* JuanMapu - Vida en Nueva York

So I am finally in Bogotá. It took me five long years to come back and a short adaptation in Pereira. There is not such adaptation for Bogotá. My heart beats faster than usual in a mix of emotions and altitude (Soroche is the word). El Centro is my favorite. I am a fish in water there. You have to see the yerbateros, smell the Palo Santo, listen to the voices, watch people protesting and upraising against the right wing government thanks to an incredible long haired scammer. Walking is kind of tricky for me because there are many manholes in the ground and the sidewalks are small but I manage to jump around while picking up with everything in front of me. I am definitely from here. Everything is familiar and feels like I could have wait a little bit more to come back. But I am not here to see change. I am just here.

It has been difficult to see everyone but let's say that I am doing pretty good so far. My new notebook is full of numbers and names. I am also adventuring pending discoveries. Yerbateros, mountains and trees. Today I hug a wet three and then a sacred door opened. I took a brick stairway in a park full of beautiful trees. I saluted Shangó and then he showed me a shrine. Eleggua, Obatala and others were there. There was some flowers services from the people. I prayed of course.

My bag is loaded with Palo Santo and books. Lovely bookstores. My romanticism towards them is back. I spent money on them like back in the days. A winter of good readings is what I am bringing.

I have received many presents too. One is about chances for animals and the other is poetry and water, just perfect for Chola y Ochún.

I am back in NYC happily eating a gourmet meal and dealing with the cold. The good thing here is that unlike Bogotá indoor places are warmer than outdoor ones --being that a perfect excuse to stay out. Something reasonable I think. Like Barack Obama said about inhaling weed, "That was the point right." So I most of the time I was out feeling the most familiar place of my life. Read that again: I said feeling. I felt like the angels from The Sky Over Berlin, but the love everyone showed to me made me feel like a lovely ghost. "It is kind of unreal," I heard from many of my pals. It was bright every time I saw and hug one of them, including people I met in NYC like when I walked along with Le and Ka in La Candelaria and we have this nameless feeling.

It felt unreal because our love is stronger than ever. It is incredible how difficult is to understand at some point what happiness is about it but when you realize that each hug and the laughs are happening for real there is nothing else than enjoy, go for another hug and look deeply into each other eyes so you keep those beautiful images in your heart forever. That way you know you have been there, living inside happiness.

Jürgen says it is all about sensitivity and imagination, things I have learned in NYC, making my return magical. I am back in the city where people love to wear rubber in their feet and try to be polite in the middle of crazyness. I am looking forward for some house music.

Now that the biggest snow storm of the season happened and that is freaking cold outside, it's time to call the warm weather:

Everything begins when Costurera suggested me to get a melon as I wanted to prepare a juice last week. Melon juice...Mmmmmm...That is being in a family trip in Cartagena when I was kid. It was a family trip without my parents and probably two years after they separated when I was seven years old. My first melon juice came on a hot night in a tourist-free neighborhood of Cartagena. It was a one story house with a long hallway. Low lights. I cannot remember whose house was it and where did all the adults go. It was just me and some other kids running and playing. The day was a sunny one and we ate an unbelievable fish sancocho for lunch. Uncle Jy yelled at Aunt Mia because she was traumatized with a plastic surgery a Mexican actress got, something she saw on TV. That I remember. But at night we went to another house and I cannot recall whose house was it and where did all the adults go. The door of the house was open and children were coming in and out. A lady came and gave me a large glass of melon juice. I did not ask for it, she just came and handed it to me, then left. I loved it. It was a great. I don't remember something more refreshing.

I know Cartagena is a fucking hot place, all year round. I've never been back since that trip. We were like twenty people but I was alone the whole trip, specially while I drank that juice. I hanged out to that taste forever. I saw life. I smelled that house and listened to the ceiling fans and felt the sea breeze at the same time. While I refreshed myself I discovered the heat.

The revelation of awareness had a melon taste. Thank you my lady.

It is difficult to understand how some businesses did not collapsed before the actual economic crisis. When stores without any sense of good style and beauty have been around for decades I definitely accept that capitalism is a system about opportunity...While is profitable.

My mother took me to awful JC Penney to get me a birthday gift using some coupons she got. I knew how JC Penney was, so I was hopeless. Once I entered the worst department store in the world I wanted to leave, but my mother was into shopping so I finished browsing the store. Everything was pale, plain and old-fashioned. They had some skinny jeans but not my size. Frustration. I knew my only choice was to look for underwear.

And they have the most annoying promotions.

For any set of underwear they offer to get a second one by half of the price. Tricky. That is getting 8-12 pair of socks or briefs -a number nobody needs- while spending more money. Just bullshit.

I thought I had survived the signs trap. I got my final only-one set selections and went to meet my mother by the cashier. But JC Penney offers came back in human form. "You can get a second one for half of the price," the lady reminded me.

She was a pretty Colombian woman. Still, JC Penney sucks!

Ya estoy de vuelta, pegando los mensajes del Yogi Tea en mi diario, lejos de los carros viejos.

¿Portland?
Una maravilla de ciudad. Todo queda a diez minutos y es de lo más de barata. He concluido que lo que más cansa de Nueva York son sus precios. Todo tiene un alto precio.

Y eso que vives en Washington Heights.
Pues Portland le gana. Mi novia nunca olvidará cuatro gin-tonics por doce dólares. Bien servidos.

¿La costa?
Maravillosa. La ruta es verde como Colombia (físicamente, porque políticamente es...otro post). Hay ríos y desfiladeros. Por ratos era la ruta hacía la finca de mis abuelos, sólo faltaba la presión de la tierra caliente, la que quita sacos y chaquetas.
Cuando fuimos a Mount Hood las memorias eran más de la sabana de Bogotá. Los paseos al Neusa y Guatavita, pero sin la sección de viñedos. Hay termales.

¿Podrías vivir en Portland?
Habría que ser como Freddy. Pilo con el trabajo, movido con la vida social. Un gran tipo.