#we have tourists and I used to like it when I delivered pizza cause they would tip like $20 but now I don’t do that anymore THE TRAFFIC

[hufflesmonsters]

Albino Lizard Man

Wow, look at that, I do know how to write sobs,  this was commissioned by @aelia-likes-monsters, who simply screamed STORY. So, here we are <3 

Maybe you were experiencing an early midlife crisis by quitting your job and moving out to a small town in South Carolina. It wasn't like you had any reason to, you had a decent job, a good apartment. You weren't rich but you were fairly comfortable. Just… One day you had looked up and decided that you didn't want this kind of life any longer.

So you quit the next day, gathered all your savings and canceled the lease on your apartment. You sold anything that you weren't fond of, the stuff that basically made its living on the back of your shelf, and shoved the rest of your belongings into the back of your van. You set out down south, pausing at every rest stop to look through brochures for upcoming towns. You did that for three days before you came across one, advertising itself as the second town to have a “lizard man”. It was ridiculous, two towns claiming the same myth. And yet you found yourself drawn to the pamphlet in a way you weren't sure if you could ever explain.

You hit the town the next day, and had found a place to rent by noon. It was a small, but cute little lake house that was way to cheap for the location, but you knew when to not look a gift horse in the mouth. You had had all of your belongings set up by dinner, and was lucky enough to have pizza delivered. And as you sat down on your couch, a slice in hand, you looked around the home and felt a wave of satisfaction. Whatever you were craving, it was here, you were sure of it.

But that was months ago, and you still hadn't found the calling you were looking for. You got a job at a grocery store, nothing big or fancy you only did cashier work. The hours were okay, you managed to keep a steady income. And the job wasn't too bad, the people here were pleasant so you didn't get many, if any, creeps. You just felt… lost almost. Like you were searching for something, or someone, and just couldn't find it.

You also hadn't seen the infamous lizard man, despite your neighbors insisting that he's real. You'd seen alligators, sure, though none of them were big enough to qualify as a “man”. You were beginning to think that the townsfolk had just made him up for tourists, when one day a new alligator appeared.

It was early morning, you were off and wanted to experience the morning on your back porch. It was something you'd always wanted to do, but couldn't in the city. But here, here was perfect.

As you sat, nursing your coffee, a flash of brilliant white caught your eyes. You looked up, eyes wide at the sight of a large, alabaster alligator head floating along the top of the lake a mere ten feet away. Its pink eyes, strangely humanoid, stared back at you, an inquisitive look in his eye. You were suddenly very grateful for the railings that separated the two of you. You slowly placed your cup down and leaned forward to observe the colossal reptile, taking in the scarring on the side of his face.

You'd be the first to admit that you didn't know much about alligators and crocodiles alike, far from it actually. You'd seen videos, and watch them feed some days. They were terrifyingly beautiful, in the way that the same grace that they use to swim can also be used to kill. But, if there was one thing that you did know, it was that albino alligators were a rare find indeed. Only aquariums and zoos housed the animals, finding one in the wild, especially this big and old, was rarer than rare.

Suddenly realizing that you'd been staring at the reptiles pink eye, you averted your gaze to the snout. He'd gotten closer during the time you had spaced out, and was now five feet away. The water was too murky to see the rest of his body, and you really didn't want to see it this close. He was huge. You gave him a hesitant smile, your eyes locking back to his pink, and felt a wave of shock when his own pink orbs widened before he dipped back down into the water. You sat there, staring at the spot where he was in silence.

How about that, you thought as you leaned back and grabbed your cup of coffee. Taking a sip, you let your gaze wander around the surface of the lake. Maybe there is a lizard man after all. A snort escaped you, oh you were funny. One large alligator and suddenly you were believing the rumors. 

You stood, back cracking, and grabbed your cup. You had things to do today, like the pile of dishes that you’d been avoiding like it was the plague. The floor needed to be swept, and you had a whole pile of books that you needed to sort between keep or donate. As much as you really, really, wanted to stay outside and watch the water, you knew that the chores needed to be done. You were an adult, you could totally do this.

It was almost night when you finally allowed yourself to sit again, exhaustion filling your body as you attempted to relax. Your head hit the back of the sofa, a grunt escaping as you adjusted yourself into a more comfortable position. You wanted nothing more than to just sink into the cushions and never get up again. Your whole body hurt, because once you had started on the floor you realized that you hadn’t liked the way your furniture was arranged. Which lead to you rearranging things around, which lead to you not liking that arrangement. By the time you were done, it was dinner time and all you wanted to do was sit.

Your head rolled to the side facing the kitchen. Shit, you hadn’t even touched the dishes. You closed your eyes as you faced the ceiling again. Take out again tonight, it seemed. With a groan, you got up and stretched, wincing when your back popped audibly. You staggered into the kitchen, reaching for your phone you opened your contacts for the local pizza joint. A flash of white caught your eye through the window as you turned, your interest piqued, was your albino friend back?

You walked over to the window, smiling at the large alligator that floated in the water behind your home. You were half tempted to just throw some chicken out into the water for him, to keep him well fed in these cold days. Which, after seeing all of the lake placid movies, you knew was inadvisable. The last thing this town needed was an influx of alligators getting fat and comfortable around humans. But, you thought back to the almost human look in his eyes, it'd be a nice experiment to see if he really was all alligator.

You dialed the pizza place, listing your order as you watched the large alligator. You had ordered a thing of chicken tenders as well, partly to eat and the other part to throw into the lake. The employee gave the time table of forty minutes before you hung up. That would be enough time to do the dishes, maybe. You glanced at the television that called your name, your stance wavering. This was a dangerous territory you found yourself in, the need to get your kitchen in order was just barely winning the war to re-watch Daredevil.

With a sigh, you turned and walked to the sink. Rolling up your sleeves, you went to work. Your mind wandered, as it always did when you did your chores. You glanced up at your alabaster friend, he was still out there, still watching your house. You screwed your lips as you looked back down.

You felt almost silly, being this enamored with the wild animal. Yeah, he was a sight to behold, but you really didn’t need to be staring this much. You had never felt so relieved to hear your doorbell ring, tearing your gaze from the window and shutting your water off. You grabbed the towel and walked over to the door as you dried your hands.

The pizza man was here.

You opened the door and greeted him with a smile, placing the towel on the side table and grabbing your wallet. “How much?”

“Ah,” the kid fumbled with the boxes as he looked for the order ticket. “Twent… Twenty five sixty.”

You pulled out two twenties and six dollars. “The other twenty is your tip,” you told him when he tried to hand it back. His eyes went wide, and you swore that you saw tears well up. You smiled again and took the pizza and chicken from the kid, nodding when he wished you a good night.

Shutting the door, you weighed your options. It was actually a nice night out, the air not as cold as it had been the past few weeks. Plus, it'd be nice to relax out on your patio, with no one but the alligator to see you. So, with your mind made up, you grabbed a plate, napkins and a drink, piling them onto the pizza box, and timidly made your way onto the back patio.

You placed your food down on the table, and collapsed onto the chair, taking in the moment. It really was beautiful outside, the lightning bugs were out and dancing along the lakes surface. The trees and Spanish miss danced in the wind, slowly swaying from side to side. The owls were hooting, the frogs were croaking, and the cicadas were thankfully on a low pitch tonight. You felt an ease settle over you, this right here was why you moved to this secluded spot.

Your stomach alerted you that it was indeed still hungry, the loud growl caused you to jump as it shook you from your thoughts. With a slight chuckle, you grabbed your plate and piled it with pizza and a chicken tender. You ate slowly, going from looking at your phone to looking at the lake. Your new friend was still there, still watching. He looked hungry.

“Can you even eat cooked chicken?” You asked him with a raised brow. Raw meat was for certain, but with the breading and the grease, surely that couldn't be good for an alligators digestive system.

“It's one of my favorite things, actually,” a deep rumble answered. The voice sent a shiver down your spine, goosebumps rising along your arms. You were always a sucker for voices, and this one was no different. You looked around wildly for the source, eyes wide. There was no one there, but you still heard the deep chuckle all the same.

Then, the alligator rose out of the water. Large, strong hands connected to some very well muscled arms grasped the railing. The large reptilian head towered over you as he ducked under the roof. A large knee rested along the wooden floor, and a large tail swept in the water from side to side.

You dropped your pizza in shock. Your mouth opened and closed for a few seconds as you struggled to gather your thoughts. The albino alligator was really the lizard man, you'd been checking him out for the whole day. Hell, you were still checking him out, but you could always tell him it was because his scales looked pretty as they glistened in the low light. That was normal, right?  God you hoped so.

“I…uh, here?” You shakily grabbed a tender and held it out for him to grab.

He gently took it from you, the coolness of his scales brushing against your skin caused you to shiver and blush. Why was he attractive to you? Yeah, the voice is one thing, you even thought those dragons from skyrim were hot, but this?

Him?

You watched as he downed the chicken like it was nothing, and, considering how big he was, it probably wasn't. A long pink tongue snuck out to lick his lips, teeth glistening. His pink orbs fixated on you again.

“Thanks for the snack,” he purred as he leaned down closer to you. “My name is Irsosz, and who might you be?”

Yep, you were fucked. You were absolutely attracted to this reptile of a man. “I, uh, Anna,” you said not quite as smooth as you were praying.

“When did you move in? This house was vacant when I left.”

“F, four months ago,” you said as you tried to keep eye contact. It was so much easier when you thought he was just a normal ass alligator.

Irsosz nodded. “Ah, and I've been gone for five months,” he said. “If I had known how beautiful my new neighbor is, I would have made the effort to come back sooner.” He gave you a wink, and you hated him just a little for it.

“Where did you go, if you weren't here?” You asked, latching onto that tidbit for dear life. You weren't going to verbally acknowledge his advance, your mind was still stumped by it.

“Further up stream, visiting my brothers,” he answered smoothly. “My twin is getting engaged, by our customs at least, so I was helping him propose.”

“You guys get married?”

“We made for life, of course we get married. But his mate is human, so she can't get married by your standards.” Irsosz nodded to himself as he glanced back at the lake, his tail sweeping the water again. “Our marriage isn't complicated. We give our mates a scale, and them in return if they're lizardfolk as well. Our hands our bound to each other by a vine, and we say our… vows I suppose. It's more or less promises, assurances. And then the ceremony is over, and the two are bound.”

You nodded as he finished. “That's kind of cool, actually. She could totally have a “normal” wedding, all you need is someone who is ordained to watch over the vows.”

Irsosz thought that over. “My little brothers girlfriend mentioned that,” he mused before looking at you with a reptilian smile. “You're right, Belle will be thrilled to hear it.”

You smiled back at him. “So you have a twin and little brother living up stream, any other siblings nearby?”

“No, thank god, I'd hate to have to fight them off if they decided to set their sights on you,” he said as he pinched the bridge of his nose, white nostrils flaring at the thought. “No, it's just Igrisz, who I absolutely don't mind, and Bruxo, who I do.”

“Aw, what did he do?”

“Besides being a little shit? He spent the entire time I was up there showing off to his girlfriend up until me and Igrisz had enough and tried to drown him.” He chuckled fondly at the memory.

“I take it he's the youngest of the family,” you gathered.

“He's a couple clutches younger,” Irsosz said. “But not the youngest anymore. Our mother had about five clutches after him, the youngest being ten.” He sighed and shook his head before looking at you again. “But enough about my woes, how are you enjoying the lake?”

“I like it,” you said honestly. “More now that I know you're here.” Was that too strong? You took in his grin, maybe not. “I have to say, I am pleasantly surprised. The locals had me thinking that you were going to break down my front door and start wrecking everything I hold near and dear.”

Irsosz let out a laugh. “I’m not surprised, they like to project Igrisz’s antics onto me. So long as you keep respectful of the lake, I don’t care what you do.” He paused and glanced down at you. “You, however, I am very interested in what you do.”

