Happy anniversary, Mom and Dad!
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“Titties. Ass. Beer.” The barker saw me walking with the five guys. “You can come too, lady.” Southern hospitality. Nothing like it.
Walking down Bourbon Street We walked into a bar advertising a ridiculous special. 3 drinks for the price of 1? 5 for the price of 3? I can’t remember. Beau walked up to the bartender. “Could you make us 5 of the most ridiculous tourist drinks possible?” Her reply? “Double?” Why, of course. Minutes later we had stadium cups full of sweetness, in all colors of the rainbow.
A Rainbow of Tourist Beverages At one intersection, sipping our ridiculous tourist drinks, we glance to the right, greeted by a looming shadow of Christ. It appeared as though he was coming back from the dead to haunt the revelers on Bourbon Street.
Christ over Bourbon Street With half an hour before our dinner reservation, we decided the most prudent course of action would be to order beignets and cafe au laits, of course, at Cafe du Monde. We sat down, placed our order, and moments later were greeted by steaming pillows of fried goodness dusted with powdered sugar. A fresh beignet is like a taste of heaven. The powdered sugar simply melts in your mouth, along with the steamy hot fried dough. Ahhhhhh.
Beignets and Cafe au Lait We made our way to Arnaud’s and were seated in the Jazz Bistro. The trio approached each table, taking requests, or, in our case, playing their favorites. After performing Hallelujah I Love Her So for us, complete with spinning bass and knocking, they moved on to the next table, embarking on What a Wonderful World.
Hallelujah I Love Her So Our dinners came, full on New Orleans style – alligator sausage, frogs’ legs, fish with crab, gumbo. Completely stuffed, we insisted we couldn’t have dessert. Until we saw the flames at the nearby table. Bananas foster? Why, yes, please.
Bananas Foster. And Flames. All in all, a remarkable, memorable, evening on Bourbon Street.
Team Social Takes Bourbon Street -
I told the cab driver, “We need to make two stops. One at the Verizon store, then the second at a house on Napoleon Ave.” The taxi driver nodded and started off. While Justin was inside the Verizon store, I told the taxi driver the exact address of the house: 2203 Napoleon Avenue, cross street Loyola. “Cross street Loyola? That’s not possible; that’s far away.” I shrugged. “Maybe. It could be far away. That’s the address I have.” “No, it must be close by.” I questioned his logic. Theoretically, a destination could be far away from the airport.
Justin came back to the cab and we set off once again. We came to West Napoleon. We cruised up and down. The cab driver stopped. “West Napoleon, right?” “No, I think it’s just Napoleon. Cross street Loyola.” “No, Loyola is too far away.” Once again, I wondered why he thought we couldn’t be staying at an address far away from the airport.
“Okay. Let me call my co-worker.”
“Hey, Mike, where is the house? On Napoleon, or West Napoleon?” “Umm. I think Napoleon. Let me check.” Wait. Wait. Wait. “Yep, Napoleon, cross street Loyola.” I conveyed this information to the cab driver. Exasperated, he said, “But that’s so far away! You didn’t tell me that.”
In my head, I thought, “You’re a cab driver. I thought that I could give you an address and you would take us there.” Externally I said, “Could you please take us there?”
More exasperated, “I gave you the near-by fare. That was to here. The address you’re telling me is far away. That’s the far-away fare.” I thought for a moment. “Could you please take us there? We’ll pay the far-away fare.”
He thought for a moment. “Okay.”
We arrived at our destination. “I’m sorry. It’s just that I thought you were going near, so I told you the near-by price, but you were really going far.”
I’ve never had a taxi driver explain the fare in near-by or far-away terms, and was simply happy we arrived safe and sound.
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I looked up and the city had disappeared.
Rainy San Francisco -
I love board games, my favorite being Scrabble. It’s a family tradition to play late into the night every Christmas vacation. When Words with Friends (WWF) came out a couple of years ago, I was hooked. Now I could play what is essentially online Scrabble with friends all over the country, one or two moves at a time? Heaven.
Some of the people who I play with know that I love a good wager. And that I might be a bit competitive. So when Darin offered a bet of winner buys beers next time we’re in the same city, I took it. Did I mention that Darin is a better player than me? Several games and wagers later, I was booked on a flight to Minneapolis.
My flight landed in the late afternoon, just as the sun was beginning to set. Intense golden rays blanketed the runway. I’ve only seen light so beautiful one other place in the world, South Africa. Everything is more beautiful in that light.
Highlights of the trip included:
- The most fun I’ve ever had singing karaoke in public. Stoner, the Willie Nelson lookalike with two pure, snow-white braids in his beard sitting next to me at the bar, complimented me on my performance.
- Co-working with two of my awesome colleagues. Having one of Alison’s amazing homemade apple muffins for breakfast.
- Sampling a ridiculously delicious sausage sampler platter at Butcher & the Boar
- Game night with real life Scrabble and our own version of Pictionary
- And, of course, spending three fantastic days with dear friends
Thanks, WWF.
