Anyway, when getting my daily dose of news sites comments last week, I came across a flurry of articles around New York University sociology professor Eric Klinenberg’s recent book “Going Solo: The Extraordinary Rise and Surprising Appeal of Living Alone“. (Flurry, I suspect, that was enhanced by a certain Valentines Day occurring around the same time.)

Being a single person who enjoys talking about being single, I read the articles attentively. I didn’t learn a whole lot (though some of the numbers quoted were interesting) but the topic made think of some things I’d like to share, and the comments brought up some myths that I wanted to clear up.

Why I’m Single

I doubt I will ever really understand, but my longstanding singleness is a subject of fascination to those around me. It’s like I lead a mysterious, exciting life full of intrigue and steamy hookups. Or something. Fortunately, for both me and them, I don’t mind answering really personal questions about my single life.

So why am I single?

In short, I’m single because I can’t be arsed to make myself otherwise.

Yep. No sobstory of heartbreak, no dark childhood trauma, no Mother Teresa tendencies.

If Mr Right magically showed up on the doorstep of my life, with, like, a red bow on his head, I’d invite him in. But I don’t feel any urge to go out looking for him, bopping him over the head and dragging him back by his hair to my bedroom. (I don’t feel the urge to hunt him down using less extreme measures either.)

I’m not the kind of person who gets lonely. I think I experienced loneliness once. I was about twelve years old and full of horrid teenager hormones. The only times I’m sincerely bitter about my single state is when I have to move heavy furniture. Couples have no idea how easy they have it when they move. I’m not attracted to other people very often either. I’ve only had a handful of crushes in my life. Most of them were on fictional characters. …Real people kind of bore me.

I did go through a phase where I had a series of short lived, intense relationships. They were excellent relationships, no “crazy ex” for me (I’m very adamant about my “no assholes” policy when it comes to dating and sex), but due to my nomadic lifestyle, each relationship had a predetermined end date. After about 3 years of this, I was tired of fast cycling between joy and mourning and decided that I wouldn’t invest my emotions into a relationship unless it wasn’t doomed from the start. I’ve yet to meet someone I could see myself with for more than a few months.

I often joke about how all the men in my town are either young and married or old and creepy, and that men are like parking spots – the good ones always taken. Truth is, I have no idea. I haven’t been on dating sites (which is how most of my happily coupled friends met their partners), I’m not overly involved in my community, I don’t frequent the local bars or coffee shop. I don’t feel any urge to actively seek a partner, and thus, I’m single because I can’t be arsed to make myself otherwise.

My Reactions to Klinenberg

I’ve read and watched some interviews with Klinenberg but I haven’t read his book yet. I mean to, but until then, I have to rely on the news articles.

The biggest “OH YESSSSS” moment was this:

In “Going Solo,” Klinenberg found that “Singletons” (his word), while still stigmatized by society, are growing in economic and political power. Yet only online dating sites directly target singles with their advertising.

Read more: http://www.ctv.ca/CTVNews/Canada/20120214/love-marriage-singles-book-120214/#ixzz1mu2kZl5I

Note that this snippet comes right after the revelation that more than half of Canadians have never been married, and that in Canada’s major cities, singles represent 53 to 70% of the population.

That quote stood out to me because it is a frustration of mine that my Groupons (I know…) are generally targeted at couples and families. I also notice that most advertising for things I’m interested in show couples having a great time (or making fun of each other). Gettaways and traveling advertisements are the worst. Yet, it’s childless, singles like me who have the spending power necessary for frivolous vacations, who can drop everything and go without having to coordinate timing with a partner, and who actively seek new social situations (since we’re not getting much social at home). I’ve always shrugged it off to single people being rare, but Klinenberg reveals that we actually represent a huge chunk of the market. Advertisers, you are doing it wrong!

He also found that single people are more likely than married people to belong to social groups, give back to their community and spend their disposable income on the fun stuff such as bars, restaurants and the theatre.

“People who live alone are more likely to be social,” Klinenberg said. “This was a big surprise to me.”

Read more: http://www.ctv.ca/CTVNews/Canada/20120214/love-marriage-singles-book-120214/#ixzz1mu9UvDhu

I’m surprised that he’s surprised.

To me it’s pretty obvious. When we live alone, we don’t get much social life at home. Which means we have to go elsewhere for it. Plus, all that “quality” time we’d spend with a significant other, we spend with our friends, or with ourselves, doing stuff we enjoy.

I think that many human beings also have a need to love. When that love isn’t centered on an individual, it’s expressed otherwise. Speaking personally, I don’t think I’d volunteer, or look after children, or treat my patients with the same loving zealousness if I were in a relationship. (Not saying that married people can’t love outside their relationship or that all single people are incredibly giving, it’s just that if you have that need to love, and there’s no obvious recipient of that love, you end up forced to spread it around.)

Klinenberg thinks U.S. society should recognize the shift to singlehood. Should we redesign metro areas to be more single-friendly? Provide more affordable housing for young singles, better institutions for the old, infirm, and vulnerable? “Anything we can do to afford security and support to this growing sector of our society, we should,” he says. [...]

“It’s ironic that by supporting each other,” Klinenberg says, “we give ourselves the freedom to be independent.”

Read more: http://www.philly.com/philly/entertainment/139411573.html#ixzz1muDtUDoc

When speaking of “singles”, Klinenberg also recognizes divorcees, widowers and the elderly. With people living longer and spouses outliving their partners, flying solo isn’t only for the young, upper-middle class featured in Sex and the City. Both he and Bolick (who wrote All the Single Ladies, published in The Atlantic) mention the existence of communal residences for individuals who live alone.

I found that very interesting. American and Canadian society is very much centered around the nuclear family of mommy, daddy and kids. Social model that, we’re discovering through high divorce rates and single parenting and depression being the leading cause of disability, doesn’t work. “It takes a village to raise a child” is the old saying. It’s still being argued that dual parenting is the ideal environment to raise children and I don’t have enough knowledge to pass judgement on that. However, if the ideal environment isn’t available, why can’t children have a village? Why aren’t there more resources allowing single mothers to live in proximity to each other, so they can help one another with child rearing, and household chores, and feeding their families?

And why must we wait until we need to enter a nursing home to live in a community setting? Even speaking as someone who loves her solo space, I would definitely be interested in residing in an apartment building targeted specifically for women living alone. (I think there are some civil right laws that forbid this, but lets forget about it for a moment.) Have my own apartment, but participate in communal dinners, movie nights, gardening and other activities with other women who share my living situation. I’d buy into that.

The “Threat(?!)” to Marriage?

Most of the articles about Klinenberg’s have a sensationalist title along the lines of “IS BEING SINGLE BETTER?”. I guess that’s what it takes to attract readers, but the concept of single life being “better” or “worse” is just silly to me.

There are advantages to being single and there are advantages to being paired up. Since individuals are unique, some may prefer to be single and others may prefer be paired. And! Because us humans aren’t stagnant pools, many of us go through phases in our lives where being single is the more advantageous option, and phases where being coupled is the “better” option.

This “threat” to marriage that I hear my Southern neighbors talk about (as they debate gay marriage… a silly debate, IMO – why does being of the same gender disqualify two partners from basic civil rights?) puzzles me. A lot of the articles (and even more of the comments) touch on that worry: that “traditional” marriage will die.

Being the history nerd that I am, to me, “traditional” marriage is when your parents trade you for goats, in order to boost their economic and (in the case of aristocratic families) political power. That’s already pretty much dead, and I can’t see how it’s a great loss. Today’s marriage model of two people in love and choosing to share their lives is pretty modern, not traditional at all. And if it were the amazing model that fanatic American politicians claim it to be, then most marriages wouldn’t end in divorce.

There are so many different family models in the world and thinking of them in terms of “better” or “worse” is useless. Better to think in terms of “more or less adapted to our population”. In North America, we don’t die very much. We don’t need to produce lot of children to ensure our survival. If anything, we’re a tad overpopulated. As a result, marriage and children are more about emotional and personal fulfillment than biologic necessity. As long as there are a minimum number of individuals still reproducing (and I don’t believe that will ever be a problem), the popularity of non-reproductive lifestyles is hardly going to cause the extinction of humanity.

Replying to Comments

Like all news sites comments, a lot of the responses to the articles made me go “…really? REALLY?” Let’s reply to a few of them.

GregoryJ-wpg -[...] I am very most concerned with the health of those born and raised from such a way. It seems to me they lose their concern for sustained commitments and responsibilites in this ‘ what’s best for me ‘ attitude at the root of these changes. Some, perhaps most, can see america is progressively sickening and morally collapsing by its ‘ me-first ‘ freedom is everything excesses, and I suspect the lose of interest in marriage is simple one more disease in that collapse.

Read more: http://www.ctv.ca/CTVNews/Canada/20120214/love-marriage-singles-book-120214/#ixzz1myXEHaDy

I’m not sure if “from such a way” is a reference to single parenting or to the notion that it’s ok to be single. There’s no doubt that mainstream North American culture is very individualist. It has its upsides and its downsides. Negatively, we often end up with identity crisises, with not knowing how to manage our endless opportunities and our basic need to “belong” isn’t as filled as they would be in a collective society. But positively, the existence of human rights is kind of nice. So is the notion of equality among humans.

