Macaroon Rain

Paris, France, summer of 2011

C’mon, hurry up! It’s almost 5 o clock and I’m sure they’re going to close soon.  This was the cry of a desperate person. A woman in need.   A hard working professional that had no time to waste.  We gotta get them, or else…  this was war…

My first cousin, more like my little sister I should say, came with me to one of my business trips, to nowhere else but Paris.  Day after day I woke up early, got ready for work, and she stayed in, licking her wounds, sleeping over her past. Waiting for me to go out and discover together new places and stories, taking pictures – both mental and digital- of a city that had so much to offer. After a full week of bonding, laughing, weeping, spending long nights not really sleeping but holding real deep conversations, we knew that we will remember this week forever.

What is Paris if not a gourmet extravaganza of all sorts?  Wine by the bottle?  Check! Croque monsieur on demand? Check! Grand Marnier soufflé? You bet! Every day a new restaurant or café, Walking off the calories and sucking in the love. It was a week that tasted like a life time.

Right around the corner from our hotel in gorgeous St Honoré, there was a little jewel – a Pierre Hermé Macaroon shop… for those who are not familiar with the concept, a macaroon  is a French (some say British actually) biscuit that is soft as a cloud and smooth as an angel (like I’ve ever tasted or touched an angel or a cloud, right?). Anyway, in this place, they have the most amazing macaroons not only for the perfect crispy yet melting in your mouth meringue, bright multi color array of round marvels, but for the unique fillings: from classic pistachio to sweet rose petal, green tea, jasmine, passion fruit & chocolate, lavender, coffee, guava, Tahitian vanilla.  I’ve tasted them once, my cousin bought a sampler box as a midnight snack and then I was hooked. We got to buy a box for the folks back home (ok fine!  And for us right here).

Friday afternoon of our last day in town… too many things to do, too little time!  Left the office and got to the room. Cousin was back from her shopping spree – the bags around gave the room the look of a Harper’s bazaar photo shoot. I’ve changed my working clothes, took her by the hand and left the place like there was no tomorrow (because there wasn’t for us in Paris!). Once we arrived to the hotel front door, there it was: a super gray sky and a super heavy storm pounding the sidewalk like bullets. Oh my, what are we going to do???? The front door bellman told us: Mademoiselles, you wait, raining much, you wet (maybe his English wasn’t that bad, but that was all I could hear between my desperation and the sound of city rain). I took a deep breath, along with a glance at my watch, and made up my mind: Do you have umbrellas, monsieur? We are taking off! You sure, madam? Just wait and it will slow down… yes, I AM SURE! The macaroon place was not going to shut its doors on me!! So there we went, one big umbrella for each other, me taking the lead and cousin walking as fast as she could to catch up with yours truly – little frantic me, short as I can be but determined as much – power walking thru the curtain of Parisian water falling  from a crying Napoleonic sky. 

It was only two blocks from the hotel indeed… two LONG, WET blocks looking like distance looks like in dreams; the faster we walked the further it went. I never looked back, I was sure cousin was right behind… it never occurred to me how this rushing thru the rain holding a huge umbrella was hysterical for the viewers, especially for the one in front row (yes, cousin back there). Every step I took, bouncing the huge cover up I was holding with all my strength, she was getting twice as wet: once from the rain, twice from the water flowing from my umbrella!!  My little feet were soaked of course, and that was making me even more frantic. I was moving my short legs faster by the minute and the huge umbrella was covering pretty much my whole self – it was like looking at a video game, I was the Super Mario Bro’s mushroom rushing thru one of their strange world being chased by a carnivorous flower.

Finally, we arrived! Pierre Hermé was still open, we pushed the door so hard it hit the wall and got in dripping and laughing… crying-laughing actually… do you know the feeling?  It took us a good full minute to realize that the nice French employees were there, observing these crazy foreigners in awe.  After recovering from the laughter attack, 5 minutes tops, we started to explain ourselves, to justify our desperate journey in the rain, perhaps looking for a slight sign of empathy, when suddenly… the rain… magically… STOPED!!! Just like that, not even slowed down, oh no. The rain was gone. Gray clouds opened up to a crispy clean almost sunny afternoon. “This is Paris in the summer, madam” they said… this is how stupid must look like in French, I thought.

Macaroons we bought, oh yes. A box for here and some more for the go. Wet pants and soaking flats made me feel super uncomfortable. But it was totally worth it. From that day on, cousin and I developed an intense love for sweet treats, a huge need for accomplishment, and above all, a superior sense of urgency for the things that matter the most:  the small, crazy, unplanned things that make you laugh your guts out, the ones that create stories, those small details that make life worth living.

To my beautiful Paola, on our Paris trip's first anniversary (almost!) 

Love you to hell and back, and that's far!!

PART II – THE GIRL WHO LOOKED FOR FACES

Paris, France - June - July 2011

Every city has its charm, poetry, indiference, magic, rythm. Paris in particular can be overwhelming especially if you feel lost. Walking, observing, focusing, all of the sudden they all came alive.. there were faces in every corner, in every step, looking at me, screaming their story; some of them hidden between lines and shadows,  other so obvious and vivid. It became an obsession... my personal hunt for friendly features...and then, I was found...

Square eyes

Big nose!



Straight face



Warm smile

Fun, Fun, Fun

Why so sad?