You stared at the floor as you wrapped your head around that comment. The way you saw it, you had two choices. Go with your head and tell him that it will never work out between the two of you, or go with your heart that said to jump into those drool worthy arms and swim off into the sunset with him. “Is… would it be…” You took a deep breath. “Is it crazy to say that I might be… into you?” God, you sounded lame.

“Not at all,” Irsosz said softly as his large head leaned down closer to yours. “I’m not as theatrical as my brothers, nor as dramatic, but, I look at you and I feel like, for once, my home is complete. A reason to stay here, for more than a few months at a time.”

You wanted to say that this was moving way too fast, that you were a woman who deserved a long series of complicated courting. But you didn’t, because frankly you felt the same thing. The draw, the way you felt like you were complete around him. Maybe, maybe when you quit your job, when you moved out here, it was all in preparation to meeting him. He was your missing piece in life, you knew it now. “So stay,” you whispered to him softly.

His pink orbs searched your face, looking for anything that could contradict your words. When he saw nothing, a shudder went through his body before his hand reached out and cupped your cheek, his head lowering, his lips covering yours. The kiss was sweet, and tasted salty but you found yourself liking it. There was a groan, deep with a creaking echo. Before you could place what it was, Irsosz suddenly dropped onto the wooden floor with a solid thump. A moan of pain escaped him as you looked down wide eyed.

The railing had broken under the immense pressure, the two posts sticking out on either side of his pearline skin. You pressed your lips together, a giggle bubbling up and threatened to burst. Irsosz looked at you with a sigh, resigned to the inevitable.

“Go ahead,” he said as he placed a hand under his chin, trying to regain some dignity. But, as your peals of laughter echoed across the lake, he found himself grinning up at you. You smiled back, eyes alight in adoration. Yes, moving out here may have been a huge decision that you hadn’t fully thought out. But it was worth it, god was it worth it.

[vsplusonline]

Stories of extraordinary kindness at the times of unprecedented Covid-19 crises

New Post has been published on https://apzweb.com/stories-of-extraordinary-kindness-at-the-times-of-unprecedented-covid-19-crises/

Stories of extraordinary kindness at the times of unprecedented Covid-19 crises

Lunchtime at Khao San, a restaurant in Mumbai’s hip Khar neighbourhood, usually means a flurry of orders for Thai green curry, tom yum soup and other pan-Asian dishes. But these days, its kitchen is busy churning out large quantities of more humble staples such as dal-chawal, chole-chawal and rajmachawal.

The food is packed neatly into boxes and sent out to be distributed in the slums of Dharavi and to Brihanmumbai Municipal Corporation employees like sanitation staff, who have to report for work but would be hard-pressed to find a meal, with most establishments closed.

“We had decided to freeze operations even before the lockdown was announced for the sake of everyone’s safety,” says Vanitaa Lalwani, chef and partner at Khao San. “That was when Pragya Kapoor, founder of Ek Saath-The Earth Foundation, suggested we keep our kitchen open to help those who were not getting food. We thought it was a fabulous idea.” The foundation provides the ration, bought with donations, while Khao San makes the meals. For over a week now, 2,000 packages are being sent out every day for lunch and dinner.

Since the lockdown brought all activities to a halt, there have been several horror stories: of people struggling to find even a morsel of food and of migrant workers left stranded, among others. Then there is the daily rise of Covid-19 cases and deaths and the discrimination being faced by people suspected to have caught the virus. Yet, as we physically distance ourselves from one another amid this avalanche of bad news, people have come together in the most extraordinary ways to go the extra mile and lend a hand. Across the country, instances abound of people trying to do what they can to help.

In Hyderabad, K Venkata Murali, MD of Kaligotla Technologies, is serving over 5,000 meals daily to the poor through his NGO, No Food Waste. This is double the number of meals the NGO distributed before the lockdown. In Chennai, Bibhuddatta Panda, a software executive, sets out on his bike every noon to distribute food packets to the poor on the road. He feeds about 50 on weekdays and double that number on weekends.

Panda, who has been living in Chennai for the last decade, runs an NGO, Let’s Feed The Needy. But he prefers to distribute the food packets himself, so as to reduce the risk to other members. The 34-year-old says it is hard to express the extent of hunger he sees. “You see people who are very needy, very hungry. Some people get their first meal of the day around 2 pm, when I reach them with food.”

Murali talks about how the migrant workers in Hyderabad have been abandoned by their employers. “The workers would not have money, their contractor would have switched off his phone and they would be too embarrassed to step out and ask for food.” He and his group recently helped feed 1,500 such workers from Uttar Pradesh and Jharkhand who were employed at a construction site in Bachupally.

“They teared up as they told us how tough it had been for them to find a single meal for the past four days,” he says. The group is now in the process of arranging ration packs of atta, rice, pulses and spices for the needy. The NGO, originally focused on feeding the poor, now also delivers essentials free of charge to senior citizens living by themselves.

The Goregaon Residents Welfare Association (GORWA) in Mumbai has also morphed from an organisation that helps apartment societies in solid waste management to one resolving the needs of the elderly and the poor. The association president, Nitesh Jadhav, says they began by helping daily wagers with food but they soon began getting calls about senior citizens living alone and unable to buy essentials. “We also provide home-cooked food twice a day to about 120 people who are too old to cook,” says Jadhav, a global consultant with Tech Mahindra. The association has tied up with trusted auto rickshaw and taxi drivers to ferry dialysis and cancer patients to hospitals for treatment as well.

The efforts to help the vulnerable are not limited to fellow human beings. Over 500 km from Khao San, Cohiba, a bar in Goa’s Sinquerim popular with tourists and locals alike, has also made changes to its menu, in a manner of speaking. With the restaurant closed for business, its staff are helping prepare vats of turmeric-infused rice cooked with meat stock and scraps. Volunteers pick up what has fondly been dubbed “doggie biriyani” and drop it off on the beach, from where lifeguards distribute it among 150-odd stray dogs, some of whom have now begun lining up in anticipation, tails wagging furiously.

The stray dogs, who used to feed on scraps from beach shacks, started becoming aggressive once these outlets closed due to the lockdown and they went hungry. “The dogs were hungry and dehydrated and would come charging at you. In our calls with lifeguards, this was brought up a few times and they said they had started carrying sticks for protection,” says Divya Sharma, head of culture and brand at Drishti Lifesaving, the company that provides lifeguard services for Goa’s beaches.

Sharma and her team realised they would have to act fast. To set up a community kitchen from where dogs could be fed regularly, they put out a call through their networks asking for help with vessels and ration.

“The most wonderful thing was how the community around us responded,” says Sharma, 39. Cohiba immediately offered the use of their premises, and help from staff. Other residents stepped forward with offers of ration and meat and money. “The whole thing became a community effort rather than an individual saying ‘I like dogs and want to feed them’,” says Sharma.

Others who have launched donation drives and helplines, too, talk about the heartening response they are receiving from volunteers and the community. Mahita Nagaraj, a Bengaluru-based digital marketing executive who launched Caremongers India in March, says the group grew to over 33,000 members in just a month. Nagaraj launched the Facebook group, where requests for help are matched with volunteers across the country, and a helpline after friends abroad sought her help for their aging parents. Today, she and the group field hundreds of calls and messages every day.

One such call recently was from a senior citizen who broke down on the phone. “He needed to get some alternative medicines for his wife, who has stage-4 cancer. Their doctor, who was stuck abroad, had arranged for the medicines but it was in Goregaon while the couple lived in Prabhadevi, over 20 km away,” says Nagaraj.

Thanks to the army of Caremongers, the medicines were delivered to his doorstep in four hours flat.

In another recent case, a senior citizen with blood cancer and a pelvic fracture needed red rice, one of the few things she was comfortable eating. But no shop in Mumbai had stock of the rice, which is common in Kerala.

One of the volunteers, who had some, delivered it to the senior citizen’s house but refused to take any money for it. “The lady and her daughter were so touched that they made him wait while they hand-painted a card and gave it to him with a thank-you note,” says Nagaraj. This, she says, is just one of the hundreds of examples that help her go to sleep with a big smile on her face.

Large-scale crises, whether the pandemic or a flood, do tend to inspire such outpourings of help, both in cash and in kind.

“Crises bring a sense of solidarity among the crowd. We saw it for the first time in the Chennai floods of 2015, and have seen the same for natural disasters in Kerala, Odisha and other states,” says Mayukh Choudhury, cofounder of crowdfunding platform Milaap, which has seen 1,100 fundraisers set up for Covid-19-related causes in less than a month. Together, the Covid-19 causes have raised around `75 crore.

American writer Rebecca Solnit has documented this phenomenon of the sense of solidarity and communities that rise from the ruins of disasters in her book A Paradise Built in Hell. “Disaster… drags us into emergencies that require we act, and act altruistically, bravely, and with initiatives in order to survive or save the neighbours, no matter how we vote or what we do for a living,” she wrote. The current pandemic, while not a natural disaster, has nevertheless seen many such instances, like the 82-year-old retired teacher in Kolkata who waved to catch the attention of the police, only so that he could hand over a cheque of `10,000.

Nagaraj says the flood of offers of help are inspired by the realisation that this has to be a community effort. “Yes, it is your individual efforts that matter but this is not something someone else can solve — it is something that can be won only with community power,” she says. The lockdown has also shown how dependent all of us are on each other. “While you cope with that reality, you tend to be more empathetic to others who are worse off.”

Drishti’s Sharma says everyone seems to have put aside some of their apathy. For instance, when they launched their effort to feed strays, she expected to face many questions about why she was choosing to feed animals at a time when people were starving.

“But till date, not a single person has asked me that.” There are, of course, the few bad apples. Murali says he got a request from a senior citizen to deliver groceries. When volunteers reached the house, they saw the couple lived with their children and grandchildren, all hale and hearty. Caremongers’ Nagaraj says about 30% of calls the helpline gets are from people who want to order pizza or those who shout when they are told volunteers can’t deliver meat and fish. But the majority of calls are from those who actually need help, she says.

“And think about this — the 33,000 people who have signed up are mostly folks I have never met, who want to help people they have never met.”

Will one of the many legacies Covid-19 bequeaths be a world that is a little kinder? Perhaps, if Khao San’s Lalwani is speaking for many more when she says “We are going to make sure we will go the extra mile to help others even after the pandemic ends. It does not stop here.”

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[offtosavetheearth]

July 20th, 2018

This morning I got up super late and didn’t have time to eat breakfast with Rina this morning. I was supposed to go to the café at 7am, but of course I didn’t get up. I met the class at 9am to go to the ETAPA Sustag Water Treatment Plant. ETAPA is Cuenca’s water agency, and they operate more than thirty water treatment plants. They also help protect the watersheds that are important to Cuenca’s water supply, and play an important role in managing Cajas National Park.

Our visit was guided by the workers of the plant. This modern plant in the southwest of Cuenca provides water to over 35,000 people; part of it comes from Cajas National Park, protected by this agency.

This plant operates according to ISO, the international standard of water quality. Javier, a chemical engineer, explained to us that the water comes from the river and is relatively pure because of the short distance it travels down the mountain. Once the water flows into the plant, at 200 liters a second, it passes through a sediment filter and then the inorganic coagulant aluminum sulfate is added, which creates clumps of bacteria and debris at the top. This process causes several simultaneous chemical and physical interactions on and among the particles. Within seconds, negative charges on the particles are neutralized by inorganic coagulants. Also within seconds, metal hydroxide precipitates of the iron and aluminum ions begin to form. These precipitates combine into larger particles under natural processes such as Brownian motion and through induced mixing, otherwise known as flocculation. During flocculation, aluminum and hydroxide absorb and enmesh particles in suspension and facilitate the removal of particles by subsequent processes of sedimentation and filtration.

