One clear and cool November day, I hit the long flat highway of southern Manitoba. I drove south, through prairie farmers’ fields and past little country chapels and dilapidated, rust coloured shacks. The sun arced in the sky, and I watched passively while driving, as it eventually fell behind the trees on the horizon, its light flickering in and out of leaves and branches. I reached the border, only one other vehicle in front of me. I just had time to put away my car snacks and dig out my passport before I sidled up to the border guard.
“Where are you going?”
“You driving or flying to Arizona?”
“Where are you staying?”
“How do you know this friend?”
“What does your friend do there?”
Etcetera.
My carrots passed as an acceptable vegetable to bring over the border. Anyway, I finished the bag in another handful.
I arrived in Grand Forks, boarded my plane, and a couple of short hours later, arrived in Arizona. I had been expecting desert heat and a warm evening, but a cool wind greeted me when I stepped onto the tarmac, so I kept my cardigan on. I had no checked bag, so I emerged seamlessly from the arrivals area to be greeted by the smiles and hugs of one of the most special people I know in the world, a girl named Lea.
We drove to her place, where she lives with 5 chihuahuas and her darling maltipoo. While I unpacked, the ceaseless gabbing started. Our weekend together had begun.
The weekend was filled with dog walks, red wine, all the twinkly lights, gluten-free pizza, Gilmore Girls marathons, a drive to Sedona, saguaro cacti, lipstick and all the heart-to-heart, jam-packed, compact girl bonding imaginable. By the end of the weekend, we were laugh-crying over pancakes at Chompie’s while reliving my visit.
While in Sedona, we wandered and shopped, sampled olive oil, and met this guy:
In Sedona, a lady covered in semi-precious stones around her neck and fingers mentioned as we entered her jewelry store, “You two must be sisters.”
“Nope,” we chuckled together.
“Well, kindred spirits then.”
This, from a lady who is energetically intuitive, spiritually aware. This, from a place known for its crystals and vortices.
We wined and dined, and had a few stiff cocktails too… but knowing me (and pretty much the entire travel blogging community), a food post will be a standalone feature. Remember that time I went to Washington State and ate like a boss? I’ve also made some pretty significant changes to my diet, so I may discuss this too.
The grand finale
In true Lea & Colleen fashion, we went out with a bang. Lea sold me on the idea of going out in Scottsdale based solely on the fact that we could hop from venue to venue by golf cart. People drive around in their golf carts and work on tips. All we had to do was get in one, tell the driver our destination and then toss him a fiver.
Our night began with Mexican food (obviously) and mezcal-based cocktails, i.e. tequila’s dirty little brother.
We then headed to Scottsdale.
A lot of what happened that night is staying between Lea and me. A lot of the fun we had is not shareable, simply because I don’t want to dilute it in any way – and that means sharing it on the internet – because these are the kinds of nights remembered between two friends, and as I told Lea, are the kinds of nights we will look back on when we are 80, and we will just giggle. Lea and I can be trouble makers sometimes…
However, I will tell you the story of the $22,000 champagne bottle… after I share this photo of us on the back of a cycle rickshaw (not the golf cart we had both dreamed of, but the guy was persuasive).
At the end of the night, we ended up at the W hotel in Scottsdale. I was told tales of the rich and pretty people who go there, how a gal can just sit back and watch the mating ritual. I was told this place was like sleek and sexy Gotham City. Indeed, it was all true.
The group we arrived with knew the bouncer. Instead of being ID’d, he shook our hands, and we exchanged names. The velvet rope was unattached, and we were welcomed up the glass staircase, lit by green and purple lights. I felt like I was at an amusement park ride when I got to the top of the staircase and saw the rooftop bar and patio, complete with a swimming pool and chairs for lounging and all the beautiful people. A whole new world. The bartenders served in tight black leggings and blazers with nothing but expensive cleavage underneath. People mingled, flirted, drank and danced – pretty typical bar type stuff, only these were the elite.
And then. And THEN.
A parade of black blazer-ed and platform heeled knockouts strutted past us through the crowd. They held sparklers above their heads. Behind them came two men carrying a silver tub filled with ice… and a bottle of champagne the size of a small child. The whole show ended up around some cabanas (of which we were no part).
And. In true Lea & Colleen fashion (as I have said), one thing led to another, and there we were, a man tapped me on the shoulder, and in his smooth British accent asked, “Pardon me ladies, would you like to join us for a glass of champagne?”
“Yes.”
I do seriously regret not getting a photo of that bottle, but in my head, I was like, “Be cool. Be cool. Be cool.” I didn’t want to whip out my camera like a buffoon, so I snapped pictures with my brain. If you need a visual, it looked something like this, possibly larger, (and needless to say, the British guys, suited up, were a bit more classy than the one in the photo):
I don’t remember the brand, but at that price tag, I’m sure it was the real thing.
Most people left the bar around 2:00 am, but our champagne friends and their companions stayed on… and on, and on. I had about 4 glasses of the stuff, as did probably a hundred other people, and the bottle still wasn’t empty. I’m all for luxury when one can afford it, but this was excessive. I couldn’t help but think of all the Indian kids this bottle could have fed!
At some point, I recall casting Lea a look and saying, “Lea, it’s 5:30 in the morning.” Her eyes almost popped out of her head.
By then, we were chatting with the man who claimed to have bought the bottle. Earlier in the night, I was speaking to a different British man who had also claimed the same. It was around this time we were offered a limousine ride to get home. For free. I’m still not sure who footed the bill – the British man or the hotel – but perhaps we had in fact found the true procurer of champagne. As we settled into the limo, one of the hotel employees asked us if we wanted water, and I said yes. He shuffled off and returned with two ice cold bottles for us. We took off, the driver blasting Ja Rule the whole way.
Our only regret, which didn’t occur to us until morning, was that we didn’t take the guy for a ride; he would have taken us anywhere. If nowhere else, at least through a McDonald’s drive through!
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Over the years, my travels have become largely inspired by my friends from away. It has been my absolute pleasure to visit countless cherished individuals (sometimes more than once!) at their homes in other countries. A HUGE thank you to Lea for showing me the best time ever, for being my soulmate and partner in crime, and for being patient when vodka comes to the party. I can’t wait to visit again!
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