Sculped guardian




Evil with style



Shalk for a walk

Urban art

Doing the catwalk

The gassy one

Sad clown



Patched eye



Mouth wide shut



Tattoo on a wall



Smile!!



 



PART I – LOCKED IN THE PAST

It is dark in here. The red-eye flight to Paris is nothing but a dead-calm container of snoring people and light flashes coming from the multiple mini-tv screens all along the aircraft. Here I am, trying to sleep but not finding a comfy pose - my legs are too short so they don’t fully touch the floor yet the seat is too narrow for me to do my typical pretzel twist. Looking thru the window I can’t see much but even a darker space with blood-red intermittent splashes coming from the wing. So I made up my mind, stood up to stretch and took my traveling pill’s case - an array of choices covered with inviting letters M,T,W,T,F,S,S …red, blue, round, oblong, tiny white… wait, tiny white? What is this pill? I don’t remember putting it in here, how come it has all the W space reserved for such a small pill; I should’ve known better not to take it, I should’ve gotten my regular P.M blue ones… yet I was drawn to it…I opened up, said AHH then took it with the last zip of water left behind.

Who gave me this remedy? What is it doing in my personal case? All those questions started to vanish while I was dozing in and out following the rhythmic turbine noise…eyes closed, deep black tunnel…eyes back open, navy blue upholstery from the back of the front seat…eyes closed, warm known feeling…eyes half open, blurry features of a familiar face…eyes closed…tight …wide shut…and gone.

Flashes of yellow -orangey spots were flying by… shivering feeling making my head turn from side to side… velvet clouds and me floating beneath…a car, looks like a Gremlin circa ‘78; children’s songs in Spanish surrounding the area – Mimoso Raton, Patas Verdes, Mafafa and Pistachon are singing their bubbly tunes from a morning Sunday show I loved – it is me and my little sister riding with mom who is driving us to our new city… music fading and the blurry face approaching… I can’t quite see, just feel… a cold wind is cutting by, distracting noise, and there they are…my childhood friends, playing, dancing, exchanging lunch with me, teachers and guitars, soccer team…then….gone. Train Pullman cabin, coloring books, snacks… sister, me and mom, traveling back… a tiny crowded house where feelings were insane, new city, new adventures, same uncertainty …same faded -looking face, showing up in every corner then slowly going away…again.

The sensation of falling is so real, the sudden fast sequence of images, rushing down like heavy rain… there goes graduation, high school friends, rejection, insecurity, seasoned by accomplishments, high heels, eighties’ hair… next to me there is an angel, my perfect match, catching me softly…only to let me fall again… this time was even harder, deeper and deeper in to the darkest place until a ray of light just bright enough to see that my angel was still there, with broken wings, yet wide open to catch me again.

Revolving doors inside my brain, messing with me… phantoms appearing then shading, pushing , grabbing and confusing , the already unbalanced, vulnerable me... sweating and screaming then a sudden shake – “ Miss, are you alright? Do you need some water? We are about to land”… and so I woke up, looking around: same aircraft, same passengers but a good couple of thousand miles away.

While gathering my personal belongings to get off the plain, my pill case fell so I reached down to get it. M, T,W,T,F,S,S letters all in blue over transparent plastic flip caps… multi-colored pills making the sound of a therapeutic maraca... I giggled… while staring at W… only to notice…the space…was not …empty… little white pill …was…still…there.

AFTERWORD

They say dreams are our sub conscience way to tell you something, a window to your fears, desires or pending stuff looking for closure. If dreams are messages, our brain is one tough, mercy-less messenger.

Truth is, we can’t deny our past. As dumb as it sounds, let’s face it: the past in fact, happened. You can’t just let go. As much as you try your memories to go away, they find their way to comeback, they are free, lingering in every detail … that’s the mistake: trying to “let go”. After much consideration, I truly believe we should do the opposite - the trick is to lock them, keep them in a safe place where only you (or at least the conscient you) are the master and key keeper, the real owner.

Memories and experiences made you what you are. Good, tough, bad or worse, they can’t disappear; they can’t be changed (as much as you try). But you can control them, keep them deep inside. Sort them by category then lock them, lock them hard. Allowing them to visit…but only when you want.

…Locked in: The past

Searching for monsters

Paris, France Saturday June 25th, 2011

It started with the cutest remark: ”…they went there, Nina, to Paris, the monsters are there”. I giggled. My niece knew where I was traveling to when I told her my next destination (she even said “are you going there again?”) it was impressive. “When is day time here it is night time there for you, Nina”…she is smart and has my kind of memory for details.

Monsters then I were sent to find. At first I thought of looking for a poster, a post card or any cut out with the green and blue characters from Monsters, Inc. Perhaps pull an Amelie and take a picture with the Eiffel tower behind. It has been almost a week since I arrived to Paris and every day I take a walk back and forth the same streets, all by myself after finishing work. The sun sets quite late this time of the year here, so I get to enjoy the nice weather and sunny evenings for a little longer.

No signs of monsters though. They are not easy to find. Streets are crowded with multinational visitors as well as multi-layered locals, all somehow captivated by the city, the shops, the scents and the looks – brasseries, pubs, cafes all full. Trendy cigar smoking Parisians sporting their snobby pouts and tiny glasses of wine. Ultra skinny model-like youngsters, filling up ashtrays with yellow cigarette butts, drinking funny looking spirits, speaking rapidly but no food on their plates.