From here, the water exiting the flocculation enters a sedimentation basin, also called a clarifier. It is a large tank with low water velocities that allows excess floc to settle at the bottom. The one we save was circular, where the flow of the water was center outward. As particles settle to the bottom of a sedimentation basin, a layer of sludge/mud forms on the floor. This mud is removed and dehydrated, to later return to landfills, instead of putting it back in the river as most water treatment plants do. While the sludge is separated, water runs to a rapid sand filter, moving vertically through sand which often has a layer of activated carbon above it. The top layer removes organic compounds which contribute to taste and odor.

The last disinfection method involves small amount of chlorine. The water must be moved to storage tanks, where for every one million parts water, 1 part chlorine is injected. This strong oxidant rapidly kills many harmful micro-organisms.

The international standard for turbidity is 5, but ETAPA exceeds all expectations by delivering water to Cuenca at .3. Since this water is cheap and subsidized, Cuencans use about 200 liters per person per day. Those in the suburbs (poorer people) pay 5 dollars a month, while richer folks pay about 15. Created nine years ago, this is one of the most modern plants, of the three large and thirty small ones with lower quality water. Monitored by 2 people every 8 hour shift, they are responsible for the drinking water of 40,000 people.

In between lunch and the second lecture of the day, I went to NY Pizza and got a Pepperoni pizza and a coke. I know this is stupid, but I am a regular at that store because American food is the only thing that is keeping me sane while away. It makes me feel more relaxed, and I have Ecuadorian food all the time with Rina, so I don’t think it’s necessarily a waste of this opportunity. Also, it was one of the first times I ventured out alone without a group. I purposefully got lost twice before I had pizza, so I could learn how to find my way back and navigate the city. Let me tell you, it was a proud moment when I found my school again for the second time in a row. I got even braver, and went past CEDEI to a really beautiful coffee shop.

I came to get an iced latte and work on my logbook, but something really…unsettling… happened to me while I was waiting for my drink. A little Ecuadorian girl ran into the shop and made a bee-line straight for my table. She was talking really fast and making a texting motion with her hands, because I had my iphone out. But, she wouldn’t make eye contact with me. I simply said “no habla espanol”, but I did catch the drift of the question. She needed to use my phone to text her mom. But she didn’t appear frightened? Or lost? She kept waiting at my table and I said again, “lo siento, no habla espanol” and looked away from her. I looked up a second later, and she was nowhere to be found.

A couple of friends from the group came to meet me at the coffee shop (LOOK WHO IS INDEPENDENT & LEADING THE PACK NOW), and we talked about how we were starting to get over the whole foreign country thing and the daily annoyances in life were getting to us. I think that means we are comfortable here? Anyways, I talked about how the wooden bed that I sleep on is killing my back and my neck, and another student talked about how they were ready for homestays to be over. I agreed, I felt that I had gotten all that I could out of my homestay experience, and there was not really anything left to observe. I basically just say good morning and good night to Rina, and we visit after dinner for about 20 minutes talking about our day. It’s hard to get past the language barrier and bond, but we have a few times over things like politics and family.

It was the weirdest thing though….we were walking out of the coffee shop and I saw that girl again. Except she was with her mom a couple blocks down from the coffee shop, and they were walking the other direction really fast. I don’t want to assume the worst but I am 99% sure that her mom was sending her around the area to steal from tourists. Dr. Knapp was talking about it a couple days ago…and woah. Wow. Wtf. CHILDREN ARE SUPPOSED TO BE SACRED, INNOCENT, AND PURE!!

I am in another culture though. And even if I wasn’t in another culture, I don’t know the families situation or how badly they need money. I understand what it is like to be tight on money, but never to the point of that type of desperation. It is a sort of mixed feeling that I felt. Confused but…understanding at the same time…yet not understanding. I still don’t know what to make of it. At what point is it not wrong to steal, and is it different based on culture?

I got nice and calm though when we had our traditional medicinal lecture. Sisa Pacari Bacacela Guaman, a Quichua-speaking member of the Saraguro nation, lectured in Spanish on traditional and indigenous use of plants, with demonstrations.

I was REALLY liked this lecture because I’m into essential oils and smells as a source of meditation and relaxation.  

Sisa explained to us that the definition of sickness is when there is nonviolent conflict between the spiritual and physical world. We are simply molecules all interconnected, and our physical being experiences pain when there is an imbalance. Their traditional medicines have been used 18,000 years before the existence of Christ, and they classify plants in terms of power, gender, and altitude.

Plant introductions began with the altitude category. Chukirawaa, known to detoxify the body when consumed for nine days, is only found in the Andes at 2500 meters above sea level. Tipo, consumed as a tea for altitude sicknesss, is also found in the high Andes. Laurel, oxcilliar to Tipo can be rubbed into a pulp and smelled.

Gender was next, starting with Alpal Paleo, a feminine plant for allergies that is a symbol for earth, and can be consumed as a tea or applied as a salve. The feminine plant Yerba, or San Antonio, is used for the skin, throat problems, and contains penicillin. Caballo Chupa or horse hair can be feminine or masculine, with the masculine type being thicker and used for digestion and detoxification. Shuyu, a refreshing feminine plant that helps with fever, works well with the Caballo Chupa plant. A masculine plant, flor de tio, helps with respiratory issues and bronchitis. You use three flowers, three eucalyptus leaves, and three nettle leaves in a tea for nine days.

Lastly, Power classification discussed the San Pedro cactus, which can range from three to fifteen spines, with the most powerful ones having the most spines. It can grow 1-7 meters tall and only the most advanced shaman, at level 7, can handle this plant. Druda, mixed with other medicinal plants, is used for external cleansing and looks like a bunch of tea leaves. Machua, for anemia and mineral deficiencies, is related to the potato and can be used for menstruation and prostate issues.

A cleanse was preformed after the lecture on Autumn. Sisa discussed the four elements, earth, fire, wind, and water, which are used in cleansings, typically preformed in sacred places. Ours was of course of simulation of the actual performance, but similar to how it would be practiced. Fire is the most important element in this representation, and is masculine because it represents the sun god and nucleus of energy. Water is feminine and ties to the physical world, air is masculine and important for every civilization ever founded on earth. Lastly, earth is feminine, and strongly interrelated to water. All societies recognize these elements, but some have stopped caring about pivotal points of nature for financial gain. For most medicinal plants, they must be taken for nine days total. This is because the ninth constellation in space is the most balanced. You may not take the medicine for more than 27 days.

Rose water was applied to our hands once the cleanse was finished. I really enjoyed the smells, such as the burning of the plants, and the scents that filled the room during the ritual. I hope to use more natural oils and plants when I return home, to relax and meditate.

This is kind of weird but after the cleanse I walked around Cuenca for three hours. It didn’t really seem like anyone was doing something I wanted to be a part of, and I didn’t want to go home either. I felt that I needed to venture out as well, since I was becoming braver about my whereabouts in the city. I was proud of myself because I found all of the places we visited during the city store, even the piti mas shop. I zoomed out of my own perspective, and realized that everything in Cuenca is about two blocks away. I am located in the central part of the city, and even if I did get lost again, it would not be that hard to find my way back.

It also helped that I used my maps; before I didn’t know that T-mobile allows free international data roaming, so now I can use my location on the maps to walk back home. I spent most of the time walking back and forth from the plaza near my house, and I sat there for a while watching the community participate in free salsa classes. What was weird to me was the actions of the local police during these classes. They all hung around the ladies salsa dancing, and took group pictures together. I thought that these classes happened pretty much every day, so why they would feel the need to document it was a mystery to me.

Rina texted me around 9 pm, wondering where I was. I felt guilty because she thought that Ginger and I were going to watch a movie with her, but we just dipped. My burner didn’t work so Autumn texted her for me. More guilt came when I arrived home and realized that I missed Abuela’s birthday dinner. Things like this repeatedly happen because we just can’t understand each other. Usually when I say I have plans or am going somewhere later, it is just ignored. A lot of times I feel like I’m the family baby being carried around on errands.

But nothing can really be done about that, unless CEDEI decides to give everyone bilingual families since this is an English program. I feel that somewhere between UT and CEDEI there is a miscommunication about the purpose to this program. Dinner was pasta with cut up hot dogs, which was nice because of how heavy pasta makes you feel. Side note: I find it strange how often hotdogs are randomly incorporated into dishes; in America we usually serve babies little cut up hotdogs. Most likely I am assuming it is because they don’t have access to a lot of quality meat. As was mentioned before, the cows they raise up here typically taste pretty tough since they are walking up and down the slopes of the Andes. The proportion of the meat is something I am definitely not used to. In Texas the majority of my plate is meat, but here the meat is the smallest portion, with most of the plate being potatoes, rice, and vegetables. VERY carb heavy, but in a different way than the United States. I miss big steaks and pulled pork sandwiches, but also feel healthier and more energized here.

Listening to my playlists and walking around maximized comfort in this city, and gave me the breath of America I needed. This is also the longest I have been away from my boyfriend, so I got emotional walking around. I think a lot about how much fun he would have here, and how I wish he could experience this other world with me. But independence, self-reliance, and self-confidence is something I’ve always needed to work on. I generally focus on others needs rather than my own, so after this trip I think I will try to practice self-care, and do things for my own peace of mind. I have always wanted to be healthy mentally, physically, and emotionally.

So cheers to new goals and being selfish!

[neverisalongtime-ja-blog]

Chapter 26: Seeing your face every day (Josh POV)

Some of you requested it and I deliver. I must say it was super hard for me to write the Josh’s point of view of this whole story because Anastasia is my baby and I only care for her. Haha

I hope you all like it and don’t forget to leave the feedback!

Thanks to everyone who reads the fic, much love to you all! ♥

Remember to visit Anastasia’s IG profile:

Anastasia_Truman  ❤️️

Read chapter 25

“Hey, I hope you are fine. I know I owe you some explanations about New York and these past months in general and I hope we can get the chance to talk now that we are going back on tour and I get to see your face again everyday”.

Josh texted Anastasia that Monday, the last day of February, like it was an impulse he couldn’t control. Her image had not left his mind since that time he shattered her heart on the first day of the year, what a way to destroy somebody’s year. He wasn’t proud of it, his heart was broken too, he had loved that blue-haired girl for so long only to realize he wasn’t worthy of her. After seeing her again in New York, his world was upside down.

He met Lauren when he was helping his friend who was producing her first studio album. She had all this confidence and sensuality that it was impossible not to look at her. Her looks compensated for her lack of talent; she is young and vibrant and it makes him feel young too. In a way he was still young, he kept doing the same dumb shit he did back in the day, like letting people he cared about down. Lauren was so different from Anastasia. He put his phone down on the nightstand and rolled over to face Lauren, who was peacefully sleeping next to him in that hotel room in New York.

Even after looking at Lauren, he couldn’t keep Anastasia away from his thoughts. He wondered what she was doing in Los Angeles. She was probably with Mandy or making music. That was the most remarkable difference between her and Lauren: Anastasia could make great songs as fast as a finger snap, she was loaded with talent and that was something that always drove Josh crazy. In a way, he always felt jealous of what she had in Dead Curse, her own band, her own very successful band.

He felt like a coward, but he wasn’t what Anastasia was expecting him to be so it was better to end it now than later and cause less damage. He and Lauren had sex the first day they met, that was something he wasn’t proud of but he was feeling so low not being up to An’s level. Lauren was under that line, besides, it was Lauren who threw herself at him. Yes, sex was great. Her youth made her capable to do amazing things, but he had that with Anastasia too, that and much more.

He spent an hour laying there, in bed, looking at the ceiling and didn’t get a reply from Anastasia.

 -          Good morning, bae – He hated being called that.

-          Hi – Josh said smiling, pretending he just woke up.

-          Last night was amazing – Lauren said hugging him – I say let’s do it again ��� She started to kiss his neck – Like right now.

-          I’m not feeling too well – Josh answered.

-          Is there something wrong? – Lauren asked while still kissing him, now on his chest.

-          No, but I’m not in the mood now, Lauren – He said, trying to make her stop.

-          But bae! – She went back to kissing his neck.

-          Lauren, I said no! – He said getting up from bed and walking to the bathroom.

