Urban girl's guide to travel

Let me bring you up to speed- it's 2013. I'm in Thailand.

And now, a collection of my wisdom. TBC, I'm sure.

1. Never layover in Russia.
This process started in December when we were told, "ya no problem, you can get a double entry visa. Well, you filled out the application completely wrong but just change this, this and this and bring us $250 in cash and its yours. Ohhh, you came back after the new year when we changed all the rules? Sorry, only three year multiple entry or single entry for you now. Multiple? Okay, that'll require an interview with the consulate, insurance that's applicable in Russia and pretty much all your money. What's that? You leave in 2 weeks? The process takes 10 business days and absolutely cannot be expedited. Don't cry! You can still get a single, which means you can leave the airport on one of your 12+ hour layovers. Unless of course you have to change terminals, then you might be required to stamp your passport. Maybe you could get an escort from your airline? Yay! You finally did it- congratulations! Let me reward you with $21 lattes in the Moscow airport. Enjoy!"

2. Refuse the first offer.
With my white skin and the iPad under my arm, I'm a target. But after years of getting ripped off, I will never again accept the incredibly inflated price that initially comes out of any store clerk, roadside beer kid, or tuk tuk driver's mouth. It's a game. And it's all negotiable. Walk away if you have to. They will for sure come running after you with a better deal.

3. Re: traveling to places in high altitudes...
Don't smoke, don't run, don't open your foundation if its expensive because you will lose half the tube.

4. We Americans have sensitive stomachs.
We're spoiled with all our washed fruit and filtered water and we're babies because of it. Expect to throw up, to not be able to poop for days or to poop too much. Things to avoid (trust me, I've consumed them all) - tap water, roadside burgers with over-easy eggs on top, airport caviar, actually it doesn't really matter, you'll probably run into one of the three conditions above unless you pack all your own baby food.

5. Learn the language.
The Thai, Italian, Spanish, Russian, German, etc. etc. etc. way to say hello, thank you, excuse me and beer will get you very, very far.

6. Be prepared for third-world toilets.
Please don't expect the all the comforts of home. You'll squat, pay for toilet paper and flush with a bucket. Bring wipes and hand sanitizer. You're welcome.

7. The rest of the world doesn't care if you die.
You will not be asked if you've ever rock climbed before, how far you'll be taking that kayak you just rented or if you even want that spliff just rolled for you by the bartender.
You will not be told you should wear shoes for this hike, that you can't hang off an edge 10 stories up and that this path you're hiking barefoot will dead end on a cliff face in the middle of a jungle.

8. E-mail your mom.

9. When it rains, look for a hotel with wifi and a nice bartender. Preferably also a pool table and playing cards.

10. Take a tour.
Don't always try to have the most unique, undiscovered life experience all by yourself. Sometimes you're better off to have the work done for you. Most recently, my tour guide has let me jump off the top of his boat, got me a better deal on island beer, let me play with fire, cooked me a fish, showed me a beach I never would have known about and explained to me all the details of both bamboo tattoos and the life of ladyboys.

ny restaurant world

There are two things that I've noticed so far about the NY restaurant world that are massively different than the way things are done in Philly.

THE MAITRE'D

Here, maitre'ds rule. These people may look, smell and taste exactly like hosts, but don't get it confused. They are paid more, as I found out when a girl at work asked me how much I made. I lied of course. I think she told me the truth. Often, the job is a managerial position in some capacity. They are in charge of all the hosts and every person that comes in the door. And especially at Beauty & Essex, everyone is OBSESSED with the door. There, it's a parade of who's who and where they're seated is the highest level of concern for everyone involved and not involved. I mean, really thousands of people just died in Japan and you're screaming about Lady Gaga's boyfriend being seated at table 60 instead of 40?! Honestly, who gives a fuck? Maitre'ds, that's who.

Staff meal

I didn't have it at Continental, but every other restaurant I've ever worked for in Philadelphia has given us family meal at least once per shift. Here in New York, it's not different. Except for the fact that you are charged for it. No matter if you eat it or not. It's usually only a buck or two per shift, but it is taken out of your paycheck against your will and without warning. Now I take care to eat it, everyday, even if I'm not hungry... just on principle.

unfit parents

Jessie and I attempted to adopt cats on Monday, which we've been talking about since last summer when I decided to move here. We fell in love with two little grey kitties and started the application process which consisted of a questionnaire as well as an interview with this creepy cat lady who made us wait 45 minutes. She talked extensively about all the different brands of food and litter while we made kissy faces at our new pets.