And, anthropologists correct me if I’m wrong, but it seems to me that all large scale collectivist cultures are corrupt, with those with the most money/numbers/brute strength taking advantage of the less privileged using birth social status as an excuse.

It also kind of perplexes me that those who are the first to cry out “the me-first mentality is ruining us!” are usually those who are the most adamant about refusing to pay more taxes to ensure the accessibility of health care and education.

The statement of “america is progressively sickening and morally collapsing” isn’t very clear either. There are social issues today that didn’t exist 40, 100, 400 years ago. But there are a ton of social issues from back then that have been improved quite a bit. I kind of like being a whole person, as opposed to a gender or a race.

If anything, I think our modern glorification of the nuclear family is hurting us. Romantic relationships are important, yes, but in treating them as significantly more important than friendships, extended family, community, we lose a huge amount of social support.

rat-ripper – Nobody lives alone by choice . I can’t imagine not having someone to share life with . I feel sorry for them all !

Read more: http://www.ctv.ca/CTVNews/Canada/20120214/love-marriage-singles-book-120214/#ixzz1mydlRQ9u

Ah blanket statements! Clearly rat-ripper is hanging out in the minds of all those who live alone and is absolutely positive that EVERY SINGLE one of us is living alone AGAINST OUR WILL and that we are ABSOLUTELY PITIFUL.

Prof. Pye Chartt – Yes, because, according to pointy-headed academics, it’s more socially “evolved” to venture out to a fancy urban bar or lounge, have a California greens salad with some flatbread and humus while texting one of your busy friends who couldn’t make it, and desperately fantasize about actually meeting someone compatible to alleviate the pain of your mentally crushing singlehood and prospects for endless years of unfulfilment and loneliness. Yeah; the “solo” lifestyle rocks. No regret or disappointment in the cards down the road. For sure. Marriage? Oh, forget it. Kids? Oh, such a joyless long-term hassle. A loving intimate relationship with genuine commitment? What a drag. Be a casual, modern-day narcissist; it’s more fun. Live alone. Sharing a home with somebody (or “shacking up”) is so yesteryear. Instead, be with the person you love the absolute most — yourself — until death do you part. The toilet seat will always be left up/down, just the way you want it.

Read more: http://www.ctv.ca/CTVNews/Canada/20120214/love-marriage-singles-book-120214/#ixzz1myeT2nu1

I think this guy misses the point and doesn’t understand singleness at all. Which is all good because I can’t really figure out his point either.

Johnny from Montreal – Single people also get descriminated against at work because – no children – this means they are available for overtime so the parents get to go home early.

Read more: http://www.ctv.ca/CTVNews/Canada/20120214/love-marriage-singles-book-120214/#ixzz1myf11N3P

Yep. (Note, this is a good comment, I approve of this comment.) This hasn’t happened to me personally (I usually let the parents take time off out of the kindness of my heart, and out of love for my bank account), but it does annoy me when someone tries to get more breaks at work “because they have a family”. One person shouldn’t have more rights than others because they chose to work and have a family at the same time.

great uncle clive – Any tenured professor who writes about the single life-style can count on the sympathetic support of the media. Similarly if he writes about gay marriage. If he writes about traditional ‘middle-class’ marriage, he will be denounced in the media as a woman-hating bigot. Or worse. That’s the mess we have got ourselves into. Any mention of the breadwinner and homemaker marriage is thought crime today. The efficiencies of the single-income household cannot be alluded to. Even in The Economist.

That’s my take on the issue… in response to Oarboar

The corporations want women in the workforce to debase the labour supply and undermine the unions. And the media are in thrall to their corporate masters. Working couples are good for the economy: They put up the price of housing. Whereas single-income couples mean good homes for women and children. Which is more important? The economy? Or peoples’ lives?

That’s the wider issue

Read more: http://www.economist.com/blogs/prospero/2012/02/qa-eric-klinenberg?fsrc=gn_ep

Except for that the “the breadwinner and homemaker” marriage of the 50s and 60s isn’t traditional at all.

And is being a homemaker better for women and children’s lives? I was raised by a stay-at-home mom. She was very ostracized (in Québec in the 80s and 90s, a woman who stayed home after her kids started school was very looked down upon), she had very little social life (she had no work to make friends at), she never got any recognition for her efforts. It was a miserable life. As children, my brothers and I didn’t go to day care, which caused us to fall behind socially.

Personally, I’d rather be raised by fulfilled and emotionally healthy parents, than be forced into the model of the 50s and 60s family, which isn’t very adapted to today’s society.

As for a conspiracy to get women to “debase the labour supply and undermine the unions”…What on earth?

Here’s another gem from our modern champion:

great uncle clive – If any man greeted a lady co-worker with a cheery, ‘Good morning, scab’… he would be charged with harrassment, and villified in the media, and his life destroyed

Whether or not ‘women employees are just as loyal union members as men’ is beside the point… The union movement has been crippled since women entered the workforce

For a hundred years, the unions fought for a living wage… which by definition is a wage sufficient to support a wife and family in upmarket style… The men worked and struggled for their women… The unions were empowered… By the 60′s, high wage/ benefit jobs were the norm

The corporations didn’t like that

Along came the Feminists demanding equality for women, when most of them were wives and singles… None of them wanted to support their husbands!… And the entire raison d’etre of unionism was overthrown

(I know many readers of The Economist are anti-union… but with any knowledge of history… strong private sector unions are a vital factor in any kind of social progress… Public sector unions are another matter… They should never have been allowed…)

It now takes two incomes… a husband and wife each working full-time… to realise the same basic standard of living that one could achieve in the 60′s… gratis Feminism… Working couples sent the price of housing sky-high… great for anyone who already owned property… Everyone who mattered!… but future generations are looking at peonage

What is really heartbreaking is that a practical solution… a HOMEMAKER ALLOWANCE… is so readily available… And nobody will look at it… because they’re so afraid of that corporate/ Feminist/ media line-up

Read more: http://www.economist.com/blogs/prospero/2012/02/qa-eric-klinenberg?fsrc=gn_ep

I’m not sure what “scab” means, but apparently it’s very bad to use after good morning. Don’t do it fellas! Your lives will be ruined!

I’m not too knowledgeable on unions, but it seems to me that women in the workplace would empower unions because women are more concerned by pay equality and benefits like health care and maternity rights.

Until the line “It now takes two incomes… a husband and wife each working full-time… to realise the same basic standard of living that one could achieve in the 60′s…”, I thought the poster was a product of the 60s. Apparently not. I wasn’t around in the 60s, but from what my parents tell me, and from what I can absorb from vintage TV shows, our basic standards of living are NOTHING like the 60s. Today, the middle class collects a lot of objects, eats at restaurants regularly, wears new clothes, takes vacations down south. We expect way more that our past generations, and that‘s why we need two incomes.

Also, suspensions points are meant to be used sparingly to alter the rhythm of a text, not as a substitute for a period or comma.

David Ryan – It’s true. Given enough money, and the willingness to reach far enough down the ladder of social standing, even a very old man can attract youthful companionship. These sorts of relationships are looked upon with a certain degree of distain, which I presume all that money helps keep these men insulated from as well.

But for the merely very successful man, the sort of man whom might make a proper mate for Ms. Bolick and her successful single sisters in similar straights, there comes a time when even his looks fail, he can no longer attract a woman of youth, beauty and social standing. Not that there aren’t exceptions, but it’s unlikely that Ms. Bolick will bed (let alone marry) a fellow old enough to be her father, and it’s unlikely that the fellow whose story I’ve related above will begin showing up at social functions with a woman young enough to be his daughter and from a social class lower than his.

Read more: http://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2011/11/all-the-single-ladies/8654/

Even someone who seems to be pro-marriage, is reducing marriage to a social obligation, something you do to impress your peers. Heaven forbid you find yourself in a socially unconventional pairing!

What I find interesting about this commenter is that he’s the opposite of the past commenters. He seems to really understand the “traditional” marriage. I know that a lot of people still go about romantic relationships in the way he’s describing, but it’s difficult on my 21th century sensitivities. I see other humans as my equals. I don’t believe in marrying “up” or marrying “down”. There are just people that I’m compatible with and people that I’m not compatible with.

Conclusion: Being Happy

Klinenberg, a married man himself, says the majority of people would like to get married, but in modern society people are placing a greater emphasis on happiness in marriage and are waiting longer to find the right person.

“They want to make sure they are making the right choice and are investing in themselves and careers, and establishing their own security,” he said. “People who wait a while to get married are more likely to stay married.”

Read more: http://www.ctv.ca/CTVNews/Canada/20120214/love-marriage-singles-book-120214/#ixzz1myp8YjrP

This quote made me feel good.

When you’re single and in your late 20s, you somehow find yourself surrounded by people your age (or a little bit older) who tell you how much they envy you, about how they wish they’d waited until their 30s to get married.

So I had conceived in my mind that the average person was in a huge rush to have a party and get a piece of paper, without really considering the implications of said party and piece of paper. It had always bothered me that an 18 year old American wasn’t allowed to drink, but could get married. The law says that at 18, you’re not mature enough to decide what you’re doing with your evening, but you are mature enough to decide to pledge your next 80 years to someone.

I’m glad to see proof that there are young people who do understand that we live a looooong time and that commitments shouldn’t be taken lightly.