If you don’t ask they just don’t care if you are standing there politely, waiting patiently for a table to be assigned. Finally they push you to a confined place as if being one plus NONE is some kind of defect. For everything else I am so self assured, why is it then that I feel so intimidated by these arrogant Parisians looking down at you? Why do I feel so exposed eating alone in this city? I’ve done bigger things all by myself, much daring than ordering an entrée.

There and then I realized that my search was over… I’d found the monsters all around me – the ones with sharp brown teeth and smelly breath, others with no eyes (or pretending not to see), many with big mouths laughing and chatting in French, laughing at me.

But the worst of the creatures, the scariest and meanest, is the monster inside me. The one that makes me feel small and uncomfortable in my own skin.

The day after, I decided to face the damned creature to tell it straight: stop it! I am in PARIS! It is NOT sad and I am NOT a looser for going out solo…

…so, I am writing this thoughts with my glass of champagne, front row table, spreading butter on my bread at the Louvre Brasserie*, pushing down my inner monster, the sabotage master, cruel judgmental, overwhelming and intimidating evil being…and you know what? It does feel rather great.

To my dear wise Mia...one day you will come along to one of my trips, but as always, you are here with me.

*Brasserie du Louvre

Place du Palais Royal 75001

Paris - Ph. 01 44 58 37 16

The bone collection



Image Source:
http://ladygaga.wikia.com/wiki/File:Lady-gaga-0511-7-de.jpg

 May 30, 2011 flying from Houston to Sao Paulo

Who doesn’t know Lady Gaga? She is in every radio, Ipod, in ads, magazines, TV shows, anyway, everywhere. Her music may be pop and not ultra special, but nonetheless as catchy as it is commercial. Her looks? Well… let’s just state she is not the usual standard. You either love her or hate her, but she is definitively not indifferent to the general public.

I was getting cozy for my 12 hour-flight last Monday with my new book and my fabulous fashion magazine (“picture” shopping Chanel, Gucci, Prada, Dior and Louboutine’s) which was featuring, well, you know, the one and only MotherMonster: Lady G, as the flaming cover. The image impacted me – not only the super black long overall, hyper high platform heels, extremely thick black eyeliner and pinkish long hair all twisted in a weird pose, but she was sporting… new bones.

Assorted flesh-covered pointy bones around her cheek bones, forehead and across her shoulders; they didn’t look prosthetic, they were not the Halloween scary over the top props, somehow they looked natural - ok maybe not that natural… but real. After surfing thru the colorful pages invaded by brands, there it was: Gaga’s interview and more pictures.

I have to admit, the girl didn’t sound staged – she has very particular ideas and points of view as well as some self confidence and poise that is almost tangible. Eccentric, radical, extreme, energetic, are just a few words that came to my mind while reading the bit. Of course the “bone” collection question popped, for which her answer was something like “these are my bones…they have always been in me… just waiting for the right moment to show up”. I had to read back… I had to think hard. By the time I finished reading my mind was in a strange mood, almost meditative (crazy, uh?). It was just not possible for somebody, even for a famous pop culture icon to be that crazy, that stupid, and that pretentious. Again, she doesn’t give me the impression of a shallow marketing- created puppet with no purpose – her words, attitude and artistic style have to be something more.

Whether the bones are implants or surgical transformation of her own bone structure, it is not relevant. The bones are making a statement: if plastic surgery is acceptable to make cookie-cutter noses, lips and cheek bones, it is also fine to apply it for something else. I get that, no big deal. Did I like it? Not really, but who cares. She is not making a revelation on what true beauty should be, nor is she trying to set a trend. Then, why was I so impacted? Why was I not able to stop thinking about it while looking thru a tiny window 33,000 ft above ground?


…these are my bones… they have always been in me… just waiting for the right moment to show up…


It was the wife in love fighting day by day to keep a marriage together, tolerating more than one can get, accepting excuses as promises that soon everything will be the way it should be… and then one day this hidden warrior grows a backbone and says “no more” …bringing things to an end.
It is the men always in charge, always on top of his game, perfectionist and even arrogant if you like, with un-accepted flaws and many sins…finally having the guts to recognize and face his errors… asking for a second chance to make it right, to make it better.

It is the nerve of some people, to pretend everything is fine; to act like is just normal and perfectly right to misbehave, to ruin somebody else’s life.

Is the people we love, that special someone teaching us how to survive, how to be better, how to grow up, how to forgive, how to recover and start from scratch…when they spread their angel wings to fly up to the sky.



We all morph… we can be monsters…act…react…be victims…sinners or martyrs… with the right timing and the suitable outlet…we can all be good or bad.

Lost in Brazil...found by a sister.

Sao Paulo, Brazil April 10, 2011

For the last 10 days I have been working non-stop in Brazil...and by non-stop I really mean it - Saturdays, Sundays, midnights, all-nighters, the works. The hardest part is not the stress, the tiredness, lack of sleep or scattered meals... the hardest part is realizing all the things I've been missing for 10 days...from my weekends at home, waking up to a fresh mug of coffee, Murphy jumping up to bed and hubby by my side to my cousins singing with me out loud, laughing, planning, dreaming.
The feeling of control over my time and actions, lost. Routine dictated by the endless tasks, trial and error, pressure added by impossible milestones...it's like I've been living in a non-stop deja vu...like waking up in the middle of The Groundhog Day movie.