She did capture my attention, however, when she explained that cats can live up to 20 years and was I ready for that commitment? "Yeah, uh-huh." But I was really thinking about what do I do with it when it dies? Can I burry it like I did my guinea pig in the woods behind my house under a little gravestone with ears carved into it? Well, I'll be 45 so by then I'll hopefully be more equipped to deal with that kind of situation. Ugh, 45?! I probably won't be living with Jessie by then. "We can't separate them," she says. "Okay, you can have them." She laughs and pinches me, my cue to not say these things in front of Jilda, the cat connoisseur. "Can I give it people food?" is my next question remembering how my friend Victoria's cats used to eat popcorn. Jessie coughs.

"Okay, that's the whole process. We'll be in contact this week to schedule a time to drop them off." "What?! We can't take them now?" I had been picturing holding my new kitten in my arms on the G train. Jessy buys a collar with dog bones on it and we dejectedly make our way home, sans pets.

A few days later we get an e-mail from Mrs. KittyKind telling us that we are, in fact, approved! Pending an addition to our home, that is. A screen door leading out to our patio. Seriously woman? It took us a week to get hot water. You think our stingy landlord is going to spring for a screen door?

So we're now thinking that maybe craigslist might be a better option for a less discriminatory cat adoption process.

week 1

I am writing this upon my gifted sofa (thanks Donna!) in my new Brooklyn home. We haven't had heat or hot water since moving in on Feb 28. It sucks, but I'm way too excited to be in New York to stay mad for long. Our landlords are Hasidic Jews, a people I have never once come into contact with in my whole life and now I am surrounded by them. David and Abe came off very abrupt, asking to see bank statements and charging us $50 for a two-second credit check that we did in a car outside of the library, but now we deal mostly with the girl in the office who can't be more than 20 years old. I can tell she feels bad about our freezing toes.

I had my first day of work yesterday. Basically I'm a glorified host. It's alright, but I am anxiously awaiting two other interviews and which will hopefully allow me to make the decision by the weekend, because the uncertainty is driving me crazy.

No exciting stories yet. I only went into Manhattan to work. As far as exploring my neighborhood, I've made it as far as the dollar store. Oh, and my friend Ian's house. He's only five blocks away and is kind enough to lend me his shower.

the next step

It's been a while and I'm sure by now, I have at best one follower (hi mom!) but keeping this blog was very therapeutic for me whilst away and I'm hoping that picking it back up will have the same effect.

Four months since I've been home and it's been a roller coaster. I couldn't have been happier to see the Philly skyline as my plane landed as dusk on April 22. My girls met me at the airport with champagne, played my favorite Philly song in the car and took me out to drink hoppy beers and dance at a place that I actually ended up working. Bri opened her home to me and I crashed for a month, a month that was full of job-searching (I now have 2) and general giddiness at the thought of being back home (which has since gone by the wayside).

It's not that I'm unhappy here and it's not that I want to go back to Uruguay, I am just a little lost. I would venture to say that returning and trying to put my life back together was even more difficult than adjusting to my life in South America. Not much has changed in Philly and maybe that's the problem. For 7 months, I was constantly presented with new experiences, everything I did I'd never done before; everything I saw I'd never seen; every person I met, I'd never encountered and it was exhilarating. But already, I sometimes forget that this all happened and I am forced to remind myself of it like it's slipping away or something.

Over the summer I went from world-traveler to waitress with a degree I am not using. I guess I'm going through the post-grad question mark a year too late. My lovely friends tell me I'm too hard on myself, but there are other people who make me feel like I'm not doing enough. I'm currently working two restaurant jobs, totaling 7 shifts in 6 day work-weeks and I am tired. The focus right now is to save up some money which I will use to get to New York, hopefully by February. To do what? is the questions every single person ever likes to ask. And the truth is I'm not quite sure. I have a few ideas, but mainly I need a change of scenery and I think I would regret it if I didn't. Surprisingly, I have my mom's support. I guess I opened a few gates when I switched continents, so New York doesn't seem so far away.

