The Escape Artist

PONTS DES ARTS: LOVE LOCK BRIDGE

2014-09-10T17:03:00.000-07:00

It was our last day in Paris and the list of places to visit and food to eat was endless. It was our mission to explore as much as Paris would allow for the next eight hours until we would fall asleep in the metro next to Parisians who would instinctively know we were amateur tourists (we absolutely did that, by the way).

But before the absorption of Paris could commence there was a small thing I needed to do, a place I wanted to visit and it was only a few yards away from the Louvre.

I walked next to Mark along the Seine in search of Pont des Arts, more commonly known as the Padlock Bridge. We had decided months beforehand to buy a simple padlock from one of the small shops nearby that also sold 5 euro prints of Montmatre and the Eiffel Tower on a cloudy day. We’d write our names on it, lock it on the bridge and throw the keys to the river like many couples had done before us until it became a type of unspoken tradition for lovers in Paris.

The simple bridge, only identifiable by its name carved in concrete, is less than remarkable compared to all the other elaborate bridges in Paris. Yet Pont des Arts, with its webbed rails completely covered in locks of all shapes and sizes, has become the preferred crossing over the Seine for those wishing to leave a small message in the City of Romance.

July and Peter were here. Joseph loves Roxanne. Julia and Pablo (2011). Forever my love, John. Ten years, S & A.

Walking slowly and holding Mark’s hand, I smiled as I read the name of the couples and wondered if their love had lasted, if they had married or if the only thing left of their romance was this tiny symbol locked on a bridge. Some had been linked to other locks because there was barely any space left. Mark and I searched for the tiniest gap for ours but as we looked for the best location, all I could think of was my father.

I thought of Dad sitting on a couch with me watching Sabrina and as I became enchanted by the shy girl who spent a year in Paris and was transformed by it, my Dad promised me he would take me to Paris on my 15^th birthday. A memory of years later popped into my head when Dad told me he had bought three tickets, for him, Mom and I to spend two weeks in Europe, ending in Paris. And I will forever remember my father in a dark suit taking us to the Lido to catch a night show. He handed me my first glass of champagne, kissed me on the forehead and said softly ‘Happy Birthday’.

The first man to take me to Paris was my Dad, the man who drove me every Saturday for four years to take French lessons an hour away from home. My Dad taught me music. My Dad gave me Paris and without knowing it he opened the world for me.

I reached for the tiny padlock in my pocket while Mark squeezed my other hand. We had planned to leave our names in Paris but what I hadn’t realized was, in my heart, the city already belonged to someone else.

Mark understood my decision right away and he waited next to me as I wrote on the gold lock with a marker I had brought with me for the specific occasion. ‘For my Dad. For Life’.

It locked with a sharp click and I touched it softly one last time letting my hand move over the heavy locks around it and the movement created a collective rattling sound. Facing Notre Dame, I kissed the key and threw it into the Seine and the splash was delicate and almost inaudible.

We walked away hand in hand. I felt bad about changing our plan at the very last minute. But Paris will always belong to my Dad. Mark and I could have the rest of the world.

10 Pictures of Costa Rica

2014-07-14T18:41:00.003-07:00

My oldest brother went to Costa Rica, without warning, without an invitation.

I forgave him for that minor lack of consideration. It still hurts sometimes when he so cruelly reminds of me of the waterfalls and the crushing surfer waves.

It was always meant to be a bro trip, a yearlong planned vacation with his best friends in search of waves the coast of Costa Rica had to offer. In retrospect, and now in my rational state of mind (that comes and goes), it wasn’t really a trip for me.

Yet that didn’t stop me from striking a deal with him. He would go to Costa Rica, no hard feelings or resentment for being left out, and he would bring me back pictures for this post.

So here you have Costa Rica, through my brother’s eyes.

Photography by: Alejandro García

The Louvre, Paris | EUROPE TRIP

2014-07-02T18:18:00.000-07:00

Day 6- Paris

The entrance to the Louvre is an experience on its own. The long wait in line enhances the excitement as you get closer to the three glass pyramids. Once inside, a staircase leads you down into the museum where you can lose yourself for hours.

However, the line sometimes – or most of the time- is simply not worth it. We were let in via a little secret entrance. Near the Carrousel du Louvre, in Rue de Rivoli, there is an alternate entrance to the museum. While it is not as grand as the main entrance, the pyramids get old after an hour in line staring at them.

We were led down a flight of stairs as well and into a corridor of bistros, gift shops and jewellery stores. For a moment you forget every step is taking you closer to one of the largest museums in the world, and then from afar you see the inverse glass pyramid. The natural light, which wasn’t very strong on that cloudy day, illuminates the room where you are officially inside the Louvre.

It is impossible to see the Louvre in just one day and if you happen to do so by some double dog dare you couldn’t refuse, you would not enjoy it. Egyptian antiquities, Greek and Roman art, paintings by Michelangelo, Raphaelle and Da Vinci; the choices are endless and stumbling through them can easily overwhelm you.

As a person who has lost her temperament before by overstaying my visit, believing going through the museum at random was the best way, I now give the complete opposite advice. Make a list beforehand of the pieces you most wish to see. It is best to see five great masterpieces than seeing twenty and feeling numb and bored all the way through.

La Gioconda

The first in many people’s list is Leonardo Da Vinci’s Mona Lisa. A permanent piece in the Louvre, La Gioconda is located in the Denon Wing, a quick right from the main hall to Room 6. Before you see her, the crowd of people with their cameras will let you know you have arrived at the right place.

The search for Mona Lisa causes one to ignore every other painting until finding it. Standing in front of Da Vinci’s great work I expected to feel a sense of wonder, a wonder caused by finally gazing at the mysterious woman who stares right back. Yet standing in the middle of a frenzied crowd destroys the experience. The disappointment overwhelms any other sensation I expected to feel. She is smaller than you’d think, even smaller against the large empty wall behind her and is encased in a protective glass to shield her from the constant flash of cameras.

A single rope and two security guards set the five feet boundary between the Renaissance painting and the people extending their arms looking for the best angle to catch a quick picture.

Was she beautiful? Was she as intriguing as all history teachers described her? I couldn’t tell. My view was constantly interrupted by someone’s camera or iPad. It took great effort to squeeze between the crowd to make it to the front and once there, if it took more than thirty seconds to get a good glimpse of Mona Lisa, a collection of multilingual complaints let me know my time was up.

It is hard to appreciate what is in front of you when you are watching it through a viewfinder and the angst to take Mona Lisa home with you, the now or never, is easily contagious. The experience, however, has been tarnished by this desperation to bring back evidence of a wonderful trip to Europe.

Venus de Milo

Venus never disappoints me. In fact, finding her was the complete opposite than finding Mona Lisa and unlike Mona Lisa, she is bigger than I would have thought. She stands in the middle of a room with tall ceilings and while people might be surrounding her, the view is never compromised.

I often wonder if people would love Venus de Milo if she had her arms. Maybe she would look like any other Greek statue. But it is her lack of arms which makes her interesting, a reminder of the passage of time and the fragments of the past that give a broken glimpse of it.

Perhaps her intrigue is the product of propaganda throughout the centuries. The Goddess with no arms. Yet, the feeling upon seeing her is relief. Ah. I found you, just like I imagined.

Psyche and Cupid

My aunt insisted on finding her favorite piece. She didn’t know where it was but she would recognize it immediately. She was talking about Antonio Canova’s Psyche Revived by Cupid’s Kiss.

I had never seen it before but I quickly understood why it was her favorite.

Only just awakened by her lover’s kiss, Psyche reaches up to Cupid as he cradles her. Their faces, so close, show great emotion and intimacy. Their bodies are barely touching but the language between them is tender. They are oblivious to anything around them. In that waking moment, the mythological lovers regard each other and relish being together once again.

It is not up to me to tell you to visit Palace Louvre because you are in Paris and if you didn’t go, then you definitely didn’t visit Paris. Go because there is something inside those walls you want to see before you die. Do it because you want to remember that moment in detail years later when you have wine with your travel friends and smile about it. Go because you will feel something when you see what you want to see, something so great you won’t need a camera to remember it. Go because nobody told you to go.

4 Things to Do in Paris in a Day

2014-06-05T10:25:00.001-07:00

Day 6- Paris

Paris turned colder and greyer than London ever was. I didn’t know such a thing could be possible. The threat of rain was ever present with thick dark clouds and sudden sprinkles. If I had been anywhere else, I would have stayed indoors with a cup of hot chocolate. But I was in Paris. The hot chocolate could wait. I wore my thickest scarf and a pair of boots because no precipitation was going to dictate my limited days in this iconic city.

Despite my enthusiasm, the rain proved to be a difficulty. Anything that required long walks or outdoors activities was cancelled. Many of us opted for a trip to Versailles but I couldn’t leave Paris just because she was gray. So out the infinite things you could do in Paris, we picked four and we were going to enjoy them, rain or shine.

1-Cathédral Notre Dame de Paris

It was a unanimous accord that you simply could not visit Paris and not see Notre Dame with your own eyes. It always amazes me how massive she is. It is something I forget until I see it from its side while walking over the bridge. Her iconic image of the frontal towers gives no hint to her real size and overall magnificence. Its southern façade is my favorite as it shows the intricate details of French Gothic architecture and the central round mosaic.

The square facing the cathedral’s entrance was full of tourists hiding under colorful umbrellas as they queued to go up the towers. I have always wanted to see the ten bells of the cathedral, but it wasn’t going to happen during this visit. We didn’t have the time so we opted for going inside while a ceremony was taking place.

Maybe it is because my first memory of Notre Dame is associated with Victor Hugo’s Hunchback of Notre Dame, but the cathedral has an ominous quality, a darkness that can easily be attributed to its architecture and gargoyles. Even inside, the large organs, the tall columns and the dimmed lights show an eeriness of religion that is quite palpable. But when the light shines through both mosaics on either side, the colors can’t be described as anything other than heavenly. Amongst the pale stones and the heaviness of the structure, there is brightness. You would never know it from the outside. Only from inside and only because of the natural light can you see the beautiful colors emanating from the 600 year old stained glass.