Tom (Kingston) – No point joining a “camp” just for the sake of being “accepted.” If you are happy single, great. If you are happy common-law, great. If you are happy married, then also great. I could care less about the status-quo and consider my life on a day-to-day basis. Life is constantly changing, live life today and stop worrying about what others think.

Read more: http://www.ctv.ca/CTVNews/Canada/20120214/love-marriage-singles-book-120214/#ixzz1myrP51vs

I loved this comment.

To me, romantic relationships should add to my life. And right now, my life is pretty awesome. It would be pretty difficult to add to it. So I’m not in a hurry. If I come across someone who might enhance my life, I’ll jump on board, until them I’m going to keep enjoying my existence.

References

CTV News, Better single than married? New book suggests yes
The Globe and Mail, Who needs marriage? The joys of living alone
The Economist, The Q&A: Eric Klinenberg – One is the loveliest number
Philly dot Com, NYU professor says more are living singly, for better or worse
The Atlantic, Kate Bolick, All the Single Ladies
Slate, Katie Roiphe, Singled Out: Why are Americans still so obsessed with single people—and so scared by them?

But the other day, a friend posted something on Facebook, and I happened to be feeling somewhat mischievous. And so, in the midst of WIPs yelling out “OH THATS SO TRUE”, I called bullshit. And I feel like calling bullshit some more.

I don't know who the original creator of this image is.

Ah, Nice Guy Syndrome. (Actually, as I was reading around a bit for this post, I came across a site called What The Fuck, “Nice Guys”? which also tears apart the above piece of text, and I have to say, I LOVE the author’s definition of nice guy syndrome: “a debilitating condition where the sufferer believes that they are the nicest, sweetest, most sensitive guy out there, and the reason the sufferer is single is because ‘girls only want to date jerks‘”.)

Having been single (with occasional dating) for the past 5 years, I spend a lot of time observing other people’s relationships. How did they meet? What did they like about each other? How long have they been together? How happy are they?

I’m at that age (late 20s) where most of my friends are coupled up, if not already married. I’m happily single, but I do often wonder why others are paired up and not me. I talk to other singles too, and we joke around about why we’re single.

That said, I have two peeves:

1) Women who believe they’re single because men are only interested in super slutty model lookalikes.
2) Men who believe they’re single because they’re “too nice”.

Now, I’m not really sure where the idea that men ONLY like hot and slutty girls came from. Obviously the MILLIONS of happily married women in the world who aren’t slutty model lookalikes didn’t get the message (nor did the men who married them). Plus, while I’m not EXACTLY a model lookalike, I’m in good shape and pretty satisfied with my looks. And sometimes when I hit on guys (that’s slutty, isn’t it?), I get rejected. So yeah, can’t always and only use looks and sluttyness to get what you want.

As for “too nice”. Oh my, where do I start.

I took a look in my friend repertoire. I listed the names of all the genuinely nice guys currently in my life. I came up with 15 (I’m sure there are more, but those are 15 that I know well enough to be sure that they really are nice). Of those 15:

5 are married
2 are engaged
5 are in happy, long term relationships
3 are single.

Of the 3 who are single, one isn’t interested in relationships, one works a crazy ass schedule and one is really young.

Obviously my sample size is small, but it’s big enough to dispel the black-and-white thinking of women NEVER liking nice guys. Because, yeah, these nice guys all seem to be doing pretty well for themselves romantically.

If you feel like you’re being rejected because you’re “too nice”, you’re probably one (or more) of the following:

1) A teenager

If this is the case, I’m sorry. Odds are that the next few years will suck for you, dating wise. But rest assured. People grow up. Use your failures as learning experiences, tune your social skills and wait out your time.

2) A Self Centered Asshole

The guy who wrote the “Dear females” text that inspired this post (I know “females” tends to be the going word when talking about gender issues, but really? “Females”? Whenever I see “female” used as a noun, I get the impression that the subject at hand is cattle, or cats), isn’t “becoming” an asshole. He’s been one all along. His attempts at pretending to be decent in order to get laid failed, so he decided to stop pretending.

I mean, really? You pretend to be someone’s friend, listen to their problems, connect with them IN HOPES YOU’LL GET INTO THEIR PANTS? Really? Where exactly is the “nice” here? I dunno about you, but when I’m supportive to someone as a friend, it’s because I care about them and want them to be happy. If that comes with perks for me, awesome, if not, that’s ok too, as long as they’re feeling better.

Yeah, I understand falling for someone and being hurt when they don’t reciprocate. I get bitter too when I get rejected. But you know what? NOT EVERYONE IS GOING TO LOVE YOU! Maybe you don’t have enough in common. Maybe the chemistry just isn’t there. Maybe she’s caught on that you’re a stuck up asshole who thinks he’s god’s gift to women.

3) You’re only interested in slutty, model lookalike women

See what I did there?

If you’re going after women who use only use sex and looks to get what they want in life, you’re going to find yourself around women dealing with the consequences of relying too much on sex and looks. Using sex and looks, and only sex and looks leads to a lot of pain. And besides, do you really think that someone who disregards their own personality is going to care about your personality?

Yes, anyone might be cheated on, anyone can find themselves in an abusive relationship. But someone who is currently in a pattern of unhealthy relationships isn’t at a healthy place in their lives. This person complains of being treated badly, then in “two hours is fucking” someone else who treats them badly? Why do you want a relationship with this person anyway?

I understand that many of us are cursed to be “rescueholics” (I’m one too), and there are relationships that start off as rescue missions. But logic and odds are against you. Be a friend to those who are learning to love themselves, support those who are recovering from negative experiences. But when it comes to commitment, find someone who’s your equal. Don’t go for someone who gives you the false feeling of superiority that comes from “rescueholic” relationships.

As a side note, guys often complain about women who try to “change” them. The well kept secret is that women tend to not be all that fond of guys trying to change them either. Apparently both genders like to be respected for who they are and for who they aspire to be, not for who society wants them to be. Who would have guessed?

Oh, and just in case this isn’t obvious, there are individuals in this world who are capable of happy, healthy relationships.

4) You’re too desperate. As in creepy and gross.

I frequently encounter guys (and by that I mean that I’m kind of a magnet for guys with this problem) who are a tad too desperate. They call too often, repeat everything I say (assuming they even let me talk between their own ramblings) and, worst of all, profess their love for me without really knowing me.

They claim they’re being “nice”, but in reality they’re being annoying and borderline stalkerish.

Attention from the gender you’re attracted to is a very pleasant thing. I think both genders would agree. But you have to distinguish that attention from the actual person. So there’s this girl you hang around and talk to a lot. You think you’re in love with her. But are you? Or are you in love with having someone attractive around who listens to your rambling?

Or say you’re one of those who claim to be selfless and who’ll do anything for anyone. And then will spend the rest of their free time whining about how they’re being taken advantage of. This kind of goes with what I was saying back in the “you’re an asshole” section. If you’re doing things to make people like you, or because you’re expecting praise, attention or sex out of it, those things aren’t selfless. They’re selfish. And in case you were wondering, phoniness reaks.

Acting like a spineless, desperate slob isn’t sexy. At best it’s a turnoff, at worst it’ll land you in an abusive relationship. Then you’ll be complaining about how women cheat on you, treat you badly, hit you and steal your money.

Final Words

Don’t get me wrong, being kind or “nice” is awesome. But be kind when your goal is to be kind. Be genuine. It’ll get you a lot further in all aspect of your life.

As a long term single woman who’s dated a lot of guys, I’ll tell you that there are lots of nice guys out there. Real, genuine, nice guys.

I even have a “no assholes” policy. I refuse to date, and especially sleep with, assholes. And you know what? It’s super easy to abide to. Nice guys aren’t rare at all.

But I don’t automatically fall in love with every nice guy I meet. It’s not like I can control it. Frequently, I find myself wishing I could fall in love. But usually we don’t have enough in common, or we just don’t have the right chemistry. I used to feel guilty, but I don’t anymore. Those guys usually get snatched up pretty quickly by someone much more compatible.

After all, it’s like my favorite one-liner goes: men are like parking spots…the good ones are always taken.

The sad statement from the kindly gentleman working at the hotel desk fit the atmosphere of downtown El Paso like you wouldn’t believe. The streets were deserted, most of the buildings – which once must have been architectural masterpieces – were neglected and falling into decay. The “Golden Horseshoe”, which, according to my walking tour pamphlet, was once a bustling market, was now a disheveled collection of uninteresting shops, populated by shady characters and teenagers wearing sweatpants.

But don’t let that fool you. While downtown El Paso has a deep, melancholic feel of has been glory to it, and maybe BECAUSE of that nostalgia, the city is a wonderful backpacking destination. Most of the attractions are free, the locals are excited to help you out and the food is surprisingly good. Definitely my coup de coeur, as we say where I’m from, and I may even go as far as to say that it was my favorite stop along this trip.

One of the nicer buildings downtown

Accommodations

As far as I can tell, El Paso only has one hostel, the Gardener Hotel. And it’s not really a hostel, just a few rooms in a hotel that happen to have bunk beds. The Hotel belongs in the downtown El Paso scenery: a historical landmark that no doubt remembers many significant moments of El Paso’s past, but that has clearly seen better days. Nonetheless, the rooms are clean and comfortable, the staff is friendly and super helpful, the location near the Greyhound and Amtrak is convenient and the prices are comparable to most other North American hostels.

