Life List #61 – Buy Everyone In The Bar A Drink

Some days are meant to be more amazing than others.  That’s the nature of balance in the world.  Sometimes you lose your passport, miss your flight, drop the cake on the floor or stub your toe.  Sometimes you find that you’ve done your research, timed everything just right, arrive at the bus stop just in time, have the winning lottery ticket.  It’s not always something you can account for, it just IS.

Yesterday was kind of a little bit of both for me.  I spent literally the entire day at a coffee shop trying to tear myself away from the randomness of the interwebs to get my column done for Intrepid Media, and somewhere around 8pm, I finally finished.  I was happy with the final product, too, so I would consider that a (very slow) win.  While at the coffee shop, I was invited to a party that evening, but never really heard much about the details.  I finally got a text around 9:30 saying the guys weren’t even done at work yet, so I didn’t really think too much about it.  I was (again) goofing off online, and in my pyjamas – perfectly content to stay home!

At 11:06pm, I got a text from Thomas.  Thomas is an amazing and interesting friend – practically my twin. He entered my universe with the verve of a hurricane, much in the way I assume I enter most other people’s lives.  He makes me laugh, roll my eyes and then get up and join in all at once.  Just yesterday morning, he asked how long I’d be in town.  When I said I’d be here until Saturday, why did he ask, the reply was “So we can get married at the court house, of course!”  Riiiight.  I see that happening.

Last night, all the text said was: “Are you up?”  For most people who text me that late, the answer is generally ‘Not really’ if I reply at all.

For Thomas, the response was immediate.  “Up for what?”

The phone rings.  He’s laughing, half in conversation with me, half with his friend.  He’s dropping Kevin off at the train station five minutes from my house.  “You have ten minutes to get ready,” he says, “I’ll be there soon.”

Of course, I hung up and jumped in the shower, brushed my teeth and hair and threw on a dress.  A white dress, because you just never know.  I’m out the door in ten minutes, looking as fabulous as ten minutes of prep time is going to look.  We immediately start walking.  Neither one of us knows where we’re going.

“What are we doing?”
“I have no idea, I thought we could go get a drink.”
“Perfect, we’ll walk in this direction until something strikes our fancy.”

So we did.  We ended up buying really random things at the 24 hour Gourmet Market, where the Egyptian guy who runs it always puts free chocolates in my bag before I leave.  Aww!  Then, we discovered Anna Liffey’s, an Irish pub, was still open.  A drink?  But of course!

It was around that time that Kevin called, and I left Thomas on the phone outside, went inside to order drinks before last call – a black and tan for him, Hangar One Kaffir Lime on the rocks for me.

He joins me, we’re holding hands and laughing about how ridiculous the evening has already been and then we hear “Last Call!” from John the Bartender.  “Shots?” Thomas suggests.  “Sounds perfect!”

Right then, I have my epiphany.  Best epiphany I’ve had all week.

“John,” I say, gesturing the barman over.  “How many people are in this bar?”  He steps away from me to do a headcount.

“Twenty-five? Right about twenty-five.”
“Do you know the Washington Apple shot?”
“I do.”

I grab Thomas’s hand.  It’s below the bar top, where no one can see it.  I squeeze his hand, hard.

“John, we’re getting married tomorrow,” I look at Thomas and grin wickedly, “and I would like to buy everyone in the bar a shot!”

Thomas starts laughing. He knows this is on my Life List of Things To Do Before I Die.

“John, do you give a discount for buying in bulk?”

He chuckles and says yes, he’ll hook me up.  Of course, right?!  He starts lining up the shot glasses and shouts for people to come over for shots.

He announces our impending nuptials and the desire to buy everyone in the bar a shot.

People are skeptical, but they start coming over.  Asking questions.

“Are you really getting married tomorrow?”
“Of course we are!  And you guys are helping us celebrate!”

We start weaving a ridiculous tale that I can’t even remember right now, but it was tragic and hysterical and too absurd to NOT be true, and by the time the shots were finally prepared, people were offering congratulations and cheering for Love Conquering All.

My camera was passed around, pictures were taken, toasts were offered, shots were quaffed.  There were high fives and hugs and cheering and then, all too soon, the bar was closed down and we were the last ones.  We finished our first drinks and thanked the bartender (with a big tip!) for his assistance.

After a final congratulation, we left him to clean up and walked home laughing.  It was completely unexpected, totally refreshing and one of the best days I’ve ever had.

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#97 Read 50 classic books.

Does it count if I’ve already read them before making this list?  Because I’d rather not slog through the Count of Monte Cristo again if I don’t have to.

What about “Pride and Prejudice and Zombies” instead of Jane Austen’s version? (Seriously, read it.  It’s hysterical.)

Someone get back to me on this, please.

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Life List #1 – Yoga at Dawn on the Taj Mahal, October 2009

I took a really awesome trip at the beginning of my leave of absence last year – I may have mentioned once or twice that I went to India.  Maybe? I thought I might have.

One of my favourite things about the trip was taking the overnight train from Varanassi to Agra.  We arrived with the sunrise, deposited onto a raised train station platform that housed a sleeping cow, stacks of bricks and various colourful indigent people curled up with their belongings.  Outside the train station, there were (of course) throngs of people, crowded around. Coolies calling to help us with our baggage, we shrugged on our backpacks and headed toward the taxi queue.  A short ride through a surprisingly clean city and we arrived at the Hotel Agra ($9 a night, but the trade off for price was bed bug bites) at 8am.

