F. Scott Fitzgerald on Tourists

Text: Julie Schwietert Collazo
Photo: Flickr user Cote
**
I dislike the “tourist vs. traveler” debate, which feels tired and whiny to me, perhaps because I’ve been traveling and writing about travel for such a long time.

Besides, I think it’s important that people travel. Period. Even if they’re wearing a fanny pack. Even if they retreat to the familiarity of McDonald’s for a Big Mac.

But I rather love this passage from F. Scott Fitzgerald’s essay, “How to Live on Practically Nothing a Year,” which is included in the book, My Lost City: Personal Essays, 1920-1940:

“‘Hasn’t it been a good summer!’ said the young man, lazily. ‘We’ve become absolutely French.’

‘And the French are such an aesthetic people,’ said the young lady, listening for a moment to the banana music. ‘They know how to live. Think of all the nice things they have to eat!’

‘Delicious things! Heavenly things!’ exclaimed the young man, spreading some American deviled ham on some biscuits marked Springfield, Illinois. ‘But then they’ve studied the food question for two thousand years.’

An old advertisement for American deviled ham.

An old advertisement for American deviled ham.

‘And things are so cheap here!’ cried the young lady enthusiastically. ‘Think of perfume! Perfume that would cost fifteen dollars in New York, you can get here for five.’

The young man struck a Swedish match and lit an American cigarette.

‘The trouble with most Americans in France,’ he remarked…, ‘is that they won’t lead a real French life. They hang around the big hotels and exchange opinions fresh from the States.’

‘I know,’ she agreed. ‘That’s exactly what it said in The New York Times this morning.’

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#FriFotos: Steps

Text: Julie Schwietert Collazo
Photo: Francisco Collazo
**
This week’s #FriFotos theme is “Steps,” and at first, I thought of buildings and structures reached by impressive or treacherous steps.

And then, I started thinking of a whole other kind of step.

A couple practices their salsa steps at the International Salsa Congress in Puerto Rico in 2009.

A couple practices their salsa steps at the International Salsa Congress in Puerto Rico in 2009.

Francisco took this photo in 2009 while we were working on Fodor’s Puerto Rico. One of my features for the guidebook was about salsa, and we had to explain and illustrate the actual steps, or pasos, of this dance. In order to do so, we spent a good bit of time at the International Salsa Congress in San Juan, shooting photos of dancers.

I don’t dance at all, but I do love watching couples whose steps are in sync with each other. How about you- do you dance? What are your favorite steps?

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How–and Why–to Be Less Afraid of Cooking

Text & Photos:
Julie Schwietert Collazo
**
Over the past couple of years, I’ve added food as a frequent topic in my writing repertoire.

It was inevitable, really; Francisco is a chef and a significant amount of our time (and money) are spent on buying, cooking, and eating really good ingredients.

But part of my winding path toward food writing is, as much about one’s writing career turns out to be, a combination of timing and circumstance. I’ve happened to land interviews with some of the world’s best chefs. I’ve fallen, time and again, down the research rabbit hole after eating an interesting or incredible meal and that research has taken me right into my next story.

And, finally, the fact that I’m writing more and more about food has something to do with my being in the kitchen more often. As part of a concentrated effort to slow life down a little bit and do things more deliberately, I’ve been cooking more frequently. And cooking has a way, if you’re paying attention, of awakening your curiosity. Where did this ingredient originate and how did it get into my hands? How does a mix of water, flour, and yeast turn into bread? What’s happening, exactly, during the fermentation of the pineapple vinegar I’ve got maturing in the kitchen?

It’s an exciting time to write about food… and to cook it. Suddenly, everyone seems interested in food: where it comes from, what it took to grow/produce/raise it, how it can be used. Cooking, for many people (at least in the “developed” world), is no longer a chore, but a hobby, something to be delighted in rather than something to be dreaded.

*
And yet, I recently began to realize that for all the interest in food–despite the growing number of food magazines, the increasing variety of artisanal ingredients, and the ever-expanding cookbook section (and number of customers in it) at bookstores– there are lots of people who are afraid of actually cooking. They love reading about food and they love eating it. They love talking and tweeting about it. They may even love buying those expensive ingredients and storing them in cupboards and cabinets and refrigerator crispers.

But they’re terrified they’re going to stand over the stove and flub it all up.

I learned this during #foodiechats, a weekly live chat among self-professed foodies that takes place each week on twitter. I’d joined the chat because The Latin Kitchen, where I’m a regular contributor, was hosting the conversation and the topic, Latin food, was totally in my wheelhouse.

One of the questions asked of participants during the chat was, “What Latin recipe have you wanted to try but haven’t?” From predictably complex dishes like mole to far simpler ones, like churros and chilaquiles, one participant after another used the phrase “I’d love to make ___, but I’m afraid to try.”

The beginnings of pineapple vinegar.

The beginnings of pineapple vinegar.

The idea that anyone would be afraid (a strong word) to try a recipe was a little baffling to me, but then I realized that I’m no so far removed from that mental space myself. There are recipes I fastidiously avoid (pretty much anything in Diana Kennedy’s Nothing Fancy, for instance, in which everything seems complex and fancy… though I adore the book) and those that I mark as “want to try” but put off making because I’m worried I don’t have mastered the technique or timing it requires. I’d rather volunteer to cook vegetables for our meals rather than meat (I’m always anxious about undercooking the latter). So afraid to cook? Yes, I actually do understand that.