Old school elevator!

If you’re passing through, it’s worth staying a night or two here to really feel the city.

Getting Around

By American standards, El Paso has a fantastic public transit system. The routes are convenient, the fares are cheap, the bus drivers are the nicest people ever and the busses come frequently.

THE BUS HAS A HAPPY FACE!

However, and you will see me repeat it in this post, El Paso doesn’t bank on tourism these days. So the bus system is great for locals to go about their daily business, but all the things you’d like to see as a tourist (historical landmarks, museums, scenery, famous restaurants) are either in walking distance of the hostel, or so far out of town that you will need a vehicle.

Yay! Snot green car FTW!

I rented a car on my second day in town. It ended up being pretty cheap and it let me visit some of the attractions in the surrounding area. Driving in El Paso, like most Western cities I presume, was pretty easy. The highways are huge so traffic, even at rush hour, wasn’t bad at all. I also had no problem finding my way around. Don’t bother wasting money to rent a GPS. Everything you want to see will be indicated by many, many signs along the way.

El Paso in a Nutshell

As I mentioned earlier, El Paso doesn’t bank on tourism. Which makes the city kind of the opposite of a tourist trap. Local attractions are intended for locals, to teach them about their history, or make them love their city. In other words, pretty much all the museums are free, the not-free attractions are very reasonably priced and the restaurants have excellent quality-value. And the locals…they’re so happy to see someone take interest in their city that they’ll go far out of their way to make you feel at home. Everyone was so helpful and kind, and I ended up with more advice, tips and sightseeing suggestions that I could handle.

I did a self-guided walking tour on the first day with the help of a pamphlet that I picked up at the tourism bureau. (I <3 tourism bureaus! They’re a godsent to the nomadic traveler.) I found it a good way to orient myself in the city and get a glimpse of its history. You can feel the ghosts here all the time, so it’s worth acquainting yourself with them.

Like so many others downtown, this beautiful building had most of its windows boarded up.

My favorite story was of a tree by the Downtown Plaza. For a long time, it was used as a newspaper board. Most of the “news” posted was by politicians, businessmen and social figures calling each other names.

I visited some of the museums in town (like any good historical city, El Paso has tons and tons of museums, and unique to El Paso, most of them are free or by donation), notably the El Paso Museum of History, the Border Patrol Museum (an unusual theme, but since El Paso is a border town, the Border Patrol is natural part of daily life) and the Archeology Museum. All three were excellent and I totally recommend visiting them. I didn’t get a chance to visit the El Paso Museum of Art, but I’ve heard a lot of good about it, from both tourism guides and locals.

Behind the building that houses the Border Patrol and Archeology Museums is a beautiful (and large!) garden with footpaths. One of El Paso's well kept secrets.

Around the north part of town, Transmountain Rd (where you can also find the Border Patrol and Archeology Museums) offers some amazing views of the city and desert. There are even sheltered picnic tables if you want admire those views over lunch. Another great way to admire views is the Wyler Aerial Tramway, a gondola that takes you to the top of a mountain in the city. There’s also some hiking around it if you get there early enough in the day and have a buddy to look out for you. Usually sight-enhancers like this are terribly overpriced, but again, El Paso is all about local love, so the Wyler Aerial Tramway is very, very reasonable.

This is me on the gondola.

This is me at the top.

While I was there, I met a traveling musician named Daniel Park who records videos of his music in every city he plays in. (He actually took that picture of me at the top.) I didn’t get to see him perform on stage, but I did get to listen to him play at the top of the mountain. His blog is a lot of fun to follow and this post has the video he recorded the day I met him.

And finally, while I was near New Mexico, I ventured to a historical neighborhood just outside of Las Cruces, named Old Mesilla.

This was probably the most touristy thing I did on my trip, but it was a lot of fun. I browsed through the quaint shops and ate at one of the elegantly decorated restaurants. (The food and service were average, but the atmosphere was well worth it.) As I was looking for a café praised in my “Explore Old Mesilla” handbook, I stumbled into a health food club. The friendly girls there informed me that the café had sadly shut down and then offered me a free smoothie. It was a very good smoothie and I desperately tried to find a website for the club (or even a name!) but no luck. But if you’re in Old Mesilla and find the health food club, tell them I say hi.

Along the way between El Paso and Old Mesilla, I took the back road through the gorgeous New Mexican countryside.

Who knew peacan farms were so lovely?

I stopped at Stahmann’s, which must be a very significant landmark since there were signs for the store EVERYWHERE. I bought about 50$ worth of peacan products. Thanks to Stahmann’s, I didn’t go hungry at all during my train rides! What peacans I had left over, I left with Fannon‘s family when I got back to Edmonton. They were pretty delicious, but I don’t think I’ll be able to eat another peacan again as long as I live.

Their peacan coffee, however, is amazing. I don’t think I’ll ever tire of it.

I gotta give props to the kind folk at the New Mexico Tourism Bureau for pointing me toward the backroad and to Old Mesilla. (See! Again the Tourism Bureau has contributed to making my trip a success!)

View from the New Mexico Tourism Bureau

The Food

I was very impressed by the food in El Paso. But maybe I shouldn’t have been. After all, it was the “Old El Paso” brand of pseudo-Mexican food that made me want to visit the city in the first place. (I don’t know if I’ve even ever eaten anything by Old El Paso, but I’ve heard the name lots and it had made me curious.)

Two places really stood out to me.

1)Avila’s: I’m not usually a fan of Mexican cuisine, but you can’t visit the South West without sampling local food. And oh, how I was served! I ordered a sampling dish and I ate until I really couldn’t fit anything else down. And I drank a gigantic margarita. (I was traveling by city bus, so drinking was ok!) The service was also fantastic. So fast and so friendly!

I swear that margarita (and the plate for that matter) is way bigger than it looks.

2)Cattleman’s Steakhouse: I had to drive 20 miles during rush hour to get here, but oh, dear sweet, sweet Light, was it ever worth it! This place is a total experience. Cattleman’s is actually a ranch. I didn’t get there until dusk, but if you go in the afternoon, you can visit the property, take a hayride, see where some movies were filmed and chase the birds.

The steak here is…there are no words for it. I had the biggest, juiciest, deliciousiest T-Bone steak in my life. I still dream of it at night. I started off with a fantastic shrimp cocktail appetizer and even at that, my bill was for under 30$. How can you beat that?

Also gotta give props to the service. I had a great time and I promise I’ll visit again when I have more time to spend on the ranch grounds.

About Mexico

When crossing the border to the US, my customs agent happened to be from El Paso. His advice to me? “Stay out of Mexico.”

The drug violence in Mexico seems to stop at the border, but the repercussions are felt all along the South West. Every time I mentioned going to El Paso, I was answered with a comment on the Mexican drugs wars. Since I was traveling at the end of October, a few days before El Día de Los Muertos, I came across several shrines in Phoenix and El Paso (and even San Antonio) dedicated to the women and/or children murdered in the crossfire.

It was heartbreaking and sobering. You can easily tell how much the violence touches everyone in the region, whether they are directly affected or not.

I’m usually pretty fearless, but I chose not to go to Mexico.

In the end, I think going to Mexico would have been a waste of time, at best. I was on such a tight schedule and El Paso is such an interesting city that I would have missed out on a lot had I took my chances and crossed the border.

Conclusion: El Paso

I knew this post would be long, but I didn’t expect 2000 words! It’s just that I can’t find a shorter way to express how much I loved this city. As I was planning my trip, I was asked over and over again why I wanted to go to El Paso. Originally I was just curious. And when I saw how deserted the city was, I did feel a little discouraged. But when I took a closer look, I discovered a gem of a backpacking destination.

There are so many stories here, so many beautiful sites to admire, so much to learn, and, the icing on the cake of every backpacking trip, so many warm, helpful, kind locals to meet.

And if you’d like to see more pictures of the El Paso portion of my trip, my Facebook album should be viewable by all.

If it’s pictures you’re after, they’re all on my Facebook album which, if I’m not mistaken, is viewable by anyone.

I think I’ll go with a review format for this one, so if you’re planning on visiting Phoenix in the company of your backpack (or if you live in Phoenix and want to hear what an outsider has to say), this post is for you.

Accommodations

As far as I know, there is only one hostel is Phoenix. That’s ok, because that Hostel, the Metcalf House, or HI-Phoenix, is a fantastic place to stay. Definitely one of the best hostels I’ve ever stayed in.

It’s a small hostel, and they use their small size to their advantage. On most nights, there are community dinners that cost about 5$. The food is really good, we sit around one round table and talk. I hadn’t even been in Phoenix for 2 hours that I already felt like I’d made 10 friends.

On top of the dinners, there are events held pretty much every day, from city tours to pub crawls to shows. Even if you’re a timid, first-time traveler who isn’t familiar with Phoenix, actually, especially if you’re a timid, first-time traveler who isn’t familiar with Phoenix, you’ll get to experience some of the great stuff Phoenix has to offer with a fun group of people, safely, and without spending a lot of money.

All of the staff is super knowledgeable and enthusiastic about their city. If you have any questions, whether it be how to get to a certain place, or restaurant recommendation, you’re sure to get a very helpful answer.