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The car in front of us. Bond chick, perhaps?
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We were surprised when we arrived to our hotel. The fifteen story building looked out-of-place among the more modest two- and three-story buildings in the neighborhood.
The Charlee Hotel – looking up Our surprise turned to glee when we arrived to our room and noticed the glass doors opened completely onto a decent sized patio, creating the perfect indoor/outdoor living space. The weather in Medellin is perfect to have windows open all the time – not too hot, not too cold.
Indoor Outdoor Living We unpacked then explored the hotel. The top floor housed the pool, surrounded by amazing panoramic views of the city.
Me and Cris by the rooftop pool 
Tony showing off his imaginary DJ skills Each floor highlighted a different artist. Life (us) imitated art on each of the floors as we chose our favorite pieces and took photos. I think we’re going to like it here just fine.
Cris and the angry girl -
The three of us crowded into the back seat of a small taxi, battling early morning traffic to get to the market. Tony had regaled me with stories of how the parking lot was filled with armies of flower vendors. I love flowers – the colors, the shapes, the smells, the textures. I couldn’t wait.
We got there and immediately went to the buñuelo vendor for a quick breakfast. She was pulling fresh breads out of the oven. The smell was intoxicating. Flour, sugar, yeast – all wrapped up in the smell of warmth. He brought tiny metal stools for us to sit on – plates of metal on unsteady legs. I sat carefully, watching her move the breads from the oven drawer to the glass warming case on top of it. Tony told her what we wanted and she placed the bread directly from the oven onto our oval plastic plate, lined with paper-thin napkins. One with cheese, one with arequipe (caramel) and one filled with a guava jelly. The outside of the bread was slightly hard to the touch, and immediately yielded to soft, fluffy bread once broken. We shared the three among the three of us and ordered more, in additional to pan de yucca, a petite oval loaf made from yucca root. People came and went, sitting on the rickety metal chairs for several minutes, chatting with others or sitting silently enjoying their breakfast treat and a small cup of coffee.
Fresh Out of the Oven Next, we walked towards the corner of the massive parking lot. Tony sighed, saying there weren’t many vendors there compared to Saturday or Wednesday. But there were! There were flowers everywhere! Roses, carnations, orchids, sunflowers, flowers I had never seen before. Buckets and buckets and buckets of flowers, vendors calling out, offering bunches for 50 cents or a few dollars. I stood still, breathed deeply, and felt the sun shining down. Pure joy. We meandered through the rows of vendors, choosing flowers for the apartment. Blush roses, beautiful greenery, baby sunflowers.
After we filled our bag, we headed indoors to the fruit and vegetable vendors. Pyramids of tomatoes and onions and peppers and avocados and carrots and broccoli and cauliflower and onions and yucca greeted us. Mesmerized, I followed Tony and Cris, wandering aisle to aisle, stopping to snap photos of the brightly colored arrangements. We bought vegetables for dinner, then wandered through the fruit section – oh the apples! the strawberries! the magnificent grapes! – then on to the herbs.
We were searching for sage. At the first booth, Cris asked the vendor for sage. The vendor mumbled something and Cris immediately left. I asked him, “What did he say?” “When I asked for sage, he said they only have the kind for feminine baths. We don’t want that in our chicken.” I laughed hysterically as we continued to the other vendors, asking for sage that wasn’t for feminine baths or cattle. We eventually found it, then made our way through the fish vendors, back through the vegetable vendors, and back to a taxi. A delightful morning at the market.
Muchas rosas
An unusual flower, surrounded by rose petals
Sunflowers!
Cris and Tony with our flowers
Yellow and red
Flower vendor in hat
Mountains of avocados
So many vegetables!
Tropical fruits
Peppers
More peppers
Fresh fish
Colors!
Ready for Halloween
Fresh Out of the Oven -
Despite the rain, we explored the city, viewed some amazing art, and ate delicious food. You’re treating me right, Bogotá!
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The guard laughed as he saw my eyebrows lift in surprise and my mouth form an “Ooooh!” when the thunder boomed. We had been discussing what to do next; the immediate patter of rain made our decision for us. We ducked into the museum just as the downpour began.
Only two floors and less than twenty rooms, the museum was manageable, not overwhelming as some museums are. We casually strolled from room to room, taking in the whimsical creations of Botero, his plump figurines interspersed between naturalezas muertas, still lifes. As we finished viewing each room of art, we walked along the pathway encircling the courtyard, occasionally sitting on a bench, watching the rain fall, and counting the time between lightning bolts and thunder claps.
Some rooms were full of statues – big statues, little statues, tall statues, short statues, but always fat statues. People reclining, Adam and Eve and apples, birds, hands – all so plump. They begged for touching; the guard had other ideas as we edged closer than necessary to the smooth stone. He made one exception – the giant hand at the entrance.
Resting in a big hand
LoriLoo 