2-Montmatre

Vincent Van Gogh used to live in Montmatre. I don’t know why but I always remember that. It might be because I want to convince myself that this famous village where Sacré-Coeur is propped is the kind of place where I belong but the truth is I am naturally lured to Montmatre. It always catches my eye as it peeks out of the skyline of Paris. The neighborhood in itself is quite artistic and Place du Tetre is always filled with artists looking to sketch an enthusiastic tourist while others are there selling their oil paintings.

But the arty scene would have to wait because it was four o’ clock and the cold rain was coming down heavily. It was the perfect excuse to indulge in a warm snack. Right by the side of Sacré-Coeur, we found a tiny store with a big umbrella outside. The constant burst of steam coming out of the store caught our attention. It was a crepe booth surrounded by clients trying to decide whether to fill their crepes with chocolate, strawberries or go for the traditional sugar and lemon filling. Mark is more a salty-snack kind of guy and ordered one with Gruyere cheese and ham. It looked great but my sweet tooth called out to me. Une crepe avec Nutella, s’il vous plait.

The process fascinated me. I watched as she prepared my crepe, like a child pressed to the window of a candy store. She took a ladle full of a thin batter and poured it gently onto the round skillet. Steam puffed up when she spread it perfectly with a strange instrument and in seconds the crepe was cooked on one side. Without any hesitation she flipped it to cook it on the other side and then folded it in half. Then the magic happened. She grabbed the big spatula dunked into the Nutella jar and smeared my warm crepe with the delicious hazelnut spread. She folded again three times to make a triangle, shoved into a parchment wrapping and handed it to me.

If anyone can describe accurately what it is like to bite into a perfectly made crepe, they have my respect. No arrangement of words can express what taste buds do when you bite into the softness of the warm crepe enfolding what will become molten chocolate goodness. I had to lick off my lips from the residual chocolate that oozed out with every bite.

I do my best to stay away from eating these delicacies at every turn. I even resist learning how to make them. Yet I can clearly recall every single place I ate a crepe, what I was wearing, the year and how it felt.

3-Espace Dalí

I love Montmatre. I am infatuated with Nutella crepes. But I didn’t climb the 300 steps up to Montmatre just to have a sugary snack. I had a very specific plan, a visit I neglected years back when I first came to Paris and I was not going to make that mistake again.

A few meters down the village is the Museum of Salvador Dalí, the pillar of surrealism and the kind of man you will never forget even if you hate him. By this time, I wasn’t a fan. I didn’t understand him but his melting clocks always interested me and I was strangely in love with his long legged elephants. I was aggravated by his art and deep down I needed to prove to myself that all his strangeness was not just some spectacle without any reason.

Once I paid the entrance, I took the stairs down to a dimly lit basement that held a large collection of his drawings and sculptures. There were more than 100 of his pieces but there was no sign of any of his grand masterpieces. Every wall, painted in a the darkest gray, was full of his work but it felt small and intimate. You had to get close to every drawing to see its details. You could be just a few inches away from touching the sculpture of his clocks, melting sadly over a single branch. There were no guards to pull me away from the experience, telling I needed to stay back or instruct me to put my camera away. It was just me and Dali.

It was the fact that I had to stand so close what made me see him better and all of his recurring themes, like his wife Gala, ever present in his drawings as the redheaded woman turned away from the spectator. I also noticed Dalí constantly appears in his paintings as this abstract figure, large headed but deflated and limp next to the fiery Gala. He also seems to love the presence of ants symbolizing decay and death, his frequent reminder that everything, sooner or later, will disappear.

I left there infused with the meanings behind the melting clocks, the contrast of the heavy elephants and their thin legs. By the time we made it to the next metro station, I admitted –only to myself- that I was in love with Dali.

4-Boat Ride on the River Seine

I have never been particularly interested in boat rides. I once fell asleep on a ferry in the Thames and I never fell for that gondola ride in Venice. But our whole group was scheduled to meet at dusk by the Eiffel Tower to enjoy a tour of Paris from the river.

The boat tour began as a mandatory activity but now I can say I recommend it. The sky turned orange and pink as the sun set behind the city. The perspective of Parisian roads and buildings from the river was different yet better than any other tour we had taken. We weren’t moving to the rhythm of honking cars. We got to see everything from every angle, enjoying it at a slow even pace.

It’s funny to realize a boat ride got me thinking. I thought of living in Paris, imagined myself walking the streets and buying a baguette every morning from nearby café. I saw myself in a tiny apartment with barely any furniture, writing in the balcony for hours every day as Paris continued to move beneath me.

By the time we passed under Pont des Arts, I was ready to cut my trip short, find some job and move to Paris for the rest of the year.

In hindsight, I would have missed out on so many memories from this trip if I had done that, but in that moment sitting next to Mark, Parisian life seemed like the only reasonable choice.

Maybe one day I will move to Paris for a year and look for whatever scrap is left of the 1920’s brilliant writers like Hemingway, Fitzgerald and T.S Elliot. In fact, that is a must. However, that night, I was satisfied with standing under a flimsy umbrella, getting my boots soaked in the cold rain as I stared in delight at the Eiffel Tower sparkling with its golden lights just for me.

The next day, I got a cold.

The ONE Thing You Should NOT Do When Traveling ( I did it )

2014-05-22T12:42:00.001-07:00

Day 5- Paris

We were left wanting more of Paris, to spend the night awake roaming its streets but it was not an option. The hotel was miles away. There were no metro stations nearby and a cab ride would cost about thirty euros, one way.

With nothing to do, we settled on exploring all the drinks the hotel bar could prepare which turned into a great way to get to know one another. We knew each others' names but we were still shy and didn’t know more than two things about each other. Nothing like a few cocktails to get someone to tell you their life story.

The drinks kept coming and the hunger began to grumble. This presented a bigger problem than expected. We were in an unknown town and it was passed 11 pm. All restaurants nearby were closed and we had no transportation, much less any sense of direction. If we did happen to have any, that fourth vodka and cranberry juice had obliterated it.

In our semi-inebriated and full hunger state, Mark and I agreed to commit the cardinal sin of traveling: we decided to go to McDonald’s -the only place nearby we remembered on our bus ride back.

Everybody wanted hot French fries but nobody wanted to walk the mile and a half. It was only Mark, me and another girl. We were sickened with the choice we had succumbed to because of our late night munchies. But it was the only place opened this late. It was either this or a hangover. This was about survival.

Lost, tipsy and delirious with hunger, it felt as if we walked forever through a quiet and apparently desolated neighborhood. There was no sign of activity except for the busy local pub. We could have asked any of the people there for directions but that would be too embarrassing. Lost tourists looking for McDonald’s? Never.

Eventually we found it and the staff didn’t let us in. It seemed like the restaurant area was closed but we were allowed to order from the drive-through. At least that’s what we gathered by all the hand gestures.

We felt like idiots ordering on foot, trying to comprehend the fast speaking French person through the intercom. Four years of French classes, all to travel to France and order three large fries. Not my proudest moment. Quelle honte!

However, the look of the McDonald’s lady as she handed a bag full of large sized fries to three vagabond tourists was pretty priceless. No language is needed when the French judge you.

On the walk back we shoved the salty hot pommes frites in our mouths and what we experienced was a type of masochism that couldn’t be blamed on anybody but ourselves. It can never be taken back or not enjoyed. They were divine.

And for that enjoyment I apologize to all my fellow travelers. Mea culpa. Je suis desolée.

The thing about Paris | EUROPE TRIP

2014-05-14T17:57:00.003-07:00

Day 5-

Even as we went underground to the metro station in order to get to L’Arc de Triumph, I still couldn’t believe it. “You’re telling me you can actually go inside the arc and climb all the way to the top?” was what I kept asking. And the answer was always yes, every time more irritable sounding than the last.

Champs Elysees was busy that Friday afternoon, traffic flowing constantly down its wide streets and pedestrian going in and out of the high end stores with their shopping bags. After a long day of crossing the English Channel on the Eurostar, finding out our hotel would be an hour away from the city and cancelling half of the day’s activities, just being on the avenue was rewarding enough.

The first and last time I saw the Arc de Triumph was in 2004 at the end of Le Tour de France, the time Lance Armstrong won for the seventh time. However, to me, the arc was always an icon you admired from afar like a famous sculpture you are not allowed to get close to. So imagine my surprise, and slight embarrassment, when I found out you could actually go inside the monument and enjoy the Parisian view from the top.

We had to cross Place de Charles de Gaulle, the famous road junction where twelve avenues meet, through an underground passage. I was finally only a few feet away from the arc, for the first time noticing all the details carved on the marble. The monument honors the ones who fought during the French Revolution and the Napoleonic Wars. The names of their victories and generals are inscribed all around. Beneath the arc, an eternal flame burns for the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier in the memory of those who died at war and were never identified. It suddenly didn’t feel like such a coincidence that the biggest avenues in the city met at such a centric and historic site.

We found the secret entrance, at least it felt secret and magical to me, paid our fee and made our way up. Midway we stopped at mid level where we found the gift shop and all sorts of illustrations explaining the history and construction of the monument.

We moved on after a quick glance and before long we were at the top just as the sun set over Paris casting a warm light over the white buildings.

Even though we were not at the highest point of the city, we were able to see everything. We were high up enough that we were able to see as far as Montmartre and the Grande Arche but still low enough that we got to appreciate the details of the roads, the landmarks and the vibrancy of a city that was just starting its activities at sunset.

There is something unique about Paris, that je ne sais quoi you can’t put into words. You can only feel. I can’t help hearing in my mind an accordion’s melody even if it has been implemented in me from years of watching movies set in this city. I know it sounds cheesy or cliché but that is only because it’s been said a million times. And yet, it hasn’t come close to accurately describing this feeling.

It’s not just the influence of movies that sets her apart. When you are there, witnessing everything as it has always been described, you understand the world has not defined Paris. Paris just is and all of her travelers have exposed fragments of her but never a complete picture.

