek medical attention in)

Menengitis - $130 - right before we leave 

Flu Shot - FREE 

Japanese encephalitis - $270 - yikes, but not until we're getting ready to head to Asia. 

Between this and all the blood I've had taken, no wonder I'm feeling like a pin cushion, a very poor pin cushion. 

And let's not forget Malaria. Oh Malaria, we've never met and I already hate you. For the first year we'll be travelling in and out of at risk areas for the first 6 months and then solidly at risk for the next 6. That's a whole lot of medication to carry around - and let me tell you, it's not cheap. Malarone, the one with the least side effects and the most effective, is also the most expensive. That's about $20 a day for 365 days which means for the first time in 30 years I've written to Santa.

Dear Santa, 

I have been moderately good this year. For Christmas,  Adrian and I would like a year supply of Malarone. And if you can't afford the whole $6000 we'll take half of that. 

Thank you,

Liz.

P.S. I'll leave beer and peanuts out for you. 

Rather that visions of sugar plums dancing through our heads, it was dreams of a sugar daddy to pay the way. Good news. There is a cheaper drug option. Bad news. It's been known to cause severe depression, violence and hallucinations in a very small amount of people who take it. So let's hope my insurance covers the other one. If not, I'll give you the heads up before we start taking the cheaper option so you can take the appropriate cover. 

And if I wasn't feeling poor already, there's the third list. Packing. 

Yes, I have discovered despite an apartment full of crap, we still need (or want) so much stuff for our trip. It's a reminder of how much our lifestyle is going to change once we're on the road. 

There's the techie stuff:

laptop - $600 on craigslist - so I can update this silly little blog 

camera gear - $2000 and counting - so I can take purdy pictures

hard drive - $250 - so I can store all those purdy pictures

iPod - FREE with airmiles - for music and movies on long bus rides to nowhere

PSP - FREE with christmas present - so Adrian can be amused on long bus rides to nowhere

There's the clothing: 

I'll spare you the list this time (although if you really are interested, I've added links to my lists over there on the right under Odds and Ends). Even unfashion plates like us are struggling to come up with a year's wardrobe that fits in a small back pack. The key appears to be multipurpose clothes, i.e. pants that turn into shorts, sweaters that turn into vests, bras that turn into emergency flotation device. okay, I made that last one up but you get the idea. 

To the manufacturers of these travel clothes, I have a couple of complaints. Must everything be made of fleece? And have you not received the colours of '09 from Pantone? Or any of the last 10 years.  I don't recall hunter green, plaid, or tropical prints appearing in any of the swatches. I wish Fluevog made some footwear appropriate for jungle treks. 

And finally there's the travel gear, the things I've never had a use for in the last 35 years but have been assured by every resource that we'll need on the road: 

multitool - 100 tools in one, for only $75 

headlamps - for midnight trips to the loo, outhouse, hole in the ground

silk sleep sheets - for avoiding bedbugs and bugs in general, 2 for $50

portable clothesline - $10

travel towels - remarkably like a sham-wow (without the creepy sales guy) 2 for $50

compass - hoping to find a dollar store keychain one with a thermometer

universal drain plug - ?

and... 

What am I doing here? What are you doing here? It's Christmas and there's turkey leftovers to pick at, sentimental movies to cry over, alcohol to drink, cakes to snack on, family to fight with and presents to return. 

See you in 2009 with (hopefully) less lists and more fun. I better put that promise down on my to do list before I forget.

Edit: Good news Malarone is covered by my insurance. New eyeglasses and contacts however are not. Oh well, you win some and you lose some. 

Serendipity and Umbrellas in London

It's been over two month since I was in UK so it's about time I filled you in on the details. So here goes.

When Adrian and I had decided to go on The Big Trip™ back in 2007 we also decided that we'd have to save some cash. That meant no Biggish Trips™ like we'd done in years past. It also meant that at the end of 2007 I had two weeks worth of vacation to take. Now we're not the sort to take time off and stay at home. But where to go that required the least amount of spending? Cuba. Prefect price and great time. 

But that left me with 5 days to use up before the end of March and no cash. I cashed in some air miles for $500 in travel vouchers. Then cashed those in for a ticket to London at the end of March. The plan was to stay with friends, just hang out and relax. Of course, about a month after I booked the el cheapo tickets I found out I'd be going to Vancouver immediately after London for work. So my short trip was suddenly became a Biggish Trip™.

The biggest challenge was what and how to pack. I'd essentially be away for 3 weeks and have no access to reasonably priced laundry. And I'd be going away at an iffy time of year - there was still a foot of snow on the ground in Toronto; probability of rain in both London and Vancouver was at least 100%; it could also be freakishly warm - thank you global warming. That means a lot of clothes. Oh and I had to carry a load of Canadian delicasies - kraft dinner, red licorice, sugar-free bubble gum and Tylenol - for my friends. 

