I know New York. I need New York. I know I need unique New York.

“Hello, poor people!” cried Alan Cumming as the MC, waving his hand at us all the way up in our balcony seats.”This can’t be much fun for you.” We chuckled and we were actually having much fun, but being in New York on a budget can sometimes feel like you’re missing something.

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Broadway can be beautiful and cheap.

During a long weekend in the big apple I must admit that I thought how nice it would be to be rich in NYC.

Having spent my entire budget on somewhere to sleep (and ok, fine, a ticket to Sleep No More- just things related to sleep then), I decided that in New York, like everywhere else, the best things in life should be (and are often if you open your eyes) free.

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Look! A new, sharp, shiny building being a bit moody.

It helped that I was there because I had $25 Cabaret tickets (Roundabout Theatre has cheap tickets reserved for people under 35 at each performance) and to meet up with this guy I like.

I resisted a cashmere sweater with an elephant holding a pink ball with its trunk and didn’t even set foot into the Kate Spade stationery store.

Instead, I watched couples kiss and practice a few shy dance steps in Grand Central Station while I waited for my Baltimore boy to arrive.

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Grand Central Station is a good place to sit down and weep in, but it’s an even better place to dance in.

Instead, we walked in the rain and avoided rats in Central Park.

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Walking in the rain and discovering secret gardens is free!

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Taking multiple pictures of ducks is a cheap and entertaining way to spend a few minutes in New York’s Central Park.

We riffled through antique shops in Chelsea and Williamsburg and window shopped at my new favourite (or only favourite) jewellery store, Adorned by Love in Nolita (I thought we were in SoHo).

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Window shopping in impossibly cool and expensive places.

We found cheap breakfasts and had falafel in the park, splurged on coffees and walked until our feet fell off.

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Walking across the Williamsburg Bridge at sunset… what could be more romantic?

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View from the bridge.

I love New York. I need new York. Know I need unique New York.

When travelling, I love checking out the local markets. Some of my strongest memories include trying to buy lettuce and a tomato from farmer’s market in Bosnia, taking pictures of intense old-lady cheesemongers in Paris, and putting various foods on a stick into my mouth at a night market in Cambodia.

So I was pretty excited to discover that Toronto now hosts a flower market that features local growers, sellers, and stylists. 

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Sometimes Torontonians need it spelled out for them.

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The flower market is pretty hip.

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Getting inspired.

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Wild fields and country in the city.

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I decided to go for it and bought four bunches (for only $20!)

I loved being able to buy flowers- a wonderful perk of not travelling.

I didn’t quite realise exactly how many flowers I’d bought until I tried to figure out where to put them all. It’s a week later and my tiny apartment is still chocked with bright blooms and I’m happy. I try to remember this kind of feeling- the feeling of being home and able to buy myself flowers to liven up my own space- whenever my feet get itchy and my fingers start googling destinations and seat sales.

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I could fit the most stems into my sangria pitcher (in which I have never made sangria). On the dining room table (seen here with butter, sugar, and a brick from the beach at Leslie Spit)

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This is my only actual vase. In the kitchen.

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In a milk-bottle-looking bottle that was bought with orange juice in it in London in maybe 2008 and never re-used until this day. In the kitchen.

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In the entrance in a storage jar.

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In the bathroom in a jam jar.

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In the living room in a balsamic vinegar bottle.

The next flower market will be on September 13th. See you there!

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At the top end of Australia, over a year ago.

One year ago yesterday, my plane from London touched down in Montreal. My mother was there to meet me at arrivals and it felt a bit like one of the Love, Actually airport moments where there’s hugging and jumping up and down and perhaps even a tear of two.

I was home after over a year of travelling around the world. I was home with my mum, ready to celebrate a wedding of a dear friend with old friends, ready to take on the next adventure. A chilled-out, at-home adventure.

That was a year ago.

I’ve neglected this blog because it’s supposed to be about travel and theatre and there has been very little travel and very little theatre in this past year.

Strangely, I’ve only recently started to miss those things, things that I thought defined me more than they ultimately do, I’m realising.

