Pack Rat

2 04 2009

I leave tomorrow on a much needed trip. I’m heading down to St. Vincent and the Grenadines to write about a resort there. Since I’m seeing long lost friends for dinner tonight, I had to pack last night. It was no small feat. I’ve never been that great at economical packing, but it’s even more of a challenge when after many sun-starved months you start pulling out the beloved summer clothes that have been lying dormant in the back of the closet.

Not only do I prefer summer to winter, I found last night that I’m much more fond of my summer clothes than of my winter ones. I pulled out sundress after sundress and then had a debate with myself over how many outfits one really needs on a tiny Caribbean island. All to the tune of my latest obsession, a Spice Girls (yes I said Spice Girls)  station on Pandora—a combination of 90s pop, it’s just the sort of guilty pleasure that takes me back a long way to silly late night study breaks in high school (and less of a long way to rocking out at EuroCheapo).

I settled on four dresses that could go day or night and a couple that were just easy to throw on over a swimsuit, along with a couple pairs of shorts and plenty of workout clothes, as I intend to indulge in the yoga offered on the island, as well as many long hikes. It’s probably still far too much, but since the Squirrel is staying at home, and summer clothes take up so little room, I figure it’s okay. Also coming along is my new love affair, Flip, though the gold stilettos, much to their dismay, are sitting this trip out.

It’s my first foray into the Caribbean and I’m oh-so-happy about it. As are my summer dresses.





Current Obsession: Flip, the Universal Color

23 02 2009

I’ll admit it. There was a time when I was a bit of a Mac rat. While living in San Francisco I developed a bit of an addiction to the makeup products and my roommate Megan and I frequented the nearby store on our beloved Union Street, partly to visit David, the fantastic artist there, whom we adopted as a good friend, and partly just because we liked to play with makeup.

Over the course of a year or so in the height of my addiction I amassed what we’ll just call a good quantity of makeup. Enough that I really don’t have to purchase anything but the essentials (foundation, which is the only thing that runs out in any rapidity) now. I have a train case full of colors I wear all the time and colors that I had no business buying (think Aquadisiac, good for nothing save that one never-going-to-come day when I decide to be a mermaid for Halloween).

Anyhow, after being a student and now a struggling artist, my lack of dispensable income and my overflow of product keeps me from entering a Mac store with any regularity. I did, however, visit one the other day to replace the aforementioned foundation, and there in the front was a color that was simply singing to me. I had to stop, ogle it, do the requisite sample on the hand, and after several minutes (a good 15, at least), turning it over and giving it as much affection as possible, I had to treat myself and purchase.

The color, Flip, is my latest obsession and, quite possibly, the best $14.50 ever spent. It’s sort a bronze tone with flecks of sheen that bounce off the eye in the prettiest of ways. The mix of golden/brownish/pinkish hues means it goes well with just about anything in my massive train case of shadows (save, perhaps for the confounded Aquadisiac), but it is also great just on its own.

It’s easy and universal and oh-so-pretty, which is why I’m naming it numero uno travel color. It’s perfect for the girl on the go who can’t pack too much. Simply bring along Flip, or better yet, pick up a palette and fill it with Flip and some complementary colors (I recommend something in a brown, a purple, or even something with a bit of orange). They sell empty palettes to fill on your own and they are flat, light weight and make it easy to pack all your makeup needs in one spot. Leave it to Mac to make it easy. Now if only someone would explain what possessed me to put bright turquoise on my eyes…





More With the Shoes

12 03 2008

Not long ago, when I announced the change in title that my blog underwent (psst…speaking of changes, check out my newly updated About page. It now goes with the shoe theme too!), I mentioned that I had more shoe posts in the works. And then I never wrote them. I’m trying to spread out the shoe love, but I think it’s time for another.

To recap: when we last left off with the saga of Suzanne’s shoes, she had sent home a pair of unruly strappy sandals that refused to let her salsa dance, and then quarreled with a pair of brand new hiking boots that broke three days into wearing them (the mud is another story, but that she was actually proud of).