The night before I left I spent three hours trying to cram things in a backpack, then in a supersize suitcase, before settling on a dufflebag with wheels. I dragged the bag to work, on the TTC, at rush hour. That made me popular; the number of stink eyes I received was a new world record I'm sure. But I didn't take much notice - I was more concerned with whether or not the pressure of so much stuff was going to cause the zipper to pop on the bag showering the bus, subway and streetcar with my dainties. 

Oh and I was also carrying my favourite full size pink camouflage umbrella.

As much as I loved this umbrella the moment I decided to bring it with me, I knew was the beginning of the end of our relationship. Between the 8 time zones I'd be travelling, the different modes of transport I be taking, and my horrible memory, I resigned myself to the fact that this beloved umbrella was never going to see Toronto again. 

The umbrella survived the el cheapo flight on Air Transat and my journey from Gatwick to Barnes via train and taxi. My duffle bag? Not so much. The over full bag dragged on the ground, rendering the wheels useless. As for me, I was tired but not too bad.  But after briefly chatting with my friend and host, the lovely Julie-Ann I put my head down for a brief nap.

At noon, I grabbed a shower and went online to figure out how to meet up with my friend Dave. He was in London for one day only for a job interview. Our plan was to have a drink and catch up. I found his mobile number and texted him then headed to the general area where I knew his interview was. As I was exiting Russell Square station I was suddenly face to face with Dave. 

"Yay you got my text." I screamed.

"What text? I just finished my interview and was wondering how was I going to get in touch with you."

"No text?"

"Nope, no text."

"Oh well, here we are. Let's go for a drink."

It appeared my knowledge of overseas texting was wrong and instead it was serendipity that caused two Canadian friends, coming from Toronto and Amsterdam, to bump into each other on the streets of London. We found a pub across from the British Museum and had some drinks and talked - Dave, about moving from Amsterdam to Barcelona and me, about the upcoming Big Trip™. While I went to the loo, Dave started chatting with the guy sitting next to him, another Canadian from Vancouver where I was soon headed. The world was getting smaller the longer we were in London. 

Soon it was time for Dave to catch his flight back to Amsterdam. He left me outside the Time Out building where I met up with my friend Catherine as well as JA. We all used to work together at the same ad agency 5 years ago so they took me to the mecca of after-work drinking for UK ad folks, Charlotte Street. Throngs of ad folk, were spilling out on to the road, drinks and smokes in hand. Just wanting to chat, we picked the least crowded pub/bar to catch up cau then headed to Busaba (a thai chain with communal seating but no website) for some food before calling it a night.

While my first day in London had been sunny and beautiful, the next morning I woke up to the sound of rain pounding on the window. I grabbed my umbrella and headed to Borough and Southbank with plans to meet Catherine at the Tate Modern later in the afternoon. Despite the rain, I took in the city hall, and funky retrofit architecture before stumbling across the Design Museum. Trying to escape a complete soaking, I spent a couple of hours in here. The British Design Awards were on display and there was so much cool stuff. I can't even begin to describe it: the coolest architectural model ever, a fun interactive video display, designer clothes inspired by vacuums and something called the Burble. 

When I finally left the museum, I was greeted by another amazing sight - the sun. I headed over to the Tate Modern. Catherine was running late so I enjoyed the sunny weather and wandered around outside. That's just one amazing thing about London - you don't have to go anywhere specific to see some really cool things. Just walk around. As it got a bit darker and colder I headed into the Tate. 

I'd been to the Tate not to long ago so I didn't feel like visiting the permanent collection this time. Instead I walked along the length of The Crack. The Crack is/was an art installation in the turbine hall of the Tate. A giant crack in the floor that runs the length of the Hall (here's what it looked like without the crack). It was much cooler in person than I expected and helped past the time until Catherine could escape work to join me.

 

Eventually, Catherine arrived and we checked out the exhaustive Man Ray, Duchamp and Picabia exhibit. Afterwards Catherine suggested that we head to the pub near her flat for a low-key dinner and drinks.  Well we thought it would be low-key. (Un)lucky for us the only seats were at the end of a table full of rather tipsy guys. Soon we were being entertained by one of them named Lee. He told us some very bad jokes and displayed his exhaustive repetoire of stupid parlour tricks. After a bit of forced conversation and we discovered Lee and his mates were all ad guys. So much for escaping work. They were soon bundled off in cabs, leaving us with their untouched 7th bottle of wine. Thank you very much Lee and co. Once again, serendipity strikes. 

Thanks to Lee's left over wine, the next morning was a rather lazy one. Until Catherine's flatmate returned home and we chatted, soon discovering that she knew Adrian - they used to work together in Toronto. Across the Atlantic, serendipity strikes again. 