This past year has been amazing and I’ve felt very happy working a 9-5 job, coming home to my one-bedroom apartment, indulging in Netflix, and having long Skype conversations.

But now seems like the perfect time to get back to it all. Shake off the comfortable routine (i.e. laziness).

And it all starts with booking stuff. My credit card has had quite the workout and (if I cover the actual costs- literally, like, with my hand so that I don’t see the numbers), I love looking at the statement. My spending represents who I think I am.

  • Train tickets to Montreal. Discount business class tickets, baby!
  • Tickets to Cabaret in New York. Alan Cumming, wait for me!
  • Tickets to Paris via Reykjavik. In January. But I love Paris when it drizzles. And days with 3 hours of light. Right?
  • And tickets to a couple of SummerWorks plays.

SummerWorks is like the Fringe Festival’s sober sister. The one who has her shit together but still likes to have a good time. But a good time with focus, if you know what I mean. So my tickets are booked for two shows that I know are going to be amazing: He Left Quietly and Unintentionally Depressing Children’s Tales. Check them out.

I’ll also be making myself a calendar of playwriting submission deadlines. So I can watch them go by. Wheeee!

And, mostly, I hope to have many amazing adventures to post here.

 

Yesterday was boring. I barely left my apartment and the sky was grey. I felt a bit lonely, more than I did when I literally was alone on the other side of the world. Even buying myself flowers didn’t make me feel much better.

So today I went out and travelled. I shook myself up and remembered what I love to do: discover the world. Even if it’s only going a few subway stops away.

I got up early (for a Sunday), and made my way east to Corktown, the oldest neighbourhood of Toronto for a Jane’s walk. It was beautiful and sunny and very chilly.

I found out about an 1800 duel caused by some rumours about a lady and that escaped slaves from Kentuky started the taxi company that would lead to the TTC (even if just in colour scheme) and saw the stables where the horses who made cookies for Mr Christie lived.

I saw the first free school and discovered the area is called Corktown because the first wave of immigrants came from Ireland- not necessarily from Cork itself, but still. And because there was a cork factory in the are. And I realised I know nothing much at all about my own city.

Everything was so colourful, I thought I’d share some pictures of this morning:

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A laneway that used to be “muddy and sketchy” (and across the street from the first Loblaws grocers’) and is now hoity toity.

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Pink building and blue sky.

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Workers’ row houses from the 1800s. That’s very old for Canada. Notice the red and white bricks- both made here but at different brickworks.

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Bright Street.

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The Magic Building.

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A guy.

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The Dominion Hotel (attached to the brewery). Now hosts jazz and rockabilly.

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Trees and shadows of trees.

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The Berkeley Cafe, where I used to go for lunch breaks when I used to work in the neighbourhood. A great place to overhear conversations and theatre gossip (lots of theatres nearby).

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The Opera Company and the Berkeley Theatre- old gas works buildings.

I hadn’t been up the CN Tower since I was 6. But with complimentary coupons for the “Experience” in hand and a determination to be tourist in Toronto, we took the subway down to a massively-still-under-construction Union Station after work and went up the empty tower. It used to be the tallest free-standing structure in the world. Before Abu Dhabi broke all the records.

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Walking through the atmospheric sky walk from Union Station to the CN Tower.

I don’t go down to that area of Toronto too often, so I took some pictures:

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This is my city. Tall, shiny, and under construction. Because you can never have too many condos.

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A celebration of the fact that it is still bright and sunny after work. Spring is coming!

After being shot at by air when walking through security (the guard didn’t like me asking what the puffs of air were for, so I didn’t insist on the scientific explanation of what exactly the “firing jets” were actually doing), we went into the elevator that shot up 350 metres. We immediately went to the outdoor observation deck to look at stuff.

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Inside the CN Tower. It was very very windy and it was fun to run into the wind screaming. And watching planes take off from Billy Bishop airport.

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A laskeshore park with parasols (empty and cold).

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Lake Ontario was still a bit frozen.

When we got too cold, we realised there was also an indoor observation deck. So we went there and looked out at the city for hours. We found friends’ buildings, landmarks, and streets. We watched the sun set.

