Simple touches

I just can't get over the beauty of my new red curtain. Amazing what

a little color can do.

Bringing Food to the Table

Sometimes cliches can actually bear some truth, perhaps that is precisely why they are cliches, because they have happened so often and have shed light continuosly on those that experience it. One of my favorites is, "If you want to win a man's heart fill his stomach." I have learned that it isn't only a man though, it is those that matter whose stomach you must fill. There is something magical about cooking a delicious meal and putting it on the table and watching those around you take pleasure in it, share mimosas or wine, desert, a good conversation and lots of laughter. Nothing fills me more than watching my favorite people fill their mouths and grunt out how delicious it all is. I believe it comes from watching my grandmother, my mother, my aunts, and even my father put on an apron, no matter how bad their day was and start to whistle as they created a scrumptious meal out of the most basic ingredients. And I continue to repeat that tradition with the greatest pleasure in the world. I have made some of the greatest friends by inviting them over for dinner and sharing those precious hours over a stove and later a table and this week I accomplished that once again. On Sunday I invited my girls and Sergi, Susanna's boyfriend (who's practically one of us) to a typical American brunch. All of us gathered in the kitchen, mimosas at hand at the sparkling hour of noon, to whip up pancakes with real maple syrup! scrambled eggs, bacon and chocolate cookies. None of them had ever eaten such a large breakfast and none of them had ever had pancakes and I couldn't have been more delighted to see them spread butter and syrup all over the golden cakes that are so part of home. It was like bringing a piece of home home.

Then last night it happened again. I had the fortune of having a weeknight off and decided to gather my roommates to cook up a bolognese and sit together to share some rioja and good conversation. Again, it was magic. We flowed from English to Catalan, no Spanish allowed and celebrated a Tuesday, candles and all. Below you see the happy family. From left to right: Jordi, Patricia, his girlfriend, Manu, and Alex. They even took it seriously enough to buy a typical desert, a rosca, made with a flaky croissant like dough filled with air whipped cream, a true dream finished with cortados and baileys. This is life, beautiful faces adorned with the pleasure of having eaten well and spent some time doing nothing more than getting to know each other. I advice this to all, especially when there is no special reason other than simply gathering together and starting up a tradition that has existed for centuries, eating together at the table.

Pieces that Matter

Many of you have asked me to send some pictures of my new home in order to give you an idea of what it's like, where I rest my head at night, where I stretch my legs at the end of the day, where I dream, laugh, live. Here you go. I walked around the house trying to figure out what would best describe this nook of mine and I decided on those things that I wake up to that make me smile, that help me feel at home, that carry a piece of my past and a piece of now. The living room is absolutely amazing at precisely noon when the sun bathes it and creates shadows of lines and angles. You have your choice of sitting in the corner table, the perfect table to write all my confessions on, as if you were in a cafe, but better. The white washed table is perfect to sit all my roomies on to eat and talk and the armchair is my savior at the end of the day. From the large windows, I have an amazing view of the lives that unfold in Barcelona, directly in front of us lives an opera singer who plays the piano daily, a man who sneaks out to have a cigarette on his balcony, an older man who sits in his reading chair every evening to read the paper. Directly below, there is a cafe that is constantly full and the man knows to hold my keys if I ever need him to...a long time fantasy of mine.

Then there is my bedroom which I am in love with. A small room with warmth that protects you, especially when you most need it. I have opted for whites, ocean blues and reds, the colors that most represent me right now. I have my favorite pictures on my night stand and an amazing red curtain that flows in the breeze as I sit to write on my makeshift desk. This room represents exactly what I feel in Barcelona. Passion. I couldn't be happier with what I have, all I'm missing is a good painting or two. In due time, I suppose.

My roommates are god sent. They come out of their rooms when I arrive, they greet me, they have made me part of their lives and I feel welcomed. We celebrate thrusdays by getting beers together, Sundays by watching movies, and life by eating and sharing our daily lives. I'm blessed. And as the days go by, I feel as if my roots are being planted more and more and there is no looking back, only forward.

