Since yesterday was Mother’s Day in the U.S., I thought a photo of history’s most famous mama would be appropriate.
This 72-foot statue of the Virgin Mary sits atop the Cerro San Cristóbal in the Parque Metropolitano in Santiago, Chile. More than 1,000 feet about the metropolis, she watches over the city through the soft focus of smog.
I’m going to make a completely unfounded statement that La Virgencita (who ain’t so cita here) is possibly the most sculpturally immortalized woman.
The theme of purpose has occupied quite a lot of my brain space lately. I don’t mean “What is my purpose,” but just the purpose behind things — what’s said, what’s done; what’s the intent. Everything that pops up in the slide show of my life recently has boiled down to a single word: WHY. Not in the “Why me, why, why, why” way. Just simply, why. Why this. Why that.
I’m now suddenly realizing this could be a very black rabbit hole that I will now stop going down. The WHY is just the journalist/writer/curious person in me.
I’ve arrived many times somewhere I know nothing about with no guidebook or previous research and have asked myself, “What am I doing here?” I quickly find my way most of the time. There doesn’t always have to be a reason for being somewhere, but knowing your purpose in a place certainly makes fulfillment and satisfaction more easily attainable (i.e., I’m here to climb a mountain. I’m here to visit friends. I’m here to get my heart broken because it’s the only logical next step in this story). Sometimes you arrive somewhere, and the purpose doesn’t lie in why you came, but why you left. At any rate, arriving somewhere without an agenda and seeing where the journey takes you is also extremely rewarding, and usually my m.o.
Seeing these ladies at the Vatican makes me wonder what seeing the seat of authority of their world means to them. I had no particular purpose there. I’m not Catholic. I just came to see it because it’s what you do when in Rome, right? Pretty buildings. Massive art collection. Ceiling painted by a master, etc., etc.
How much more fulfilling was seeing the Vatican for this gaggle of sisters, though? Being in the center of their world — from where all their directives and instruction come (I mean, besides God, of course, if they’re listening).
We lose track of why we do the things we do. Practice asking yourself “WHY” and see what the answers are. You might come up with some interesting stuff. Or maybe nothing at all. If you don’t like your answer or it’s not satisfying, then just don’t do it anymore.
My trip is always necessary. Is your asking me if my trip is necessary necessary?
My aunt who lives in Louisiana invited me to stopover and spend the night at her home when I go to New Orleans later this year (if I drive the nine hours instead of flying). Her friend said that with everywhere I’ve been, I’d probably rather not. I told the friend that I’m happy to go or stay anywhere that is not my everyday residence. “‘GO’ is my middle name, lady,” I told her.
There isn’t much I find inconveniencing about travel. Another friend recently was slightly whiny about having to be up at 4AM to catch a flight to New York. “WAAA. You’re going to New York,” I told her. The earlier the flight for me, the better. If I can be on a plane before the sun is up and on a Mexican beach before noon, then I’ll catch up on my sleep then.
I saw this vintage World War II poster in the Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes in Santiago. I was outraged at the art. I’m kidding, I’m kidding. I get it. But, really. Don’t ever question my passport activity.
Our very good friends over at V.O.D. boutique, whom you’ll recall from previous rendezvous, hosted a trunk show for the very talented designer Jeremy Laing from Toronto. Dallas was Jeremy’s and his partner Frank’s entrée to Texas, so there was some hometown tourism to show them how we do here. “Tourism,” by the way, is just a veiled term for eating and drinking. A lot.
Friday evening started with drinks at the diviest of dive bars. Your favorite and mine: The Grapevine — where the drinks are stiff and cheap. We sat on the back patio by the basketball court while Jeremy half-finished an electric red, frozen drink made with Everclear. “Is that even LEGAL?” They asked. Yep. Driving after you finish one of those is not, though. The second reason you go to the Grapevine: people watching. Spotted: three-inch sky blue fingernails, a lone drinker way too expressive about whatever he was fully engaged in on his iPhone, and a server with a face reminiscent of some faded 70s magazine queen.
When visiting Texas, there are two things you must eat. TexMex (in all its processed, plastic cheese glory) and BBQ. We ticked off TexMex Friday night at Manny’s Uptown, starting with an order of guacamole. “Uh. Can we please order another one of those,” they asked. You got it.