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Toronto from up high.

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As the sun set, I played with the features on my camera.

Who would have thought the CN Tower could be romantic? But it kind of was. Probably because there were very few tourists up there on a cold Tuesday evening.

You’ll notice there are no pictures of me on the glass floor- I managed to stand on it for a minute before losing my mind. It is scary seeing the ground so far below you.

We tried to go to the restaurant. But the rule is you have to get at least an entrée each. And it was very expensive. So we ate half a bagel with peanut butter and jam in the train station’s sad food court to hold us off until dinner.

Because my frugal travel budget of pasta at the hostel extends to real life. And I like it that way.

in80plays:

My lovely friend and co-worker just posted a profile on her awesome blog that is making me blush. And yet here I am re-blogging it. Thanks, Ashley!

Originally posted on Meandering Mac:

elise It’s time for another co-worker! Within the company that I work for there’s a work abroad program that helps students and youth obtain international work visas and provides support once they’re abroad. Elise works for this arm of the company, and this is how I became lucky enough to have this quirky chick in my life.

View original 600 more words

It snowed. A lot. Schools were cancelled and planes grounded. So I firmly crossed my fingers and hoped tomorrow would be different and that I could board a little plane and fly away.

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The Dash 8-100 over snowy fields. I now know things about planes by osmosis and have become nerdy enough that I will go to museums about them (see below).

It stopped snowing, the temperature soared above zero, and I looked down at gradient grey-scale half-frozen lakes and patchworks of white fields.

The propeller was loud (I was in a Dash 8-100 Bombardier aircraft, which I know because I was flying to visit a guy who knows things about planes and makes sure I know these things too), and the bumpy ride made me a bit nauseous. But the one good thing about there not being any low-cost carriers in Canada is that you get ginger ale for free on fancy full-cost flights.

When I landed in Baltimore, it felt like Springtime. Lots of snow, but a warm sun and the sounds of dripping melting thawing everything. Beautiful old houses.

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Pretty sun setting over Baltimore.

After a Valentine’s night of pulled pork on square bread and a wonderfully random review of scenes from London’s National Theatre on TV (where we heard Ralph Fiennes do a South African accent and Judy Dench sing Sondheim), we woke up stupidly early to catch the train to Washington. We nearly missed it because we needed coffee and a muffin very desperately and the lineup for the coffee and muffins in the train station was very slow. But we made it!

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There is the Washington Monument in the background. Grey on grey on grey. With two scrappy snowmen.

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At the National Air and Space Museum, touching the moon rock. A rock from the moon. A ROCK FROM THE MOON! I’m touching a rock from the moon!

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No Jenny wading in this reflecting pool. Not in this weather.

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Lincoln.

It was my first time in Baltimore and my first time in Washington, DC. and though I don’t know what I was expecting, I was surprised. Washington is an actual place and it was surreal to see so many sites made familiar by movies and TV. Baltimore was bright and beautiful, probably because I managed to avoid the drugs and violence of The Wire, though I’m sure it actually exists.

Maybe it’s because I haven’t been to a place I’d never been before in a relatively long time, but everything was reminding me of something else, even though they were totally different. In Baltimore, I found that street corner in Sydney, that coffee shop in Denmark, that street in Montreal…

And darn it, my feet are getting a little itchy again to go to all the Somewhere News. 

Top 3 things I will not forget about my quick weekend trip:
– I ate bacon from Tennessee and I will never find bacon that good again.
– I didn’t see Toby Ziegler in Washington.
– Flying out of an international airport that only has 3 flights out per evening is a quick and lonely.

I have been home for over six months, yet it still feels like I just got back. I’m still out of loop on the theatre scene, I still haven’t caught up on all the 2013 movies, I still haven’t unpacked all my boxes, and I’m still saying “well, I just got back from a trip” when people ask what I’m up to.

So I’m feeling a bit like a tourist in my own country, happy to rediscover it all armed with a few more points of reference and comparison.

With a very snowy winter, a job that involves showing off my country to young people, and two days of back-to-back Olympic hockey wins, I’m feeling hyper-aware of my Canadianism.