And yet today, I found the nicest surprise:  a fellow blogger passed on a blogger's award...The Sisters of the Quill award...I am touched. She passed this award to (and I quote) "deserving writers, to women whose talent needs to be recognized"  - wow...now I feel commited to keep up the huge faith my dear Sioux has on my amateur writing...thank you very much!

The proclamation is to spread the sisterhood! I would like to pass it over to five fantastic writers that always impress me, inspire me, move me and create a connection with their words, heart and soul:

Green Monkey Tales  to her wit and sensibility
F8hasit to her poignant realism and brave heart
My Daily Spirit  to her poetry, romanticism, faith in life.
Everyday Goddess  to her tales, stories and fantastic imagination
Becky Povich to her humor, energy, good vibe...to her generous soul.

Pass it on!!!

"...Because it is in writing where I found my scape...it is in reading where my soul reflects." OJG

People are strange...

Paris, France, January 30, 2011 - Père Lachaise Cemetery

 People are strange when you’re a stranger

Faces look ugly when you’re alone

Women seem wicked when you’re unwanted

Streets are uneven when you’re down

When you’re strange

Faces come out of the rain

When you’re strange

No one remembers your name


When you’re strange…
When you’re strange…
When you’re strange


 





Death makes angels of us all and gives us wings where we had shoulders smooth as ravens claws.

Jim Morrison

 

gothicchillingwalkingdreamingesurrealemotivemovingexperience...gonebutnotforgotten

January Je t’aime

I’ve been distracted from my blog, kind of absent from my usual reading and not leaving many comments lately (my sincere apologies to my dear blogger friends). The truth is, it has been an amazing start of the year, a 2011 that is already feeling like flying by.

From organizing and hosting a bridal shower to my dear cousin on the very same day we’ve lost my beloved pet and loyal friend Verdell (speaking of contrasting feelings and emotions), to attending, enjoying and be part of one of the most amazing weddings I’ve ever been (only comparable to my other cousin’s wedding, the sister of the bride, so I guess good taste, style and hospitality run in the family), all garnished by the fact that I have been working non-stop and was called back to a project I thought was over for me. But you know what the real cherry on top of things was? One week ago, I was offered to cover a 10 day job… in Paris.

…oh yes… in PARIS. It was totally surprising, unplanned and one of those things you know were meant to be: the timing was right, air fares were available within the approved price range and, my husband was willing and available to go with me! It doesn’t get better than that!

So here I am, in one of the most amazing cities in the world, working but also enjoying each night with my perfect travel companion. The weather is extremely cold, yet is not raining or snowing which makes it manageable. Last night we bundled-up and took the RER train to the Louvre…we had not enough time to actually get in, but just the fact of seeing the majestic building illuminated, quiet, superb and above all, un-crowded, made the moment an overwhelming experience. The infamous glass pyramid is surrounded by triangular -shaped water mirrors (not fountains) …the view from the entrance was too much to be described. I felt like crying. We are going back today, this time for real!

It was time for dinner so we looked for a nice cozy place and found just the perfect little restaurant. It was not the typical brasserie or café, but more like a bistro-lounge with that quaint atmosphere only an old building can give. The place was decorated in black-indigo blue and white, candle lights on each black table, walls were painted with unique murals and decorative wall hangings were pretty much merged with tasteful painted details (picture this: a polar bear head framed by black paint simulating dripping blood… a black tree painted on the wall along with a few blue birds caged by antique wooden picture frames…black stilettos nailed up to act as coat racks). The menu was eclectic and the wine list limited but super affordable. We ordered a nice bottle of red (French of course!) and started with homemade foie gras topped with sea salt and a very special rhubarb relish. Hubby got the 7-hour lamb (slow cooked to perfection and served in round medallions of tender juicy meat) with wild mushroom lasagna as a side dish. I ordered the sea bass “a la plancha” grilled with the skin for an enhanced flavor and seasoned with turmeric on top of the creamiest mashed potatoes and turnip sauce…it was to die for!

Our server completed the magic by speaking Spanish with the cutest Spanish accent and a French kick; he was amazingly attentive and generous! The golden seal was of course, dessert: freshly baked waffle with hazelnut ice cream and nutella washed down by a glass of Remi Martin cognac and a sip (yes, a sip was all I could take) of a typical French homemade fruit liquor (vin de fruit), prune I believe, so strong that made my sinuses clear and my ears warm!

Milleneufcentsoixantedixneuf (nineteen seventy nine ) is the name of this jewel, named after the birth year of one of the owners, which objective is to dine and entertain the young adults (30-40’s) with a special environment, delicious modern food, after work drinks and, what do you know, after midnight, it turns in to a hip night club!! We didn’t stay long enough to experience the full concept, but left with the sweet after taste of discovering the right place to spend a cold winter night in the city of lights, holding hands and walking to take the train back to our hotel, finishing the day with a smile and the last trace of jet lag, tired but accomplished… getting ready for more, because the week has just started!