10 minutes

Sorry guys, that I haven't written in a while, but right now I am in an Internet Cafe in Grenada (don't feel bad, I didn't know it was a country until I bought a plane ticket to it) that took a very twisty and bumpy 30 minute journey to get to. I really want to write about Paraguay and my beautiful friends who shared with me their lives in their very corrupt country. This included houses with personal maids inside and hookers outside. Diana and Nati were so curious about my culture, so for three days I was peppered with silly questions regarding my life at home like how often I shower in Philadelphia and have I ever been to a love motel?

I also want to write about Bolivia and the bicycle death road lined with crosses and the jungle and the beauty and the poverty and the intense conversations that Josh and I always seem to find ourselves in.

If I had more than 6 minutes left, I would talk about the crazy Brits I am staying with and the Easter beach parties and the rasta that makes me breakfast every morning.

But alas, I will save these tales for another date. Perhaps I will have some quality time with the Internet in Florida. Until then...

how fitting, my departure

Okay, just to clear things up.

1. Tori left in December. She is still gone. Tierra Santa is a distant memory that I wanted to re-live, with you.

2. Victoria is the girlfriend of my friend Shaun. They are from Philly but live in Buenos Aires. She is an amazing cook and the most grateful host and I think I like her better than Shaun.

3. My parents are here. More on this when I get some perspective.

And now, the actual post..

Two weeks before leaving, I started pumping my boss for my paycheck. "You know, Tincho, I still don't have access to my money. I really need this cash to get to BA to meet my parents. Can you please pay me or at least give me a generous advance so that I can, you know, eat?"

"Oh yes, of course, Francesca. If your last day is on Saturday the 27th, then for sure we can pay you on the 26th."

Still, my Spanish is not perfect but I'm pretty sure I didn't misunderstand. Mainly because he said it in English.

I showed up on the 26th, early, to meet Cristina. (We have since ceased Spanish/English lessons because we became friends and now we just gossip rapidly in a messed-up mix. Honestly, it's like therapy.) Having showed up 2 hours ahead of time, I figure I can get my check just to be sure and cash it on Monday before I leave. What, Monday is a holiday? Banks aren't open. Okay, good thing I came early, I guess I should cash it now since the banks close at 6pm and are closed all weekend. Where's Tincho? Buenos Aires? What the fuck? Did he leave me check? No? Where. is. it?

Fede, the boss is there and tells me that Silvina has it. Where's Silvina? At the other hostel. Should I go? I can drive you. I'd rather walk, I need control. At this point I am pretty salty, stomping all over the hostel and have serious "cara de culo." Literally translated, this means "ass face," which I think is pretty hilarious because we never say that in English and here, it's so common too call someone a sourpuss. Not to get to graphic, but I think the pursed lips are supposed to be the asshole.

Anyway, Cristina being the wonderful, supportive friend that she is, accompanies me to the office where of course, no one is. I'm pacing back and forth, wondering whether I should go to the other hostel to track down Silvina, keeper of all the money. Then I realize that I don't have my passport so how am I going to cash this check anyway. Shit, shit, shit. Cristina tells me to calm down, relax, sit and wait. By this time, it's 5pm. My time and options are quickly slipping away. Relax? Are you fucking kidding me?! Then Carlos, a director, happens to walk by. Cristina chases after him down the street. Oh yeah, you're paycheck's right upstairs and there's no name on it, so you won't have any trouble cashing it. It's that simple, why are you so worked up about it?

Oh I don't know, let me count the reasons. Most importantly, this all happened totally by chance. What if I didn't show up 2 hours early? What if Fede wasn't there? What if Carlos hadn't happened to be walking the by a hour before the banks closed?

I finally did get it cashed, without any further incident, but no one could understand my cara de culo. To them nothing was wrong, it was solved. This whole experience was very Uruguayan and made me ache for the prompt paychecks of the states, effectively making my departure the slightest bit easier. Also the fact that I knew I was returning in a week with my parents for the real goodbye.