He turned on the shower and just stood there, letting the water run down his body, hoping it washed away Anastasia from his memory but it wasn’t working. “God, she is so beautiful!” He wished she was there right now; even if to hit him like she did in the elevator almost a week ago. He definitely deserved those blows for being a total asshole, he thought. Now he had to live with his decision and Lauren was waiting outside to have another fun day around New York when all he wanted to do was to stay in bed not doing anything. He loved not doing anything with Anastasia. Another big difference between those two: Lauren needed constant activity, while Anastasia had a special love for days when she could do nothing and just sleep next to him or lay down and watch some Netflix with him. The girl worked so hard that off days were so precious to her.

He got dressed in his many layers (it was still very cold in New York), while Lauren chose to wear a tank top under a light sweater and the tightest skinny jeans in history. She looked rather hot, but she always did. That was the image she wanted to sell.

-          It is really cold outside – Josh said to her.

-          I’m from Texas, baby, we have hot blood – She answered lowing the cleavage of her tank top. At that moment, he missed Anastasia’s class to get dressed – You know there is this bar at the top of the Renaissance with an amazing view of Times Square that I really want to try tonight.

-          I was thinking about staying in and maybe watching a movie or something – Josh said walking to the elevator.

-          Really? How old are we? Forty? – Lauren said – Well, you kind of are – She laughed, Josh didn’t – Come on, Josh! In a few days you’ll be back to touring and I will have to stay here working on the record and I don’t know when I’m going to see you again. If you are nice – She put her arms around his neck – maybe you’ll get a treat tonight – She whispered.

-          We’ll see how tired we are tonight – Josh said. He could control Lauren so he was sure they weren’t going anywhere that night.

-          You know I’m never tired! – She said with her high pitch voice tone that sometimes bothered him so damn much.

 It was a museum kind of day and they visited the MoMa and the Met (classic tourist sightings) just like he did with Anastasia when they were in Europe last year. The big difference was that Anastasia did enjoy museums and art and Lauren had a blank stare and looked so bored, she didn’t quite seem to understand some of the pieces, she just talked about fancy restaurants and bars she wanted to go the whole time. Then they went to have lunch to a salad place because Lauren didn’t eat much (another reason to miss the midnight blue-haired girl), and they spent the rest of the afternoon shopping. Well Lauren did, he just felt miserable waiting for her to try all those clothes he was going to pay for. But he liked it, he was taking care of her, giving her what she wanted and that made him feel good.

 -          You know, I think I saw a jacket like this at your place once – Lauren was trying on a Gucci green bomber jacket.

-          Yes, it’s Anastasia’s – Josh remembered that An never went to pick up her stuff from his place, he didn’t want her to, though.

-          Truman? – Lauren asked with a confused expression.

-          Yes – Now he had to lie again because he never told Lauren that he and Anastasia had been in a relationship – She is always wandering around and she leaves things everywhere. I’m pretty sure she left it there and forgot about it.

-          Oh, I see – Lauren said – You two are good friends, right? Because to leave her jacket at your place and not worrying about getting it back it means you two must be very good friends.

-          Mm… yeah, I think – He lied again – What were you doing snooping through my things in my house anyway?

-          I wasn’t snooping, I just saw it – Lauren said going back into the fitting room – And I don’t see any problem with it since I’m your girlfriend – Josh opened his eyes big,

-          Woah, woah! Hold on there, little lady! – He said shocked – We never talked about that.

-          But I thought I was, since we’ve been kind of living together and all.

-          Yes, because I’m spending this time off in New York and because the label paid for an apartment you don’t want to use.

-          It’s in a horrible location!

-          I’m leaving in a couple of days and you are going to live there – He said – Truth is, Lauren, I don’t like to put on labels – He lied once more.

 Lauren took his answer really well; he felt she actually didn’t even care as long as he paid for all the clothes. He won that night and they didn’t go to that fancy bar, instead they stayed in the hotel room, he ate a pizza, she had a salad. “If Anastasia could watch her she would be laughing right now,” he thought. After watching a boring movie with Channing Tatum on Netflix (Lauren’s pick), they had sex until he fell asleep.

 He really wanted to go to Los Angeles, he was so bored, so he made up a stupid excuse to Lauren and brought forward his flight back home. How could somebody make New York boring to him? A city he loved so much. He missed Anastasia again and remembered the last time they were there together last year, and the long, crazy road trip to Chicago. He wasn’t sure on how to ask her, since he thought she liked to travel comfy in first class flights although she hated flying, but she was so excited to do it and he got a glimpse of her musical taste which was so wide, from Britney to Metallica. She was crazy and he missed her. There was one consistent taste in her: her love for Fleetwood Mac, so in her honor he decided to listen to them on the flight to LA and had a crazy idea.

Josh checked his phone for the tenth time that day and yet no message from Anastasia. He knew he did the same days ago, when she congratulated him for the album but he knew she was going to listen to it and was so scared to say anything to her, cowardice ruled his life again. He understood why she didn’t reply to his text but it made him so angry. Instead, Lauren didn’t stop messaging him saying things like “I miss you”, “I hope I get the chance to see you soon” and more inappropriate things, but he liked that about her. He didn’t love Lauren, he was sure about that, but he felt undeniably attracted to her and the way she made him feel. Lauren made him feel so good about himself, out of the fact that he was giving her everything she ever wanted. He couldn’t do that with Anastasia, she already had seen the world and she was very capable to get everything she could ever want by herself. Even his dad said it once: Anastasia didn’t need him. However, Lauren did. He took her to fancy restaurants and bought her amazing things, and that made him feel so almighty.

He landed at LAX, took an Uber to his house in El Sereno and suddenly felt so alone. He hadn’t been on his own since he broke up with Anastasia, he missed her again and that made him look at his phone screen only to see that she hadn’t replied to his text, so he decided to go for the usual ex-boyfriend move: to check her Instagram profile. Josh sometimes used the Dot Hacker Instagram page. He followed most of his friends from that profile and the rest of the band’s friends. He also followed Anastasia’s profile from it. He saw that she had posted some pictures from New York with her brother, friends, bandmates and his sister. They had so much fun in the city while he had to deal with Lauren and his parents. Anastasia hadn’t posted much since that New Years’ Eve party at Eric’s house, an evening Josh decided to spend with Lauren when he should have been with An. She called him so many times that night, he felt ashamed. Checking further, he noticed she hadn’t deleted the pictures she took of him: she had some of him playing onstage and others backstage, another one of him hugging her that Mandy took when they were in Berlin, another one on the road trip to Chicago; him playing the piano and some more on private planes. He had always been OK with it. Anastasia’s Instagram account was private and all the people that she allowed to follow her were people she knew well. She was very private after all, and Josh didn’t realize that before. The fact that she hadn’t deleted him from her social media must mean something beyond and Josh held on tight to that thought.

 He kept checking her pictures, seeing how beautiful and joyous she looked in every single one of them. Suddenly he thought about calling her but deep inside he knew she wouldn’t answer, so he decided to call his sister instead. She was younger than him but much wiser.  

 -          Hi - She picked up her phone with a low voice.

-          I’m already in LA, can we catch up? - He asked her.

-          Wow, what happened? I didn't expect you here until next week! - Kelly said with evident surprise in her voice.

-          Nothing happened, why would it? I just wanted to come back early to have some rest before the tour starts again - Josh said.

-          Sure? I know you.

-          Damn, Kelly, can you come or not? - Josh said frustrated; there was something about siblings that couldn’t hide anything from each other.

-          Well, not right now, I'm at Anastasia's place and we are about to have some girl time and drink mimosas.

-          Wow I didn't know you were that close to her.

-          I know what happened between you two but she is so nice, Josh, and I don't have a lot of girlfriends and sometimes I need them. I really like her. Does it bother you?

-          No, it’s OK - He said, not really convinced of his words but he couldn’t keep Kelly from having any friends she wanted even if it was Anastasia - Talk to you later, then.

-          Sure, bye!

She hung up before he could say goodbye. He wasn't sure how to feel about this, about Kelly being friends with his ex-girlfriend, an ex-girlfriend he couldn’t get out of his head yet. He started to wander around his house. He walked to the living room, his kitchen, his backyard… Every place had a memory attached to Anastasia. He swore he could still smell her essence. He saw her lying in his couch, sitting at the backyard, cooking something in his kitchen, even though cooking wasn’t her forte.

He needed to get out of there so he called Eric, the only one who knew everything and had a glimpse at Anastasia's version too.

-          Dude! - Josh said when Eric picked up his phone.

-          What’s up? Are you back in LA? - Eric asked.

-          How do you know? - Josh asked back.

-          I sensed it! - Josh laughed.

-          Are you busy right now?

-          Not at all, Hannah is at Anastasia's house having a girl's afternoon, whatever that is.

-          Guess she's gonna be part of my friend's group, huh?

-          Anastasia was part of your friend's group way before you two were together - Eric laughed.

-          Do you want to go to the bar down the street? - Josh asked - The usual place? - The two lived near each other and that sport bar had became an usual place for them to have good nights and they could come back drunk after walking home.

-          See you there in 30! - Eric said and hung up.

                                                         ...

-          Josh! You fucked it up big time! - Eric said while drinking a pint of Irish beer.

-          I know, believe me, I know - Josh said drinking his beer.

-          The bad thing is that once Anastasia is over you, it’s over! - Eric said, making emphasis in the last "over" - There's no turning back at that point.

-          I made my decision and I have to live with it - Josh said, showing the sadness in his eyes.

 Eric just confirmed what Josh was already thinking, if Anastasia forgot about him it was over. He knew her, he knew so well, after New York she probably wasn’t thinking about him anymore. She was so angry in that elevator and at the Madison Square Garden, and even in that state she gave such amazing performances, he watched them all partly because he wanted to see her and the way she moved on stage, and partly because Lauren was a big fan… How ironic!

He got really drunk that night, it was a good way to forget everything. Reality hit him next morning and it was hard for him to even open his eyes so he decided to sleep in the whole day and the next one too. Then he woke up feeling disoriented. He walked to his kitchen to have a bite of something, anything; he realized that his fridge was empty and then thought of calling Anastasia to go and grab some food, and he stopped sharp, his mind had to get rid of all the things he used to do with her. He felt so stupid. He wanted to be with her but couldn’t, he was with Lauren now and his brain needed to stick to that.

 Days passed by and now it was time to go back to touring. Josh was excited; he’d be getting to see Anastasia every day again, but he was scared because she never answered his text and the two hadn’t spoken since New York, she probably hated him and he knew it was his fault.

As a magical move from the Universe, the first person he ran into when he arrived to the Staples Center that morning was Anastasia. She was wearing a t-shirt with the phrase “There is a light that never goes out”, she even liked The Smiths, how more perfect could she be? He admitted to himself that it was a much better t-shirt that the one she wore in New York with the words “Players only love you when they’re playing”. He knew how much she liked Fleetwood but he was also aware that it was a message for him. He got really angry when he saw her wearing it; he wasn’t a player, he didn’t play with her! He broke up with her because he didn’t want to hurt her.

Anastasia walked by without even looking at him once. He was devastated, so he ran to his dressing room to set everything to get ready for that night. He was happy to play at the Staples, though. Playing in Los Angeles had always felt special to him no matter if it was for twenty people or twenty thousand, LA was home and he embraced it, besides, some friends and family were going to join him there. After a couple of hours at the dressing room he decided to take a walk around the venue, he liked to do that, it helped him to start catching the energy of the place; he gave a few steps and ran into another person he actually didn’t want to face: Mark, Anastasia’s brother.

He met Mark years ago at a New York bar when he was touring with Gnarls Barkley, Mark was a DJ at the place and Josh was there with Eric and Clint having some drinks. Josh was amazed by the mix of rhythms and sounds Mark was throwing that night so they started to talk and a great friendship developed when they went back to Los Angeles. Funny how life joined them again.

 -          Man! – Mark was the first to talk.

-          Hey! – Was all Josh could say.

