I'm not sure how apparent this is in my blog, but if you know me, you know that I love Latin culture. Everything about it, the people, the music, the food, the values, the art, the dance. Many people probably think I am crazy or weird maybe because I love it so much and it is not my own. I myself often wonder where this passion came from. I have no Latin blood, no close family that I know of that has been to Latin America for more than a short trip, no connections really whatsoever. But somewhere along my life experiences, I had a feeling that I would like to go to Latin America. When I started Spanish classes in junior high, I loved it. I went to Spain to get closer to the language, but I didn't feel it, there was no connection. I still looked towards the south and searched for a way to buy a ticket to that unknown place that I felt would suit me.
Then I decided to go to Ecuador on a brief piece of advice from a friend. I had never thought of it before but what the hell? It ended up to be a three-week long life-changing experience that confirmed my belief that Latin America was in my heart and when I left, part of my heart stayed there.
Another trip, this time to Cuba for three months, and I knew that I would never be able to get it out of my system. I have never felt so happy or alive in a place. Everyday was exciting, everyday I was happy to wake up, no matter how tired I was. Every person I met treated me like a friend, and friends were like family. The music has so much feeling, the dance is lively, and the air hums with passion, love, struggle, and memories.
No matter where I am, my mind and heart are in Latin America. I try to immerse myself in it no matter where I am. I listen to the music, cook the food, dance the dance, and try to feel the warmth and liveliness wherever I go.
Friday, November 20, 2009
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
New Yorkers are Actually Nice!: A Weekend in Spanish Harlem
Groggy from a too-short nap at 5:30am, and sore from the awkward sleeping position, I awoke to the brightening skyline of NYC. I hadn’t been to NYC for at least five years and it felt completely new, like I was driving into another world. In the early morning light, everything seemed even bigger. After being greeted by our first friendly stranger, we set off into the large maze of buildings. Times Square, although eerily quiet, busy only with workers cleaning and preparing for the day of hustle and bustle of millions of feet, was still overwhelming. I stared up and around me, trying to soak it all in, trying to fathom the size of the cell phone on the billboard, the wattage of the McDonald’s sign, the pristine shop windows of 5th Avenue. I couldn’t help but feel a pang of guiltiness, of queasiness that the abundance, richness, and gaudiness invoked in me. It made me realize the incredible amount of unnecessary indulgence that is such a huge part of our culture. It was beautiful and eye-opening, but sickening.
Eager to get to our hostel to drop off our bags and settle down a bit before embarking on the day, we made our way to our hostel, which the website had described as being an eight minute walk from Times Square. So we reached Central Park and looked for our road. Being completely unfamiliar with NYC, we were clueless and stopped in to ask an extremely friendly bellhop whose face turned when we gave him the address of our hostel, “OH, that’s not a great part of town, you’re up near Harlem”. Harlem? That’s kinda more than an eight-minute walk from Times Square. Again, not familiar or completely comfortable in this city, and going off our preconceptions of Harlem, we weren’t exactly thrilled as we traveled twenty minutes away from Times Square to E 103rd St. and Lexington on the 6 train. We stepped out into Spanish Harlem, on a quiet block across from a mural of Pedro Pietro and El Paso Taqueria. For Rafaella and I this was more exciting than intimidating. But we kept in mind what we had heard about the area and still felt hesitant. After traveling back to Times Square, searching for a possibly safer hostel, being unsuccessful in anything but making our backs sorer, we decided to head back to what ended up becoming what we affectionately called our “hood”.
After dumping our bags in the cozy third floor apartment, we headed out to explore. We strolled past Mexican restaurant after Puerto Rican restaurant, after barber shop, after Mexican restaurant. We got stared at quite often as we were some of the only gringas, and probably obviously looked like tourists. But we all felt at home in a way as we were reminded by the 
smells, sounds, and sights of our Latin American travels, friends, and memories. After working up an appetite we were enticed by the window of a particular restaurant, Cuchifritos. The hard-to-ignore window was lined with rows of empanadas, juicy carne, blood sausage, papas, arroz y frijoles, platanos, and other fried treasures. The guys behind the counter didn’t really know what to think of us as we ordered multiple plates of deliciousness with an amount of confidence. Our eyes were a little bit bigger than our stomachs, but we enjoyed every bite we could fit and washed it down with horchata. Amazing.
smells, sounds, and sights of our Latin American travels, friends, and memories. After working up an appetite we were enticed by the window of a particular restaurant, Cuchifritos. The hard-to-ignore window was lined with rows of empanadas, juicy carne, blood sausage, papas, arroz y frijoles, platanos, and other fried treasures. The guys behind the counter didn’t really know what to think of us as we ordered multiple plates of deliciousness with an amount of confidence. Our eyes were a little bit bigger than our stomachs, but we enjoyed every bite we could fit and washed it down with horchata. Amazing.Completely satisfied we finished off the afternoon browsing the little stores, dancing to the salsa playing in the music store, talking with some people about the best place to go dancing, and finishing it off with churros. Let me just say that if you haven’t tried churros, you need to. They are long cinnamon sticks of dough, fried and sprinkled with sugar. Heaven. So much better than a donut. And we got “Cinco por dos pesos, disculpe, dolares”. Such a deal, no matter what currency we’re talking. Full and happy, we headed back to the crib and napped. 