If you ask me, I can tell you Paris is the art of café au lait. It is history and complexity, a collection of incredible minds and the most indulging cuisine. But even as I stood there and walked the streets, I could not tell you in a single sentence all that is Paris. It is a few fleeting seconds of awe, of losing yourself completely in her and later it will fizzle when attempting to add logic to it.

Only if you manage to piece together everything Balzac, Hemingway, Maupassant, Hugo and Van Gogh have said about Paris can you begin to understand what it’s like to actually be in Paris.

I understand how centuries of literature, art and iconic movies have set the highest standards for the first timers in this city but for me Paris has never been disappointing. And people who say they get bored in Paris will always be a mystery to me.

Looking for India in London

2014-05-06T17:30:00.000-07:00

This post is a continuation to my previous story of spending a day in London. Click here for that whole story.

THIS IS EXACTLY WHAT I DIDN'T GET TO EAT ON MY LAST DAY IN LONDON.

The rest of the day was spent wandering at Oxford street and, unfortunately, ruining everyone’s afternoon when I made it my life’s mission to find a fantastic Indian restaurant. It was a recipe for failure from the start. I didn’t know any good restaurants in London, but my craving needed to be satisfied and I was hellbent on Mom loving Indian food once and for all. In retrospect, I was the one who betrayed the ‘go with the flow’ plan of the day.

When we were told there was an incredible Indian restaurant very close to Oxford street, I followed blindly and by blindly I mean I got us completely lost. We walked far more than we needed to and had to ask for directions constantly. But I couldn’t stop now. I had made everyone skip our scheduled meal with the group so we could have a nirvana-like experience with Indian cuisine. I had to find the place and an hour later I did.

Tired, thirsty and starving we arrived at the place, but the embarrassment had only begun. The restaurant was beyond fancy with a narrow hall with an elevator in the end took us to the restaurant on the second floor. Everybody stared as we were seated and given steamed towels to clean our hands. One look at the menu and I began having a mini nervous breakdown. No plate on the menu was cheaper than 30 quid. Not even the appetizers.

This was the furthest thing from the idea I had in mind. I thought we could enjoy some curry and naan bread accompanied by acceptable customer service, not break our wallets at a high end place where the waiters have immaculate detailed uniforms. My breakdown led to frustration tears in the bathroom and me making everybody uncomfortable, even the maitre'd.

My family continued to reassure me, telling me we didn't have to stay at all, and to my utter embarrassment we did leave but not before several waiters, even what appeared the manager asked us if we had found something wrong with the service. From their perspective, it did seem we became quite unsatisfied in a matter of a nanosecond. What was I suppose to say, though? 'You are too good for us?' No, no. We conjured up some sort of excuse and the apologized once again on our way out.

Still feeling defeated and utterly stupid, Mark tried his best to cheer me up and so did everyone else. We ended up eating in an Argentinian restaurant nearby and while it wasn’t Indian, it was still really good. With every bite, I felt better and got over my obsessive, highly dramatic moment.

I do hope someone out there read, who has tried a great bowl of curry, will understand that my reactions were not uncalled for. Sometimes you just have to have curry. And instantly. We all payed the price.

Back at the hotel, my roommate asked me why I had missed dinner with them. I told her we were in the search for some restaurant and it ended strange to say the least. I asked her how her evening had been and she said the food had been surprisingly delicious. They had stuffed their faces with curry and naan bread at a very cozy Indian restaurant.

If you have ever wondered what irony is, that day it slapped me square in the face.

My Favorite Things | APRIL

2014-05-01T18:03:00.003-07:00

I am officially on the band wagon of monthly favorites. Looking out for the little bits and bobs that have perked up my mood during the month is so much fun and I find myself trying new things. I also like that it helps me remember my days better and it’s a great way to create memories that might have otherwise passed me by.

Wolf of Wall Street Soundtrack - House of Cards

1. I saw WoWS when it came out and I even recorded a review about it. While the movie wasn’t my favorite I can’t stop listening to the soundtrack. It is rich and varied and a fantastic listen when you are hours on your laptop working on a project. It’s got everything, from Etta James to Simon and Garfunkel. My favorite has to be the trailer’s track, 7Horse by Meth Lab Zoso Sticker. If you don’t feel like a badass after you’ve heard it, listen to it one more time.

2. I know, I know. I am a little late with Netflix’s House of Cards and I don’t even know why it took me so long to watch it. I have a secret crush on Kevin Spacey because, let’s admit it, Kevin Spacey is the man! The series about corruption and thirst for power in Washington DC is sophisticated and addictive and you can’t wait to see who will be the next to rise and the next to fall. Frank Underwood, Spacey’s character, is the biggest shark of them all yet you can’t help but be completely enthralled by him. The different shades of manipulation and ways of maintaining control make this a very dangerous game you can’t stop watching. I highly recommend it.

Essiebutton- Paris vs. NYC

3. I went over to my friend’s new apartment for a little housewarming dinner and I discovered this incredible book Paris versus New York: A Tally of Two Cities. It is all illustrations of iconic images from both Paris and New York City, showing what makes them fascinating yet so incredibly different from one another. Are you a New Yorker or Parisienne? As for me, I still can’t decide.

4. Estee (aka Essiebutton) is my new favorite Youtuber, Beauty Blogger, Canadian and overall favorite person. Based in London but originally from Canada, Essiebutton has a great beauty channel and a quirky sense of humor. Her videos range from tutorials, Cosmetic line reviews (like Bobbi Brown and Tarte) and recently a spring related series called #Springology. If that weren’t enough, I am hooked to her vlog channel as well. I watch it in the mornings over coffee. In this channel, Estee and her boyfriend Aslan document weekly their outings, travels and walks in the park with their greyhound Reggie. Can’t you tell I’m obsessed?

Estee, if you ever read this, you are the best! Also, let’s be friends (not creepy at all).

Toasted Coconut Margarita – San Francisco

5. I mentioned A Beautiful Mess in my previous monthly favorites because there is simply no better website for inspiration and DIY projects. Their recipes category, however, is not just inspirational. It is pure temptation. Their cocktail recipe for Toasted Coconut Margarita is delicious and refreshing, perfect for the following warm months. Next time, I might make a frozen version of this tasty drink.

6. While I am a big fan of the East Coast (NYC, Miami), I find myself day dreaming about the West Coast. Maybe it’s because summer is around the corner, but lately my day dream city has been San Francisco. It is my goal to live in a big energetic city, even if for a few months of my life. I’ve always aimed for New York City but there is something about San Fran’s mellower vibe and its artistic neighborhoods that might persuade me to change my mind. I’m planning to make San Francisco one of my travel destinations for the next year, fingers crossed.

Those have been some of my April favorites. What have you been loving for the past month? I would love to know.

I hope you have a great weekend!

M xox

Freedom Day in London | EUROPE TRIP

2014-04-25T17:34:00.000-07:00

Day 4- London

It was our last day in England and we were allowed a free pass to explore the city as we wished, to spend endless hours in parks or watch three musicals in a row it we wanted, whatever tickled our fancy.

While attending musicals would have been great for me but disastrous for Mom, I came up with a brilliant plan but it all had to seem spontaneous and relaxed because a ‘free’ day isn’t about meeting schedules and time to the second. It’s about letting it happen.

Our first stop was Abbey Road, the Mecca for any Beatle fan. After passing by the little Beatles themed shop at St. John’s Wood station, it was only a short walk away and before we knew it there was Abbey Road Studio, a gated white house to the left. The studio is closed to the public and just as well. I might have fainted if I set one foot inside.

Like ourselves, fans settle for leaving their appreciation for the Beatles on the walls of the gates. Some doodle John, Paul, George and Ringo’s faces while others write down a few verses of their favorite songs. Prepared with a permanent marker in my purse, I wrote down thanks. Thanks for the words, for the inspiration, for the funny and sad stories. Thank you for being my teachers and my friends. Thank you for the music.

We could have left it at that, but my aunt thought my late father, her brother, should stay as close to Abbey Road as possible. And now he always will be.

If it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t have known what music is capable of. Life would have been immensely grey without knowing ‘Norweigan Wood’ ‘I get by with a little help from my Friends’ and our song ‘In my Life’. Without him, so much would have gone by unnoticed. Yet, if someone were to ask me which is one the greatest gift my father gave me, I would say the Beatles and all the memories that are played to their melody. So thank you, Dad. Thank you. Always.

We couldn’t leave without attempting to recreate the iconic picture, all of us walking coolly to the right. But after getting the direction wrong, Mom taking my place as Lennon and also stopping in the middle to smile at the camera, I was disappointed at my ‘crew’ and we called it quits.

Soon it was lunchtime and we headed to Covent Garden to check out the activity. With quaint shops, gastropubs and street performances in every corner, Covent Garden is one of those districts that no matter how many times you’ve been there, there is always something new to enjoy and explore. I always find it so familiar when I recognize shops and places I have seen since my first visit to London 8 years ago. I always remember a pub called The White Lion where I had my first pint at the age of 16. I remember with every detail the taste of the chewy cookies from the tiniest shop called Ben’s Cookies, wedged into a little corner in the Covent Garden Market. In that same building I never forget to look down to the first level where you always see a gigantic pan used to cook an enormous paella. Even though it’s irrelevant to Covent Garden’s vibrant energy, I always search for these things, like little treasures I left behind and I want to make sure they are still where I left them.

Once again, I was in luck. The square was invaded by tons of tent booths selling all kinds of food, refreshing drinks and pastries. Even if you weren’t hungry, it was just as fun to walk by slowly and notice all the delicacies they were selling- freshly squeezed lemonade, tubs of olives stuffed with peppers or cheese, soaking in brine and olive oil and thick slices of cheesecake and poppy seed muffins drizzled with lemon glaze. The sizzling sound of grilled meat being tossed with peppers and onion meant to be stuffed into a soft roll made my mouth water. After walking by all the tents, we were starvin marvin.

Mark and I opted for that grilled meat sandwich and savored it as we strolled by Jubilee Market. They were selling every type of trinket like journals bound in aged leather, glass clocks, vintage necklaces and band T-shirts. I found a black Abbey Road tee for nine pounds. It was fate. I couldn’t leave it. But my people performed a small intervention before I walked away with three new journals and five bracelets and ten tops. I have an avid love for useless things.