In the afternoon, Catherine and I headed back to Julie-Ann's to experience the Boat Race. The Boat Race is the official name for the annual Cambridge Oxford rowing showdown on the Thames. And to a Canadian like me, it brings to mind all stereotypes of the UK. A lot of tradition and stuffy ceremony. I soon learned how far from the truth that was. 

The weather had turned to shit again by the time we arrived at JA's house. It was rainy and the wind had picked up. When we walked in the door JA greeted us.

"What would you like to drink?"

I quickly learned that this was the unofficial tagline of the Boat Race. In spite of or because of, 179 years of tradition, the Boat Race was not about boating or racing it was about drinking. Oh well when in Barnes...

We watched the full day of programming dedicated to the crews, the crews' families, the race, every past race, the current conditions and the past conditions. A few hours (and a few drinks) in and we were all hoping for a repeat of the 1978 boat sinking so we could be a part of the history. So we bundled up and headed down to the banks of the Thames. 

Catherine in her rubber boots, Julie-Ann with her umbrella and me in a hoodie, we slogged through the mud to an appropriate vantage point. Around us, people of all ages and all levels of drunkenness shouted out school cheers that got progressively louder as the helicopter accompanying the boats got closer and closer. Finally, we saw a dot on the horizon. It was Oxford. But where was Cambridge? Had they sunk like we hoped? 

The crowd went crazy as the Oxford crew rowed past in a blink of the eye. Minutes later Cambridge followed. And then the fleet of other boats of various size and vintage. It was soon official. Oxford had crushed Cambridge. 

As soon as the boats passed, the crowds surged towards a pub near Putney. It was packed and people were spilling over into the street. And we soon realized that we were relatively sober and pushed our way inside to remedy the situation. Inside, it was even worse. But infinitely more enjoyable. A DJ that looked like someone's Dad was spinning the worst hits of the 80s as people drunkenly danced and hit on each other like it was last call. It was only 6pm. We amused ourselves until hunger kicked in.

 

We headed back to Julie-Ann's, ordered some Indian take-away and went to bed. 

The next day the three of us headed to Spitalfields to check out the Sunday market. I loved Spitalfields. I wanted to buy everything at every stall but I restrained myself and for that,  the Big Trip™ Fund is eternally thankful. I saw the infamous Brick Lane and Rough Trade records. But one of the coolest things was the Weiden + Kennedy office. Since I follow the W+K blog, it was fun to see the office in reality. As well as a lobby full of funky collectibles and odd art installations, their front window was set up like a miniature Tube map but the tubes were actual tubes where rats played, erm slept. They called it Rat Race. Clever buggers those W+K folk.  

My last full day in London, I was by myself. I watch the rain fall in the morning and as soon as it let up I grabbed my umbrella and headed into the city. I didn't really feel like sightseeing but Adrian had requested I bring him back a specific geeky comic book book for him. I remembered seeing a comic book shop my first day near the British Museum. So that's where I went. I found the comic store and found the book. And since I'd twice been standing across from the British Museum in the last 4 days, I thought maybe I should check it out. When I discovered it was free I was slightly more convinced. 

The first time I was in London in 1987, I stayed around the corner from the Museum but never ventured in. This time I almost didn't bother either except when I looked up the cost of admission in my handy dandy little guidebook, they reminded me of the Great Court. In 2000, a renovation and expansion to the British Museum included the addition of this new structure designed by Sir Norman Foster. Being a bit of an architecture junky I had to see it. And I was not disappointed. Despite the cloudy day, the Great Court seemed eerily bright. The asymmetrical roof played with perspective. And I loved the juxtaposition of the old structure against the new.  After an hour of snapping pictures of this area, I decided what the heck why not check out the museum. 

The British Museum was thankfully smaller than I thought it would be. Yet still huge and chockablock. I rushed through the exhibits: a room full of mummies, the Grenville Library, Roman statuary in the stairways, more Egyptian reliefs in the halls, and finally the Elgin marbles. I took a final few pictures of the Great Court before heading out to no where in particular. 

I really wasn't sure where I was heading. But I soon found myself walking past sharp dressed men in bespoke suits (men, if you splurge on one fashion item ever, please make it a bespoke suit. perfect tailoring will always get you laid.) and face to face with Bush House - home to the BBC world service. I turned down Fleet Street and almost smack dab into a scrum of reporters. Cameras were trained on some sad looking chap with the word Diana written on his face in blue paint - that's right today was some verdict in the Diana inquiry/inquest/trial and I was now standing outside of the Courts. I randomly turned down some side streets before walking through a narrow covered alleyway into the Inns of Court, home to the legal profession in England and the Knights' Templar Church. It was so quiet and pretty despite being a weekday that a puttered around for a bit before heading back to Barnes for a quiet final evening with Julie-Ann. 