The Susannas, Carolina and I enjoying a piece of Latin America...Pupusas! A whole in the wall with lots of loving...

love affairs and giraffes

My life is composed of the daily tasks of things: the warmth of the milk for coffee early in the morning, when it's still unbearably dark outside, the book I can't stop reading, how tender it lies in my hands, yellowed pages with words that remain dangling in my mind, the ins and outs of everyday, of coming and going to classes, students who have dangerously become friends, their stories, their strangely distorted English, the battle of whether I should smoke another cigarette or not, fill my blood with yet another coffee or wait, the translating of intranquility, fears, joys, optimism, with a golden tinge of doubt. But I love it all. I love this rushed simplicity and extravagant freedom, a subtle sensation of floating with hope as my wings, revealing a new me, a younger I, but stronger with stronger calves and thinner arms that carry more than ever before - a heart - brighter and redder than ever.

cava-licious: How to spend a perfect Saturday

Yesterday, I think I was able to have a sudden grasp on how to spend a fantastic saturday with a buddy. After a long night of dancing the night before, I pushed and shoved my body to budge with me in order to get up at 8am and be at the metro station at 9am, to meet with The Susannas. We were getting our hair done. Let me explain, the last time I cut my hair was in March; I spent the entire summer in the ocean, sun and chlorine so you can imagine my already delicate locks, fried and stiff, angry for having mistreated them so. One of Susanna's friends is a hairdresser and although I vowed to Ramon that his hands would be the only hands that could clip my curls, I agreed to get my hair done by a Barcelonean. The three of us marched down to the salon and Suasanna and I allowed for the strong hands of the hairdresser to massage away our summer blues and give us a new and fresh look. I even got my hair blown straight to feel different for a day.

After having coffees and getting a new look, we headed near my neighborhood to find stuff for my new apartment. For the first time since I moved to Bcn, I have the desire to buy something as simple as a sugar bowl, a hand towel, or a red curtain. I can happily say i now have the strength and courage to decorate the place I call home. For lunch, we ate pan amb tomate, fresh bread with tomatoes rubbed on it, infused olive oil, and cheeses straight from Switzerland. Then we headed to the countryside of Catalunya to be part of the cava festival in Sant Sadurni. Cava is the 'champagne' of Spain, Sant Sadurni is the region that Champagne would be in France. We had a blast, drank some of the best Cava, saw the Cava Queen, a famous model and actress (Veronica 'something'), ate honey glazed pears and duck, canelones, fideau, and enjoyed the atmosphere, relaxed with people holding glasses in their hand, pink and golden bubbles that bring the rosiness out in everyone's cheeks. Susanna and I took deep breaths in both of exhaustion and the simple pleasure of having the luck to live like this. I was surrounded by tipsy Catalanes who insisted in speaking only in Catalan to me and for the first time in a long time, I laid my head on my pillow and before going to sleep smiled at the feeling that I have finally created a little world for myself in a place I dreamt of long ago...and that's how you spend the perfect Saturday in october in bcn with one of your amazing friends...

Guapa

Months ago, Keegen emailed me, asking me what were typical things that you heard on the streets, from friends, strangers that were cultural, that you couldn't use anywhere else, that belonged to the people that made up the place I live in. And today, as I was out on my daily jog that question resurfaced as I trotted down the straight and wide Diagonal (a version of Market street in San Francisco, but nicer).

I was enjoying the cool breeze that insisted on slapping me on the face, observing blurry visions of people heading home from a long day of work, children holding hands with grandparents, and the buildings old and new golden in the setting sun. As I passed a striking older man, I saw his eyes open wide and his lips make way for the eternal word that belongs to Spain, "Guapa". Everyone uses it, excessively, friends to friends, a man to a woman, the baker to the shopper, the fish seller to the grandmother, the merchant to the child, every female in Spain has been a Guapa at least once in their lives and to boost your self-esteem, you can be a Guapa two, three, four times a day. If you're really a Guapa you will be honored with Guapisima, guapetona, Guapis and hundreds of other versions. You almost begin to take it for granted, until you are having a bad day and someone smiles at you and says, "Adeu Guapa" and suddenly you are floating. The best of it is that they mean it. You're probably wondering what guapa means if you haven't figured it out: Good-looking. As simple as that. But with a bite, with an essence that no English word can translate it to. And so to all my Guapos and Guapas...Your are my Guapetones.
other daily spanish phrases/words:
"Me da igual"...one of my personal favorites that means "whatever" or "I could care less"
"No me apetece"...Amadis brought this up to me, this could very well be the only country who has this phrase which literally means It doesn't 'appetize' me...I know, what does that mean? My point exactly, it's what you say when you don't feel like doing something
"Vale" y "Venga"...Vale is used for EVERYTHING! It's simply an agreement that ends up annoying you, but you end up using it just as much, while venga, I still haven't understood venga. It literally means come but you also use it when you finalize an agreement...like a date...hmm.

Tempting infactuations with nuns

I have yet to figure out what my infactuation with nuns is. Since I was a child, every time I turned a corner and saw a nun, a smile would spread on my face, fascinated with their robes, white, white on baby soft blue, white with royal blue trimming, and the shocking thickness of black with a splash of white. I fantasized on what their daily lives are like, what do they think about? What are they doing out on the streets? How many souls have they fed, saved, helped, consoled? And I even dare to wonder if they can see right through me, can they hear what I'm thinking, do they know I secretly wish they would talk to me?

