I'm almost more interested in the parts of "Call You When I Land" I disliked than the parts I enjoyed. And they are inextricably linked.
Nikki Vargas' memoir, organized around the travel writer/editor's memorable trips, offers fascinating/maddening glimpses into the mind of a person who does not seem to understand how she's coming off. It's as if "Call You" describes the life of someone who has not spent much time reflecting on that life.
"Call You" definitely makes me want to read more of Vargas' travel writing, which is more than just a list of things to do in places such as Hanoi or Buenos Aires. She has smart ideas about how to make a trip mean something — she likes to mix the expected tourist stuff (Eiffel Tower) with weird coffee shops or karaoke bars — and she paints vivid pictures of the places she visits.
But Vargas, who is in her 30s, is not so deft when it comes to her own story, starting with the ethics of travel journalism. Occasionally, she notes she received a free trip from a travel council or hotel chain, for instance. Sketchy but, apparently, that's how the travel biz works for some writers. But complaining about other writers who accept free trips, in the middle of one such trip, seems beyond the pale.
So does Vargas' treatment of her former fiancé, about whom she has major doubts but whom she waits to bail on until the flowers have been paid for, guests' travel plans have been made and the $6,000 dress has been fitted. Money, in general, is confusing in the book, with Vargas alternately scrambling to make rent and somehow booking last-minute tickets for international travel.
Long story short: Vargas' insistence on repeatedly calling a customized Manhattan cocktail a "Shehattan" is teeth-grindingly painful and she comes off as more than a bit entitled. But she clearly has a story to tell.
Call You When I Land
By: Nikki Vargas.
Publisher: Hanover Square, 288 pages, $21.99.