-          How’s everything? – Mark asked.

-          Well… you know. Trying to carry on – It was an awkward way to reply to that, and Josh knew it.

-          I can imagine – Mark said realizing it was an uncomfortable situation.

-          I’m a little bit nervous about tonight, to be honest – Josh tried to carry the conversation.

-          You? Nervous? Yeah, right. You have played so many shows, Klinghoffer!

-          Yeah, but, you know. It’s home.

-          Are you sure you aren’t nervous by a certain Truman?

 “Does everybody have to mention her?” Josh asked himself.

 -          Yeah, about that…

-          Don’t worry, Josh. It’s not me you have to give explanations to – Mark said and Josh was shocked by his laid back reaction – You’re still my friend – It was nice to hear that.

-          Is she alright with that? – He had to ask.

-          Anastasia is a very mature woman – Mark laughed – She knows you are on her circle and yes, she is OK with it.

-          Everything feels weird right now – Josh said looking at the floor.

-          I can imagine – Mark said – You look confused and I understand that. I was confused once about Stephanie and look at me now, I’m going to ask her to marry me.

-          What?! – Josh said shocked and couldn’t hide the smile.

-          You are the first to know, actually. Don’t tell my sister, that would be something she won’t forgive me for.

-          Man, I’m so happy! – Josh hugged Mark – And don’t worry, I won’t tell her. We aren’t communicating much right now.

 Josh was happy for Mark, indeed, but it was a low blow. A good percentage of his friends were married by then or had babies and he felt left behind. He wanted that, a family he could go back to after the touring madness but now, more than ever, he was far from that. Anastasia was very clear she didn’t want children anytime soon and that was another thing that made him walk away from her. On the other hand, Lauren wasn’t going to give him a child soon neither, she was so, so, so young and starting her career. But, to be honest, he didn’t want Lauren to be the mother of his kids; she could barely take care of herself. That place belonged and still belongs to Anastasia in his heart, until his mind decided it was time to move on or until he met someone else, which was going to be really hard since he kept comparing every woman to her.

Josh saw Anastasia again, and this time she saw him too, so he walked up to her without even thinking about it. It was like if his legs knew exactly where to go. She was alone, wandering around the venue too because she also like to catch the vibe of the place before a show, they were so alike. She got nervous, he could tell, he knew her so well; he was nervous too, more than he would like to admit; it was like every time he ran into her in the past, at a party or event, she always made him feel nervous but in the good sense.

 -          Hi! – She said without hesitating.

-          How are you? – Josh asked smiling.

-          I’m a wreck right now, I never thought I would sing in a sold out Staples Center – She said scratching her left arm with her right hand and he noticed something different.

-          Look at that! – He said – New tattoos! – They made her look even better.

-          Oh, yeah – She showed them to him. He first saw the two circles that belonged to the Dead Curse logo, and then she showed him the little heart on her ring finger – This is for Mandy – She clarified before he could even ask.

-          They are amazing! – Josh couldn’t stop smiling, looking like a maniac – And the heart is extremely cute.

-          Mandy got one too, but her heart is blue – She was hardly looking at him.

-          You two are crazy! I like your t-shirt too! – He was running out of conversation topics but he didn’t want to let her go.

-          Oh, thanks – She said looking at the t-shirt and then at him. He could see her eyes and the world stopped spinning for those seconds: How much he loved those giant turquoise eyes. He loved to get lost in them just like he was now… But she took him out of his reverie with only a few words.

-          I’ve got to go – She said and she turned and left him there standing, alone again.

 Josh couldn’t speak to An again neither that day nor the next. But he could watch her splashing sensuality and elegance on stage, breaking the silence with her melodious and powerful voice. She was wearing a long purple Lakers t-shirt with embroidered fishnet stockings and some black vans. Her stage outfit choices were always diverse and you never knew what she was going to wear but she always managed to look amazing on them. The second night she chose a black light short dress with dark blue thigh-high boots, seeing her in those boots always drove him crazy and that night wasn’t the exception. She even played guitar in some songs and then he remembered, Anastasia’s birthday gift, it was something he sent to be custom made for her last December and now he didn’t know what to do with it.

Read chapter 27

[tenaciouswaitres-blog]

It’s those damn Pennslyvania females....

I am a hostess. As a hostess, I often work side-by-side with a male co-worker for hours at a time. These boys and I, we have a bit of a problem. They just don’t seem to understand I do not like being talked over. I don’t like being contradicted in front of customers, I do not like being cut off. However, for some reason this seems to be a daily challenge for these brew boys.

Customer: Can we have a table outside? Me: We are actually on a waitlist right now, but if you give me- Brew Boy: There’s outdoor seating upstairs! The left side is open seating and                       the right side is dining. You guys can just go ahead and check it out! Customer: Okay, thanks! 

2 minutes later

Me: I don’t like it when boys talk over me. Brew Boy: What? (brow furrows) Oh. (comprehending) Okay. (thoughts forming) 

3 minutes later

Brew Boy: It’s cause you’re so quiet. Customers can’t hear you. I’m louder.                          (Waves arms in a forward motion) You need to PROJECT your                              VOICE. (continues to provide interpretive hand gestures) I can be                        chipper for the both of us today. I’m not hungover so I feel great,                        usually I’m super hungover you know? Me: I’m not quiet, my voice is just softer than yours. And you talk over me when        I try to answer questions. It’s not a matter of pitch, you cut me off                        regardless. As a ~FeMaLe~, boys often interject while I’m speaking without        even noticing.  Brew Boy, (right away): No thats not it. I’ve noticed you’re quiet. Seriously. Me: Honestly what does that even have to do with it please just stop                           interrupting me when- Brew Boy: Hey ya folks! How are we today? (turns toward couple in the corner)                    Are we thinking beer, food, or both? (My objection evidently was                          unable to sustain Brew Boy’s interest) I am accustomed to having these conversations. I’m patient with each and every brew boy, though constantly struggling not to demonize them all. I want to unleash one of the numerous diatribes rolling through my mind, berating their blissful ignorance and not giving a damn about whatever weak retort they throw back at me.

I am Hillary Clinton, debating President Trump. I do not throw a tantrum when men continue to do what I’ve asked them not to do dozens more times. Clinton showed great discipline and grace while debating President Trump, regardless of how many times he demanded to be heard over her, regardless of the offensive side-comments he made during one of his on-air tantrums. President Trump was forced to allow a woman to speak at length and he was not to interrupt. This was a completely foreign concept to him. To Clinton, however, the events of the debate was nothing new. She has spent her whole career working ten times harder to ensure her voice is heard over the steady roar of entitled, misogynistic, male politicians. Clinton was not rattled.

I am not graceful and have little discipline to speak of, but I often think of those debates and do my best to be steady and calm. To be fair, the brew boys are largely not comparable to President Trump in manner or intellect. That being said, my frustration does not waver.

I just don’t understand why these co-workers refuse to even consider my words. My projected self, as a woman, is clearly important to me. My interest in being treated no different from a man should not be considered such a grievance in the minds of these boys. Why they can’t just accept what I’m saying without attempting to find some other reason for their temperament?

The day got even more fun. 

Foreign Tourist Husband: Is the pizza thin-crust or thick-crust? Me: It’s thin-crust, and it’s very good! Foreign Tourist Wife: Okay, very nice, we don’t like deep-dish. (foreign couple                                      slowly turns from the host stand and they begin to walk                                         away) Brew Boy: ACTUALLY (clearly unable to contain himself any longer) I would NOT                  say the pizza is thin-crust. (turns his head towards me in                                      acknowledgment, chuckles at my fatal error and then addresses the                    couple) But it’s not deep-dish either. Its DEFINITELY between                              thin-crust and thick-crust. Like, medium-crust, you know? (foreign                      couple look back and forth between us with uncertainty, Brew Boy                      continues to grin at them) Me: 

Brew Boy: (grin starts to fade as my waves of rage wash over him) Oh, sorry, it’s                   just I didn’t want them to- Me: I’m from Chicago. I know my fucking deep-dish. Our *clap* pizza *clap* is          *clap* fucking *clap* thin *clap* crust. Brew Boy: (still nervous) Ha ha ha ha ha! (grins again and addresses the frozen                    internationals) I guess it depends where you’re from! Ha ha, ha!                           (foreign couple laugh along, clearly lost in translation, and make a                        break for the front door)

At this point I curl myself over the sanitation bucket and methodically start to ring out a rag in the dirty water, silently calling upon whatever spare divinity is available to give me enough strength to resist popping the lid off this kid, whom, by the way, is still grinning. 

Our next exchange was what was truly BASS ACKWARDS.

Brew Boy: Sorry. I’m sorry, okay? It’s just I didn’t want them to think they were                     having super thin-crust pizza, you know, cause it’s not super thin-                       crust. But I didn’t mean to interrupt you again. It’s mostly where I’m                     from, like my family and friends always yell and talk over each other                     at home. It’s where I’m from, it’s where I grew up. We always                               talk over each other. Me: Okay. Well, that’s interesting. I guess.

At this point I’m letting it go though I still disagree. He was taking responsibility in a way by acknowledging he was behaving in a way that was untoward. Brew Boy was not blaming me for these exchanges or attempting to invalidate my feelings. Perhaps I shouldn’t have settled, but that’s just the way it goes for me sometimes. But then this happened.

1 minute later

Brew Boy: Yeah. (still talking, folding menus mechanically) Yeah, so, all the girls I                   grew up with yell all the time. Even when they’re not mad. I have to                     yell and cut them off sometimes, you know? They are really insanely                   loud man. Me: (attempting to take a beat, barely) OH REALLY? It’s those CRAZY                         Pennsylvania girls, huh? Gotta keep them in line? Exactly what suburb are         you from again?

Whatever god I prayed to decided to TEST me today instead. Dance monkey, dance! 

Apparently, the town Brew Boy is from is populated with women who speak loudly, which of course, prompted him to correct the situation by ensuring he was always the one who was dominating the conversation in all his exchanges. It is because of those damn Pennsylvania females, that’s why he demeans me in my place of work.

Brew Boy has a problem with me "talking too softly” and has a problem with girls from his childhood “yelling”. This kid seems difficult to please when it comes to the pitch of the female voices around him. Perhaps he should determine the exact frequency he deems appropriate for women. Not too soft, not too loud. Talk a little, not a lot. This dude is the Goldilocks from my own personal hell. May he someday find the female frequency he finds to be just right.

This may seem like one of those famous PMS-induced fits people assume passionate women like me often suffer from. Or perhaps I can once again be accused of overreacting, as women supposedly often do.

Whether I shout or whisper, my words are not taken as law. My male co-workers speak, and their words are untouchable. Their statements are protected and regarded as concrete. Any thoughts or reactions I have are up for debate and tossed aside at will. If my male co-workers lexicon is concrete, the female lexicon can be reduced to hypothetical play-doh, readily passed around, torn apart, tossed aside. Most importantly, it is always regarded as malleable. 

I do not have an influence. I would argue it is because I am female. That is why my co-host made me especially angry today. I have zero influence on what is going on around me, and women categorically experience the same phenomena throughout their lives. If women were able to shape the person he was growing up, then convincing him to take my wishes as a woman seriously probably wouldn’t feel like pulling teeth from a seizing toddler. 

If women had such an influence, we would get birth control universally accessible and affordable! Hell, let’s get our birth control delivered to our door! For free! Instead, we have we have white male politicians actively blocking any steps taken to improve women’s healthcare. Viagra can be delivered straight to your doorstep, by the way.

There are so many forces at work that keep sexism alive, and it would be ridiculous to claim just one person or aspect of the machine is at fault for the society in which we live. There are constructs innate in all communities that help keep patriarchal values alive. I would love to do whatever possible to work away at these constructs and start to build a country that offers equal rights not just in name, but in practice. 

The arrogance of what I see daily is something I don’t know how to address. Birth control remains relatively unaccessible. Yet the law allows for men to get their viagra hand-delivered to their doorsteps. This lawful contradiction, along with Brew Boy’s refusal to admit women experience sexism in the workplace, boils down to a matter of ego. And it drives me mad.