Magically, they are everywhere in Barcelona. I can say I see one almost once a week and today I even had the pleasure of seeing one in her heavy black habit, not as common nowadays, and yet again I smiled and looked at her right in the eyes, silently hoping that she noticied me and perhaps even made a little prayer or wish for me. Sometimes I even fantasize about being one, about living for the simple task of giving, but then the sun blinds me, I turn yet another corner and see a handsome man with dark eyes in a crisp suit and say, "Nope, nunnery was not for me." But the momentary idea is tempting.

Meanwhile in the real world, I am stepping onto new territories and enjoying myself and every surprising turn my life makes. I finally moved into my new place and I love it. I can now officially say I live in Barcelona. The neighborhood is enchanting, the bar man across the street already knows me and on Karla's last day, we found a beautiful park just a few blocks away with the greenest trees and a pond with lily pads and old wooden benches with people spread across them reading and sketching. My roommates are friendly and have managed to make me feel right at home in only two days. They also speak Catalan and have promised to speak only in Catalan to me. I am even saying a few sentences and trying to have a real conversation. My bedroom will become my little alcove and the house the home I have been longing to have. I await curiously to see what will unfold from this move. In fact, that chilly fall wind has begun, the kind of wind that brings change and makes you shiver with possibilities. The leaves have begun to dress the ground and there are small silver leaves that float in the air, trumpets announcing the arrival of a new season. People even seem to have a different look on their faces, not the grumpy wrinkles of humidity.

On saturday, I finally had the oppurtunity to feel part of something social, that I can almost say is mine. I was invited to a dinner of all girls, eight of us, sitting in the lobby of el teatro nacional de catalunya, eating spinach salad, drizzled in honey and goat cheese, smoked salmon and a variety of cheeses. After a long girl talk, the catalanes seem to be much more comfortable talking about 'personal' events at the table, I sat back and listened to their tongues roll out those thick catalan words, drank my coffee, smoked my cigarettes and celebrated the fact that I'm finally settling in. Later, we met up with their boys and saw a concert which was all cover songs from the 60's and 70's in English. We danced to the songs and laughed at ourselves for still longing to live what we lived at 15. And I continue to insist that this is what it is about, simply this, girls night out, dancing until you can't, lily pads and nuns. oh and chocolate of course...

Ode to Karla

Exactly a year ago, Karla and I sat in front of Madeline's in San Francisco, sipping the best mochas in the world and exchanging the possibilities of moving abroad. Originally, she was going to New York and I was going to Brazil. Somehow, we both agreed that if there was any city in the world that would appeal to us, it would have to be Barcelona. A few months later, we were sitting in STA travel, signing a credit card charge for a ticket to Spain. Neither of us had any idea what to expect, all we knew was that we were doing it together and nothing in the world could stop us. And nothing did.

Six months after landing in Barcelona, I am preparing to see her off to new places, new loves, new experiences. She is the last piece I have that was living and breathing that connected me to the US and to San Francisco most importantly. I didn't know I would grow so attached to the idea of having her here as my buddy, my confidante, the person who taught me to live a little louder and to use my heart more often (when it came to boys anyways).

Who is Karla? Karla to me has become the epitomy of living with your heart bleeding open, she falls in love and doesn't think twice about it, she dances in the middle of the living room, she wears costumes to clean the house, she can handle just about anyone and any personality, she is vibrant, intelligent political and capable of charming just about anyone, men and women, into buying her a drink:)...you know what I'm talking about Karla.

While I struggled with the reality of things, with the ins and outs of life and the thinking and rethinking and thinking again, Karla would grab me and say, just do it, it feels right, do it. And I learned to do it...I don't think I'll ever be able to do it as freely as her, but she has taught me how to let go, a breath of fresh air, in a world that is so caught up in doing things the way society thinks you should. Not Karla, she does it the way she wants to and doesn't regret a thing...plus, she is more in tune with her spirituality than anyone I have ever met, an old soul living in a beautiful body. I will miss my dancing buddy, my late night chats on the terrace of Collblanc...the one person who speaks English to me, her eggs in a basket at 5am, her irrational yet addictive love affairs and experiences, her smile and crystal blue eyes. But karla, I wish you the best...the world awaits you and I thank you for holding my hand through this trek, I question whether I could have done it without you...I doubt I could've...I needed your boosts.
Ciao bella and buena suerte en el mundo de Italianos
don't stop dreaming!