Getting Around

You hear the words “urban sprawl” at lot in Phoenix. I bet they’re common first words for children born in the city. If you’re going to Phoenix without a car, make sure you stay near the light rail.

The train is great for getting around. It goes through downtown, up to the northern part of the city, as well east to Tempe (which is a fun place to visit as a traveler) and Mesa. It runs every 5 to 15 minutes and it’s not too crowded. Most of the interesting museums and a lot of great restaurants are close to the rail, so it’s pretty easy to get around.

For areas not covered by the rail (for example, if you’re a desert fan like me and want to go to the Desert Botanical Gardens), there is a pretty extensive bus system. The busses don’t run very often, though, and the schedules aren’t posted at the stops (there is a number you can call to know when the next bus will come, but I couldn’t get it to work) so make sure you’re wearing sunscreen. You might find yourself waiting at the stop for a long time.

The only place I had trouble reaching was the Amtrek station in Maricopa. When I did my research for the trip, there was a connecting shuttle, but when I got there… I discovered that they had JUST terminated the service. If you can’t find someone to give you a ride, you can take shuttles from the airport or a taxi, but they’re ridiculously expensive. Using the Amtrek to go to/from Phoenix is nasty.

Flying, however, is lovely (the light rail stops at the airport) and I believe the Greyhound station is near the airport. A few other inter-city bus companies also serve Phoenix, but I’m not familiar with them.

Phoenix in a Nutshell

I found Phoenix very interesting in spite of, or maybe because, at first glance it doesn’t look like much.

It’s actually really hard to get Phoenixy pictures because the roads are wiiiiiide and half the lots are empty (as you can see from the above picture). It’s also very dark at night, even downtown. (I was told afterward that there’s a huge telescope near the city so it has to obey restrictions on light pollution.)

But if you take a closer look, there are lots of interesting buildings, museums, creative restaurants, original concept bars and more.

One thing that stood out to me, being from the bitter, rainy north and all, is how much stuff goes outside.

Look! A washer, dryer and storage locker! ALL OUTSIDE!

I was shocked when I saw it, then I stopped and thought “Right. They don’t get much rain and it’s never very cold.” I’ve always lived in places where it rained more often than not, so the realization that there are places that get so little rain that they can have WASHERS and DRYERS outside just blew my mind.

There was another site that made me stop and think too:

This actually isn’t a very good picture, but it illustrates what I want to highlight. Many parking lots, and not just apartment building parking lots like this one but grocery stores, schools, ect, have roofs. Parking lots in Canada do not have roofs. Makes you realize how strong the sun is here and how locals have learned to cope with it.

Food and Drink

Phoenix has great food. Which, as regular readers know, is a huge deal to this hedonistic explorer.

I wasn’t here long, but some of the highlights were:

Pizzeria Bianco: This is apparently one of the best pizza places in the US. I loved, loved, loved it. And I don’t even normally like pizza.

Gallo Blanco: Serves somewhat upper-end Mexican food. I had some sort of cheese fondue (I’m trying to find it on their menu, but I can’t, so I don’t know what it’s called) and it was one of the best things I ate my entire trip. I also went back the hostel crew for Wednesday night Flamenco on the roof.

Jobot: This was my breakfast place! Crepes aren’t as common south of the border as they are here in Canada, so I was excited to find some right near the hostel, and good ones at that. It’s actually a coffee shop, and they have pretty good wireless.

The Lost Leaf Bar: This was one of the places I went on the pub crawl with the hostel crowd on my first night in Phoenix. I’m a huge fan of beer and wine bars, as well as live music bars, and bars with nice decor. The Lost Leaf is combination of all that. I was served!

Final Words

And yeah, that was the gist of my impressions of Phoenix. In parting, please enjoy this picture of a cactus:

Not so awesome moment: Seeing a bear cub in the wilderness, blocking my way back to my car, while I’m alone and a good half an hour away from civilization and phone reception.

It wasn't this bear cub - Image from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:A_mother_and_a_cub_bears.JPG

I was hiking from Jasper townsite back to my car (which was parked much higher), thinking about stuff and minding my own business. Then suddenly, to my right, not 2 feet from me was a bear. It was smaller than most bears I’ve seen, so it was probably a youth. It was eating stuff on the ground. Either it didn’t hear me or didn’t care about me because it didn’t even look up.

I remember my thoughts clearly “Baby bear. Not good. Where do I go? I need to get back to my car but if there’s a bear here, I don’t know if the mother is further down the path. Don’t run.“

I spun around and backtracked, walking as fast as I could.

The bear just ignored me and kept eating.

When I’d reached a safe distance it dawned me: People would want pictures! The thought of me rummaging through my backpack for my camera in front of a baby bear made me smile. From then on, I carried my camera out, just in case…

The strange part of the story is that I can’t remember what the bear looked like. When I try to picture the meeting in my head, the bear is really, really small. “Maybe it was a beaver, not a bear.” (As if I couldn’t tell the difference between a beaver and a bear! Not to mention that we were quite a distance from water.) “Maybe it was a log and not a bear“

It had taken me a couple of seconds to decide that this bear was a baby. Therefore it was almost full grown, not small at all. I’m not one to jump at shadows, so I know it was a bear. Yet my visual memory can’t picture the scene. The images it gives me are just random extrapolations of what I was thinking during the encounter.

Isn’t it funny how memories work?

So for you visual types, I present to you: What I did with my weekend off.

Last weekend I had a birthday (yay birthday!) and two consecutive days off work (and the two days before that were really short so it was almost like 4 days off work, which, when you’re me, is a BIG DEAL). My buddy Andre from Toronto whom I met in Newfoundland and who now lives in Northern BC came to visit, so I dragged him and his phone camera to Jasper Park.

@darthregis from Twitter suggested we check out the Columbia Icefield.

We were lucky and got a beautiful warm day.

See, no jacket. Also notice the lack of rain. (And do not notice the lack of haircut, k thx.)

It gets much colder on the icefield, but it’s ok because scaling a big icy thing (I can’t say big icy mountain since we didn’t attempt to climb the actual ice mountains) keeps you warm. There are busses that will take you up and onto the top part of the ice, but the trips were rediculously expensive (70$ per person for a ride up the Icefield? WTF?) and you probably get more out of your adventure if you hike up the field yourself anyway.

I made it to the top were the view is pretty, but unfortunately, I fail and didn’t bring my own camera. So instead of the nice view from the top, you get a nice view of the top.

I believe I’m that tiny figure at the far distance.

Here and there, on the field, there are small chasms formed by water running under the ice. There are signs pretty much everywhere telling you to stay off the icefield because you can’t tell where the ice is too thin to support our weight. The signs reinforce the fact that if a chasm opens under you, you’re probably not going to be rescued in time. Obviously, everyone ignores said signs.

You don’t notice chasms much on the way up, but you can see them much clearer on the way down. While none of them seemed overly deep, that water is COLD. I can see how it would suck to fall in. I made my way down very carefully.

The chasm in the photo above has become a river, but yeah, openings like these form all over the Icefield.

After our little hike, we head across highway to the Icefield Centre to use the inhouse (as opposed to the outhouse, which was really lacking on the icefield side of the highway) and get a few last snapshots of the mountains of ice.

And that’s what I did with my day off!

If you do find yourself exploring the Rockies one day, the Columbia Icefield is definitely worth the trip. It’s a tiny bit north of the midway point between Banff and Jasper and a round trip hike takes a bit over an hour. And if you stay away from the overpriced busses, it’s free (assuming you’ve already bought your park pass). Just another demonstration of Mother Nature’s generosity.

We arrived at Havana-Habana shortly after 11 am. The bus drove through the city, stopping at the city entrance, in Habana-Vieja (Old Havana), University of Havana, then finally the bus station.

All of those were more interesting than the Viazul Bus Stop, but since I only had a couple of hours to explore the city, I wanted to be sure that I’d be able to find my way back. And according to my map, the bus station was close to Plaza de la Revolutión, which I could totally visit to say I was there.

My plan: walk around till I found a good place for lunch, then make my way back, stopping at any sort of interesting attraction.

I had the hint of a headache which worried me. I don’t mind headaches as long as they aren’t blinding, but since I’m so insensitive to heat, tiny headaches are the only warning I get before it’s too late. If my body was already claiming dehydration, I wouldn’t last very long.

I got off the bus, and made my way through the parking lot, dodging overbearing taxi drivers trying to give me a ride. The idea of bargaining for a taxi ride scared the crap out of me, so I just avoided all men standing within the general vicinity of a car.

I took the street the bus had came down. I couldn’t find a street name sign, but according to my map, if I walked in that general direction, I might eventually reach University of Havana. So I walked. And I walked. And walked and walked and walked.

Havana was a little intimidating. I knew from my guide book to avoid jineteros and run down areas. Jineteros didn’t seem to be a problem: there were many Cubans out and about, but they weren’t interested in me beyond distant curiosity. I did have a full backpack that would have earned me stares in Canada and my makeup had probably worn off by now, revealing my shiny red face. As for run down areas, I had no idea. My eye wasn’t trained to the local real estate yet and all the buildings vaguely reminded me of Downtown Eastside. (The inhabitants, however, did not. I didn’t see many homeless people, maybe one or two, and even they dressed pretty well and looked relatively healthy.) I just walked along, no one bothered me or came close enough for me to worry about being robbed.

