This time last week, your Travelling Lush traveled up to Toronto, Ontario (T.O.), Canada to spend a snowy Chinese New Year with her grandparents. Grandparents are not, however, the best people to have drinks with - at least not my grandparents.
Fortunately, I have two friends studying at the University of Toronto (UT). Even better, two other friends from home would also be converging upon T.O. for the weekend. With the five hometown buddies reunited, we naturally gravitated downtown, intent on a good night out.
For those readers not familiar with Toronto, it is a very big city. While our two hosts Jon and Maxine may attend UT, they are at a campus out in Hamilton, a good hour and a half away from downtown T.O.
Thus, despite the presence of the two "locals", and my habit of regularly swinging by to visit gramps, we don't actually make it downtown all that much. So that night, we found ourselves at a bit of a loss, wandering the streets.
"Do we want to go there?" "Nah, just look at those people lined up ... they look too sketchy. The place probably is too." "What about that one then? They're dressed nicely." "Yeah, but look at that line!" "Oh, just say you have a table, show some cleavage and flash a smile at the bouncer." Hmm ... too cold for that.
We needed to pick up the pace a bit. There is no easier way to lose the rhythm of a night than wandering around in the bitter cold. The last time I had gone out for a serious night on the town was over a year ago, when I was in town with several Boston friends. We had a blast then and I figured that we could retrace our footsteps, and voil? - an easy repeat of a great night.
Tsk tsk. Some of my brain cells, frightened by the cold, must have gone into hibernation. I forgot the one rule that holds constant within the universal night life scene: Never expect things to remain the same. Ever.
In a world where bars, clubs, lounges - anything open past midnight - constantly change management and names, or attempt to re-invent themselves, the hot spots never remain in the same place for more than a couple of months at a time.
Eager for a place to go, I lit up when we passed a place I enjoyed the last time I had been here: Liquid. Or that's what it was called last year, anyway.
It was a relatively small place, no bigger than 33 Restaurant & Lounge back here in Boston, with two rooms: one that played hip-hop, and another that played latino/trance music (depending on the time of night.) The crowd was good, drinks were delicious, and the atmosphere was on.
Or that's how I remembered it to be, anyway. Instead, we walked into a half-empty club. But we had already paid the $10 (Canadian dollars) cover charge - I crossed my fingers and hoped that the sparse crowd was reflective of it being early (11 p.m.).
People did begin to flow in after another half hour. Unfortunately, they were most definitely not the same crowd I remembered from my night out with fellow Bostonians a year earlier.
As the hip-hop room filled up, I noticed a line of big, angry-looking men in leather jackets towards one side of the room.
After getting my drink from the seriously disgruntled female bartender, I peered over the shoulder of the big snarling man closest to me, searching the crowd for my friends. Something else caught my eye, however: another row of big angry men were lined up towards the other end of the room.
I walked around the entire operation - I went through the trance room and emerged back on the opposite side of the hip-hop room where my friends were.
Back with more comfortable company, I took a sip of my vodka lime. It was awful. It wouldn't even pass as a good sugar-candy drink. Jon, seeing the face I made, took my drink back to the bartender.
He came back with no success, however, as they measure each drink out strictly by the shot glass. One shot per drink.
It's generally not a good sign when the bartenders at a club follow such strict recipes. When stuck in a club that has such a policy, stick with shots or beer (but who drinks beer at a club?).
After downing a few shots of horrendous tequila, we hit the dance floor with renewed vigor. A few intimidating men and bad drinks aside, the music was still good.
When out in the safety of the brisk night air, we relished the thought of having left without pissing anyone off with our shoes, stance, or choice of shirt.
So, boys and girls, remember those great nights you had out while abroad for the semester or summer in Spain, Talloires, Chile, or wherever? Well, if you decide to go back to visit your host families or old friends, don't expect to hit up the same hole in the wall you used to frequent. More than likely, the delinquents or under-aged kiddies from the pub have taken over, or perhaps it has been shut down altogether.
It's worth the time to bring yourself up to date during the daylight hours beforehand.