Ok, strange third person voiceover finished. So after the hiking boots fiasco I decided that the only shoes a traveling girl can depend on are her flip flops.

I arrived in San Salvador de Jujuy on a Thursday afternoon, excited to explore Argentina’s northwest and more excited to experience their Carnaval. I was informed that I would be hard-pressed to find a bed in any of the Carnaval towns I wanted to visit. On a last minute whim, the girl I was traveling with at the time, Da, and I packed small backpacks with a few days worth of clothes, left our big packs at the hostel in San Salvador and headed up to Uquia, with the brilliant idea of sleeping near Humahuaca, going to Carnaval the next day, and staying up with the festival all night before catching a morning bus back to San Salvador. The short of a much longer story (that I will one day figure out how to tell in a short blog post) is that we finally made it to Humahuaca on Friday night.

In Humahuaca, it was cold (this is where I bought the famous llama sweater, which despite my offers no one seems to want), and I had only my flip flops. There were sneakers in my pack, but that was back in San Salvador, so it seemed I was destined to have cold feet in Humahuaca. But, true California girl that I am, I was still devoted to my beloved flip flops, which had yet to fail me…

Until, that is, while strolling the fair on the edge of town, I walked right into a giant metal post that was sticking up from the ground. Plowed into is more like it. My toe, not protected by shoe was massively hurt for the space of about 10 seconds, but then pain gave over to the blissful re-realization that I was still at Carnaval, and I continued walking. A few moments later, however, my foot felt a little wet and sticky and to my horror I looked down to discover that my no longer hurting toe was gushing blood. I had busted the skin on the end of it.

Da and I raced through the fair asking where there was a pharmacy, but given that it was now late and festival time I decided it wouldn’t be open and settled for dousing my toe in hand sanitizer, wrapping it in toilet paper, and buying a pair of socks (oh the things you’re willing to do when you travel). Then we went to enjoy some Carnaval grub. But when my toe started throbbing halfway through dinner I decided perhaps a pharmacy wouldn’t be such a bad idea after all. To my relief, they were still open (probably for idiots just like me who only bring flip flops to a crowded festival on dirt roads) and I purchased some sort of ointment that I hoped was anti-bacterial.

I spent the next two nights wearing socks with my flip flops and limping slightly, but ultimately I didn’t wind up losing my toe, so all was good. My relationship with my flip flops, however, has not been the same since. I blame myself really.

Lesson learned: Think before you pack. Period.





Llama Sweater

26 02 2008

Anyone want this sweater?
Complete with nieve in the hair: A regular Snow White.

Oh the llama sweater, a staple in the tourist arsenal. In Peru they are sold everywhere and everyone seems to have one. Made (ostensibly) of llama wool, they are soft and oh-so-warm and tourists love to buy them.

On our second day in Cusco I myself almost did just that. It wasn’t the manly type with pictures of llamas on it, but a fitted cream number with a simple geometric design around the collar. It had fringe on the bottom, however, and toggles on the hood. I was in one of those tourism frenzies, where, overcome buy the excitement of all things new, the tourist buys or seriously considers buying things she would never even pick up otherwise. Luckily, some new friends who joined at the market played the “will you really wear it?” card and I was spared an unneeded sweater.

Then came Northwest Argentina, where llama sweaters again abounded. And, in a moment of need rather than want, I had to buy one. I had left my belongings in a hostel in San Salvador de Jujuy, had traveled to Humahuaca for Carnaval with nothing but two changes of clothes (both dresses), some pajamas, and my fleece. Too bad I hadn’t done my research and realized that Humahuaca is cold in the evenings, even in summer. Very cold.

So there I was in my thin pants and not quite warm enough fleece, with flip flops on my feet. The wind was picking up and it was promising to be a long night. What was a girl to do except to splurge on a $10 llama sweater, an oh-so-attractive thick and too big sweater, complete with llamas prancing across my chest. Wasn’t I the fairest of them all? But I was warm.