Countless incidents later, my shift was almost over. The familiar feeling of being defeated by my circumstances was beginning to wash over me. A man came over to the host stand and asked a simple question about seating. I answered his question. He looked at me then turned to Brew Boy, inverting my answer back to him. Brew Boy confirmed my answer. The man walked away. Brew Boy then turns to me and says “Hey. Maybe you’re right.” I nodded. 

The man had needed a male confirmation to be convinced my feedback was correct. The weird part was I hadn’t even noticed. That is what scares me most. How much of my life am I spending in my own innate ignorance? Perhaps time will tell. In the meantime, if the blame is to be placed on anyone, the obvious answer would be those damn Pennsylvania females.

[theliterateape]

Of The Seven, Americans Suffer Sloth More Than the Other Six

By Don Hall

Navy Pier is a 3,300-foot long wooden and concrete phallic symbol on the Chicago shoreline of Lake Michigan. Like Daniel Burnham gave the White City a big cock pointed at Benton Harbor. As Municipal Pier #2 (Municipal Pier #1 was never built), Navy Pier was planned and built to serve as a mixed-purpose piece of public infrastructure.

In the 1920s, the Pier expanded to have its own streetcar line, a theater and an emergency room. It is estimated that an average of 3.2 million visitors frequented the Pier annually. This decade is sometimes called the Pier's "Golden Age."

During this time, the average American male visitor to the Pier:

• Walked an average of 37,000 steps per day

• Ate an average of 3,000 calories of unprocessed food per day

• Had a waistline that averaged 30 inches

• Spent more time reading and singing and playing cards and engaging in sports and civic activities than he did sitting on his ass.

I worked on Navy Pier at a radio station housed in the middle of the now most popular tourist destination in Chicago for a decade. I tried to get to work before the place opened to the public but lunchtime was a pageant of Americana — thousands of tourists from all over the country descending upon the place, walking, gawking and eating $9 churros, and buckets of soda.

During a typical lunch hour on the Pier, the average American male visitor:

• Walks an average of 3,000 steps per day.

• Eats an average 3,000 calories of mostly processed food per MEAL.

• Has a waistline that averages around 42 inches

• Spends more time sitting on his ass watching television, movies and staring at a computer screen than he does anything else.

Like the dystopian future foreseen in Pixar's WALL•E, Americans have become giant, slothful babies, riding around on electric wheelchairs because their leg muscles cannot hold up the monstrous sacks of suet they've become.

It could be argued that we Americans suffer from gluttony (and I'm sure that's part of it) but it starts with the sitting around all fucking day playing Grand Theft Auto V and going for the convenience of a sodium laced Hot Pocket or a delivered pizza than getting up and making some actual food. And we get fucking defensive about our right to sloth around in life like caged animals with no room to stretch.

How did we get here? The problem is obvious most in those places we visit on vacation. Those places we travel to to get away from our lives. Mount Rushmore. Cancun. Disneyworld. France. Places of leisure.

On the fifth of July, in the twelfth year of the New Century, I spent the day at Six Flags Great America. The name of the place ("Great America") is an incredible illustration of a strange, commerce-driven microcosm of the actual Great America. No car? You're not going to get there. Don't have approximately $250 per person for a day of Theme Parked frivolity? You're not welcome. It has borders loosely surrounded by gates and guards. It has areas defined by regional culture and each one has basically the same food and the same junk to buy — every shop looks different on the outside but sells almost exactly the same toys, tee-shirts, candy, refillable branded cups.

There is a specific form of classism at play with the Flash Pass: if you have an additional $35, or $80 or $140 to spend, you can bypass the long lines for the coolest rides with a device that lets you reserve your place and stroll past the rabble as they wait in the heat for their three minutes of thrills on the roller coasters.

Great America is America.

Everything is paved and over-branded and loud and colorful. Everything is just a bit too self-congratulatory and shameless in the naked attempt to separate people from their money by promising a quick high (from adrenaline or sugar or the fun of having someone guess your weight and perhaps winning a stuffed banana with a sombrero on it). And peppered everywhere in the park are huge yellow signs that declare:

"Smoking Outside of a Designated Smoking Area is Cause for Immediate Ejection from the Park WITHOUT A REFUND! NO WARNINGS!"

This was way back in the WayBack Machine when I smoked cigarettes rather than a pipe.

The areas designated for the despised smokers are all roughly 20 square feet, usually behind some building or tucked away in a corner and bordered by a thick blue line of paint that boxes in the area as if this blue line creates some sort of air barrier from the rest of the park

As I stood in the box, smoking a delicious American Spirit Light, I looked around at this larger box of America. I was marginalized because of my choice to smoke the "evil weed" and on the grounds that it is unhealthy for myself and those around me to do so. Yup. Smoking causes heart disease, cancer, loss of breath, and it's stinky.

From my box, however, I notice people eating giant wads of cotton candy, fried sugar dough, bags of cheese fries, pizza; I notice at least one in every three people is grossly overweight. They wash it all down with 32-ounce plastic tubs of Coke — the caloric intake of one of these buckets of sugar water eclipses that ingested by most children in Third World countries in a week. I notice people heavily walking in the blazing sun, their skin getting crispy and red, and skin cancer just waiting to develop. It's so hot, with the sun and the entire park basically a giant asphalt frying pan, that the only respite is the occasional misting machine, which spits out a cool but strangely antiseptic smelling water mist.

It's a giant cesspool of eminent heart attacks and cancer and people so heavy they need motorized scooters just to get from one ride to the next. The irony of requiring a little motorized bike to go from Superman: The Ride to Johnny Rockets to Vertical Velocity is so thick and impenetrable that it's no surprise that it takes being required to stand behind a painted line in public shame over my cigarette addiction for me to objectively take it all in.

Yes, Americans have some problems with unfocused Wrath. We’re a pretty Greedy lot as well. Lust — yup. Definitely a problem as we are seeing in the collision of Instagram Photos of 20 year olds in bikinis and the #MeToo era. I’ve practically made a case for Gluttony. The desolate swampland of social media has made Envy, once a twitch in your right eye, now a boil on your neck the size of a small child with a shitty attitude. And Pride? Holy shit are we one mess of dwindling self-esteem masquerading as pride in every Identity we can manufacture on a nearly daily basis.

But our deadliest sin in this septenary is Sloth.

Sloth is commonly defined as laziness but that is not the Deadly Sin. The deadly sin is that of spiritual or emotional apathy. And America is an entire country filled with apathy. In our search for things to be easier, for things to be faster and more convenient, we stopped giving a shit. Sloth is, simply put, no longer caring enough to put in the effort.

Why does a third of the polled population still belief Saddam Hussein was behind the attacks of 9/11? Intellectual sloth.

Why do we allow politicians (paid for by Big Oil) to ignore 97 percent of the scientific community when they scream at us that we're making the planet uninhabitable? Ideological sloth.

Why do we routinely eat too much, exercise too little and substitute Facebook, Twitter and PornHub for real human interaction? Because real interaction takes too much effort to even give a flying fuck about.

SLOTH is men watching other men brutalize women and saying nothing.

SLOTH is not knowing that The Affordable Care Act and Obamacare are the same thing.

SLOTH is wearing pajama bottoms to Target.

SLOTH is complaining about your smartphone data plan in front of a homeless man.

SLOTH is complacency in the face of annihilation.

Once complacency sets in, no civilization can survive it. And instead of Nero playing his fiddle as our Rome burns to the ground, we'll have the theme song to the Real Housewives of Go Fuck Yourself being played on an iPad.

[valiantharmonywitch-blog]

Secret Recipes From Restaurants

Secret Recipes From Restaurants

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[crowblackbird]

The Open Door Bookshop.

Off the beaten paths, on towards the real Rome, you will find to be off the beaten track is surprisingly close to the well beaten paths of the tourist.

Sometimes a tourist does get lost and wander into a quiet area of Rome, a part of Rome where real Romans gather. That lost tourist will find a chance of rest among human beings living life. All you have to do is cross the River Tiber.

The thing with tourists is, when you are among the mob, you are not interested or even interesting, we snap pics, move on, get on the "hop on hop off bus", snap more pics, walk past something 2000 years old and snap more pics.

We lose some of our humanity as a tourist, especially when we are on the typical North American tour of Europe, “six countries in twelve days tour.” More for your money, but zero experience and even less sleep.

One is asked when one arrives home in North America. "What was your favorite place to eat?" "Home." I heard one say sadly. "How did you like Italy's pizza?" "Too thin and for a country that originated the pizza, they sure don't know how to make it." One continued. "Nothing like a home cooked meal," they nod to the old adage. After having been let down by the fast food and mostly non “Italian cooks” in pizzerias.

With that I propose, Romans invite and advertise a home cooked meal. The above conversation would have been different. Our taste buds need a holiday as well, one quickly forgets something like that after walking and snapping pictures all day.

Clearly those typical tourist travelers I overheard haven't been outside the tourist zone. I came across La Mucca Bischera, in San Lorenzo. I ordered a Capricciosa, it was the best pizza I ever had. It was just right. The price: 6.50 euro plus being made by real Italians = good money.

As I walked past the Coliseum, towards the Tiber. I recognized a group of young men, racing up a set of stairs, in the race you must step on each step. One slipped on an ancient stone, his sunglasses fell, he accidentally crushed them. "Auch, sheisse!" he said. His friends laughed, "ha ha ha deine brille."

Germans! Little Germans grow into big Germans. I know, I lived there, they are easily recognizable. Even as adults they still race up stairs, or take running jumps over bonfires at Easter time.

Not true, but a funny and terrifying thought, if you have ever been to a German Easter bonfire. Ha ha. Look! it's Dick Bauch, the German Uberman (he exists by the way, I saw him sitting in one of the pubs across the River Tiber).

So it is, when we go off the beaten path. The monuments after some time become unreal, almost fictional. Even the rebuilding of Circus Maximus seems too much. Why rebuild? It seems to defeat the purpose of history. But, I guess not, if history sells. We'll snap pictures of construction workers rebuilding Ancient Rome.

As one visits an ancient site and reads its history and sees it today as it is, one also considers the sobering effects of time. Above the Circus Maximus, is the ruins of Ancient Palaces, like Augustus Caesar, suggest a grand platform to it’s former glory as a the ancient worlds pinnacle of civilization. Also, the ruins of this part of the Eternal City, has no washrooms. The city of Rome, the downtown part every one walks through; is packed, hot and bewitching.

Africans, and Indians selling knock-off purses and tote-bags, constantly are on the look-out for the Carabinieri. Suddenly with a swoop, the blanket filled with knock-offs is gathered together and the few of them run off. It’s interesting to  watch, two guard, keep six, on his left and right. I witnessed a false alarm once. I had to laugh, he had to reset everything, realign his purses.

Near Piazza Venezia, an Indian pretended to be a holy man, this Guru of gullibility pretends his meditation is causing him to levitate. There are a couple watchers, making sure people pay after they take a photo. Many people take photos, many want to run up to the Guru and reveal the trick platform on which he sits.

All along the streets, fake artists whet their paintbrushes and pretend to paint, all the in the same style, the same pictures of Rome. The Spanish steps, the Coliseum at night, etc. These street merchants are all owned and operated by the Mafia. Everything is at Mafia prices, a selfie-stick is 7 euro, I heard bartered down to 5. At the Tourist shops, it only cost 3 euro. This was at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. The Mafia sells water in Rome too, some people buy it. Other’s like myself, drink from the free water taps everywhere in Rome. Free water still delivered by the Aqueducts, built by the ancient Romans in the time of Caesar Augustus.

In Europe, it's not often that streets continue their name across to another street, but Via della Lungaretta does. Past the House of Dante, in the area of Trastevere. The long Street of Via della Lungaretta narrows.

Three children sang, really loud. "La Luna, La Luna, La Luna, La Luna."