While I was quite happy with the people around me, I wasn’t happy with the available food services. Clearly I was in a residential area, and with the exception of a few street venders and run down corner bars that didn’t turn on the food-snob in me, I couldn’t find a place to eat. I veered off on another major street, hoping it would taking me somewhere more commercial. I studied the intersection carefully so I could find it again. The blue, 3 story building. The yellow house. The crowded city bus stop. The small pyramid on the ground indicating 23/26.

23/26? So those were the street signs. Little pyramids on the ground.

I turned off 26 and walked down 23. Eventually, and I was almost in the University area, a cute restaurant caught my eye. It looked upper scale, which worried me since I wasn’t dressed upper scale. My travel clothes yell tourist, but they’re the best for walking long distances in the heat. Remember that I planed on walking for hours under the blistering sun during the hottest time of the day. My headache was still there but, to my relief, hadn’t worsened. I wasn’t abnormally sad or angry either – my usual hallmark signs of early heatstroke.

A father and son were the only patrons. The boy was about six and was chatting eagerly in Spanish. Too complex and too fast for me to understand. The waitress was a gorgeous Cuban woman, maybe a few years younger than me. Cubans, men and women, are usually very good looking, probably because they take such good care of themselves.

I decided to give it a try. My embarrassment at struggling with Spanish holds me back a lot, but I was quite thirsty and hungry. “Una persona”, I asked.

Most restaurants in Cuba have dress codes, but I think they’re not as strict during lunch hours. The waitress asked me whether I wanted to sit outside or inside. I didn’t care either way. She sat me inside and asked if I wanted air conditioning. I was sweltering, but didn’t want to admit it, so I turned down the offer. I pulled out my guide book for assistance in decoding the menu.

The chicken was delicious. It was greasy in the Cuban way, but it was still lovely. And the vegetables! I envy people who live in places were food can grow. I don’t like vegetables much because they’re so expensive and, by the time they reach grocery stores, they’re rotting. But when I’m travelling to gentler climates, I take a lot of pleasure in eating fresh, flavourful and affordable vegetables.

The meal came with corn chips and pumpkin dipping sauce. On the house, the waitress assured me.

She ran to my table a few times, asking if my thoughts on the food. She seemed a little nervous. I wonder how often they had tourists here. I wished I could speak with her more, but she didn’t know any English at all (that she let on) and my Spanish was too basic.

I asked for the bathrooms, the baños as they’re called in Cuba. I wasn’t sure she’d let me use them, but I didn’t want to find public toilets and fight with a toilet paper vendor. Thankfully she pointed to a door and included “izquierda” (left) in her answer. There was, obviously, no toilet paper, but I had some left from earlier. I took advantage of the few minutes of privacy to reapply sunscreen and retouch my red-face-hiding makeup.

I left the waitress 10 CUC (10$), which covered the meal and included a hefty tip. I turned down change, which earned me the first genuine smile from the waitress. It’s a shame, I thought, that money is your only lever when you’re a tourist in Cuba.

It was past 1 pm by now, so I made my way back. The restaurant, which was named something like La Habana (very original, yes), was on the corner 23rd and Avenue de los Presidentes. According to my map, I had taken the scenic route and I could save a lot of time getting back to the bus station by cutting through Avenue de los Presidentes.

During my time in Havana, I wasn’t comfortable enough to take photos. I felt stared at enough, I didn’t want to draw more attention to myself by pulling out a camera. It’s unfortunate because the sights I saw on my way back were lovely. There were monuments on Avenue de los Presidentes, mansions down one of the roads I strayed on, interesting city busses that were packed with people (I probably could have taken a city bus, but I felt that my backpack was too big to let me fit on one of those crowded busses, besides, I didn’t want to risk not being able to get back) and, of course, Plaza de la Revolutión.

This is across from Plaza de la Revolutión. I sat on those steps to check my map and drink water.

When I first arrived in Havana, I was very subtle about showing that I had no idea where I was or where I was going. I’d pull off into side streets or sit on park bench benches to check my map or drink some water. By the time I was getting near the bus stop, I didn’t care anymore. I walked with my guide book in one hand and my bottle of water in the other. I’m tough, but I was getting tired.

A young guy about my age asked me where I was from and what I was doing. His English was broken and I wasn’t sure of the Spanish word for walking. (Caminar? Like in the Cucaracha song?) “Explorar” I told him. “El estastion de autobús”

He asked if he could come with me.

So you can know how awfully lost I am?

Pride said no. Besides, I was too tired to physically handle company. My endurance is at its best when I’m on my own. I thanked him and he left me alone.

When I reached the bus station on my map, I was greeted by a lovely surprise. This wasn’t my bus station. This was the Astro station. The Viazul station was not indicated on my map. In fact, the Viazul station was so deep in the suburbs that the streets it was on weren’t even on my map.

I could have taken a taxi, but I still had a good hour and a bit before I’d be pressed to catch my next bus. I guesstimated that if I walked South-West for a bit over an hour I’d hit the Viazul straight on. When I’m alone, my sense of direction borderlines on super-human. I was discouraged at how far I’d have to walk, but I wasn’t worried.

I walked down a highway. I walked through a military base (Cuba looooves its military). I walked through a construction site. I walked down beated up roads. I walked through a run down apartment complex. Nothing deterred me from my South-West destination.

As I emerged from a field, pushing the tall grass aside, I came across a little ground pyramid. 24/42. 24. Two blocks over and I was at 26. 26 was the bus station road. I held my breath.

And yes. Yes. I recognized the area. The little chocolate bar. The fruit market. The cars dealership. I was two blocks away from the Viazul.

About a half an hour later, I was sitting on the bus to Vinales, listening to my mp3 player and reading the last few chapters of Naamah’s Curse on my e-reader.

Sure enough, because I had bought my ticket in Varadero, the Viazul people had no record of me, but there was still enough room. And, of course, we made a stop at the Astro station. But it was probably better that I had walked all the way to the Viazul station, because by then the bus was full and I’m not sure everyone at the Astro station was able to board.

And then we were off and I anxiously awaited Vinales.

On the second morning, I got up early. Getting up early in Cuba is easy because it’s on Eastern time, which a whole 90 minutes behind Newfoundland time. So even though it was dark and earie when I jumped out of bed, my body was thrilled to think it had slept in.

My body was slightly less thrilled to see itself in the mirror.

My hair was missing. That’s right. Someone stole my hair and replaced with yellow, frayed rope. I’ve never had dry hair before in my life (usually I can wring the oil out a few hours after I wash it) so I was thoroughly disturbed. And if that wasn’t bad enough, my face was bright, shiny red. Like radioactive red.

Before you all scold me on my sunscreen habits, I would like to point out that I had reapplied my SPF 60 sunscreen (yes, that is a 60) every hour. Besides, my face wasn’t sunburned. I’ve been a pasty-white Canadian my whole life, I know what sunburns feel like. I wasn’t sunburned. I was just red.

No, you don’t get pictures of my cosmetic misery.

Listen carefully in case this happens to you. The solution to hair-that-was-replaced-by-rope is conditioner. Lots of it. Next time I go to Cuba I will bring several tubes of conditioner because last time I ran out. The solution to red face is foundation makeup, followed by translucent powder. I was a little anxious because the number on my foundation is -3: extra pale for pasty chicks, not for radioactive red faces. But it worked (yay!) and the powder took the shine away. I finally looked like a normal human being again.

The taxi ride to the Viazul station is 15$/CUC. There are places where you can negotiate your taxi ride, but a few of my classmates tried, leading us to discover that Varadero is not one of those places. Taxis do run early in the morning, thankfully, so I was at the station by 7:30 am, ready to hop on the 8 am bus.

The bus station in Varadero is divided into two parts. The Viazul for the tourists is on one side and the Astro for the locals is on the other. The toilets are only on the Astro side of station. I always take a trip to the washroom while waiting for a bus, so I figured I’d keep up with the tradition.

Just before I walked in to the room, some lady greeted me. Nonplussed, I greeted her back. As I was closing the door to my stall, though, I heard some loud banging on the door, with some yelling. I opened it to see the woman gesticulating wildly and speaking Spanish way too fast for me. I squinted and tried to make out what she was saying. Eventually I caught the gist of it:

“El papel!”

I turned around. Sure enough, there was no toilet paper in my stall. The woman was a toilet paper vendor.

Turns out that most public bathrooms don’t have toilet paper in Cuba. Not sure if it’s a waste prevention thing or if people just steal the paper to become toilet paper vendors, but yeah, bring your own toilet paper with you if you expect to leave your hotel or casa. Even then, sometimes vendors will get very insistant if you don’t buy their toilet paper.

I gave the woman 50 cents and hoped it was enough.

It was.

She gave me enough paper to last the rest of my trip.

I did my business as usual, figured out how to flush the toilets (they have weird flushers in Cuba. I think they’re actually kind of techy-enviro-modern but each toilet is a new adventure to figure out). As I left my stall, I noticed the bathroom door was closed. It hadn’t been closed before. The alarms went off in my head before I even saw her.