Afterwards we went to experience London Eye, a must for every first timer. I had been on it two years before and I was immediately filled with regret I hadn’t done this on my very first visit to London. It was an experience that for some reason brought out my inner child. Maybe it’s because it resembles the biggest ferris wheel ride you will ever be on, but it had helped me appreciate the city more. I wanted Mom to have that as well.

The queue for London Eye was long but we were told not to worry. It moves quite fast. Before we had time to worry about how long it would take, we were given 3D glasses and taken to a room to watch a short film about the construction and meaning of London Eye. The observation wheel, which looks like a huge white bicycle wheel with 32 capsules, was added to the city to welcome the millennium and eventually became a symbol of London like the Eiffel Tower for Paris. Frankly, there is no better way to observe the city than this.

We were lucky it was one of those rare sunny days in London because as we ascended slowly in the glass and steel capsule, we were able to see every bit of the city. The forty minute ride seems slow, giving us enough time to stop all the buildings illustrated in the guide we got beforehand. As it keeps moving, the panoramic view broadens and if you are lucky, you might get to see up to 40 kilometres in all directions, as far as Windsor Castle. Even though it was a bright day, I wasn’t able to spot it.

By the time our ride was over, it was almost time for dinner and I had this amazing idea to get my family to try proper Indian Cuisine. But that is a whole other story. Really. Click here to know all about it.

LAZY SATURDAY | British Virgin Islands

2014-04-19T09:08:00.000-07:00

It’s Holy Week and in Puerto Rico you either spend it watching religious movies at home or going to the beach. Two years ago, I decided to break the rules and get some sun… all the way to the British Islands.

I had the time of my life and every year around Holy Week, I remember sandy white beaches, Bushwhackers and relaxing in Tortola.

Here are some pictures of those good ol’ days. I hope you enjoy!

Getting to Know London | EUROPE TRIP

2014-04-16T16:00:00.000-07:00

Day 3- London

At seven o’ clock in the morning, still disoriented and tired, I faced one of the hardest choices one makes in their first days in England. Do I have my bagel with coffee, what I’m used to, or tea, what should I be drinking? It is no easy decision. I could have a 40 minute conversation arguing both sides. But there was no time for that and as much as I had become fond of tea, by force and overabundance, I stuck to coffee for the extra boost of energy this long day would require. Pardon, Britain.

Outside of the hotel, the group was guided to the tube, only a block away. There were still many unfamiliar faces and everyone was slowly integrating. But while we all still didn’t know each other’s names, the language made sure no one would get lost. It’s hard to find an additional Puerto Rican in England at this time that wasn’t part of our group.

We were scheduled for a bus tour through London but we had no idea what that entailed. And to my eternal disappointment, it was not a double-decker bus.

We drove around the city with our cameras in hand ready for any landmark while feeling weird about being on the wrong side of the road. Every turn seemed like a car crash waiting to happen.

Everyone took pictures as our tour guide pointed out all the big names- Westminster Abbey, Tower Bridge, London Eye and Parliament. With every landmark, he would add a bit of historic information that kept it colorful.

As much as I understand the practicality of a tour bus and how it’s a helpful introduction for the tourist, there is always something odd about it. Here we are, newcomers to this place, eager and curious, yet we are forced to admire it from inside a capsule of metal and glass. Look, but don’t go near it. Admire it, but only for a second and then forever with a photograph. You could go through every street of a city and never set foot in it.

However, I understood it was what we signed up for and if you want to see 11 cities in 30 days, you better pick up the pace.

Our first stop was back at St. Paul’s Cathedral, my favorite. I’m not sure why I love it more than Westminster. I think it’s because Westminster Abbey reminds me of royalty, of blue blood weddings and funerals, and St. Paul’s will always remind me of Mary Poppins and ‘Feed the Birds’…tuppence a bag.

Yet we didn’t stay for long, to my disappointment, because it was almost 11:30 and it was time to head over to Buckingham Palace for the Changing of the Guards.

I’ve seen it at least four times in the past 6 years, yet it never fails to impress me. It’s fascinating; the magnificent palace behind them, their discipline and coordination has become a performance for all tourists.

Changing the Guard is simply the process that involves the new guard exchanging duty with the old guard at Buckingham Palace and Windsor Castle. The handover is accompanied by the Guard’s band and they play traditional military marches.

Observers and first timers gather around Queen Victoria’s statue that faces the palace while the rest line up along the main road where the new shift will march in. Everyone is looking for the perfect spot to photograph the Queen’s guards in their flawless formation with bright red coats and the iconic bearskins. Their discipline and grasp for tradition made me feel like I was suddenly in another time, a few centuries ago, as the marched to the beat of a drum and the melody of trumpets.

It goes by faster than you’d think, so it is always smart to arrive 15 to 30 minutes early.

Once it was over, we made our way back to the bus for the second part of the tour, which included passing by Hyde Park, historic buildings and a quick peek of Covent Garden.

We finished the day once again by the South Bank, this time with a closer and ample view of Tower Bridge, decorated with the five Olympic rings that signalled the games would soon start.

Dinner was scheduled at Wagamama and you could have anything you wanted, as long as it was a heaped bowl of noodles with chicken and a ginger sauce.

A rumour soon spread that we weren’t really eating chicken thighs but iguana meat. When the rumour made its way to my table, I paused a mouthful of noodles and mysterious meat still intact in my mouth. I really couldn’t back down now. That would be too much of a scene. Instead, I braved it and chewed slowly and carefully, waiting for the foreign meat to hit my taste buds. And in the end, it was actually pretty good.

After dinner, everyone was saying it was really a joke and no iguanas had been injured in order to prepare our meal. But even now, years later, I always tell people I had iguana for the very first time in London. And it tasted just like chicken.

LAZY SATURDAY | Walking in Old San Juan

2014-04-12T15:28:00.002-07:00

Happy Lazy Saturday!

Hope you get to do all the things you like this weekend and maybe enjoy this video as well over a coffee break.

I absolutely love going to Old San Juan even though I have gone countless times. It’s always a great place to take a walk, take pictures and enjoy great restaurants. This time we just walked around for an afternoon and visited the famous park Parque de las Palomas, a small area overlooking San Juan where pigeons live and get fed by tourists and locals.

This doesn’t even begin to cover all the things and places you can visit in the Spaniard influenced part of town, but it’s a nice glimpse of its architecture and its vibe.

Have a great weekend!

M xox

Fighting the British Jet Lag | EUROPE TRIP

2014-04-09T19:46:00.000-07:00

Day 2- London

The first day after any international flight is always a strange one. Your body is telling you it’s time to sleep but the city is indicating the day has just begun. The cool morning breeze, the bustling traffic and men in crisp suits are all signs of an awakening London.

It’s always a blur, that first day, a combination of an out of body experience and your senses tingling with every new smell, touch and site. A Costa coffee, an introduction to our guides, a bus ride from Heathrow and one Adele album later, we arrived at Wembley to leave all our luggage, power through the jetlag and head on into the city.

London, the metropolis I grew to love without realizing. The first time I visited was at the age of sixteen and I was homesick and hanging on to a crush back home that soon fizzled out. Maybe it was due to my first taste of jetlag, hitting me with full force or maybe it was immaturity, but I disliked London quickly.

Years later, I met Mark and soon came the time to travel alone overseas for the first time in order to spend time with him. And then, without a killer dose of jetlag and hand in hand with a local, it was like I had met city for the first time.

Since then every time I visit it feels familiar and clear. When I step into her, touch her, I recognize her and she recognizes me back. England is so different from where I grew up, possibly the complete opposite, yet I can call her my home, a place I miss and its memories are alive inside me even as time passes.

London is the city where I learned my independence and let my freak flag fly, where I feel capable. London embodies late nights and long walks that are never tiring. It is my seasonal affair and comforting cups of tea. I know the city, the underground maps and I never feel lost or alone in it.

Now, after more than a year, I was back and I was with Mark once again. I hugged him hard and relished the deep sound of his voice as he kissed my cheek, the way he had eight months ago. Even though we hadn’t been face to face for the better part of the year, it always felt familiar and comforting to see him.

But our reunion was cut short when the guides scurried us to the tube, like lost little baby chicks, and we headed to Central London for our first quintessential English experience. Fish and Chips. If you’ve ever had the signature dish before, you know it can go incredibly great –flaky moist fish with a crunchy beer batter exterior fried to perfection- or horribly wrong – soggy, pale looking piece of fish next to frozen, out of the box chips.

Our fish and chips were the latter; a testament to English cuisine the way Taco Bell represents authentic Mexican food. It just wasn’t. But rule number two to beat the jetlag is to eat, preferably clean food, but nonetheless eat. First rule is to hydrate. So we ate as much as we could of the overly oily fish and left the pub.

Luckily we were nearby one of my favorite areas of London, just a few blocks away from the beautiful St. Paul’s Cathedral and for the next hour, we were allowed to just be, walk and let realization kick in. Feeling somewhat self confident of understanding my surroundings (classic British Wanna Be syndrome), I urged my people –Mother, Aunt and Mark- to head down to one of my favorite walks in the city.

After passing St. Paul’s, we took a right and followed the signs that led us to cross the Thames via the the Millennium Bridge and down to the South Bank. I’ve walked over this bridge several times with Mark holding hands and the view of the city and Tower Bridge still surprises me. I can’t help but walk slower, even as the steel bridge shakes and trembles with every step people take.

Even though we are immediately greeted by The Globe Theatre, the reconstruction of Shakespeare’s theatre of centuries ago, I never forget to turn around after crossing the bridge and admire how it peeks out through the buildings and the river.

The view of the sleek metal bridge leading your eye to the majestic form of the cathedral reminds me I’m in a city that has blended perfectly the old with the new. And I think that is my favorite part of London.

The key to curing jetlag is to not trust that shot of dopamine ensued by finally arriving at your destination. That dopamine will turn on you in a few hours and it will be replaced by grogginess, slow motion movement and your brain being invaded with the phrase ‘where the hell am I?”