Milleneufcentsoixantedixneuf

cafelunchsalondinnerandmore

49 RUE BERGER/75001/PARIS/0140410878

info@milleneufcentsoixantedixneuf.fr

A silent cry for hope



1946 -Tree of hope- by Frida Kahlo

 Caracas, Venezuela November 9th, 2010

This week I am in Caracas again for work. It has been exactly one year since my last visit, and the feeling of uncertainty, insecurity and hopelessness is even greater. People's attitude is decaying; there's no spirit of service in hotels, airports, taxi drivers. They are just doing a job not trying to be better; as if there's nothing more.

The few priviledged ones willing to play the game a so call socialist government dictates are investing in huge hotels, luxury restaurants, fancy car dealerships (A Land Rover average price in Venezuela is 300K USD). A 28-story brand new hotel with state of the art furniture, fixtures, lamps, rectified marble floors and even a vertical garden on their walls... but inside, the common employee areas, such as the bathroom and lockers...perfectly extracted from a prison movie; not only ugly, but degrading. Is not fair...it doesn't feel right. Maybe is just me, but it feels... so... sad.

Allow me to re-share  a post written one year ago, also in Caracas...also frustrating. Same country, same feeling...changing slowly...probably for the worse.

Caracas, Venezuela November 4th, 2009
It was early when I arrived. The streets were packed with cars, bikes and people selling stuff, buying stuff, yelling stuff. I had just enough time to take a quick shower, grab a small coffee and head to work. While riding on the back of the car I started to look around, I tried to see beyond the obvious. And then it kicked me: to my left, a magnificent range of mountains covered with a dense and low fog... it was the sadest look of a city pretending everything is all right, trying to believe is going to be fine.
A tree was emerging on one side, covered with white birds. They didn't sing, nor did they move. They were just there looking to the other side of the road, towards a mountain hiding from reality behind the wet hug of a selective fog, that was just covering the beautiful side of the street. The rest, was cristal clear. Or at least it was to me. That's how it felt anyway. The silent cry of a country waiting for it's people to wake up from their collective numbness.

With all due respect to the people of Venezuela...who have been expressing their pain in every word and attitude shared with this little foreigner...so you may regain hope.

From hell…Colombian style

Bogota, Colombia September 30th , 2010

A different entrance, a stairway, decoration and music… a wide wooden door and you are there… You are in hell.


This week I am in Bogota, Colombia for work and this is the first day I had the chance to go out for dinner with a dear ex-colleague that happens to live here now. She took me to the trendy “T” zone in Bogota to experience the hip nightlife.

Andres Carne de Res (something like Andy beef steak) is a must-go place in the outskirts of Bogota, and famous for its festive environment, eclectic décor and typical Colombian food. Well, this new place is called Andres D.C - which in my mind can stand either for Distrito Capital ( Capital District) or Después de Cristo (after Christ) – whichever you like the most; anyway this place is the new downtown branch of the same restaurant, inside a classy shopping mall.

The 5 story building is huge yet seems to be always full! The ambience is hard to describe, but to give you an idea, the hostess greets you surrounded by religious images, a huge one of “la virgen de Guadalupe” (our lady of Guadalupe), red candles, an old barber shop sign and a quaint fountain filled with ice and fresh plums (which you can eat if you feel like it), followed by a huge bar with hanging hearts, lamps, flames and funny signs, and then the explanation: a flashing sign telling you are at El Infierno (In hell). The same floor has dinner tables, not the classic kind, but the wooden almost medieval looking ones. Keep climbing up to the second floor, where a gigantic image of the sacred heart guides you to a small, narrow area, with a fire place, more tables and another bar. It is the Purgatory; the third one? That one has more light, more tables, people having dinner, behaving (kind of), drinking wine - that is “la Tierra” – Earth… the fourth floor is called “descanso” or a place to rest – you just have bar tables and narrow alleys, a place apt for a drink or two – but don’t take me wrong: even with limited space, it was packed!

Finally, the top floor is a semi-open terrace with umbrellas, angels, tables, another bar, more decoration, screens, music – oh you have that right… we finally got to El Cielo – Heaven my friend. Did I mention that all around the place there was live music (Colombian bands with drums and the best rhythm) along with ballenato, reggeton, and latin dance; live and definitively different “angels” and “demons”, phantoms wearing feather boas and huge bright colored sunglasses dancing and hanging from the ceiling; the servers were characters as well: young guys and girls featuring punk-looking hair, piercing, hats, long skirts… it was like being inside of a play.

The best thing about this place is that, no matter how harsh it sounds, it was the friendliest place!! Couples, business groups, middle aged and youngsters where having fun in a super nice way – and you didn’t feel harassed by the intensity of the theme, on the contrary, you just felt welcomed.

The food? Let me tell you about it! We had patacones con queso and chicharron – fried green plantain with melted cheese and homemade pork rind - I had a mojito and a house stout beer and both were super cool! The mojito was served in some sort of natural material made bowl (like a dried fruit shell or something) with lots of fresh mint and they brought my beer, in a frozen metal mug! Again, very medieval!

I had a great time; it was a nice way to melt the stress of an intense work week, catch up with my girlfriend and being out from my hotel for the first time in five days. I am now really looking forward to come back, this time with my husband to have a nice rumba night!

If you are ever in Bogota, this is a place you shouldn't miss!!!