So here’s to living it up, Canadian-style, and enjoying the winter:

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I tried curling for the first time. It was ridiculously fun to throw a rock down a sheet of ice. The sweeping not quite as fun.

 

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Whenever the temperature goes above -8°, it’s a good time to go for a walk in the secret neighbourhood of Wychwood Park in Toronto.

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Barrelling down snowy hills in an inflatable tube! A cheap and cheerful alternative to skiing.

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The local wildlife. Back to posting pictures of birds!

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The local food: poutine! Not exactly your traditional, hole-in-the-wall-greasy-spoon version (where you layer fries, cheese curds, gravy, fries, cheese curds, and gravy), but this one still did the trick with its squeaky cheese and heart-attack potential.

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If you pass a half-frozen creek, you must go break the ice with your boots for that pleasing sound and to watch the bits of freed ice float down stream.

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After the ice storm, the trees were glittering in the low winter sun.

I haven’t had a real winter in a couple of years, and as my tan fades, I am thankful to be back in Canada, despite the sore throat and frozen toes. And power cuts when it’s -20°C.

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Snow makes everything seem old-timey.

The power in my apartment cut out over 60 hours ago because of the ice storm that hit Toronto on Saturday. Luckily I have family in town and have been going from one place to another as power cuts in and out.

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People go nuts with the lights. And it’s tacky and beautiful.

I remember a few things I don’t like about winter at home:

When your scarf gets wet from snow or your breath’s condensation and then rubs up against your chin

Dry skin, wet feet, the inevitable runny nose

Getting slushed by passing cars

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Snow in the city mutes everything. Everything becomes quiet and cozy and nostalgic.

But when the air is crisp and the sky is blue and the setting sun makes all the ice-covered branches glisten like a Christmas card overloaded with glitter, winter in Canada is exactly perfect.

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The ice storm hits.

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Frozen smoke-tree flower.

Or when the snow is falling in big fat cottonball flakes and you sit by the window with a cup of tea and a book and you don’t have to go to work tomorrow.

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Christmas snow, typical Toronto house.

This time last year, I was alone in the middle of New South Wales, watching the rain wash away the road.  Turns out that Christmas only really feels like Christmas when it’s winter and you’re with your family putting together a jigsaw puzzle. With chocolate and clementines.

Happy holidays, everyone!

You wouldn’t know it from what I’m about to show you, so there are a few things you should know before scrolling through the following pictures:

1- I don’t eat burgers that often. I just happen to take pictures when I do.

2- I love to try new things and I tasted a bunch of awesome non-burger dishes in my trip around the world. The most memorable will probably be the subject of my next post (looking through my photos looking for my burger ones, I noticed I take a lot of pictures of food).

3- I know you will judge me for eating so many burgers and I will be able to defend myself with the following arguments: burgers are relatively cheap and very filling, they are easy to eat, when you’re overwhelmed by a menu they are a simple choice, burgers are delicious.

So, just because, here are some shots of me eating burgers around the world:

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Burger in fresh sourdough bread on the piers in San Francisco. With Anne-Marie.

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Still in California, trying the infamous In-N-Out Burger (that I’d never heard of until then). In Santa-Barbara with Courtney and Karel.

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Speaking of infamous- here’s the Fergburger. I mean. Just look at it. In Queenstown (New Zealand) with Yvonne.

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Made our own kangaroo burgers at the hostel in Fort Macquarie, Australia. It was pretty good. With that nice French guy from the hostel.

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Believe it or not, this is a burger from a French restaurant in Pondicherry, India. It wasn’t awesome. But look how tanned I was. With Uk and Anu.

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This chicken burger was as big as my head, was delicious, and was the only affordable non-supermarket lunch we could find in Hvar, Croatia. With David-Marc and those two cousins from BC.

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After-pub burger at Wannaburger in Edinburgh. This may or may not have been a 2-burger day. I’ll never tell. With Gerry.

You may also have noticed I only own black or blue t-shirts. But rest assured I live a varied and interesting life, whatever else these burger photos may imply.

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