I slept in as much as I could the next morning, knowing I had a full day of plane travel ahead of me. Packing was just as difficult thanks to the two grocery bags of crisps and chocolates I had picked up for Adrian at the local Tesco. I compacted the goodies into one plastic bag which I planned to carry on. Which meant I was carrying a large duffle bag with now broken wheels and no shoulder strap, a garbage bag of treats, my computer bag, purse and full size umbrella. That's right, I still had my umbrella. All this luggage was no big deal, I thought. I was taking a taxi to Clapham Junction and the train would take me directly to the airport. Easy peasy. But once I was out of the taxi I realized it wasn't going to be that easy. 

Navigating the thousands of stairs in the train station and airport while carrying all that stuff and wearing three layers of clothing under a suddenly hot spring sun, meant I was panting and sweating and I had left myself short on time. No worries, I now only had to make it to the Air Transat check in desk. But where was it? I walked from check-in A to check-in J but saw no Air Transat check in. So I walked from J-A and still no Air Transat desk. A river of sweat ran down my back. My muscles trembled under the strain of my luggage. The minute clock jumped forward another 15 minutes. Desperate, I asked someone at a random desk. They pointed over my shoulder. I turned around and saw a flight of stairs. 

"Down. the. stairs?" I asked, fearing the answer. 

The clerk nodded. I stumbled down the stairs with my flotilla of luggage. The hallways were dark but around a final corner I found the lonely Air Transat check in. Thankful, I dumped my busted duffle bag on the conveyor belt and picked up my boarding pass. I headed back up the stairs to the security lineup. By now the bag of goodies was coming apart. As I struggled to contain everything, I was directed to an xray machine. I stripped off my layers, took out my computer, and placed them along side my umbrella and bag of goodies on the conveyor belt. I watched it all disappear into the xray machine when an angry voice called out. 

"Who told you to come here?! We're closed!" It was one of the operators of the machine. 

"The man over there" I pointed to the empty stool where the man had been sitting.

"We're closed you can't come here! You must go to another line! Who told you to come here!?"

"The man... he... um... sorry I didn't know... um... I need my stuff. It's in the machine." 

The two security folks glared at me and then looked down at the xray machine; the handle of my pink umbrella was all I could see of the pile of stuff now inside the xray machine. Then they looked at me and I swear they shrugged. As if to say, sorry we can't give you your stuff. No I had to get it back.

"Can I have my things please?" Now the easiest option would have been to let me and my bags through the metal detector and xray machine respectively. But nothing was going to be easy today. 

"We're closed - it can't go through."

"I just want my stuff. Can you turn it back on?" The glare they gave me still burns so I added. "That's fine, I'll just reach in and take it out." 

They glared again and this time, the burn went right through me and marked the wall just behind me. They exhaled loudly, pressed a button and the belt lurched forward another few inches. Now none of my belongings were in view. We stared at each other for an eternity. Then the belt began to reverse and my three layers, umbrella, shoes, computer, computer bag purse and now completely unravelled bag of goodies came tumbling out. 

As I scooped them up in my arms and walked towards the next line, the xray zombies called out.  "You weren't supposed to be here we're closed." 

I finally got to the front of the right security line and began dumping my stuff on the conveyor belt, trying desperately to contain it's ever-growing size. 

"You're only supposed to have one carry-on bag." The new xray zombie called out.

"I know, I'll do it on the other side. My bag broke and..."

"You're supposed to do it before." 

"I'm so sorry, I'll..."

"You can't take that with you."

She held up my beloved umbrella. 

"But I brought it here." 

"Sorry." She started to take the umbrella and place it in the confiscated goods bin, along side corkscrews, nail clippers, butter knives and various pool cues. I had to stop her. 

"But it's my favourite umbrella."

"Fine, you'll have to check it though." She pointed back to where I came from. 

So I grabbed all my stuff, and headed out of the security area, down the stairs, through the dark halls in the bowels of Gatwick arriving again at the Air Transat check in desk. 

"I have to check this in" I blurted.

"Oh? That has to go in at over sized luggage." The rep replied in sing song. 

"What?" I whispered. My voice had gone eerily soft, like a pitch black sky before the first crack of lightening in a thunderstorm.

"Over-sized luggage. It's..."she pointed away from the check in desk. 

"Take it." I thrust the umbrella in her face. 

"No need really, it's just upstairs". 

Something inside of me snapped. 

"Take it! I don't want it any more! It's not worth it. I've been up and down this airport 5 times already. I don't want it. I just want out of this airport."

The stunned woman gingerly took the umbrella and stared at it like I had handed her a severed limb. 

I walked through the dark halls, back up the stairs, past a man who felt it necessary to tell me I looked like I was having a bad day, through the metal detector and onto the plane. Serendipity had come to a crashing halt, claiming my beloved umbrella on the way.