In America, arriving at a hotel at 8am would get you NOTHING.  In India, they didn’t have a hotel room ready for us, but they opened the kitchen to offer us breakfast and let us nap in a ‘waiting’ room with a tv and a couple of beds until the room was ready.  Total kindness and quite delicious – breakfast of chai and honey toast on the roof, watching the early morning mist burn off, exposing the beauty of the nearby Taj little by little.

Having missed seeing the sun rise at the Taj Mahal that morning, we decided to spend the day relaxing after a not-so-restful train ride the night before (I ended up with an unshakable cold from the freezing air conditioning) and see the Taj bright and early the next morning.  That night, we walked 50 meters to the Oberoi Amarvilas, a five star, luxury hotel ($600-3300/night is definitely luxury).  We had read in the Lonely Planet India guide that their hotel bar was expensive, amazing and worth a visit.  After our austere living in an ashram and the rigors of cross-India travel, we figured we deserved a night of cocktails in exquisite surroundings.

Walking up to the hotel, though, proved to be a little more difficult than we’d realized.  Stopped by several guards with large guns, they made us wait at the gate house.  As it turns out, no one just ‘walks up’ to the Oberoi.  Apparently, we looked like riffraff with our less than luxurious clothes. I didn’t exactly pack high heels and expensive dresses when I packed!

I didn’t look THAT bad!

The guards with guns called Reception to find out if we could be allowed entry. Reception said no.  The guards turned us away.  Clare and Alida started to go.  I stood my ground.  I know that prudence is sometimes the better part of valor, but I was positive they wouldn’t just outright SHOOT me.  Okay, I was *fairly* certain, but I stood my ground anyway.

“I would like to speak to someone at Reception.”

“No, no, no.  You must go.  Very busy tonight. Not allowed. Must go. Must go!”

“Absolutely not. Please ring Reception back, I insist on speaking with a manager.”

After much hand waving (but no threatening motions with guns, thankfully), the guard in charge called Reception back and handed me the phone.

“Good evening.  Yes, hi. This is Maigen Thomas.  My travel companions and I would like to come enjoy a drink in your hotel bar this evening.” … “I do understand that you have an exclusive group of people staying in your hotel and that all rooms have been booked.  I’m not interested in a room, I would like a drink.  In the bar.” … “I have, in hand, a copy of the Lonely Planet – India and in it there is an entry for your hotel which states that your hotel restaurant and bar are open to non-hotel guests.  Are you disputing this information?  I should let you know that I’m a travel writer for a website based in the United States, and I would happy to post the information that your hotel is less than welcoming and I’m sure that the information in the Lonely Planet can be changed to reflect this.” … “Oh, so we can come and enjoy a drink at the bar?  Yes.  I understand the entire restaurant is full.  Thank you, we promise to stay in the bar area.”

I passed the phone back to the head guard, who confirmed the information and allowed us to pass.  Clare and Alida were laughing at my flagrant mis-information (they weren’t *lies*, they were just half-truths.  THIS is a website based in the US and I DO write about travel!) and thrilled that my moxie got us through the gate!

That evening we had many glasses of expensive local wine (pinot noir from India isn’t bad, but it wasn’t really great), and enjoyed some amazing conversation.  Light snacks were brought to us (in lieu of dinner in the restaurant, we just kept asking for more refills of the puffed lotus seeds and salted peanuts!) and we eventually meandered onto the patio to enjoy the beautiful balmy breeze and gorgeous view of the Oberoi compound.

Later in the night, two extremely handsome, tall men wandered out on the balcony to enjoy a cigarette.  One of them caught my eye and came over to speak to me.  Deep blue eyes, about 6’2, well dressed, broad shoulders – oh my. We ended up sharing a cigarette and chatting for quite a while.  It was lovely flirting with this handsome Austrian man, but I can’t remember his name.  I do remember making plans to meet at dawn at the Taj Mahal, though.

The next morning, rising early and enduring a harrowing, bizarre tuktuk ride through Agra (in the opposite direction, it appeared, from the Taj) causing Clare to have a freak attack and yell at the driver.  He got us there safely, but irritatingly, we found out we could easily have walked.  It was kind of expensive to get in to see the Taj, but was breathtakingly worth it.

Walking up the long pathway to the main building, I was stunned at how beautiful the building looked in the misty light.  Just as I was crossing over the main path to the shoe holding area (they require you to wear shoe covers or go barefoot), I looked up to the balcony area and there he was.  My handsome date.  Waiting for me, wearing jeans, a dark sweater with a collared shirt. Dark shades.  A nonchalant half-wave-half-salute.  And a smile.

I blushed.  It has to be said, it might be one of my best dates ever – even if I can’t remember his name.  There was nothing more to it than a slow stroll around the world’s best known monument to eternal love, but it was amazing for exactly that reason.

Then, as the sun crested and the heat struck the side of the building, I was inspired.  A sense of peace and balance came over me.  I laughed, I couldn’t believe how unbelievable it was – I’m in India!  At the Taj Mahal!  Whatever possessed me to come here, I thanked the urge.  I thanked the Universe for providing the way and the means.

So, of course, I did Dancer’s Pose.  Because it’s my favourite celebration of balance and joy.

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