"You should write in your blog that she is pregnant," Victor said after spotting Amanda Peet at Bubby's in Tribeca this morning. We woke up earlier than usual because Victor needed to take a picture of the Wall Street bull. Maria came along; today is the first time that I make her leave the house without taking a shower. Our intention was to get to the bull statue before the hoards of tourists, but we were not successful. We waited for the right moment, but we got discouraged after a bus with a group of Japanese men parked across Broadway. We walked uptown by the river until we were too hungry to keep going. "This is the first time that I see a movie star in person," Maria said as Amanda Peet ate her omelet. She (Maria) and Victor talked for a long time about their families, proudly sharing the stories about their ancestors while I quietly stirred my coffee. In the late afternoon we devoured a chocolate cake on a bench by The Plaza before getting into the movies to watch Coco Before Chanel. "Women always have it harder," Maria said after leaving the movie theater, "they need to choose between love and a career." Truth is there is not an easy way to get either or both, but I agree with her, for women it seems always harder.

We are listening to Nina Simone, her strong voice fills the living room while I'm writing. At the same time Enrique, Oscar's friend, is taking a nap in the guest room and we can hear him snore; quite loud actually. It's 10:26 of a Saturday night, but it's cold outside and I rather stay home. I left the house early this morning and walked around Union Square's Farmer's Market before meeting Genoveva for brunch at the Blue Water Grill. It was a beautiful day; one of those crispy and sunny autumn days, perfect to walk around freshly cut basil, wild arugula and homemade rhubarb pie. I'm going back home where I was born sings Ms. Simone, First I planned to stay but I can't live this way. Victor is reading Crude World, a book about oil, and how it becomes a political and economical burden for developing countries. Enrique continues to snore. I'm sitting on a table by his bedroom so I'm keeping track of his sleeping pattern (he almost chuckles as I'm typing this). Try to understand, I think this city is grand. During brunch Genoveva and I had the usual girls' talk: men, love, work and other life dilemmas. Although she got married 7 months ago, we still share the eternal unsettlement feeling. But with all its charm, give me a little country farm. "It seems longer since you got married," I said, "I miss those days, before and after your wedding, and how that event bring all of us together." Things change and I'm an adventurous nostalgic; so I guess I'll be always missing something.

Thanksgiving in Little Italy
We came to Pellegrino's in Little Italy for Thanksgiving dinner. Bulent worked here when he first moved from Turkey. "They are like my family, these guys, they looked after me" he said while holding Cristina in his arms. Anthony, the manager, has been working in this place for more than sixteen years. "I grew up in New York City, I lived in every neighborhood, from South Seaport to Bensonhurst in Brooklyn," he answered when asked about his background. I expected him to be Italian, but being from New York and having Italian descent seems more than enough. "Cristina, why you moved here, and what made you stay?" I inquired. "All my friends were getting married in my hometown as a way of getting out of their homes and gaining freedom," she replied, "but I always knew it was not for me." Cristina found a new family in the city, with Rosy and Nestor serving as moral pillars all these years. On the other side of the table Nestor relentlessly fights the short ribs on his dinner plate. At age 85 he has lost most of his body fat and appetite. He still got his acid humor and the smoking habit. "Do you think New York has changed for better?" I asked Anthony. "It's hard to tell," he replied, "it is certainly safer, but I miss the character of certain neighborhoods. Take for example Times Square, it used to be filled with prostitution and hustlers and now it's sort of a Disney consortium." Nestor suddenly decides he doesn't like his food and leaves half of it untouched, as he murmurs complaints to Victor and me that are hard to understand. As we wait for our glass of Averna and expresso I think how happy I feel and how everything seems in its place for a moment.

Sitcom victim
I stare outside the restaurant window, I take a sip of my drink, and a UPS truck parks across the street. In the background Sade’s No Ordinary Love is playing. “This is exactly how I imagined it,” I tell Victor, as I’m clearly relaxed after drinking half my glass. I was a little girl in Mexico City dreaming about my life as an adult in New York, while staring at the limitless city lights from the balcony. My mom played eighties music and Sade was included in her playlist. Her voice transports me to that time when I was hoping to be here; and here I am. “I’m just missing the loft,” I added. “How did you knew about lofts as a little girl?” Victor asked suspiciously. “From an old sitcom about a young woman that worked at a music record label. She also had a brick wall at her apartment, and since then I’ve been crazy about red brick walls.”

Lalis left on Sunday afternoon, leaving us without her high-pitched laughter and her reddish and uncontrollable curls. After she closed the door and waved goodbye from the gypsy cab I felt so tired and sad that I slept the day away. She is so in love with Mario that she brought some kind of sunshine into our house. "I'm afraid to say so, but this man is the love of my life," she said in confidence Sunday morning while we were drinking a latte at Martha's Bakery. This is a huge deal for her; she has never let herself go this deep. She is the kind of girl that has a strong personality, so men tend to feel threatened by her. Mario, on the contrary, loves her all the way; even more so when she is firm and even capricious.
We are going to the Metropolitan Opera House tonight to see Turandot; the second opera in a week; we saw La Damnation de Faust with Lalis and Mario on Saturday. Some of my friends think opera is artsy-fartsy, not recognizing all the pieces of hard work that are involved for every single production. Anyway, after the opera we celebrated Victor´s birthday at Pio-Pio, a Peruvian chicken restaurant in Hell’s Kitchen eating pollo with aji, maduros, and rice and beans.

I met Sarah at Union Square after work today. She looked beautiful with her long straight blonde hair; she was shining. I haven't seen her for a while. The last time I saw her was during her book signing in Chelsea, though we had no time to talk personal matters. She was truly my first American friend; I met her while she was waiting for the loan approval to go to the School of Journalism at NYU. Back then drinking coffee in her living room was the only thing that felt sane. New York was still a unmanageable place for us, and we were young, poor and single (well, I was actually married for a while, but I got divorced later). She got married a year ago and is now completing a fellowship at Columbia University to write her second book on the downside of desegregation in the public education system. Her diamond ring shines as she moves her hands while speaking. "I haven't stopped wearing it since I got it," she said, "it's small but it's still Tiffany's." We've come a long way. For her moving from Kentucky to New York for graduate school, having already published a book and a second one underway is not a small achievement. I still recall drinking Bourbon, listening to old country records and cooking fish risotto at her place while wondering how to get a real job and some kind of real love. "I've made up my mind," I said. "I'm more inclined to study management and marketing. I'm not dreaming about going to film school anymore; I'm not that talented." "Oh no, you are talented," she replied. But we both know things are quite harder than they seem when you can't miss paying the rent each month. There is still a long way to go. "No one knows what will happen to journalism," she said worried, "newspapers are getting out of print." "Why don't you write a blog?" I asked. "No, I feel my mom will be the only one reading it." she said while holding her breath. Still her book Gangs in Garden City is available at any Barnes and Noble across the country.

Playing tangos in Miraflores

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.