I heard them 100 meters away. Before them, a delivery truck stalled on the Street, it's hood up, the driver smoked and waited patiently. It was nearing about 4:30 pm. Past this delivery truck, a small square, Piazza del Drago.

On the corner the children sang, an older man walked up. He clapped his hands. He sang along, "La Luna, La Luna."

A quick look over at this little group, a quick guess, a Roman family. Singing a happy song, in the square of the dragon. In the far corner an Italian cafe serves Veltins, a German beer. Dick Bauch lifts his glass, as Bianca(not her real name) struts away angry that he got her name wrong once again(he just wants her to “be Anke”, the ex whom he misses).

Life before us takes place in real time. No rebuilding of ancient structures, only an ancient song being sung by modern happy Roman children.

25 Smart Car lengths later, engraved in stone, twelve feet up, a number 23 on a white wall. The sign below the number, above the entrance way, reads: The Open Door Bookshop.

Inside English books are stacked high, a step stool is needed. For the books on the floor, you need to kneel. For a North American, it's a quick taste of home. Books piled on books, boxes of books on top of books on boxes. Best of all, all legible, most are in English. There are mystery's, thrillers, best-sellers and once again the price is right. A starting price of free, feels good, and browsing is easier if the price is less stressful. There's a book basket, a nice little selection of dvd's and cd's. I found some Paul Auster, James Ellroy, Leslie Marmon Silko, Hemmingway, Atwood and some rare signed copies, those start at sixty euro.

The majority of the books were three or five euros. I was actually impressed by the Italian cook book section. Flipping through one, I imagined the aromatic scent, the subtle flavors and, above all, the easy uncomplicated style. I put down the novels and walked out, with a hope that the subtle nuance of Italian food prep could be learned, and at least attempted.

I worried before I left Canada, will I be able to find a good English language book store? Will the only bookstore I find be an over-priced, new and on the beaten tourist path book store? Its prices paying, and just barely paying for it's location. I found that book store too, it was easy to find. It was filled with tourists, taking time out to read in English and sip at an Americano.

To find The Open Door Bookshop, continue on past The House of Dante, it’s on your left, Sempre Dritto, go straight ahead. Give your eyes and ears a holiday too. And get lost like you do back home, stay a couple hours in this book store. Watch, listen like you’re a family member, search for something new, and you will find someone familiar.

[easyfoodnetwork]