So now I’m back in New York with my llama sweater, which, in the land of Fifth Ave. and Soho boutiques might just be cause for beheading if I were to wear it outside (or at least cause for pointing and staring). So, if anyone out there would like a llama sweater, women’s medium, I have one here and it’s up for grabs.

Lesson learned: Check the weather ahead of time. And pack accordingly.





Adios Zapatos

13 01 2008

One thing to note about the salsa scene in Buenos Aires: It’s not just about wanting to dance but about being able to. We arrived at the salsa club Azúcar an hour after it opened: 1:00 a.m. There were already several people on the dance floor, dancing with impeccable technique and astounding flare. It seems a new trend in salsa is the use of hidden hand lights which go off at key moments of the dance.

To the side of the dance floor, about 12 females sat alone at about 12 random tables waiting to be asked to dance. More ladies loomed mear the dance floor with the same hope. Capirinhas in hand, we joined this latter group and quickly discerned the conundrum: The men would not ask ladies to dance unless they had seen them dancing already (aka if they had seen skill). They took one look at us gringas and kept on going.

But finally some men took pity on us. As I whirled and spun on the floor I realized it was harder than I remembered—and that I wanted to lead. I quickly got over that, however, and was soon dancing with Manuel, a very good (and very patient) dancer, but next came my second problem: my feet.

It seems that those heels I so hurriedly purchased the night before my trip in case of just this scenario were not such a good idea after all. The backs kept sliding down my heel, which was not only uncomfortable but meant that my foot kept twisting and turning sideways, making it extremely painful and difficult to dance.

So I did what any real salsa dancer would do: I carried on. This meant stumbling far too often and exclaiming to Manuel, “Son mis zapatos” until, exasperated, I finally took the shoes off. Then I was holding my own on the floor (at least in my humble opinion, that is) and had a ball twirling and dancing the night away.

And now? Well, now I’m stuck with a pair of uncomfortable shoes that I most likely won’t wear again on this trip and that most certainly take up too much space in an already stuffed backpack. Stupid shoes.

Lesson learned: Don’t salsa in uncomfortable heels. Don’t pack them either. And while we’re at it, don’t even buy them the night before your trip in the first place. Perhaps next time I’ll go dancing in my hiking boots…





I’ll be the girl with the giant backpack…

5 01 2008

Ok, I’ve done it. I managed to wade my way through the swamp of clothes that has been my living room for the past week. And I managed to fit all (or most) of it. The Squirrel, as my beloved pack was christened (though I can’t really recall why) on her virgin trip through Europe long ago, is standing tall in my living room. And by tall I don’t mean just proud: the girl is huge. But I am happy to say that I can still lug her around with the best of them. That skill came back like riding a bike. The week of preparation, however, was not so easy…

What to bring for six weeks? In Europe (for four months) I had exactly 2 pairs of jeans, 1 pair of thermals, 3 shirts and a jacket. I’m not exaggerating. But now that I’m older (and slightly prissier) that just won’t do. Not to mention hiking gear. So my week of packing in brief went something like this:

  • Five (yes five) trips to Eastern Mountain Sports to pick up gear. Partly because I kept forgetting things, partly because I wanted to make use of coupons, and partly because I just really got to love the gang there. Hey, if I can’t find a job when I get back, perhaps I’ll go work there.
  • As many trips to the drugstore to stock a pharmacy that I will now carry on my back for the next six weeks. Always best to be prepared for anything…
  • Two trips to the Outdoor World with my oh-so-patient brother because the first pair of hiking boots didn’t work out.
  • Then comes the everyday clothes. A last minute trip to Nine West to buy shoes (on sale of course) I could take for going out and not care much if their heels broke off after being stuffed in the squirrel.

But I survived, though I’m exhausted reliving it all. And now, it’s time to go. I’ll be in Buenos Aires at noon tomorrow, the girl with the towering backpack that looks nothing whatsoever like a squirrel.