So we settled for one more stroll through Leicester Square and witnessed a crowd shrieking and waiting in line by the Empire Cinema. Turns out, Katy Perry’s Part of Me was premiering and I managed to get a glimpse of Katy’s bright pink hair as she entered the theater surrounded by five body guards. Bonus, but I’m more of a Lady Gaga kind of person.

After a quick dinner, we decided to quit while we were ahead and we made our way back to the hotel. It had been the first time I’d managed a successful jetlag free day after a long trip. I slept soundly for a good four hours and at around three o’clock in the morning, I opened my eyes long enough to assess my unfamiliar surroundings and mumble ‘where the hell am I?’

LAZY SATURDAY | Caves in Puerto Rico

2014-04-05T19:09:00.000-07:00

Here’s another video of a cave in Puerto Rico for a no-words Lazy Saturday. La Cueva del Indio, the Indian’s Cave is right on the shore of Arecibo, a rocky barrier of limestone where you can see native’s petroglyphs at the bottom of the cave. The crashing waves make this a bit of a dangerous hike, depending on the weather and the wind, but an incomparable view.

Enjoy!

M xox

Delayed | Beginning of Europe Days

2014-04-03T13:08:00.001-07:00

Day 1- Puerto Rico

The plane still hadn’t arrived and they told us it would be a three hour wait. I sat in a row of isolated seats facing gate 7 while the rest of the people began to fill the larger group of seats to my far left. They sat down, one by one, with their overstuffed backpacks and comfortable clothing fit for a nine hour flight to London. I watched them every now and then, noticing when a new group of friends arrived until the gate was packed with college students anxious to start their 30 day adventure in Europe.

A part of me, the impulsive fun side that rarely makes an appearance, thought of getting up and integrating myself into the group I observed, the group that would be my roommates, bus companions and friends for the month of July. Just say hello, I thought. Or at the very least, sit nearby and listen to their comments about the trip.

But I couldn’t bring myself to join them, already so afraid of rejection or appearing like the girl who had already finished college and was at least three years older than the rest of the group. So I stayed in the awkwardly situated row of seats, facing the busy flight attendants, with my arms wrapped around my midriff and my headphones blasting.

Even with the music muffling all the sounds of the airport, I could still hear the cacophony from the group growing louder and louder until at least sixty people were exchanging stories and anecdotes of all their efforts to make it to this place, to this day. It was impossible to conquer them now, I was outnumbered.

This trip, a month long expedition to Europe, was the biggest decision I had made in my life. It took a year and a half to sign up, come up with the money and reserve our seats for this delayed plane. By then, I had already graduated college for about a year and most of the people here were just finishing their sophomore year.

My chosen companions: my Mother, who took me on my first trip to Europe when I turned 16 instead of planning me a party, and whom I knew would keep me on my toes for 30 days. My aunt, the other woman I always traveled with, who would fly in to London from Washington DC and meet us there, and my British Boyfriend, who was waiting for me in England.

The mission: to see over 11 cities of the continent, starting from London all the way down to the Greek Islands by the end of the month. To not waste a second with napping or eating at McDonalds but still find a way to get up at 6 am every day with enough energy for endless walking. To try every food, every type of pasta, every unfamiliar dish but still find a way to fit into the three pair of pants I had packed for the whole month. But most importantly, to not restrict the experience to the illusions formed before the trip or to following the imagined path we had thought deemed following since we started daydreaming about it more than a year ago. To simply let it happen, let it affect us, in the way the countries and the people and the food decide to do so.

Our purpose: Some would have said fun, others the first taste of wanderlust. But the truth was we were never entirely sure until the very last day. But I can remember that my original purpose was just to be present. To see, for myself and not through books or college professors, what Europe was like and what it would mean to me. There were other purposes like, crossing off my Bucket List visit to Mykonos or staying up all night in Amsterdam. To spend time with Mom in a different context than the mother-daughter scenario we were used to. To travel with my Boyfriend to all the places we had talked about for years. To think what I would do for the next few months if I didn’t get into Grad School. To get away from the familiar and find out whom I was when no one was watching.

I’ve always felt like a late bloomer. I take forever to make decisions and my emotions come bursting in a few hours after the moment has passed. I like to think of myself as impulsive but the truth is, after a certain time in my life, I became afraid of jumping.

Now, sitting and waiting for our three-hour delayed plane to arrive, it dawned on me I had already jumped, and not just from a ledge but from the highest bridge and I hadn’t even noticed. I was forcing myself away from everything I found comfortable, my small group of friends, my 9 to 5 job, any access to social media and instead I was diving head first into languages I couldn’t speak, four hour night sleeps and spending a good portion of every day in a bus.

I had made it. I had already jumped and if this is what free falling felt like, creeping fear sewn to the abundance of possibilities, I had a feeling I could handle it.

The flight attendant announced the 9 pm flight to London, Heathrow was ready to board and apologized quickly for the delay. Even though we had a long night flight ahead of us and a killer jetlag to follow, we all got up immediately and could barely stand still as we handed out our flight tickets and boarded the plane.

My Favorite Things | MARCH

2014-03-22T15:35:00.001-07:00

This might be a bit longer than a usual LAZY SATURDAY post, but I figured it’s all going to be about fun, cutesy things, how bad can it be, right?

I love reading posts and videos about people’s current favorites, whether it’s about makeup, a book they can’t put down or yummy burger from a new joint. It’s always fun and encourages me to try new things.

So in a new way for you to get to know me and my interests these are six of the things I’ve been loving during the month of March.

Folks, this might get girly. You’ve been warned.

1. Her

The Oscars do to me what the Super Bowl does to the rest of the world. I count down the days, snacks (specifically brownies) are mandatory and may God have mercy on your soul if you ask me to change the channel.

I do my best to watch all the nominations before the big event and my winner this year was Spike Jonze’s Her. This was not at all what I expected it to be but I quickly fell head over heels for this story. It’s funny, touching and an accurate critique of our generation’s need for technology and living in the digital era. The movie is complex and interesting from the get go, but what really tangled me in was the chemistry between Joaquin Phoenix’s character with his OS, Samantha played by Scarlet Johansson.

I do hope you give this movie a shot. The dialogue is rich and meaningful and I think many people can relate to it past the perspective of our future attached to our phones and technology. Deep down, it’s a love story.

www.ABeautifulMess.com

2. Moon Wall

I saw this DIY idea of painting the moon on a wall of your house or room and immediately thought ‘I’m going to do that’. I’m going through a whole decorate-and-change-everything phase at the moment and A Beautiful Mess is my favorite website for daily inspiration on lifestyle, photography and décor (not to mention exquisite recipes).

My bed faces a blank wall so I think I would like to wake up facing the moon… or something like that. It sounded better in my head. I might do that sometime soon but instead of gold, I’ll try it with silver paint.

3. Pink Floyd – The Dark Side of the Moon

Okay, calm down. It’s not like this is the very first time I’ve heard this album. But to my shame, I did hear it from beginning to end only about a year ago.

I know many Pink Floyd songs but I’ve never really ‘heard’ them. I decided it was to study this immortal band and there was no better way to start than with their best-selling album (and bestselling albums in history), The Dark Side of the Moon.

It is impossible to describe The Dark Side of the Moon in one paragraph. Hell, it’s impossible to describe it one long post. This is more of a drink in hand, one hour long conversation type of thing. The best way I can summarize it is by mentioning the immense sense of satisfaction I felt from listening to such a wholesome, detailed album that, by far, surpasses all the sugary garbage made nowadays. People just don’t make music like they used to in the 60’s and 70’s.

The album is pure genius, from beginning to end. It makes you feel things, every song has a unique mood yet you can’t imagine listening to it in any other order than the one they chose. It’s brilliant and so ahead of its time. If I had to pick one favorite song, it would be Us and Them. Or Brain Damage. Okay, I can’t. I must stop geeking so hard about Pink Floyd now.

4. The Giver Quartet

I read The Giver for the first time as a reading assignment in tenth grade and I loved it. Just recently, I realized there were more than two books to the series and I had to give them a try once again. And once again, I loved it!

The Giver takes place in a utopian society in which everyone’s role in the community is decided at a young age. Jonas, a twelve year old boy, is nervous about the ceremony in which he’ll find out his fate but discovers soon enough he will have the most honorable job of them all. He will be the Receiver of memories and with such memories he will know the ominous truth and past of his community.

While people love all kinds of recent teenage trilogies like Twilight, meh, and Hunger Games, so so, I found The Giver to be so interesting and much closer to what our ‘dystopian’ future could be like. It’s entertaining but also a real thinker as to where the human race is headed.

The four books are not exactly sequels. They tell the stories of different characters living in this fictional world and eventually it all ties together. I hope you give it a read before the movie comes out later this year. That way you can say ‘Oh yeah, I knew about this way before it went mainstream. Let your inner hipster shine for a bit.

5. Lady Grey Tea

I love tea. More importantly, I love tea time. It’s different to a coffee break. Tea time is not a pause from work hours to reenergize. It is relaxation with scones.

I am more of a loner tea drinker, not by choice, but recently my friend popped by for a chat and we made tea. She came by again the week after with a new tea for me to try. Because I don’t enjoy Earl Grey, she brought me Twinning’s Lady Grey which has a more citrus note than the Earl. It was lovely! It is much more delicate and fragrant than the black tea I’m used to and I love the lemony touch. I take it with a splash of milk and some brown sugar.

My friend now pops by every week for tea and a chat. We feel really fancy. We are obsessed with planning a proper tea party, with scones and sandwiches and French music.

I told you this was going to get girly.

www.kakslauttanen.fi/en/

6. Kakslauttanen Artic Resort

Since this is a travel and tourism blog, I have to add a place or country as well in these segments.

I have never seen the Northern Lights but they’re an important one on my bucket list. However, I never imagined I could ever be able to see them like this!

This has to be one of the most romantic ideas I have ever heard of in my life (and I am a romanticaholic). Kakslauttanen Resort offers log cabins and snow igloos as accommodations as well but the glass igloos are my top choice. Just picturing curling up in bed with hot cocoa while watching the green and blue streaks of lights of the Aurora Borealis makes me want to start saving up right now.