On June 2, 2020, as Parisians sat down at cafes for the first time in months, people in Moscow still couldn’t leave their homes between curfews. Here, the divergent views of 17 cities around the world on the same day If there’s one thing that the coronavirus pandemic has made crystal clear these last few months, it’s how thoroughly interconnected life on Earth has become. We are now, without a doubt, a global civilization, and as many brands have so graciously reminded us lately, “We’re all in this together.” But the spread of COVID-19 has also had a profound way of spotlighting the differences: the ways in which each of our societies responds to crisis, the things we value, and how our governments support our vulnerable communities — or don’t. The first days of June were an anxious time for much of the world. Just as protesters took to the streets across the U.S. to condemn racial violence and the Minneapolis police killing of George Floyd, cities across the globe were grasping for the first signs of life after months of COVID-19-related lockdown and quarantine, thanks to the easing of restrictions on bars and restaurants. Virtually every major metropolis on earth spent the bulk of spring in some state of shutdown; our responses since have been less synchronous. On June 1 and 2, Paris and Melbourne began to allow dine-in seating, and Berlin reopened bars — prost! Elsewhere, life remained at a near standstill. Bogotá only began allowing carryout from restaurants on June 1, and taking so much as a walk in Moscow — let alone a bite — continues to require scheduling. Meanwhile, Ho Chi Minh City and Tokyo welcomed this June like every other before it, with little fanfare beyond the usual blooms and ripening market fruit; for them, the spread of COVID-19 is all but a terrifying memory. The point is, despite the near-universal tragedy caused by the novel coronavirus, the look and feel of our experiences today is anything but uniform, and depends greatly on the place we call home. Last week, Eater asked an international team of photographers and writers to document daily life where it intersects with food and drink in 17 cities around the world on the very same day. What follows is something like a diary of eating on planet Earth on Tuesday, June 2, 2020. The resulting snapshots show our disparate realities as we edge ever closer to once again sharing a great meal, a stiff drink, and everyday life, together. — Lesley Suter, travel editor ➾ For 10 weeks, Mexico City has been locked down, with restaurants taking a hard hit: According to the restaurateur chamber, more than 6,000 establishments have closed for good. The survivors are now preparing for the next phase: Starting June 15, restaurants will implement tougher sanitary measures at 30 percent capacity. Today, June 2, people are out and about in spite of the two-week quarantine extension. Downtown, Alberto Sarabia, the lead taquero of famed Los Cocuyos, smiles under his face mask while passing out tacos to customers for the first time after a six-week closure. In San Juan market, Oaxaca products vendor Ricardo Castañeda reports 70 to 80 percent in lost sales. He hopes for renewed tourism and the return of his regulars. “We never closed,” Castañeda says. “We need to eat.” He’s not alone in working through the pandemic; 31.5 million Mexicans depend on the informal economy of street vending and other non-taxed work and haven’t been able to stay home. Across the city’s restaurant and food sector, anxiety is palpable. The light at the end of the tunnel is supposed to arrive on June 15, but nobody knows how the “new normal” will pan out. How can they? This is uncharted territory. — Natalia de la Rosa, Mexico City | Photographs by Juan de Dios Garza ➾ Street food carts are busy at lunchtime. Brick-and-mortar restaurants have no obligation to space out tables. Diners do not wear masks. It’s business as some sort of usual on June 2 here in Ho Chi Minh City. Restaurants and street food carts have been open since late April, when the country’s social-distancing campaign ended. No community transmission has been detected in nearly 50 days, and those businesses that survived the economic shock of the pandemic’s peak can operate normally. But the restaurant industry hasn’t completely recovered. A street food stall owner in the central business district, who introduces herself as Ms. Tu while serving her lunch customers, says that she’s happy to be open again after closing for two months earlier in the year; though she does note that business has only returned to 50 percent of its pre-pandemic level. And with borders still closed to international visitors, restaurants that rely on foreign tourists have been hit hard. A downtown location of the popular Japanese-Italian chain Pizza 4P’s is oddly quiet tonight. But the very fact that these places are open, with maskless customers sitting right next to each other, is evidence of Vietnam’s astonishing success in combating the coronavirus. — Michael Tatarski, Ho Chi Minh City | Photographs by Alberto Prieto ➾ Cibi is buzzing with customers exchanging smiles and knowing glances. June 2 is only the second day in months they’ve been allowed to sit down for a meal at the Melbourne cafe. It almost feels like things are back to “normal,” though hand-sanitizing stations and social-distancing tape on the floor remind everyone the staff is working hard to serve safely. Australia has fared better than most during the COVID-19 pandemic, and as of June 1 restaurants can reopen under strict rules: 20 patrons maximum, social distancing, extra sanitation, and contact details collected from customers. Many are only offering set menus and requesting payment in advance, but that hasn’t slowed the reservations. “These first couple of nights, we’ve seen a lot of regulars who supported us before, and through COVID-19 with takeaway,” says Michael Bascetta, co-owner of Bar Liberty and Capitano. “It’s great to know we have that community here to help us.” Some are continuing initiatives started during the pandemic. Anchovy is selling khao jee pate from a to-go window, Ima Project Cafe is still packaging its popular nori paste and kimchi for home kitchens, and several restaurants are cooking free meals for people in need. “Our community is much stronger together than ever before,” says Ima Project Cafe’s Asako Miura. “But it’s a long journey for sure.” — Audrey Bourget, Melbourne | Photo by Michael Woods ➾ Bars reopened in Berlin on June 2, 18 days after restaurants were permitted to reopen under similar social-distancing restrictions. With each new set of Lockerungen (relaxation of the rules), Berliners have been eager to reclaim a piece of whatever the new normal is, and lately, that means pouring into dining rooms and filling up barstools. What’s absent in public on June 2 is the general anxiety that’s precipitated conversations among friends and colleagues since the lockdown began in March. Eating out in Berlin seems the same as before, with the exception of servers wearing masks. You might notice the social-distancing rules that some establishments have taken it upon themselves to post, but rarely do you see restaurants following the government recommendation to have guests write down their information for contact tracing. Most skip the formality and get straight to the drinks. And diners, too, seem largely unphased by it all: I turned down an indoor seat while dining out on June 2, but people behind us in line happily took the spot. That said, 350 cops in riot gear chased down activists protesting an eviction during my dinner elsewhere (outdoor tables, socially distanced) and hardly anyone batted an eye. Berliners don’t easily flinch. — Joe Baur, Berlin | Photographs by Joe Baur ➾ “Please! Try keeping the distance, and stay at least one meter apart,” reads the sign near the entrance of Le Violon Dingue. It’s held by a mannequin, a caricature of a voluminous French chef, and following his request isn’t easy on June 2 inside the tiny bakery in downtown Stockholm. In normal times the bakery mostly delivers lunches to large offices, so minimal indoor space usually isn’t a problem. “I’ll never forget the 16th of March. We lost 70 percent of our business immediately,” says co-owner Helena Bergqvist. Although Swedish authorities never entirely closed down the restaurant scene, as other European governments did, many people heeded public health recommendations to socially distance. When Sweden reported its first death related to COVID-19 on March 11, the number of people going out to eat dramatically dropped, as did the Swedish stock market and hospitality revenue in general — by some estimates between 40 and 90 percent. Authorities even forced a few restaurants to close temporarily after they let too many people in at one time. Over the last couple of weeks, though, the mood has begun to change, and hope can be found today in the slowly increasing number of group orders at Le Violon Dingue. When requests for 10 to 15 sandwiches come in at a time, you know people are getting back to work. — Per Styregård, Stockholm | Photographs by Petter Bäcklund ➾ Life in Taiwan is back to business, but the new normal for many eateries means temperature checks, hand sanitizers strewn throughout, environmentally nonfriendly single-use utensils, masked servers and cooks, and plastic dividers that separate patrons at crowded tables. — Leslie Nguyen-Okwu, Taiwan | Photo by Sean Marc Lee ➾ On June 2, the grand dome enclosing the White Rabbit isn’t populated by the usual diners gazing out of the 16th-floor windows over Moscow. Instead, it’s full of meticulously packed white paper bags stuffed with food — some containing fine dining setups for customers who will pick them up later, others holding free lunches for the city’s scores of medical workers. Moscow’s Delicatessen restaurant and bar also provides meals to doctors, and today’s menu includes tomato soup and okonomiyaki. In the main dining room, where the large communal dining table once stood, there sits a ping-pong table for staffers. Points are tallied in chalk on the wall; next to them are ticks marking each passing day of quarantine. Restaurants in Moscow have been closed since March due to COVID-19, but rather than declare a state of emergency, President Vladimir Putin called for a period of “nonworking days.” The linguistic nuance is important, as the current setup means landlords can continue to demand rent in full, even as restaurants bring in a fraction of their previous revenue with takeout and delivery. “If something doesn’t change soon, a failure will occur,” says Delicatessen’s bar manager, Ivan Semchenko. “Our government doesn’t support us; we’re counting only on ourselves right now.” — Polina Chernyshova, Moscow | Photographs by Pasha Gulian ➾ Boxes of beer, wine, and gin spill onto the sidewalk outside Dry Dock, a boutique liquor store on Parkhurst Street in Johannesburg, where gourmet restaurants stand side by side with sports pubs, bars, art galleries, and boutiques. Owner Martin Pienaar and his staff are filling 600 online orders for drive-thru, pickup, and courier delivery. South Africa eased its 10-week alcohol ban on June 1 when it entered level three of its COVID-19 response, but it might still be a while before South Africans can indulge in a meal and a bottle of pinotage at a restaurant. The country is emerging from one of the world’s strictest lockdowns, which began March 27 and required restaurants to close completely. In early May, restaurants began reopening for delivery between 9 a.m. and 7 p.m. Food delivery services reached capacity and were unable to fill many orders, while smaller restaurants faced with delivery fees of up to 40 percent struggled to make a profit. And although restaurants are allowed to offer pickup now, many have remained closed as they consider it financially ruinous in an already fragile economic environment. The restaurant industry has pleaded with the government to allow sit-in dining at 70 percent capacity to prevent further industry job losses. And as the minister of tourism drafts a proposal to submit to the National Coronavirus Command Council, patrons and restaurateurs hope the verdict will come sooner rather than later, so as to salvage the $4.21 billion industry. — Iga Motylska, Johannesburg | Photographs by Iga Motylska ➾ Walking around eastern Paris on June 2 — the official launch of “phase 2” of the city’s post-confinement rebirth — is not unlike the experience I distinctly remember from the week following 2015’s November 13 attacks, when locals flocked to their favorite bars and restaurants in solidarity. From the early risers gleefully settling onto café terraces for their first morning espressos to friends gathering for extended apéritifs, intrepid Parisians are determined to reclaim control over a way of life that had been unceremoniously disrupted, both then and now. Until June 22, restaurants, bars, and cafés are only permitted to open outdoor seating areas. So, until 10 p.m. small groups (less than 10, the state-mandated limit) gather around bistro tables and hightops, arranged one meter apart, spilling onto sidewalks, parking spaces, and even some streets. They sip cocktails, order cheese and charcuterie plates from masked severs, and, generally, behave as if their world hadn’t just been rocked by a global health crisis. With minimal social distancing and very few masks, it is as if they are simply catching up after a long summer holiday. — Lindsey Tramuta, Paris | Photo by Joann Pai ➾ If you could get in to Hong Kong today, you could go to dinner here. But you probably can’t. On June 2, all restaurants are open (they were never mandated closed). Bars are open. Markets are open. Pretty much everything is open except the city itself. Nonresidents coming from anywhere other than mainland China, Macao, and Taiwan are not allowed entry, and everyone else is tested on arrival and either sent straight to the hospital or made to quarantine for a minimum of two weeks. For those already here, there are only minor inconveniences to going out — temperature checks, contact-tracing forms, masks, a maximum group size of eight — but at this point, guests lean foreheads in for digital thermometers as if they’d never not bowed on their way in the door. The virus is not the main thing on Hong Kongers’ minds anyway. This morning, hoping to get a better sense of the mood around recent power grabs by Beijing, I passed a Lennon wall of Post-It notes at a pro-protest “yellow” cha chaan teng in Tsim Sha Tsui, and met a young protester who had been on the frontlines of Hong Kong’s anti-government demonstrations off and on since last summer. To my order of a scrambled egg sandwich, porridge, and milk tea, she added only an unsweetened iced coffee. “I’m fasting,” she told me. “All this stress, all these issues made me binge-eat for a long time. Now I fast 20 hours a day.” — Andrew Genung, Hong Kong | Photographs by Andrew Genung ➾ Thirty minutes before curfew, an eerie silence engulfs Yaba’s Industrial Avenue in Lagos — home to a slew of open-air bars and nightclubs. This street, especially on weekends, doesn’t normally go quiet until dawn. But now, it’s without the interminable flash of brightly colored LED lighting, the characteristic backlit signage and DJ booths blaring music, and the usual din of beer-drinking revelers. The streetside sellers of spicy meat skewers, grilled chicken, turkey, and fish have all but disappeared. The city’s initial restrictions, imposed on March 26, shuttered bars and nightclubs; restaurants, classified as essential service, were limited to takeout. On June 2, Nigeria entered the second stage of reopening, but the ban on bars, the heartbeat of Lagos’s nightlife scene, persists. Nationwide curfew now runs from 10 p.m. to 4 a.m. Without the nightlife, Yaba has lost its flavor and mélange, its vigor and ambience. And no one knows when it — and life — will return to normal. — Linus Unah, Lagos | Photographs by Adetona Omokanye ➾ Slowly, cautiously, Tokyo is emerging from its COVID-19 shutdown. Nearly everyone is wearing masks. Commuter trains are filling up, although rush hour is much quieter than before. And people are tentatively returning to their favorite restaurants. As soon as the state of emergency was lifted on May 25, most chefs activated plans to reopen. Some opened immediately, others a few days later, and most of the rest by the first weekend of June. Even so, on June 2, traditional nightlife areas are a pale shadow of their usual selves. In Shinbashi, the mood is somber. “It’s still less than 20 percent of normal,” says one bored restaurant worker standing outside his kushiyaki grill. “But at least that’s better than last month.” Chef Shin Harakawa, co-owner of the Blind Donkey in Kanda, reopened May 26. Tonight, he says he’s tired but optimistic — and, more than anything, grateful that customers are returning. However, just as the metropolis shuts down for the night, the government announces that infection rates are rising again. The fiery red lighting of the Rainbow Bridge in Tokyo Bay is a warning from the city that we’re not out of the woods yet. — Robbie Swinnerton, Tokyo | Photographs by Anna Bedynska ➾ Even with what looks like a third of its bars and eateries still shuttered, Carrer Parlament in Barcelona’s popular San Antoni neighborhood is busy for a Tuesday evening. Gaggles of two and four, with the occasional group nearing the city’s 10-person limit, chatter around carefully spaced outdoor tables crowded with tiny quinto bottles of beer and glasses of vermouth over ice. Some patrons have completely unmasked for drinks, while others opt to keep their masks handy, snugly tucked under their chins. The lockdown that began March 14 has lifted, and after months in which locals were confined to their homes for everything but essential activities, it’s a relief and a pleasure to see families and friends laughing and breaking bread together, unworried about their personal safety in the public space. One day earlier, about 200 people gathered outside the U.S. consulate to protest the murder of George Floyd, with the mossos de esquadra, Barcelona’s militarized police force, in attendance to protect the consulate. Protesters carried signs and wore masks that said “I can’t breathe” in English, Spanish, and Catalan, and chanted, “No justice, no peace” to show their city, and the rest of the world, that black lives matter, here and everywhere. — Chris Ciolli, Barcelona | Photo by Gerard Moral ➾ The Carmel Market is Tel Aviv’s center of food culture. It reopened after a two-month closure in May, but on June 2 the enforced lack of crowding still feels foreign. And yet, there are the bright red heaps of cherries that mark the season, fresh-from-the-oven pitas baked with za’atar, and mountains of olives piled alongside recycled Coca-Cola bottles filled with olive oil. Aging locals sit on overturned jugs, sipping espresso with an air of gratitude — content to be back in their element after a grim few months, where everything more than 100 meters from home was off limits. Elsewhere, it’s only been six days, but cafes, bars, and restaurants are back. New regulations mean masks, temperature checks, disposable menus, and more space between tables. The city closed busy streets to cars and painted parking spots purple to serve as additional outdoor dining areas. In the Jaffa neighborhood, mismatched chairs and Turkish carpets are sprawled outside Mansheya, a modern Arab restaurant and culture hub – the first business of its kind to open since the pandemic began. The novel coronavirus has seemed to fade into the distance in the eyes of locals, who thrive on a beehive activity and are now working hard to maintain Tel Aviv joie de vivre — at least until the second wave hits. — Corinna Kern, Tel Aviv | Photographs by Corinna Kern ➾ Colombia remains under one of the longest and strictest lockdowns in the world, a fact that has earned President Iván Duque Márquez praise from the World Health Organization, but has triggered anxiety among the people. In Bogotá, mandatory confinement started March 24, and the latest extension runs until June 30, though exceptions allow some businesses to reopen. Until June 1, however, even takeaway was off limits; restaurants were limited to delivery only. But now, if they pass a strict inspection, businesses can allow diners to pick up food to go. On June 2, all sorts of physical barriers block off access to counters, and makeshift serving tables hold signs instructing diners about social distancing. Sanitizer, alcohol spray, masks, and cleaning tools are among the decor. There is no set date for reopening, nor a defined protocol for when that happens, so most restaurant owners are waiting, devising strategies to survive, and trying to prepare for whatever the future may hold. How restaurants fill takeout boxes depends on their creativity and resources, but the stress and commitment to the cause are universal. Farmers, cooks, restaurateurs, entrepreneurs, food suppliers, delivery personnel, guards, and even customers are united in the fight against infection. Though Colombians have suffered isolation and uncertainty, they are also resilient and — beautifully — active. — Juliana Duque, Bogotá | Photographs by Alessandro Osses ➾ It’s a drizzly winter night in Auckland and six guests stand outside Pasture restaurant. A couple dressed to the nines wonders about a dish of chlorophyll-green abalone they saw on Instagram, while two regulars pine for the chef’s three-month-aged wagyu. At 5:45, chef Ed Verner welcomes each guest into the restaurant with a drink and leads them to their seat at the six-person chef’s counter facing the hearth — the fire that brings the 21-course menu to life. Just three weeks after restaurants were allowed to reopen, it’s essentially business as usual at the city’s premiere fine dining destination. In fact, it’s booked solid every weekend into August. Today, as with each day before it, the city seems to lighten from the weight of weeks in isolation, when every meal was made (or microwaved) from what could be scavenged from bare grocery store shelves and even the simplest forms of physical human contact — a hug, a handshake — was an illicit fantasy. It’s hard to remember those times when the only remnants are a paper sign-in sheet at the front of the restaurant and a meter between tables. Tonight, New Zealand feels even more like a tiny island nation alone in the Pacific Ocean than it normally does, especially by the glow of a restaurant’s wood-burning fire. — Hillary Eaton, Auckland | Photo by Hillary Eaton ➾ June 2 is Republic Day in Italy, and any other year, Milan would have been a ghost town. Locals would have fled for long weekend getaways and hundreds of restaurants would have shuttered for the holiday. But in 2020, Republic Day falls 24 hours before the lifting of Italy’s inter-region and foreign travel bans, so the Milanesi are, by default, confined to a staycation. Restaurants have been awaking from their slumber since early May, operating at 50 percent capacity and offering takeout and delivery. The diners at the alfresco establishments dotting the usually lively Arco della Pace quarter reflect the shifting mores: a solo diner takes care to avoid any unnecessary human encounter; a party of six clinks spritzes, masks dangling from their ears; a trio greets each other with shoulder pats instead of the customary double-cheek kiss. At Piazza del Duomo, tensions simmer during a right-wing political protest calling for the resignation of the current prime minister over his handling of COVID-19 and his legalization of 600,000 migrant workers during the pandemic. Whether at tables or at protest, the city feels alive and impatient on the eve of the next phase of reopening. — Jaclyn DeGiorgio, Milan | Photographs by Laura La Monaca ➾ The streets of New Delhi are unrecognizable when there aren’t hundreds of people swarming at corners – talking over a cup of chai, fighting over the last mutton kebab. The slow crawl that has replaced the otherwise rapid pace of the Indian capital is a sign that times are indeed bad. Since the lockdown following India’s COVID-19 outbreak in March, restaurants, markets, and butchers, where life converges in the city, remain looming and empty. “People don’t want to eat meat; they believe the virus comes through it,” says Afzal, a butcher in INA, Delhi’s wholesale market. Nearby, a vegetable seller laments his surplus of spinach. Plump mangos sit in carts symbolizing the coming of summer; ice cream sellers bring packages to children waiting eagerly in balconies. There are signs of solace, but they are few. Pushcarts that served chholay (spiced chickpeas) sit abandoned in the corner, and tin vans that usually feed students “Masala Chinese” food have been broken down by the police enforcing the new regulations. “I miss everybody,” says Vishwa Kumar, a local chai shop owner in Chitranjan Park, New Delhi’s Bengali neighborhood, where men would come to read the paper and drink tea for hours. “Don’t ask me about the virus. Talk about something else.” — Sharanya Deepak, New Delhi | Photographs by Seonath Wakrambam from Eater - All https://ift.tt/37qLw4N

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Helping Others.

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