Toilet vendor lady was standing there, waiting for me. I was still alarmed, but I breathed. Her head barely reached my shoulders and she was kind of pudgy. If she was going to mug me, she was going to have a rough go at it.

Instead, she started speaking rapidly in Spanish. I didn’t know what she wanted, but I was already somewhat vexed at having to pay her to use the washrooms. I didn’t want to give her more money. I shook me head and played stupid tourist. I’ve found two ways to get out of situations I don’t like when I’m on the go: giving people money to make them go away, and playing stupid tourist. “No comprendo” I told her. “No Comprendo!”

Eventually she made herself clear. She tugged on my shirt.

Ropa. Nina. Enfirma.

She wanted my clothes to give to her sick daughter.

I thought about the belongings I had on me. I had only brought the bare essentials. Whether she was telling the truth or not, I love giving away old clothes. It’s just that, short of undressing in front of her and spending the rest of the day naked, I had nothing to give her.

I tried to explain myself in my rudimentary Spanish -tried and failed. Eventually she did get the hint and let me go. I made a beeline back to the tourist section.

It wasn’t long until we were boarding. Viazul takes pride in being on time, and on time they were. I got on the bus and gave my ticket to the ticket person. The ticket person shook her head. “11:30 for you”.

Whaaaaa….After all that yesterday, I was still scheduled for the wrong bus?

Annoyed and still shaken from my bathroom encounter, I may have been a bit snappier than usual. Which resulted in being quickly switched to the right schedule, told that there was no problem and that there was plenty of room on the 8 am bus.

As we pulled out of Varadero and made our way to Havana, I thought about the toilet paper vendor lady. The only times I was harassed by people wanting my stuff was in Varadero: the ticket vendor who wanted my clothes and a woman with a card saying she had a brain tumor wanting my soap and shampoo. (In case you are wondering about the lady with the brain tumor, I didn’t have much on me at the time and I didn’t want to part with my GoToobs so I gave her my travel sized face soap. From then on, though, I carried some shampoo from the hotel in my purse, just in case.)

It’s difficult for an outsider to judge what the living conditions are like in Cuba. Cubans in Varadero (and American television) will be quick to tell you than Cuba is a third world country, that food is extremely difficult to access, that they are suffering immensely. But outside of Varadero, people seem happy and healthy. I don’t envy the Cuban people their lack of freedom, but from what I’ve seen, the average Cuban lives quite nicely. People dress well. It’s actually surprising how well they dress. Homes look small and run down from the outside, which is very shocking to unaccustomed Canadian eyes. But what little I saw of the house insides seems quite clean and cosy. Cubans are generally either outside working (I’ve found that Cubans are extremely hard workers) and outside talking with neighboors. It’s not like Canada where we spend almost the entirety of our lives behind our thick walls. They don’t have winters or extremes in temperatures to deal with. Only the heat and the sun, which make being outside lovely, and don’t do favors to the external appearance of buildings. Health-wise, Cuba has free healthcare, which is reputed to be of quite high quality. People take care of their bodies too, and I don’t think I saw a single obese Cuban the entire time I was there. Similarly, I don’t think I saw an overly thin Cuban either. Education is also free, and I was quite impressed how how intelligent and knowledgeable most Cubans I met were.

And if you were good and read through this entire post, you are allowed to look at a pictures I took from a bus stop on the way to Havana. If you didn’t read the whole post, NO PEAKING UNTIL YOU’RE FINISHED READING.

The first thing I noticed were the guys who unload bags off planes when we landed at the Varadero airport. You know, those guys who, in Canada, wear enormous snowsuits that mask any sign of humanity and whom you always feel sorry for since they have to stand outside in the cold all day.

I noticed those guys in Cuba because they were wearing t-shirts, not snowsuits. T-shirts!!!! In April!!! The excitement almost triggered some hyperventilating. T-shirts in April! I love this place already.

It was night when we landed, so I had big ideas of heading right to bed. But it’s not like that when you’re on Vacation in Cuba. We bought some beer at the airport. Outside, mind you. We didn’t even have to go to the bar. In Cuba, the bar goes to you.

Then we waited for our friends who exchanged their money at the airport Cadeca. They returned with confirmations that my guidebook was right: count your money carefully or they’ll try to rip you off.

The resort didn’t look quite like that yet because it was night, but I didn’t get any pictures of the resort at night and I figured that if I didn’t provide any pictures by now, you’d all stray.

Here’s another not-night picture of the resort.

We were greeted with (free) strawberry daiquiris by our friends who flew in from Halifax this morning.

This is the unfair thing about group travel: those who flew from Halifax paid less (flying out of Halifax is so much cheaper than flying out of St. John’s) yet got a whole extra day. Damn Nova Scotians.

By then, Vacation fever has settled in and going to bed became an idea of the past. I changed into some party gear, clutched my strawberry daiquiri and went to spend some time on the terrace with my classmates. DO YOU KNOW LONG ITS BEEN SINCE I’VE SEEN A TERRACE NOT COVERED IN SNOW? OMG.

Varadero feels like an amusement park for Canadian tourists. The day after a night of strawberry daiquiris, I took the double decker bus into town to make some Viazul bookings and, true to myself, just “to see”.

I quite enjoyed the double decker. So much that I spent the better part of the day going around and around. It’s 5$ or 5CUC for the day, and you can get on and off as you want. Best thing about the town.

Otherwise, there are many markets.

There are also people who sell souvenirs in front of their houses. The souvenirs are actually reasonably priced and are of surprisingly good quality. (And this is even coming from someone who worked in a souvenir shop for 4 years.) Lots of wood carvings, lots of musical instruments, lots of paintings.

I don’t usually buy souvenirs. I used to bring back souvenirs for my whole family whenever I went somewhere. But over the years, my parents ended up with so many mugs, shot glasses, pencils, weird sculptures and snow globes which ended covered in dust that the charm of getting souvenirs kind of wore off.

This time I bought a cookbook. I’ll cook my parents a nice Cuban dinner when I see them next. That’ll be the souvenir I bring back to them.

I eventually found the Viazul station. Calle 36 off the Autopista. I didn’t realize that the road that goes through Varadero isn’t the Autopista, so it took me at least one wrong turn. Not that there are a lot of roads in the area….the peninsula is pretty narrow.

I walked in to buy a ticket to Havana, hoping I could get one all the way to Vinales. You need two busses to get to Vinales: a 3 hour ride to Havana, then a 3 hour ride from Havana to Vinales. Customer service in Cuba has an awful reputation, so I wasn’t surprised when the ticket sale booth was empty. I had a seat in the waiting room and looked around.

The Viazul, which is a tourist and rich-people bus, station is separate from the locals Astro bus station. So the waiting room was filled of white-faced, sweaty people with sunburns, just like me.

The ticket salesperson eventually came back. It actually didn’t take him very long. I suppose that living in Newfoundland for 5 years makes a person immune to long waits for customer service. I’m impressed by anything that doesn’t involve a few formal complaints and a screaming match to get done.

Me: 8:00 for Havana, por favor!
Viazul guy: 8:00?
Me: Yes, 8:00. Would it be possible to buy a ticket for Vinales while I’m here too?
Viazul guy: Qué?
Me: VINALES
Viazul guy: Vinales 4:00! 11:30 Havana, 4:00 Vinales.
Me: No, 8:00 Havana, 4:00 Vinales.
Viazul guy: 11:30 Havana.
Me: No, 8:00 Havana.

Eventually I made him understand that I wanted to be on the 8 am bus for Havana, so I’d have a few hours to explore the city before heading out to the countryside at 4 pm.

I couldn’t get a return ticket, but I did have tickets to get me all the way to Vinales.

After securing transportation, I turned my thoughts toward lunch.

I’m terrible when it comes to selecting a place to eat. I made my way up and down the main street of Varadero, peaking in restaurants, regretting that I’d forgotten my guide book at the hotel.

People eat late in Cuba, usually around 2 pm. So at noon, I couldn’t use my normal “choose based on the people in restaurant” strategy. I wrapped a bandana around my head to ward off the heat (unlike most Canadians, I’m not bothered by blistering heat, but my body wasn’t quite used to the shock of the drastic climate change yet), grit my teeth and kept walking.

I noticed a busy side street. The people there were Cubans (or, at the very least, Mexican tourists…rumour has it there are no true Cubans in Varadero outside of tourism workers, but I saw plenty of folk who looked Cuban). I was curious. I wonder what good, exciting discoveries were waiting for me down that side street.

My stomach was digesting itself, my legs hurt and I was getting dizzy. I’d need to drink water soon or I’d find myself on the floor saying weird things in a few minutes. I saw a gas station in the distance. Gas station! I figured I’d just buy some food there and give up on my dreams of a delicious meal.

At the gas station, I was confronted by my first Cuban culture shock.

I guess gas stations around the world provide what people who are driving are more likely to need. In Canada and the US, gas stations sell beverages, snacks, magazines and road maps.

In Cuba gas stations sell….car parts.

Keep that in mind if you ever get the idea to drive through Cuba.

The gas station was a let down, but behind the gas station, I saw why the side street was so busy.

A small plaza stretched for about a block. Hoping to find some food, I made my way through the plaza. At the end, I discovered a real amusement park. One for Cubans, not for tourists. Well, I suspect it was made for tourists: it was in Varadero and all the prices were in tourist currency. But the rides were so run down and sketchy that no stuck-up, pompous tourist would dare touch them.