The only downside of it is that it’s really more of a romantic getaway idea or a honeymoon destination. None of those are in my recent plans. Oh well… someday.

I hope you enjoyed this ‘Favorites’ post and getting to know all my current obsessions with books, movies, music and travel sites. Let me know what a few of your favorite things are (I tried very hard not to quote Sound of Music throughout this post).

Have a great weekend!

M xx

Cueva Ventana: A Burst of Light

2014-03-19T14:01:00.001-07:00

“Did you bring a flashlight?” a hiker asked me when our paths crossed in the middle of the rocky trail, me heading towards the cave, him already on his way out.

“No. Do I really need one?” I hesitated.

“It’s pitch black in there for quite a while. Until you get to the view.”

He must have sensed my sudden worry for he added “Don’t worry. A cell phone will do just fine. Enjoy!” he said over his shoulder as he walked away.

We decided to spontaneously visit Cueva Ventana, roughly translated 'Window Cave', because everyone always said the view was to die for and the pictures often come out as a snap meant for a postcard. The ‘window’ part of the name refers to that view the hiker mentioned, an enormous hole at the end of the cave that displays the green plains and river of Arecibo, Puerto Rico. Nature’s window.

The drive on Road 10 towards the mountains of Utuado took us to our destination that can be easily missed since all there is to announce it is a wood sign next to a gas station that reads Cueva Ventana.

While it used to be an ‘on your own’ kind of experience, without any guidance or tours, they are currently charging $3 per person, for regulation purposes and because the cave is located in private property.

It’s not crowded but people are always coming and going, the newcomers excited as they start their hike and the one’s leaving always giving tips and tricks as to how to find the place.

I imagined sneakers and worn in clothes were a must for a fifteen minute hike through the mountains. But the heads up for a flashlight felt like I was headed for more dangerous, risky type of adventure and I need to mentally prepare for those.

After the short walk, fit for pretty much anyone, we reached a rocky descent into darkness. The people gathering around or waiting for their friends to come out signaled we had arrived.

The cavernous entrance demonstrated a tricky climb down into the cave and the rest was to dark to make out. The slippery rocks and the mud made each step down a possible hazard and a sure promise to fall over the bigger rocks accumulated on either side. Even with the thick rope tied to a tree to help people on their way down, the descent is slow and steady but people didn’t seem to mind. Once inside the cave, the surface is relatively smooth but not necessarily flat.

The remaining light guided us a few yards in the right direction but soon enough, we were surrounded by silent obscurity. We were lucky to have one among us with a flashlight app in his iPhone. He led the way and we walked very close together, trying not to disturb the bats that flew by the stalagmites while containing any cowardice we brought along.

The natural silence in the cave and the lack of direction were only accentuated with the darkness that covered the unfamiliarity of our surroundings. However, even if we were not a big group, only five of us, there were others before us and the people who already knew the way kindly told us to go straight ahead. “You can’t miss it.”

Only three minutes in, we noticed a stream of light coming from a narrow path. We had to squat and squeeze through it but the guidance of stronger light was unmistakable. We were almost there.

After we all made it through, there was no need for the artificial iPhone light. This spacious part of the cave was fully illuminated by an enormous opening at the very end. At first it is hard to I walked closer and the surface started to incline, the famous view was exposed.

People sat around, some close to the edge of a free fall, others on a flatter, safer surface, to admire the view of the wide plains of the bordering town, Arecibo.

The textures and patterns of green in the landscape are cut in the middle by the curving river that looks so small from such a distance. It’s not until I noticed the miniature size of the trees that I realize how high up we have been the entire time.

It sent a sense of unease through me, but not as much as seeing the young kids daring each other to get closer to the edge. Some sat right on it, their legs dangling while resting their weight back on their arms. I’m all for double dog dares, but this one, I sat out.

The view continued to amaze me. From all the pictures of my friends’ silhouette with the view as the background, it seemed the ‘window’ was much smaller, literally an opening you could peek through. But this was something else, like the cave had crumbled down to create a back entrance. It was luminous and beautiful, worth sitting down a few minutes to take it in.

Or take funny pictures.

After we finished admiring nature’s beautiful accident, we headed back this time not worrying so much about the bats that watched us upside down and seemed at ease with our presence.

As we climbed out pulling ourselves up by the rope, excited newcomers asked us if it was cool. “Very cool”, we replied.

“You have a flash light, right?” we asked them as they were mid way down.

They hesitated as they looked at each other for a response. Amateurs.

LAZY SATURDAY | Colombian Empanadas

2014-03-01T15:02:00.001-08:00

I love cooking and I enjoy most finding recipes of dishes I discovered in other countries and trying them out at home.

In my post about Places to eat in Miami, I talked about Colombian empanadas, golden fritters made of cornmeal, fried to crisp perfection with a savory center of potatoes and minced meat.

I adapted Erica Dihno’s recipe from her website My Colombian Dishes, and I was very proud of my results and everybody’s eagerness to reach for seconds. And thirds.

Dough

1 ½ cups of precooked yellow cornmeal and additional ½ cup

2 cups of water

1 tablespoon of vegetable oil

1 packet of Sazón Goya with Saffron

Filling

2 cups of peeled and diced white potatoes

1 tablespoon of olive oil

¼ cup of diced white onions

1 cup of chopped tomato

½ teaspoon of salt

¼ chopped scallions or green onions

1 garlic clove, chopped

2 tablespoons of chopped red bell pepper

¾ pound of ground pork or beef

For the dough, place the cornmeal in a large bowl with the sazón and salt. Mix well. Add the water and oil and mix until the dough comes together. I found two cups of water was a bit much, so I added half a cup more of cornmeal in stages until the dough came together.

Knead for two minutes until smooth and cover with plastic. Set aside for 20 minutes.

Meanwhile, boil the potatoes with a bit of salt for about 20 minutes or until a fork goes through them. Drain the potatoes and mash with a fork –or any utensil of your liking- while still hot. Set aside.

Next, heat 1 tablespoon of olive oil in a large skillet. Once hot, add the onions and cook over medium heat until translucent, for 5 minutes. Then add the tomatoes, green onions, garlic, red bell pepper and cilantro. Cook everything on medium-low heat for about 15 minutes. Add the ground pork or beef and break apart with a wooden spoon, cooking for 10 to 15 minutes.

Transfer the meat into the potatoes and mix thoroughly. The starch in the potatoes will hold the filling together and it will be much easier when spooning into the cornmeal dough.

Divide the resting dough into portions of about one tablespoon and a half. I used an ice cream scooper and filled it half way. Take each portion and rolled into a ball with the palms of your hands.

Place the dough balls between two pieces of plastic and roll out with your rolling pin. This became a very cautious and stressful process since the dough is quite pliable and soft. So I ended up slapping the heck out of it or pressing my palm firmly over the dough until it formed a flat disc. It’s your choice. Old school style or a tad of violence.

Remove the top film of plastic and add about a teaspoon of filling in the center of each disc. Once that’s done, fold them over to form a half circle and use a fork or your fingertips to crimp the edges.

Once they are all filled and folded and crimped, fill a large pot with vegetable oil, enough to cover the empanadas, and heat over medium heat to 360 ° F.

Carefully, and most definitely not throwing them in (like I did), place 3 to 4 empanadas into the heated oil and fry for about 3 or 4 minutes until golden and crispy on all sides. My tip is to not fuss over them. Let ‘em do their thing in the hot oil and if necessary, flip them over once.

Once they are at that golden point, use a slotted spoon and transfer them to plain lined with paper towels to absorb the excess oil.

Serve them up with lime wedges to cut through the grease and hot sauce. The recipe makes about 20 empanadas and while that may seem like a lot, they go fast. Trust me.

I had a lot of fun exploring a bit of Colombian cuisine and eating every bit of it. It may seem a complicated recipe with many ingredients, but it was very simple to make and much of this can be made ahead of time. Plus, it's quite fun to create a working line with your friends. One cooks, one forms balls, another rolls away.

I hope you have a lovely weekend! x

5 Reasons to visit The Everglades

2014-02-28T17:58:00.001-08:00

The first time I tried to learn the streets of Miami by riding my bicycle, a man in his fifties wearing a floral print shirt told me it was impossible to get lost. “Just remember, you head east, there are sharks, and if you head west, gators.”

It was solid advice. While the sharks didn’t appeal me, the idea of heading west to the Everglades and visit the king reptile’s home seemed like something every local should do at least once. And here’s why:

1. Face to face with Alligators

It is the main reason everyone decides to go to the Everglades. They are your hosts. This is their territory and to catch a glance of their eyes observing you while the rest of their body is submerged under still waters is quite a sight.

They are used to the airboats and the people. In fact, our guide could easily recognize one alligator from the other and they would swim to him and hang close to the boat when he’d whistle to them. Just don't leave your arm hanging off the edge of the boat.

2. It’s actually a huge River

Contrary to popular belief, including my own, The Everglades are not a swamp but a river that runs 60 miles wide and 100 miles long. It is well known as the “River of Grass” as a way to describe its complex ecosystems that range from mangrove forests, swamps, pine rockland and marine environment. The Everglades are constantly shaped by the flow of water and the fires caused during the dry season. It’s an ever-changing wetland worth exploring.

3. Airboat Rides

I will admit, this was my deciding factor when visiting the Everglades. The idea of gliding over smooth waters onto the endless horizon of tall grass and wild life seemed something out of the Discovery Channel. And in reality, it was just as cool. Kind of. It was more of a constant zigzagging motion than a straight shot because it is an airboat- or my driver wasn’t the best. But it’s still incredibly fun to feel the wind on your face and seeing for yourself the nature of Florida.

4. Interesting snacks

When I was waiting for my airboat to arrive, I wandered around the wooden gift shop and the graveled surroundings, and the smell of fried food wafted from an open screened window nearby that had a sign painted on top.

Gator Bites and Frog Legs. It felt strange, even borderline treasonous, to serve as bite size snacks the reptiles I am about to see alive and kicking. But it seemed to be quite a common thing, to serve creatures of the wild as delicacies and many were in line to see what they tasted like.