With sugary margaritas, enchiladas and tacos in the gas tank (someone at the table had imposed a lifetime ban on chimichangas), the boys were up for more at the gay cowboy bar Round-Up Saloon, where we saw none other than Dallas Sheriff Lupe Valdez tearing up the dance floor, as well as a few reality TV disasters who are disgraces to the city of Dallas — and dare I say, to the whole state of Texas.
Saturday morning the boys enjoyed the Nasher Sculpture Center before the garden would turn into a frying skillet in the afternoon. Plus, afternoons are for eating, so we marked off Texas must-eat number #2 — BBQ — at Sammy’s. What’s better than meat on meat on meat? Sides. That’s what. Baked potato casserole, potato salad, fried this, battered that. STARCH. Just love it for what it is and don’t look back. Frank said he was starting to get the meat sweats, so we got the heck outta dodge.
In Dallas, there is no other way to work off your food indulgences than with the great sport of shopping. And believe me. Shopping IS a sport here. Off to Dolly Python‘s shop of curiosities and vintage treasure chest we went, where one of us got a reading from the in-house psychic Melinda. One more stop landed us at Grange Hall for a more edited shopping of gorgeous things before friend and photog Allison V. Smith took us to East Dallas to see a Sunny Sliger installation on the facade of the Shamrock Hotel Studios. AVS shot some film with her badass Hasselblad before we called it an afternoon.
This is just a small slice of the Dallas food gauntlet I ran for five days. As friends visit, I’ll tell you more about fun time good times around Dallas for your reference if you’re ever in these parts. It’s not always food and booze. But mostly it is.
I told you the cycling ladies of Firenze were coming. The Florentines’ simple style and signature blues, whites, and browns have influenced my clothing purchases ever since I visited the Italian art capitol. Not that I ever look the least bit Florentine in dress. Adding to the chic casual cool of Firenze style: bicycles. Even the old ladies in their sundresses biking around town are cooler than me.
Here are two of my favorites I snapped on the street a few years ago. Ride your bike now, and you can still ride it when you’ve aged. Your other option is to just be Italian. (And don’t we all wish we were Italian?)
Surfers need serious breakfast before chasing waves. No place in unassuming Moroccan surf spot Taghazout covers the wave rider morning meal better than tiny walkup café Tamazirt.
When I wasn’t whiling away the morning at Aftas underneath my tree house watching a parade of characters, the bar at the Tamazirt stand was your next best bet to find me. Tamazirt is one of the few restaurants in the town and sits across from a surfboard shop just a little uphill of the fisherman’s beach.
Irish owner Rowena said she had been coming to Taghazout with her family since she was a child. Now she and her father run a surf camp popular with the Euro set. Rowena runs the café-stand with efficiency and a generous helping of sass.
Rowena’s simple menu offers premium fresh ground coffee and espresso drinks, homemade muesli with yogurt and fresh fruit, and a typical run of egg options. The Irishwoman understands the seriousness of breakfast, and so offers her customers unlimited toast made from Moroccan bread.
rowena. sassy café owner.
She told me grapefruit was good to eat every morning with breakfast. When I asked her why, she replied:
“Digestion, I guess. You come from the land of nutrition and plenty! Shouldn’t you know these things?”
The real barbs are reserved for locals who like to come around and agitate her for the sake of annoyance.
“Go back to your goat mother!” She said to one of the local shop owners whose daily habit was to pester her for a coffee during peak hours.
Equally entertaining was when her father would come around asking this and that, but would go on mumbling about something else as Rowena shouted answers with irritated prefaces of, “I already told you!” or “I already gave you that, it’s…!” An entertaining family farce as you wake up.
If you happen upon Taghazout in your travels, be sure to take Row a pack of Camel Blue cigarettes since she was running low and they’re not sold in Morocco anymore. She really needs her cigarettes.
A recent iPhoto crash had me going through quadruplicates of photos taken over the last seven years. As an individual highly susceptible to nostalgia, going through some 15,000 photos took a lot of time.
I spent a lot of time looking at photos from my first trip I took alone (besides that one time I just didn’t get on the bus to the airport with the rest of my Mexico study abroad group). That first solo adventure was Italy 2009, my first big boy trip after graduating college and getting a job.
Florence was, of course, on the itinerary. Here are some of my favorite shots of Firenze characters.
The woman waiting above and the man smoking while reading the paper below are my favorites. Just you wait for the old ladies on bicycles. You know it’s coming.