We departed with Heleen at that point, and we were all sad because it had been so great seeing her again and it was as if we had seen each other just the other week. It was great to reminisce about Ecuador, the friends and experiences there, and tell each other about our lives since then. And who knows when we will see each other again, that's the weird thing about cross-country friendships and traveling. You meet such great people and then may never see them again or if you do it will most likely be for a short time. But I guess you never really know what will happen or when you'll run into them or where.
The night proved to be not as eventful as we had hoped, but still a success. Everyone had told us that against our expectations, there were no great salsa spots in El Barrio. And basically all the good dancing places are expensive or 21+. But we were determined and headed out in no particular direction, mostly excited to see more of the city. We walked up and down various streets of the Lower East Side, past hopping bars, fancy restaurants, and lots of people. Unfortunately we had neither the pocket change or IDs and after awhile, pretty much gave up. Until the lights from la Pinche Taqueria caught our eyes. Our hearts must be South of the border because even after passing all the ritzy, swank places, this was the most exciting thing we saw all night. It was small and colorful with Frida watching over us from the wall and meringue playing in the background. We recapped the day, observed some underground shoe deals, and enjoyed our tacos and yucca fries. In the end, not a bad night.
We departed with Heleen at that point, and we were all sad because it had been so great seeing her again and it was as if we had seen each other just the other week. It was great to reminisce about Ecuador, the friends and experiences there, and tell each other about our lives since then. And who knows when we will see each other again, that's the weird thing about cross-country friendships and traveling. You meet such great people and then may never see them again or if you do it will most likely be for a short time. But I guess you never really know what will happen or when you'll run into them or where.
The night proved to be not as eventful as we had hoped, but still a success. Everyone had told us that against our expectations, there were no great salsa spots in El Barrio. And basically all the good dancing places are expensive or 21+. But we were determined and headed out in no particular direction, mostly excited to see more of the city. We walked up and down various streets of the Lower East Side, past hopping bars, fancy restaurants, and lots of people. Unfortunately we had neither the pocket change or IDs and after awhile, pretty much gave up. Until the lights from la Pinche Taqueria caught our eyes. Our hearts must be South of the border because even after passing all the ritzy, swank places, this was the most exciting thing we saw all night. It was small and colorful with Frida watching over us from the wall and meringue playing in the background. We recapped the day, observed some underground shoe deals, and enjoyed our tacos and yucca fries. In the end, not a bad night.
Day 2 we found it extremely hard to wake up and although we had been ambitious the night before about what to do on Sunday, the sleep deprivation forced us to stay in bed all morning. We were both already reluctant to leave so instead of heading downtown we decided stay awhile to enjoy the warmth and the neighborhood. We grabbed snacks from the corner bodega and sat 
on the wall outside El Jardin de Modesto Flores. Musica romantica played from the garden, a couple sitting on a bench singing along, and a group of older Puerto Rican men bantered loudly about life, money, women, and whatever else came up. They were very entertaining and charming, especially “Maduro” the tiny old man who shot us the brightest smile I’ve seen in awhile. Our day continued on from there, heading to Port Authority to catch our bus from one of the 500 gates, and riding 5 hours back to Boston, but all that is just a blur now and the best memories of the day were sitting on that brick wall. We eventually made friends with one of the guys because he couldn’t resist asking to have his picture taken. He told us about his life, his family, his barrio, and let us in on some of the key sights to see. We were complete strangers, but this guy felt like an abuelo with his warmth and kindness. Who ever said New Yorkers aren’t nice? In my very short 30 hours in New York City, we randomly talked to and had conversations with about ten or more strangers, each eager to help us, learn more about us, and tell us about them. It was a welcome and unexpected experience and makes me want to go back. As for those sightseeing tips, abuelo, I’ll keep them in mind for next time.
on the wall outside El Jardin de Modesto Flores. Musica romantica played from the garden, a couple sitting on a bench singing along, and a group of older Puerto Rican men bantered loudly about life, money, women, and whatever else came up. They were very entertaining and charming, especially “Maduro” the tiny old man who shot us the brightest smile I’ve seen in awhile. Our day continued on from there, heading to Port Authority to catch our bus from one of the 500 gates, and riding 5 hours back to Boston, but all that is just a blur now and the best memories of the day were sitting on that brick wall. We eventually made friends with one of the guys because he couldn’t resist asking to have his picture taken. He told us about his life, his family, his barrio, and let us in on some of the key sights to see. We were complete strangers, but this guy felt like an abuelo with his warmth and kindness. Who ever said New Yorkers aren’t nice? In my very short 30 hours in New York City, we randomly talked to and had conversations with about ten or more strangers, each eager to help us, learn more about us, and tell us about them. It was a welcome and unexpected experience and makes me want to go back. As for those sightseeing tips, abuelo, I’ll keep them in mind for next time.
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