If you aren’t an adventurous eater, then think of it as a triple-dog-dare type of eatery. Not everyone can say they ate alligator. I am one of those. I opted for frogs’ legs because no one I know has eaten frog legs. Lime juice squeezed over it served with a side of thin French fries. It didn’t seem so bad.

But whoever said frog legs taste like chicken has never eaten a chicken in their lives. It tastes like a chicken and a fish told society to go to hell and married each other. And I didn’t approve of this marriage.

5. The heart of South Florida

People may know Florida for the beach life, hurricane season and being declared as retirement land. But you can’t say you know Florida without getting in touch with its wild side. The Everglades cover most of the southern peninsula and are the home of thousands of species. Alligators are just one of them. Its varied environments serve as more than an airboat ride and many people have chosen to explore it via canoes, kayaks and even living in them.

It is the source of water of cities nearby and it has been transformed into farmland and urban areas. It is a source of life and water deemed as one of the three wetland areas of global importance and such attention has derived restoration plans and support from locals and visitors.

I hope you enjoy the ride.

LAZY SATURDAY | My Birthday

2014-02-22T09:47:00.000-08:00

My birthday was in December, same day as good old Ozzy Osbourne. Instead of going crazy with a party, I simply pleased all the little whims that occurred to me at the moment. I find the more I plan my birthday, the more I'm set up for disappointment. Friends cancel, people have plans, that amazing restaurant gets booked.

So I spent the day with my Mom, took a stroll to Old San Juan and the The Fort El Morro, shopped for a few gifts and had a birthday cupcake. It was one of my favorite birthdays.

I hope you have a lovely weekend!

M. xo

Vizcaya Museum and Gardens

2014-02-20T18:46:00.000-08:00

In the lush nature that has always set Coconut Grove apart from the rest of Miami, a man decided to build his winter estate right by the bay more than 97 years ago. Yet when I stood in front of the mansion by the welcoming fountain, it felt much older, like something taken out of Renaissance Italy and therefore it had a sense of grandeur that took me by surprise.

From afar, the mansion is framed with an entranced lined with pines and trickling fountains. The villa is quite a sight with cream-colored walls, a terracotta roof and towers on all four corners. There’s a gate to the right that leads to the infamous gardens.

Vizcaya, the home of the businessman James Deering, was named after the Spanish province and its name is not the only European influence. It was inspired by Tuscan Italian Renaissance style so people would believe the villa had been the home of many family generations. The tour of the villa is given in the exact order Deering used to do it when he had guests over.

When stepping into the welcoming room, the first thing I saw was a spacious courtyard with a glass ceiling that was placed to protect the house from the humidity of the tropic. As much as this caught my attention, the tour started immediately to the left.

Every room is different and heavily decorated with European furniture and art dated all the way back to the 15^th century. Almost everything used to adorn came from Deering's substantial collection, acquired from his many trips to Europ. The layout of the place resembles a traditional aristocratic home would be. The first room is the library followed by the Reception Room with a tropical theme. The wall paper, even if faded in some parts, features palm trees and birds.

One of the most important rooms in the Principal Lounge its design inspired by Italian rooms of the Renaissance. The room contains a tripod made of Roman marble that’s 2,000 years old and it was used in religious ceremonies. A painting of the 17^th century was split in two to be used as a cover of the organs’ pipes.

The decoration, though heavy and sometimes very Baroque, is balanced with bursts of natural light that come in from the loggias. The East Loggia has glass doors now but it used to be open and used to entertain guests while enjoying the view of Biscayne Bay, which included two islets on either side of a stone boat right on the shore.

It opens into an ample terrace that covers the entire back of the house leading to the pool and orchid garden to the left and to the right, the second reason to visit this estate, and the most romantic, I think, is the gardens.

Also designed in an Italian style, the Gardens are absolutely exquisite and show a great balance between the parterre features, French and Italian garden layout and elements of the Floridian limestone stonework.

The center of the garden is a long reflective pool aligned with trees and a labyrinth design of low trim bushes expands from it. Even though there are always people strolling around and sometimes a photo shoot takes place, the gardens are quiet and peaceful.

At the top of a hill at the far end of the garden, a stone outbuilding caught my attention. I headed towards it and saw that a fountain of multiple levels reached the top and two stone staircases curled around either side. The reveal was a stone structure with columns and the trees around cast a shade over the floor.

I couldn’t help but imagine Deering, of the McCormick-International Havester fortune, hosting private parties at this hill, maybe luring a lady away for a ‘quiet conversation’. And really, I wouldn’t blame her, not if he had promised to show her a sensational view.

It really was.

When I thought I had seen everything there was to see, the Gardens continued with additional almost hidden segments here and there. A river runs right behind it and another pool is closed to the public, the gate covered with vines. Even if you weren’t a romantic, you’d find the place magical, something that seems fascinatingly out of place and even taken out of time.

Deering was only able to visit his winter residence for nine years before he passed away. Tourists and locals have been visiting the estate for more than sixty years. The passing of the years and humid weather have taken their toll on the mansion and the grounds. Many acres were donated around the 1940's and the humidity and ocean air have deteriorated the mansion. But the character the place has, and the majestic charm Deering was searching for, has very much stayed intact over the years.

LAZY SATURDAY | Old San Juan

2014-02-15T09:14:00.001-08:00

It's Saturday. A day to relax, say yes to carbs and to binge watch whatever series you are into at the moment.

Maybe it's your day to catch up on your blog reading. But I will make that a bit easier by not giving you 1,000 words to read. Just some pictures of a day of me strolling around without any explanation.

This time, I went for a little walk in Old San Juan, Puerto Rico. The district of the city from the Spaniard's governing is quaint and fun to walk around on.

Enjoy!

5 Places to Eat for Cheap in Miami

2014-02-13T12:30:00.000-08:00

I am always hungry. And if that weren’t a problem, I am always hungry for something new. If you like to order ‘the usual’, I am your biggest nightmare when it comes to picking a restaurant.

Miami is known as the big Latin melting pot. All the Hispanic countries are represented here and let’s not forget the Oriental influences as well. So it should come as no surprise that the city is filled with limitless choices of restaurants, food trucks and dives of all known cuisines.

While going to the trendy restaurant that opened the previous weekend was a luxury I rarely indulged in, I pinpointed the little places that had authentic flavors and prices that didn’t hurt my student wallet.

These are some of my favorite restaurants in Miami that locals raved about.

Versailles Café

www.versaillesrestaurant.com
3555 SW 8th Street
Miami FL, 33145
305-444-0240

Versailles Café was the very first place I visited when I moved to Miami. After arriving from the airport from a 5 am flight my uncle said “Welcome! Do you want to go unpack?”

“Coffee”, I grumbled. “I need coffee.”

The restaurant has been opened for more than 50 years, a true landmark of Little Havana located right on Calle Ocho. Even though they serve some of the best Cuban dishes, I always opted for the café right next door. A cafecito sweetened with brown sugar was always too much of a temptation for me to resist.

But truly, the coffee is just a lovely side to the true guilty pleasure. The guava and cream cheese pastries.

From: TechFoodLife.com

In my country, Puerto Rico, we call them pastelillitos de guayaba, and wondering if Cuba did it better, I ordered them, almost in a challenging manner. I won’t (nay, will never) say it is better, but the flaky light pastry crumbling easy to find the middle of fruity guava layered over the creaminess of the cheese… I definitely felt like I was home.

Pachamamma

www.pachamammarestaurant.com
321 Johnson Street
Hollywood FL, 33019
954-926-1020

It means Mother Earth and it is the name of the goddess in Incan mythology who oversees harvesting and life on earth. Now, it is also a restaurant in Hollywood Beach that serves the greatest Peruvian food I’ve ever tried.

It’s the kind of place you discover while taking a stroll down the Hollywood Boardwalk near Fort Lauderdale. The place is small but cosy and decorated with wooden artefacts of Incan and Peruvian culture.

The menu has many selections of grilled meats with onions like the popular Lomo Salteado con Cebollas – Sautéed Beef slices with Onions, but for the longest time, I had wanted to try one of Peru’s delicacies, Ají de Gallina – Shredded Chicken in Yellow Sauce.

From: PerennialPastTimes.com

The yellow sauce is made of yellow pepper paste and milk. To the creamy sauce, they add walnuts, shredded chicken, slices of boiled egg and thick slices of potato. Served over white rice, it is comfort food at its best.

Sawaddee Thai & Sushi
6968 Bay Drive
Miami Beach FL, 33141

You will check your GPS twice when you arrive, wondering, hoping you typed the wrong address. But I promise, it’s worth it.

Sawaddee is literally a whole in the wall on the corner of Bay Drive and 71^st Street, just a couple of blocks from Miami Beach. No more than ten people can sit in to have a meal. Sometimes it’s packed and other times it’s completely empty. Most of its clientele comes in for a few minutes, grab their take out and head out the door.

I am new to the Thai cuisine, but I am a sucker for curries. The dish that kept me going back was their beef green curry. The sauce was creamy and a bit sweet from the coconut milk and they add whole basil leaves that perfume the dish. The dish is very filling with big pieces of eggplant, green bell pepper and zucchini. It is served with steamed white rice that absorbs the curry sauce perfectly, taking you to what can only be known as a curry comma. It’s much more pleasant than it sounds.

Monserrate
www.mimonserratte.com
9545 NW 41 Street
Miami FL, 33178
305-436-0803305-436-0803

Tucked away in a mini mall in Doral, it is easy to miss this fantastic Colombian restaurant. Since 1974, they have been serving authentic Colombian dishes from various regions of the country. All the dishes are plentiful and packed with flavor. But you will probably not be able to resist when everybody suggests you should try their empanadas and by all means, do not resist.

MiMonserratte.com

If you are new to Colombian cuisine, this is the perfect crunchy introduction. Served as appetizers, these empanadas are made of yellow cornmeal dough and filled with potatoes, pork or beef and tons of fresh vegetables like red bell pepper, white onions, tomatoes and garlic. The tiny pockets are deep fried until golden and crispy and taken immediately to your table. They come with lime wedges to squeeze over the empanadas, to brighten up the flavor, and with two homemade piques (hot sauce). The red one, made mostly of tomatoes, garlic and peppers, is for the cautious ones. The green one, made with tons of cilantro, green chiles and onions, is for the brave ones.