Andres D.C
calle 83 12-49
Zona T
Bogota, Colombia

In a New York state of mind

Remember, remember.. the eleventh of September...a day that touched every one of us, one way or another; a day to remember... to remember our vulnerability, the feeling of loss and insecurity, but also the moments of hope, human bonds, team work and prayers.

I am not a Newyorker, never lived there but have had the opportunity to visit, both for pleasure and work, many times - it is a city that captivates me. In true appreciation of the wonderful city of New York and its people, today I would like to share some images from the city that never sleeps, as well as two posts that were written while in New York and with a New York state of mind.

I hope you enjoy two of my New York moments:

To be or not to be...is not the question 

There is music everywhere

“One belongs to New York instantly, one belongs to it as much in five minutes as in five years” Thomas Wolfe

"Ideas matter in New York. I am certain that more conversations in New York are about ideas than anywhere else. Not just vague theories, but ideas that New Yorkers have the will, and the clout, to do something about. " David Frost

"New York is a diamond iceberg floating in river water." Truman Capote 

What is your New York moment?

The perks of a business traveler

Mexico City, Mexico, July 16, 2010

Here I am, back from Brazil at Mexico City’s international airport, after nine hours of flying and dealing with annoying travel partners ; what can be worse when traveling for business than a vacation-mood family of 4, sitting in row 14, seats B, D, E, F with yours truly in seat C, aisle included in between, yet having a full volume conversation in Portuguese and passing pens, magazines, IPods, back goes the pen, then the pillow, then the swapping of seats and mandatory kicking or stepping on the non-related one (me), then the “shhh… she is trying to sleep” remark in an even louder tone…for the love of God!!!


It was quite early in the morning when I checked immigration before continuing with my connecting flight; all checked bags had to be removed for customs control and finally re-checked to continue with my journey.

Up to the first check point, nothing out of the ordinary from a travel routine that I know so well. We all gathered around carrousel no. 5 waiting for our bags. Baggage control in the new and improved Terminal 2 has a huge crystal wall so all passengers can witness the efficient background work and science of delivering the luggage on those train-looking carts. And then, the solely purpose of the see-thru wall was accomplished… we were witnesses of a state of the art baggage control methodology implemented between airport workers and federal police, but I have a feeling it had to be based on a thorough analysis performed by a guru in industrial engineering and chain-production plans:

1) Around 15 employees were waiting for the carts to arrive; 2 carts with 4 wagons each arrived (add one additional employee driving each cart) and along came two federal police trucks, with 3 officers plus a K-9 Labrador retriever.

2) It took them good 10-15 minutes to remove the tarp from each individual wagon while chit-chatting among them and then started to unload the bags one by one to form a line of back to back suitcases placed flat, all along the outside part of the belt – approximately 20 suitcases.

3) Then the dog – walked on top of the luggage, smelling and doing its job – back and forth, three times. Mr. Federal policeman standing proud, while his furry partner is looking eagerly for his next fix.

4) Next step was to turn, every single bag, from FLAT to SIDEWAYS …whatever.

5) Next, the guy in charge of pushing the red button started the revolving belt – inside, 200 travelers distributed along all along the carrousel were waiting… and then, the bags started to smash together when trying to pass thru the small door!!! No panic, there was another guy in charge of “traffic control” and he took over to release the bag jam.

6) Once the first load of bags passed by, the belt was intentionally stopped right after bag no. 20 barely made it thru the door! No, nobody thought it was better to keep it running until it reached all the way to the end of the belt… no, it was more logical to stop it right there and force 200 bag-looking people to gather around the first part of the belt.

7) Following right after, the lather and repeat effect: the next 20 bags were placed flat, doggie smelled and shed on them all, red-button pusher did his part, traffic jam expert helped them pass thru the door (because yes, the bags were turned sideways again and of course, they didn’t fit AGAIN!) and why not? The belt stopped right after bag number 40’s appearance… after every round, more people gathered in the same already crowded place.



At first, I was disappointed, then, embarrassed. But at the end, I had a blast!! Since I had a more than comfortable layover before my connecting flight, the stress of missing it was not present. I started making conversation with fellow travelers and we all came up with funny and sarcastic remarks (what if the dog smells other dogs in the bags? Would he pee a little to mark territory or he was too professional for that kind of behavior?) We even wondered about the procedure if the dog had found “something” – would they stop the whole operation or, hmm, I don’t know, from the top of my head, crazy idea, maybe just remove the one and continue?



How come nobody thought that the dog could walk all along the belt WHILE MOVING? Or maybe have the Federal Police control a few steps from the baggage claim- in the customs control area- where they do a X-RAY SCAN of every single piece of luggage (carry-on included!!). It is a mystery what the clever logic behind this state-of –the-art way of checking for drugs may be (if there is some), but one thing is for sure: they are so proud of it that want all of us to see it….and in my case, to share it.

Bread and circus

Sao Paulo, Brazil; June 15, 2010

Brazil in June… more precisely, Brazil in mid-June of 2010… A Brazil ready for South Africa and with the hope of the sixth - World Cup Championship.


Today was their first game and the people in Sao Paulo (not to say the rest of the country) were oh so ready. The streets were filled with flags, green-blue-yellow colors flying everywhere, and more importantly: businesses and schools only worked half day on a Tuesday. Yes, that is right: HALF. At first I thought, this should be a random concession given by the particular company where I am consulting for, but then, after all my local colleagues were eager to leave before 1: 30 PM (for the record the game was scheduled to start at 3:30 local time) and we were not able to get a taxi due to the massive calls requesting transportation at the same time, I started to wonder.

