Lindsey and I are resting under the covers. The piano man is still playing in the lobby, we can hear him from our room on the 4th floor. He comes every day to Hotel Faraona and plays a wide repertory of Latin American music from 2:00 PM until late at night. He claims to have traveled the world; he speaks French and knows every song we asked for, from Nicaraguan revolutionary songs to Colombian tangos from the highlands. He must be sad that most of the participants from our training have left; they were his captive audience. It makes me sad too; saying goodbye to people always hits me, even when I had just met them. The hotel is now filled with new faces, afro-peruvian women that came to Lima for a conference. It's almost 9:00 PM and we need to get ready to meet with Sean, Sdenka and Javier for a drink. We are going to Juanitos, a famous old cantina in Barranco that sells pork sandwiches. The piano man is now playing a famous Oscar de Leon's salsa song. Lindsey is curled-up in her bed trying to use any extra time to rest and I'm trying to find a nice way to end this post. I should stop writing now, as Sean might call our room anytime to ask if we are ready to meet downstairs.

I've got writer's block, again. Lots of food for thought at work these days, but I haven't got any time to think about personal matters. Last night we went to Larcomar, a mall by the sea in the posh neighborhood in Lima. I'm disappointed by how Peruvians ignore their coastline. Lima gives its back to the shore, and it seems as if everything was built facing inland. Guadalajara, Mexico is even worst. They had a river that crossed the city north to south, until authorities decided it was better to tube it. As a result, streets dangerously flood every time it rains as water follows its natural path.

I like men who aren't ashamed to carry my handbag

Roma at a slow pace

Lindsey is doing yoga on the floor between our beds. I haven't gone to the gym for a while, and snacking between coffee breaks won't help me fit on those skinny jeans waiting at my closet. Today was a good work day and I hope it will keep this way for the entire week. I love making connections, so bringing activists and radio producers from across Latin America to share their experiences and find ways to collaborate with us and between them makes me very happy.
For anyone that is not from Latin America it might be hard to distinguish the cultural differences between regions and countries. For some people we all speak Spanish, practice Catholicism, eat rice and beans, and play music really hard; regardless if you come from the Andes, the Amazon, Patagonia, Central America or northern Mexico. I guess it's the same way my mom thinks about Asia, for her it's very hard to distinguish any difference between Asian countries. Colombia is my favorite from all the Latin American countries I've been to. Even when there is something unique and special about Bolivia, it is Colombia where I could move to right away. It's hard to explain, but there is something about its people that resonates with me, that makes me feel both comfortable and excited. It may be the way they talk, their style, or just the way they dance. For food, I'll have to stick with Mexico.

I'm working at the hotel room in Lima preparing tomorrow's training presentation. The television is on so I'm able to listen to the Yankees game (playing against the Phillies) in the background. Wraps of snacks and candy, empty water bottles and pieces of paper with our notes are scattered all over the bedroom. One of the things that I enjoy when I travel for work is having cable TV in my room. I don't have a TV set at home, and every hotel (even the shittiest) in Latin America has one. Last night I watched Fight Club for the first time in a very long time. The last time I watched it I was probably 24, when living a "single-serving" ordinary life seemed against all odds. It's funny to see how much things have changed, and how in a way I have become the character that asks which color better describes her as a person. Even when I'm not buying every piece of furniture from the Ikea catalogue, I can see how a part of me starts to feel comfortable without asking the tough questions. Still, I have to admit that there is a part of me that gets excited to the idea of throwing all I own outside the window and reinvent myself from emptiness. "I want you to hit me as hard as you can." Only with a purpose, and if it can help you feel alive.

We are leaving for Peru tomorrow morning and I haven’t packed yet. Days at the office are always hectic before a trip; especially after a one-week vacation in Rome. Hopefully I’ll leave the office in less than an hour to get everything I need, including a manicure since I really need some sort of beauty makeover to look presentable at the training next week. I should also do the eyebrow and upper lip depilation, but that is too much to ask from me today. Hairy I should be! As always, I wonder how other women find time to look beautiful when they work, travel, have babies and much more responsibilities than I do. I need a time management course, but ironically I don’t have time for that either.

Victor and I went to the Metropolitan Opera last night to watch (and listen) Aida. As always I got impressed by the production and I can’t help to wander, how they store all the stages? Going to the opera always makes me feel at home and cozy. The opera season announces the beginning of the cold season, when the sunlight, even when scarce, has a brighter yellowish color, apple cider is sold everywhere, and you get the chance to rethink where you are, and where you are headed for next year. Plus, I always enjoy having a reason to dress up and drink a prosecco while we wait for Act 2 in the red carpet lobby.

I’m having a panic attack at this very moment. As a result of the sinus infection my doctor recommended a strong antibiotic, but after reading about all the possible side effects I’m afraid to keep taking it. Should I try to battle the bacteria myself (and probably fail) or take a medicine that will at least give me a stomachache and insomnia? Oh God! I’m the worst at making this kind of small decisions! (I feel dizzy already)

“You have a terrible sinus infection,” my doctor told me today, “you are very sick.” Funny enough I haven’t felt sick, or at least I’ve been blaming any symptoms to the last hectic days. I’m leaving for Peru on Saturday for work, so I won’t have a free weekend until November the 14th. I’m so looking forward to November 13th at 5:00 PM to be able to finally do nothing. NOTHING, except for probably going sightseeing the autumn foliage; if any of it survives this crazy weather. If not, I’ll just sit down on my couch to drink hot apple cider and read one of the new books I haven’t been able to open.
Diego moves out of the apartment to Greenpoint in a week, so our little family is shrinking. On the other hand, Lalis and his boyfriend are coming to visit during the second week of November. It will be exciting to see her in love after so many years of not finding the right person. I need more of my friends inviting me to weddings; I want an excuse to get a new dress and get drunk on someone else's behalf.

I have a new boss starting today, and being jetlagged as I am makes it impossible to show any positive energy or ideas. I’m trying to smile to sidetrack any attention to my red-watery eyes. If worst comes to worst, having just returned from Italy makes it worth giving a bad first impression. How are you supposed to get back to everyday life after a good trip? How to adequate your travel learning into your everyday life? How to keep that glow you brought for a longer period than the time it takes to unpack? How to get used to American coffee after all those early cappuccinos and afternoon espressos? Where to find real fresh mozzarella? I was impressed by Rome and by the experience of an ancient, aged city, although I prefer Paris (and the French), it’s personality, the feel to it and how it connects with the new movements (at least on film and music). We walked around the city without any plans. By the time Victor and I got tired of tourists, we left for Florence to stay with Pili and Massimo. Florence was much more than the sightseeing, it was having long conversations at night about our family, the meaning of life, extraterrestrial contact, and religion. One night we spent a few hours looking through old photo albums: the goodbye party when they moved to Italy more than 30 years ago, their trips and the stories around them (Pili and Massimo were in India when my father died), and snapshots of all of us when we shared a family life at my grandparents house.