Me: "Ahh yes, the San Fernando Valley. Is that not* where the Xalisco boys initiated the black tar heroine trade?"
Retiree (with some enthusiasm): "Yes. My book club just finished a book about that. Dreamland."
I told you my newfound knowledge was going to be relevant to stimulating conversation. On a different note, I think I'm going to be very good at retirement. Although, let's be honest, I spent the last three weeks traveling and the three weeks prior working an average of two hours per day,* so I'm well on my way.
I still have to take over the world before official retirement, though, which brings us to my current state. I just finished over-packing two bags that probably won't fit in my New York sublet and am waiting for my mother to pick me up.* This seems the perfect time to write one last post from my favorite spot in Ann Arbor - my little porch. With a cup of coffee, Head and the Heart in the background, and an overly comfortable squirrel shamelessly ogling my breakfast. The topic for today: my favorite travel buddy.
I was twenty years old, and it was the first time Julie and I vacationed alone. Four days at a resort in Mexico. We spent the entire time on the resort, probably in part because neither of us wanted to go out and lose the other - more than likely, I would be the one who got lost.
One day, we indulged in massages. It was my very first massage. The women left the two of us in the room with instructions to de-robe and lie on the table. Until that point, I had been very conservative around Julie, always changing in the bathroom, but I looked at the table, and thought, "Alright, I guess I have to listen to them."
Julie, laying on her table, looked over and graciously corrected me: "Anna, you're supposed to put the sheet over your body."
Ahhh the wisdom of your elders. Eleven years is a large age gap, especially growing up. Julie and I were constantly at different stages, so very few aspects of our lives were relatable - until I graduated college, at which point, many of Julie's friends were beginning a different stage of their lives, getting married and starting families. Since both our other sisters were married, my flexibility made us ideal travel buddies, though there were still some differences. When our first dinner bill in Charlottesville was $100, I gasped in pain, and Julie smiled at how cheap it was compared to a dinner in Chicago.
Our trips have taken us to five continents, one of the seven wonders, countless restaurants and wineries, the Prime Meridian. At least we think. The landmark was closed when we got there, so we had to extrapolate where the Prime Meridian would be and straddle the imaginary line. We've missed a flight or two, underestimated distances, miscalculated directions, had near meltdowns due to lack of food. But we've laughed more,* grown closer despite being on opposite ends of the world, and found that our travel styles are nearly perfect complements.
Julie is happy to plan, and I am happy to let her do so. In February, when I casually suggested a potential trip in April, I was not surprised when three text messages later, she had booked a 7-day stay at a resort in Southern Thailand.
We share a relative disinterest in history. It's not that we don't appreciate history. We just don't appreciate paying ten pounds to climb a flight of stairs in a dilapidated structure that some guy named Henry inhabited at one point and would rather soak in the culture by means of meandering through a city, stopping at reasonable intervals for food and drink.*
We could spend an hour discussing whether we would rather have pizza hands or sweat cheese, along with all the nuances and unintended consequences one must consider when answering such impossible hypotheticals. But we can also talk about careers, love, and hardship. We're also happy to sit in silence and read. For about ten minutes. Then I share a new thought about cheese, or Julie updates me on her body temperature. Or a classic song begins playing, I sing off-pitch, and Julie hums.
When you spend so much time with someone, a squabble or two is inevitable. Like in London, when I thought we should get tea but couldn't grasp why it was exorbitantly expensive.
Julie: Here are the options in the city.
Me: Why are they all 40 pounds? Why would I spend 40 pounds in the afternoon on tea? This is absurd. There's not even any alcohol.
Julie: I understand your frustration, Anna, but if you want afternoon tea, that's what it is.
Me (indignantly): Well, maybe I don't want tea.
We drank wine and ate cheese instead.
Or in Buenos Aires, when I ordered dessert and set the expectation that I was, under no circumstance, sharing. And then Julie asked for a bite. I think I eventually gave her a bite, though with great hesitation. I may still hold that once the expectation is set, there is no social obligation to share. Especially when it comes to matters of dessert.
Clearly, most squabbles revolve around food.
But food is also the source of much of our joy. From Peruvian ceviche to Malaysian street food to a well-balanced charcuterie board, we both begin thinking about our next meal after the last, and continue to reminisce on its goodness throughout our journeys.
Some things haven't changed over the years. A Seinfeld reference still seems relevant about every day. Cross-cultural massage etiquette still confuses me. For instance, in Thailand, they don't leave the room and expect you to de-robe in front of them. And then they sit you up and wrap the towel around you, repositioning your appendages and grunting. It's all very awkward.
But some things have changed. Netflix, for instance. We watched the first season of Los Chicas de Cable during our nights in Southeast Asia, and I have a new obsession with Spanish men and 20s fashion. We need to bring the top hat and low-waist dresses back. Also, if your name is Pedro or Francisco, I may shamelessly try to win your affections.
Our relationship has changed, too. Those trips, those hours and hours spent with only each other, have made us that much closer. I am very grateful to have another person who can share her experience, encourage me, and challenge me - all while making me smile.
My favorite part of having Julie as a travel buddy is that she's forced to like me the rest of my life. And when we're retired, and she's visiting me in my Sonoma home, we'll remember that day in Queenstown we stumbled upon a cozy inn, drank mulled wine and played an impossible game of LOTR trivial pursuit. Or that meal in Argentina, with steak, Malbec, and so many sauces, that was simply divine. Or that night in Penang we decided to stay up past our usual ten o'clock bedtime. We got the last table at China House, drank the most well-garnished lychee martinis, enjoyed hours of incredible funk,* and finished the evening running through the empty streets in torrential downpour. And we'll sip our wine and laugh.
* I said isn't. But is that not sounds sophisticated.
* Kind of an exaggeration.
* I lent Maleek to someone for the summer, and I'm already missing him, especially because he got in a brawl and has a brutal black eye. And I can't even be there for the path to recovery.
* And louder than anyone
* So every hour.
* They have funk in Malaysia!
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