SuViche
www.suviche.com
49 SW 11th Street
Miami FL, 33130
305-960-7097

The place in trendy Brickell is small yet modern, with orange lamps and steel chairs. And the fusion of Japanese and Peruvian cuisine is just as modern and delicious.

TripAdvisor.com

While the Peruvian dishes are gorgeously prepared, I have only tried the sushi menu so far. And I can’t complain. While they serve more well-known rolls like the California Roll and Spicy Tuna, they specialize in custom creations.

Tropical Roll at the back, Jalapeno Roll on the right corner

The Tropical Roll, one of the fancy ones, is made of crispy shrimp with cucumber and avocado, topped with thin slices of mango and finished with eel sauce and flakes of coconut. Yet my favorite for its simplicity is the Jalapeno Roll. Starting with the traditional flavors of white fish and avocado, they tweak it to the Latin side with fresh cilantro and topped with a thin slice of raw jalapeno and a dollop of torched spicy mayo. It is a fiery explosion for your taste buds.

Do you know of any other great places to eat in Miami?

Wynwood in the Dark

2014-02-03T18:48:00.001-08:00

One of the reasons I’ve always wanted to move to a city is to enjoy the art scene and its constant change that only thrives in a bustling metropolis. Like many people who visit Miami only for its beaches and night life, I thought I would have no such luck in this new home of mine.

Turns out, I had gotten it more wrong than I could have imagined.

It was a late Saturday night and my plans consisted of eating take out and binge watching FRIENDS for the millionth time. I was told there was something called an Art Walk at this trendy neighbourhood called Wynwood, only fifteen minutes away from where I lived, where every second Saturday of the month people show up to enjoy the latest exhibitions accompanied by free wine. I had heard of the name Wynwood many times and with it came great recommendations for anyone who had a bohemian soul. So with a not so sincere apology to my chicken tacos, I grabbed my denim jacket and headed out.

The short drive took me through the dark desolated part of the neighbourhood, small houses and storage buildings. For a moment I thought I took a wrong turn but the residue of spray paint on the sidewalks signalled I was close. With every passing street, the concrete walls of one story buildings became canvases for street artists. No building from here on out was untouched by a paint brush, the vibrant colors creating murals with urban motifs.

One more block, and the avenue was swarmed with visitors and locals who walked around, selecting at a whim the next gallery they would visit. Others just enjoyed the murals, each one different to the next, as if it was an open air museum. The scene was like unadvertised big party that the high heeled wearing and expensive cocktail drinking crowd of South Beach wasn’t invited.

Completely taken by surprise by this burgeoning artistic neighbourhood only a few minutes from my apartment, all I could do was wander in amazement. The enormous murals were the front decoration of small restaurants, boutiques and pubs. Yet these murals were the fruit of the art bud that started everything eight years ago: The Wynwood Walls. Right next to Wynwood Kitchen & Bar, one of the first restaurants to be part of the development, Wynwood Walls are the collaboration of international street artists and the inspiration of many other locals who have left their signature on the nearby walls, slowly expanding the neighborhood.

The place was like nothing I had ever seen yet it felt strangely familiar in all its novelty. Like a home I had been searching without realizing or like the anchor necessary to finally feel I had moved from my country to Miami, and that was all right. It felt like the sparks of art inside my head had managed to escape and explode all around me into something welcoming. Just for me and I no longer had to live inside my head.

My introduction to Wynwood was intense and memorable but having met in the dark and for such short hours made everything feel surreal, like an magical circus passing by and come daylight, it would all be gone.

I needed to come back, in the harsh light of day, without the buzzing crowd and the drinks, to see it without the allure of night and love it for what it really was.

In the Mind of Dalí: Surrealism in Florida

2014-01-19T19:49:00.002-08:00

I fell in love with Salvador Dalí the way one would fall in love with the basket case from high school. Anytime you see them, or any reference to them, you can’t help but think “What a weirdo” and dismiss it. But with every exposure, and a pinch more of maturity each day, you see something you didn’t see before, and curiosity sparks. You find the method to what seemed pure madness, and after time you realize, “I get it. I totally get it.”

I began accepting my crush for Dalí when I visited his museum in Montmatre in Paris. Surrounded by the various sculptures of his melting clock, a series of drawings illustrating stories of the Bible and his immortal muse, Gala, something finally clicked.

So when I was told one of the biggest Dalí collections was in St. Petersburg, only a few hours away from Miami, two words were immediately uttered. Road trip.

The journey began with the sunrise and coffee to go. It was long and straight –oh so straight- shot across the peninsula, a dull road momentarily livened by the sight of gators in the canals skirting the Everglades. But later, rather than sooner, we were cruising down Boulevard Dalí by the bay, and to the left we were greeted by this enormous metal square building with a glass dome emanating from the top of it, spilling over the front.

The Dalí Museum, the home of more than 96 of his pieces, couldn’t have represented him better with such an exterior. The unconventional glass bubble called the “enigma” erupts out of the confinements of the conventional rectangular building is the combination of the ration with the fantastical. I was already beyond intrigued.

The entrance forces you to pass straight through the gift shop, as opposed to leaving it as a small treat to the very end, and towards Café Gala that serves the best Spanish treats along with piping hot coffee. To the right, next to a helical staircase, a man leads you to the elevator which takes you to the third floor, where gallery begins.

“What happened with the second floor?” I joked. But he just smiled and wished us a lovely visit.


The third floor, the lovely view from inside the "enigma" and the end of the staircase.

Passing the mysterious second floor, I arrived at the third floor, the glass bubble revealing a blue sky and the top of the spiral staircase which now looked like a double helix, possibly symbolizing the DNA molecule and Dali’s obsession with it.

Aside from my interest in this man, I was eager to visit this museum because many years ago, it wasn’t one of the biggest collection of a surrealist artist but the devoted interest of a couple. Reynolds and Eleanor Morse began collecting paintings of Dalí, who later became their friend. As the years passed, the collection grew and could no longer keep it in their house. Many museums were interested, like MOMA , but they wanted to dismantle the collection and take a few pieces. No one wanted such a large collection of one artist. The Morses thought that wasn’t good enough. And so, St. Petersburg became the home of Surrealism.

The tours gather to the right every 30 minutes, in front of a painting called Daddy Longlegs of the Evening- Hope! The first one the Morses bought.

Daddy Longlegs of the Evening- Hope! by Salvador Dali

The painting is striking and melting objects predominate- a war plane and a soft cello being played by the gelatinous looking self portrait of Dalí, seen various times in his other pieces. There is also a child with wings covering his eyes from the horrors unfolding, like the rotting horse shooting out of a cannon and the plane oozing to the ground.

The guide explained this is the first piece Dalí painted in the United States in 1943, after the artist and his wife moved seeking refuge from World War II.

And this piece, so full of war elements and history, is only the introduction.

The visitors were tickled by the slow exposure to his smaller paintings and drawings but the awe becomes tangible when they stop completely, for minutes on end, to stare at his grand masterpieces that go all the way up to the ceilings.

The first one to be seen is Gala Contemplating the Mediterranean Sea which at Twenty Meters Becomes the Portrait of Abraham Lincoln.

Gala Contemplating the Mediterranean Sea Which at Twenty Meters Becomes the Portrait of Abraham Lincoln

The self-explanatory title immediately captured the interest of the group because the first and only thing you see in the painting is a naked woman, Gala, facing away towards a sunset. She is surrounded by cubes of different colors that don’t form a particular figure. But if you stand back twenty meters, as the title suggests, turn around and see the painting through a mirror a mirror, you see a large portrait of Abraham Lincoln.

The trick is so clever, I didn’t mind standing there smiling, facing away from the painting you are admiring, looking quite ridiculous to all the newcomers who have no idea what is going on. Like I knew a secret they didn’t. At least for a few minutes.

But after you have admired it from afar, you get close again and see all kinds of things you hadn’t notice before. Like the Mediterranean sunset Gala is admiring, which is really an image of Christ ascending, as if seen from above. And at the bottom left corner, there is Gala again facing away, next to a tiny portrait of Lincoln. It is only when prying, little by little understanding all he has hidden in one painting, all the themes running through it, that you begin to grasp the brilliance behind what appeared to be random madness.

By now, I was submerged in the symbolism and the feelings each painting pulled out of me. I was always feel loneliness when I see any surrealist work. The lack of human interaction, the vast empty sceneries, makes me feel incredibly alone. But with Dalí, I always sense of acceptance for this solitude, like the sceneries are not a plane of sadness but the ample rooms of his mind that carry all the trinkets of his imagination. His scared, abstract place that only he can visit and whomever he invites in. He invites me to have such a place for myself.

If I had to pick which painting I stared at the longest, for pure fascination or deepening confusion, it would have to be The Hallucinogenic Toreador.

The Hallucinogenic Toreador

The central figure is Venus de Milo, the image constantly repeated larger and larger across the canvas. The green in her skirt becomes the Toreador’s tie and around her stomach and bosom, the bullfighter’s chin and lips are formed. The shadows of the next Venus contour his face and her red skirt is really his cape hung over his shoulder. Other elements swarm the canvas, like an army of flies, Gala’s presence and even the bull. Initially, the grand piece seems scattered and senseless, but the way his mind covers what you may see from afar and just a few feet away from it, the question left as to what the relation between Venus and the bullfighter is a love story or a tragedy, has stayed with me.

When people refuse to understand Dalí, I find it near impossible to come up with an argument that will end their confusion. I don’t think anybody ended up loving him because of a well thought out list of reasons to endure viewing his creations. At some point, without really looking for it or even being aware of it, that small intrigue for his melting clocks or his long legged elephants, will simply click into an understanding that can’t be shared, only felt. And you will be hooked with knowing more of how his mind worked and how you could have so easily dismissed as weird something so rich and complex.

My relationship with Dalí was never love at first sight. But it will be a love that will last a lifetime.

I couldn't resist the gift shop [or the coffee].