The streets were packed, the sounds of fire crackers and horns out loud and my colleague and I decided to stop at a shopping mall near by my hotel to grab a bite to eat and, well why not, to watch the game (while in Rome…). To our surprise, the mall was not crowded at all, and once we’ve got the fourth level where the food court and restaurants were located we realized not only offices and schools closed for the game… the majority of the restaurants were closed too! The only people inside some of the restaurants were their own employees, still wearing their uniforms, getting comfy for the event (because every single one of them had at least, a small TV, if not a HUGE screen).

We found one of the few places opened to the general public with - of course – a TV and watched the game while eating and trying to work; the first half was rather boring (nothing happened, not even a scary closed play), the opponent was a weak and scared south Korea, that was probably to overwhelmed by the idea of facing the legendary Brazilian national team – nothing else but the penta-champs! I have to admit that I am not too excited about the world cup since I don’t really follow soccer in general, so I was just joking and making funny remarks while waiting for Kaká to show us some skin. It was during the second half that both teams scored, two for Brazil -each one followed by screams, horns and claps coming from the apparently empty mall - one for Korea, but no shirts off (damned)!

I understand about sports, about passion and euphoria… it is not that I don’t know what it feels to see your team play and especially, win. But this is not just being fanatics or sports savvies… it is in their culture, in their blood; the country in general live for it. It happens every four years but it is something they embrace and await on daily basis. Their team is their hope; it is their way of feeling accomplished. One taxi driver told me one morning: “there are 157,000,000 national soccer team’s technical directors in Brazil” and everyone feels like they know what should’ve been done and what is wrong with the team, until it wins.

After the match was over, the images on TV from different public areas in the main cities of Brazil reflected millions gathered to celebrate, with music, drinks, singing and dancing like it was a carnival, and it was just the first win! What it is going to happen if the team makes it to the finals? And further more if they (god sped) are the CHAMPIONS!!!!

The world cup fever is everywhere; from Europe to Asia to Latin America, it is alive and flowing. Feeling so apart from it makes me realize how easy it can be to get involved in the collective hunger of having something to feel proud about, despite the fact that, especially in undeveloped countries (or should I say “under development”), the socioeconomic times are not the best; insecurity, corruption, lack of justice and opportunities, human rights being violated are the daily news. It just doesn’t feel right to get distracted and derailed from reality up to a point where the whole country gets the day off to watch a game… it seems like encouragement to remain numbed and how small a treat it takes – for some, even a tie is enough to celebrate wishing for the other teams within the classification group to be worse in order to pass to the next round.

For a country with five championships and the main exporter of professional soccer players to the European leagues, it almost seems normal to breathe and live for “futibol”. For other countries, it may be the national pastime and the perfect way to enjoy a couple (or more) cold ones after work. Mexico: what is your excuse?

Welcome to Miami...Bienvenidos a Miami

Miami, Florida, May 16, 2010

Miami is a city of many talents, multi-cultural and diverse. It is a city full of character and characters. I went to the beach on my day off to soak up the sun, listening to Cuban music on my I-pod and watching “characters”: the body builder showing off his bulky muscles but no body hair, the cute couple cuddling and pretending is not 100 degrees and 100% humidity, the girls showing off a little bit too much skin and a little bit too little shyness, contrasting with the girls over floating from their mini-bikini in a huge display of an over rated self esteem and not a lot of consideration for the viewers (not even a “viewer’s discretion advice” warning before walking by, looking like the Michelin man) . It was a fun time.

Another fact about Miami is the bi-lingual assumption – almost every place you walk in to, you start by speaking Spanish and then, if no answer (or an apologetic “sorry no Spanish”), English is used. You can find food and goodies from virtually every corner of Latin America: Cuban food and coffee, Colombian hot dogs, chicken, cookies and soda, Venezuelan arepas, Mexican tacos and salsa. A wide variety of accents, looks and choices. It is a city where you can feel the human warmness in a lot of old fashion businesses, especially in little Havana.

I went back to my room to finish some work and I had to print and scan some documents. Contrasting with my beach and food experience, the business center was open 24/7 but no human interaction was to be found: the computers had a credit card swipe device installed and instructions on how to use the different services and of course, the cost for each one of them. The idea of having just electronic interfaces is great in theory, until it is not… what to do, when you swipe your card to make some copies, you follow the instructions, and nothing happens? Your sheets stay there, no scanning process, not even a noise? Well, I pressed the END CHARGES button thinking: let’s do this again since NOTHING happened, but of course then SOMETHING happened: the multi-device robot printed my receipt… charging me 2 dollars for its services and have a nice day.