I’m not stuck-up or pompous, but I was really hungry and was feeling a little awkward since it had now been about half an hour since I’d seen another tourist. Around me, everyone spoke Spanish and, with my yellow hair, my red face and my bandana, I kind of stuck out in the crowd. As a result, I didn’t bother with the rides.

Instead, I located some tables under a canopy. I walked up to the counter, took the menu, pointed at “ensalada de pollo” and “aqua minerale” and stumbled to a seat. I pulled out my e-reader and got back into Namah’s Curse, which I had started reading on the plane. I ignored the weird looks. So what if this was a sit down restaurant where I’m not supposed to order at the counter. I was hungry, man!

It didn’t even occur to me at the time that no one around had probably ever seen an e-reader before.

The food was delicious. Chicken salad and a water bottle are what they are, but after stumbling around in the heat and humidity for hours, they were godsent. And they cost me less than 2$. Of course, the waiter screwed up my change and I ended up spending almost 4$ with tip, but whatever. I didn’t even bother correcting him.

Sated, I rode the double decker bus for a few more hours and eventually found myself back at the resort, with time to shower and get ready for the dinner buffet.

But in the meanwhile, for those planning a trip to Cuba and somehow stumbled upon this blog (which is unlikely since I have search engines blocked), here are my notes on transportation, cities and more.

Viazul and Interrurban Transportation

The website was just revamped at the time I’m writing this (April 2011), but last I checked, the Viazul schedule was accurate.

Various reports from past travellers recommend to avoid booking online as reservation tend to get lost. Communication within Viazul is fairly low tech so don’t take any reservations for granted. Also, double check your ticket and your reservation- mistakes during booking are fairly common, especially if there are language barriers between you and the Viazul employee selling the ticket.

Some cities will let you buy tickets for routes departing from other cities (I was able to book a Havana-Vinales trip in Varadero), others will not. Some cities offer round trip tickets (sometimes even with discounts! I saw a sign in Havana offering a 5% discount on certain round trips, including Vinales. I wish I had known before I bought my one way ticket to Vinales), others do not. Some cities ask you to pay at the moment of reservation, others tell you to wait until you show up for your bus.

When you make your reservation, your name is placed on a list. To avoid confusion and mishaps, reserving a day before your trip is ideal, but at the time and in the cities I travelled, showing up 30 minutes to an hour before departure was fine. Getting on the bus at one of the terminal cities was no problem, however, the cities don’t seem to communicate their reservations so space was a little tight for those getting on the bus at stops between the terminal cities.

Astro busses and trucks seem to run pretty frequently, but I wasn’t daring enough to give them a go. From what I’ve been told, transportation services designed for Cubans are pretty packed and it’s not really polite (or fair) to force Cubans to compete for a spot with foreigners when us foreigners can take the Viazul.

If you’re staying at a hotel, be sure to ask at the front desk about tours and bus services to other cities. I discovered, too late, that there were very reasonably priced bus trips available from the hotel doorstop to a number of cities in the region. Local tourism bureaus (every town seems to have at least one) can also hook you up with some good deals so check them out too.

As a woman travelling alone

I had no problems getting around by myself and didn’t feel threatened at all. I was warned that Cuban men can be lewd and that I should deal with them by ignoring them or giving them cold stares. My personal experience couldn’t be more different. I was frequently stopped on the street by young men curious as to what a yellow-haired white girl with a few sunburns was doing walking around with a big backpack, but I found that almost all of them were extremely respectful and polite. Older men also often shouted out greetings, and were happy when I responded with a wave, a smile and a “holá” in return.

Casa Particulares

I had a bad booking experience in Vinales where I had booked through Hostelbookers (I went with a Casa that had excellent reviews thinking that it was a good bet) and paid a deposit. When I got to Vinales, I couldn’t find the place. A passerby sent me to the sister of the Casa owner I had booked with. My Spanish is pretty limited, so what followed was a lot of confusion. The sister offered to call my Casa’s owner, and the woman on the end of the line told me her internet reservations got mixed up and that she was full.

Whether or not I was scammed into staying at the sister’s Casa, I don’t know. It seemed like a pretty elaborate scam to me, but my guide book did mention that it was common for Casa Particulares owners to trick people into staying in their homes. What I do know, though, is that one should never book a Casa Particular through a website that requires a deposit.

In April, in a town like Vinales where there are more Casa Particulares than there are normal homes, you don’t really need to book ahead if you don’t have a preference. You will be swarmed by dozens of desperate Casa owners the second you step off the bus. I can’t speak for other towns.

I asked my Casa owner what the best way to reserve was and she answered that she preferred phone reservations. If you like to reserve via internet, others I met in Vinales mentioned they booked through BBinnVinales (which also handles reservations for Casas in other Cuban regions, not only Vinales), didn’t have to pay a deposit and had their reservations honoured.

Review of Villa Cary in Vinales

Overlooking the circumstances that led me to stay at Villa Cary, I have to say that I really liked the Casa. The house is very clean and cosy. The bedroom has three beds: two singles and one almost-double. You get your own bathroom and the shower has good pressure and steady temperature with warm water (unlike my expensive hotel in Varadero!). Senora Cary is an amazing cook and, while she doesn’t speak English, she is very used to foreigners and had no trouble guessing what I was saying, most of the time. She also spoke slowly and was patient with my stumbling Spanish. Her entire family was warm and welcoming and quickly made me feel at home. Her older son is a professional massage therapist who offers massages for fairly cheap (I didn’t have enough money for one, but he was very popular with other tourists) and her younger son speaks good English and was around in the evenings to translate and facilitate conversations.

If you stay at Villa Cary, tell them Jennifer from Canada says hi!

Doing business with Cubans

I was told that customer service is left to be desired in Cuba, but that wasn’t my experience at all. I found that Cubans would go out of their way to earn a good tip (and weren’t shy about asking for one either) and I received excellent service almost all the time.

One thing I discovered the hard way is that you need to be very upfront about what you want. Otherwise, you will be provided with far more than what you want and you will be charged for it.
Also, don’t be shy in asking about the cost of things. Cubans usually won’t tell you how much something costs until its too late. Don’t accept anything without asking for the price first. What may look like a gesture of kindness, or what may seem to be included in another price usually comes at a cost.

Always count your change or the money you exchange at the Cadeca as well. I learned very quickly to pay exact cash as much as possible.

Varadero

Varadero lives up to its reputation: a pretty amusement park for beach loving tourists. If you’re not into long days at the beach, then there’s not a whole lot to see. A few creative restaurants and cheap (yet fairly good quality) souvenirs can entertain you for a couple of hours.
There’s a hop on-hop off double decker tour bus that goes around Varadero and connects downtown Varadero with the resorts lining the peninsula. It’s 5$CUC for the day and you can get on and off the bus as often as you wish. I had a lot of fun riding the bus for hours.
Off the Autopista, around Calle 50, there’s a cute yet run down amusement park with small rides. When I explored it, it was used exclusively by Cubans. I found it rather charming and it remained a highlight of my trip.

Vinales

Vinales is a tiny village, bursting at the seams with tourists. The tourists in Vinales, however, are not the kind of tourists who go to Varadero. Those I met in Vinales mixed well with the locals and were extremely respectful of the town.

Getting off the bus in Vinales feels kind of like stepping into a grade-school humanities textbook. The village is cosy but rustic, dogs and farm animals wander freely and ox-pulled carts pass through town all the time. There’s a lot to do in the region. I went horseback riding for a few hous, stopping at a lake to swim, at a cigar factory for a demonstation and some mojitos and at a cave for exploring. The local tourist bureau has a selection of more elaborate tours for those who’re staying a little longer and have more money to spend. At night, there’s always music and dancing at the town plaza.

Havana

Note that the Viazul station is a bit outside the downtown area of Havana. I didn’t realize this until I noticed that it took me two hours to reach the University area on foot. Actually, I realized it when I walked to the bus station on my map from the University area and discovered that the bus station on my map wasn’t the Viazul station. The Viazul station was a good 45 minute walk from the station on my map. In fact, the Viazul station was so far out of the way that wasn’t even on my map. Next time I’ll bring more money and take a taxi.

Havana is a lovely city and I wish I had more than 6 hours to explore it. My guide book recommends planning 4 days to see Havana.
Due to my determination to explore the city solely on foot, the only tourist areas I reached were Av. de los Presidentes and Plaza de la Revolution. For the rest, I wandered through the residential outskirts of town. The residential outskirts of town, however, are really worth strolling through. The locals did find it strange to see me there, but they were politely curious and welcoming.

Matanzas

Due to my time constraints and some bus breakdowns, I had to go to Matanzas with a tour group and didn’t get to explore the city as freely as I’d like. Still, the parts I did see: Cueva de Bellamar, the pharmaceutical museum (I’m a pharmacist by trade, so I found this particularly exciting), town square and a local bar/coffee shop; were all worth the visit.

Matanzas seems like a small, residential town, but don’t let it fool you. There are lots of museums, restaurants and beautiful buildings to look at. It’s definitely worth a stop if you’re passing through the area.

Conclusion

And that was the quick overview of my trip. Fuller stories and photos to follow!