Lately, though, I’ve started pushing myself. And I’ve found–though it shouldn’t be a surprise– that risk is nearly always rewarded… even if an experiment ends in failure. Take that pineapple vinegar. Right now, it’s fermenting in a transparent crock, and each day I do a visual check-in on its ripening funk. I have NO idea whether it’s progressing as it should (I won’t know that until I taste test it in a couple weeks), but to watch it maturing is as exciting to me as it was to watch sponge animals pop out of capsules immersed in water when I was a kid. “I made that!” I want to shout to my neighbor through the kitchen window. In two weeks, once I skim off that foamy funk, I’ll be thrilled and completely satisfied if it turns out I’ve created something we can actually use.

Check back in a couple weeks and I’ll let you know how the vinegar turned out.

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Watery New York: Starlight Park and Bronx River Greenway

Text: Julie Schwietert Collazo
Photos: Francisco Collazo
**
It seems as if everyone who writes about New York has just (re)discovered that we’re a city surrounded by water.

Amidst skyscrapers, it can be easy to forget New York is a city surrounded by water.

Amidst skyscrapers, it can be easy to forget New York is a city surrounded by water.

There’s an excellent feature in this month’s Conde Nast Traveler about New York City’s waterways, and it’s not the only article I’ve read on the subject in recent weeks (there was another one I stumbled upon from Men’s Journal a few days later).

It is easy, when you’re in Midtown and neither river is within view, to forget that you’re only blocks from at least three waterways (the East River, Hudson River, and Atlantic Ocean). Your only clue may be seagulls cawing overhead, which themselves have caused many a double-take: Seagulls? New York City? What?

But walk east or west for just a few minutes and New York City’s riparian roots will immediately be visible. And, as Justin Davidson points out in that Traveler article, every season there are more opportunities for New Yorkers and visitors alike to get on the water themselves.

Francisco and I have spent some quality time on New York City’s waterways– kayaking the Hudson River and riding the water taxi and ferry on the East River. We’ve even tramped around Newtown Creek (though we haven’t dared dip a toe in those waters). Davidson’s article inspired us to go a bit farther afield, though, and a couple weekends ago we traveled up to The Bronx to explore Starlight Park, part of the Bronx River Greenway.

Bridge to Starlight Park, part of the Bronx River Greenway.

Bridge to Starlight Park, part of the Bronx River Greenway.

The Bronx River Greenway is one of several “Look how we turned this polluted river into something incredible” stories transforming not just the quality of the city’s waterways, but also the access to and utility of those bodies of water. Today, the former “open sewer,” polluted by the factories set up alongside it during New York’s industrial boom, has been cleaned up (though there’s still plenty of garbage to be seen along its banks) and people are actually using the river.

That’s due, in large part, to the efforts of the Bronx River Alliance, which has taken the banks of the river and surrounding land and turned them into recreational areas. Not nearly as accessible as, say, Hudson River Park (in fact, we drove around and around Starlight Park, one of the access points for the Greenway, for nearly an hour before we found our way in), it is clearly an important resource for neighborhood residents. The day we visited, the multi-use park was full of people. Its playground was packed with kids, a soccer field was spilling over with players, and families walked their dogs, picnicked, and cycled the bike path that winds along the river.

Boat launch at Starlight Park, part of the Bronx River Greenway.

Boat launch at Starlight Park, part of the Bronx River Greenway.

For those of us who don’t live in the neighborhood, we have to really want to get to Starlight Park and the other access points of the Greenway, but for river rats, especially, the payoff is worth it. The river is, as Davidson describes it in his Traveler article, peaceful and uncrowded, and you’ll have a hard time remembering that you’re in New York City.

Community groups are working hard to increase visits to the river. This weekend, the first-ever flotilla and 5k canoe challenge launched from Starlight Park. Apart from this event, which organizers hope will become a yearly activity, you can also participate in monthly guided paddling trips.

If you’re looking for a new way to experience New York City beyond the roar of traffic and subway trains, check out the New York City Water Trail Map, which lists put-in points for all five boroughs, gives tips and warnings about conditions, and alerts you to the kinds of wildlife you’re likely to see on your paddle.

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#FriFotos: Horizon

Text & Photo:
Julie Schwietert Collazo
**
It was a crappy trip to Mexico and it was about to get crappier.

I was in Merida for the Mayan “End of the World” celebration, but I was sick and events were chaotic. We weren’t even eating Mexican food, which would have mitigated some of the trip’s frustrations.

But things were about to get worse.

Flamingos on the horizon in Celestun, Mexico.

Flamingos on the horizon in Celestun, Mexico.

Perhaps a boat ride to see the flamingos of Celestun would right the wrongs of the trip?

Yes, maybe it would. It sounded good, anyway.

But the water was rough, the boat didn’t look very seaworthy, and my companions were, I’d soon find out, more Lord of the Flies material than “MacGyver.”

Our boat ride, estimated to take 20 minutes, was still puttering out to the flamingos two hours later. I readied my camera for close-ups of the Technicolor birds.

And then, the boat’s motor sputtered and shuddered and went totally silent.

Not only would there be no close-up flamingos; there would be serious drama before we’d get back to shore.

When I returned to New York and showed Francisco the photos, he couldn’t make out the band of pink on the horizon. What mass formed the pastel ribbon in the distance, cutting a swath of color across the muddy water? “Flamingos,” I said, gritting my teeth at the memory.

Sometimes travel doesn’t produce photogenic souvenirs of our adventures. What we can see on the horizon remains tantalizingly, frustratingly out of reach.

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