Hmm, interesting. Then I thought: since the copying task was a no-go, I will try to use the PRINTER. So there I was, swiping my card again, but now for one of the computers, then the TERMS and CONDITIONS screen appeared, I accepted, and… NOTHING…. It got stuck there for so many minutes, that I started to wonder about the charges. I called the customer assistance number (outsource services, nobody from the hotel) and finally a human answered the phone, but my cell phone had no reception in the business center! It was one of those moments where you think of Murphy and all his laws. I tried to use the land line but of course, it was not enabled to dial external numbers, when I saw a big pop-up on one of the computers, and then somebody typing remotely a message: “….Are you there, m’am?”…

Yes! I was there! And I started typing back and explaining the whole computer fiasco and my fear of the surcharges. The person (or at least the typing entity on the other side of the screen) gave me instructions, such as the infallible “could you please shut down the computer and turn it on again” and the pretentious…”can you see me moving the mouse on the other computer”. Long story short, the other computer was nowhere to be ready for use, therefore the customer service rep allowed me to use the remote controlled computer for 20 minutes, free of charge. I was able to print, and then, tried to finish my copies. Stubborn as I can be, I re-swiped my credit card, selected the number of copies and of course, it didn’t work. Luckily, the remote session and the rep were still up, and I ended up acting as an IT clerk, moving the copier, checking the wires, turning it on and off again, waiting for it to re-start, and then, voila! My copies were scanning and the printer started to print them… FIVE TIMES!!!!!!

I ran to my own private cyber version of the crying wall and explained as fast as my fingers were able to type, the over-printing issue, and the response was: “…m’am, could you please press the STOP CHARGES button?”… of course I did, expecting to get the printed receipt (as I did before)…only this time, NADA…ZERO…NO RECEIPT.

“... I’ve got no receipt, is this good or bad”.. I asked naively… “mmmmmmmmmm, interesting”… was the response! …” do not worry m’am, must likely when we restarted the copier, it lost your card information, so no charges should have been made… but, in case you get any surcharges, please call the 1-800 number and we will be more than happy to process a refund”…

Of course, the only evidence I had of this was the written conversation we were having! Therefore, I asked for the rep’s name (want to guess?? His name was JOHN, no last name), I tried to print the file, and didn’t work, then I saved the file in my USB flash card, and, 1 second after saving, in a very mission impossible move, “John” shutdown the computer to erase all evidence…

It was a funny ending to a frustrating event, and for me it was a solid and living reminder that computers are only tools to help us with our jobs, but not a replacement for a head count in your payroll; that no matter what color your hair is, or how well you may look in a bikini, or how bad your attitude is, I take human interaction any day before trying to “reason” with bits, screens and interfaces.

Los efectos de la globalización

En un pueblito norteño, aproximadamente a 50 kilómetros de la fronteriza Nogales, Sonora, existe un lugarcito limpio y sabroso para comer, al que hemos visto poco a poco crecer a lo largo de 15 años. Empezó con sus mesitas, sus típicas quesadillas y tortillas recién hechas, las frutas en conserva empacadas en frascos reciclados de café instantáneo, las empanadas de calabaza y coricos, todo adornado con las ristras de chile colorado seco colgando coquetas junto con las sartas de ajo, cual amuletos protectores.

En cada viaje vimos como agregaron secciones, desde el asador y la capilla, hasta el hotelito casero; sus mesitas siempre bien vestidas de manteles plásticos blancos con manchas negras cual lindas vaquitas, sus saleros, servilleteros y adornos campiranos, todos con el tema ya característico de las vacas contentas. En cada temporada el menú va cambiando y generalmente es recitado verbalmente – variando desde los tamalitos hasta el bistec. No podían faltar las aguas frescas y el café colado (bien cargado y prieto por el azúcar quemada). Sencillo parador cuya otra característica es la de nunca pagar más de 100 pesos de cuenta, no importa que se pida ni cuanto se coma; la teoría que más nos gusta ante ese fenómeno es la limitante de conocimientos matemáticos de las amables meseras, cuya capacidad les permitiría contar, bueno pues, sólo hasta cien.

Pero fue en nuestro último viaje, en el que paramos como es costumbre a degustar y descansar, en el que descubrimos la intensión vehemente de atraer comensales extranjeros, para ser exactos norteamericanos viajeros, al leer el nuevo menú, ahora bien impreso, laminado y puesto a disposición del cliente, enunciando los platillos como sigue:

Donkeys……………burros

Fused Cheese……………..queso fundido

Crush w/vegetables…………… machaca con verduras

Eggs laughed Sonora style………………..huevos estilo Rio Sonora

Crazy Pope…………………………Papa Loca (al horno con todo)

Eggs mess orderlies ………………………huevos revueltos

Milanese…………………..Milanesa

Golden tacos……………….Tacos dorados

Meat with Chile……………………………………………carne con chile

Caramel…………………………..Caramelos

Pechuga of Chicken………………………………Pechuga de pollo

No pude evitar documentar este hallazgo, no se si fue el hecho de encontrarme con el efecto de la globalización y el intercambio comercial internacional en su más diminuta y tierna expresión, o el haber entendido que nuestros platillos típicos no deben ser traducidos, o de confirmar que los traductores automáticos están al alcance de cualquiera y que al parecer, no vienen con una leyenda de seguridad al estilo de “las traducciones ofrecidas por esta herramienta son responsabilidad del usuario y no reflejan nuestra manera de pensar ni la de nuestros empleados”. Lo que sí es seguro, es que me hizo el día, no dejé de sonreír mientras comía mis ricos corn tamales with green chile Indian Prince (tamal de elote con raja de chile verde), con su respectiva porción de little chinese beans (frijoles chinitos) y mi plato de humeantes Smalls (chicos).