A

rchive for March, 2009

New York City’s St. Paddy’s Day Parade/Parada Irlandesa de Nueva York

Tuesday, March 17th, 2009

Text & Photos: Francisco Collazo
[vease abajo para la version en espanol]
*

The day was sunny and clear, perfect for the parade filing down New York’s 5th Avenue, between 44th and 86th Streets.

Green was everywhere, and music and happy shouts filled the Manhattan air.

The parade injected a breath of fresh air into the atmosphere, affected by the economic depression, bankruptcies, and fiscal deficits of the city.

Tourists talking in their own languages looked on, listening to the accents from the different parts of Ireland.

There seemed to be few signs of conflict between those who want Ireland without English influence and those who support it.

Thinking about this, another time came to mind, during which I’d attended a different parade with a friend. The friend was talking about Europe and Europeans just as people talk about divisions and differences in Africa and Latin America.

“Look,” he said, “you think Europe is big, but for the Europeans, it’s very small.” “How could that be?” I asked him. “They all feel crowded by one another and are intolerant of each other,” my friend continued. “You don’t see the problems between the Russians and the Polish? The Spanish and the Vascos? The Czechs and the Slovaks? The French and the Corsicans?” Really, I’d never even thought about Europe from that point of view. But since then, I’ve kept my friend’s words in mind and I’m able to see Europe’s conflicts and differences. But today, at least, I didn’t see those divisions, at least not on the scale my friend described.

Today, I decided to wear my green sweater, in honor of the festivities and to forget about our differences, to celebrate with the Irish the humanity of all of us, hoping that their leprechaun will bring peace and a better world for everyone.

*

El dia estuvo soleado y claro, perfecto para desfilar a lo largo de la 5ta. Avenida de Nueva York, desde la calle 44 hasta la calle 86.

Verde estaba en todas partes, musica y gritos de alegria llenaron el aire de Manhattan.

El desfile le agrego un toque diferente a la atmosfera de depresion economica, bancarota, y los defecits fiscales de la ciudad.

Turistas hablando sus lenguas extranjeras se escuchaban al unisono con los acentos galos de las diferentes regiones de Irlanda.

Aparentemente hubo poca senal de conflicto entre los que quieren una Irlanda sin los Ingleses y las facciones que se muestran a favor de la presencia de estos.

Me vino a la mente mientras participaba como espectador en el desfile lo que en tiempos pasados un amigo me dijo sobre Europa y los europeos cuando hablabamos de las divisiones y las guerras en Africa y en Latinoamerica.

–Mira, tu cree que Europa es grande pero, para los europeos esta es muy chiquita!-

-Como va hacer eso?- le pregunte.

-Si-me afirmo-ellos se sienten apretados los unos con los otros y no se toleran-prosigio.

-No ves los problemas de los rusos y los polacos, los espanoles y los vascos, los checos y los eslovacos, los franceses y los corsos?-

Realmente yo no habia concebido en mi memoria este punto de vista. Desde entonces esto lo llevo presente y veo sus guerras y sus diferencias.

Lo cierto es que hoy no veia esto al menos a la escala con que el me lo presentaba.

Hoy yo me decido a vestir mi sueter de color verde en plena solidaridad con las festividades. Paso a olvidar sus diferencias y celebro con ellos la humanidad de todos, esperando que su “leprechaun” les entregue la paz y un mundo mejor para todos!

Closed Due to Possible Collapse/Cerrado por Posible Derrumbe

Tuesday, March 17th, 2009

Text & Photos: Julie Schwietert Collazo
Additional Photos: Brayan Collazo
*

“Cerrado por posible derrumbe”– “Closed due to possible collapse”– was the sign hanging from a rusty chain that was blocking the entrance to the history museum in Mariel, Cuba.

Say “Cuba” and crumbling buildings are as likely to come to mind as rum and the Buena Vista Social Club. Francisco’s son, Brayan, is a photographer whose portfolio has plenty of decayed building shots:

But if you’re really paying attention to your surroundings, there are places falling down all around you.

This, then, is the first installment in another occasional series– “Cerrado por Posible Derrumbe”–which documents decay in the Americas, insisting that these places are important, even as they’re falling apart.

*

This trio part of a group of photos I’ve taken of closed movie theaters in Mexico City.

Although movies remain an important part of Mexican culture, the movie houses of old–dramatic and beautiful, if not on the outside, then on the inside–now sit on prime pieces of real estate, slowly falling apart.

This first photo is of the “taquilla,” or ticket booth, at the Cine Latino, a massive building on one the city’s principal avenues, Avenida Reforma. A metal gate keeps the curious from poking around inside (the door to the theater is actually open), but through the holes in the gate, you can see an enormous mural painted on the lobby wall. (You can’t, however, get clear shots through the holes.)

This is the front exterior of the Cine Latino. All around the cinema, new retail developments have sprung up in the past two years. Given its location, it’s hard to imagine that the abandoned theater will be here much longer.


This is the old El Patio Cinema. Its sign is still intact, but as you can see, the theater is presenting… nothing. The cinema sits across the street from a police precinct in a neighborhood that’s a little down and out right now, but which is likely to be the next gentrified zone in Mexico City.

Live & In Full Color/En Vivo y a Todo Color

Sunday, March 15th, 2009

Text & Photos: Francisco Collazo
[vease abajo para la version en espanol]
*

Today, the purpose of my walk is to see how many security cameras are taking images of me around New York. The number of cameras is increasing, becoming noticeable almost everywhere.

At home, my favorite pastime has become watching the traffic on channel 92, trying to guess where the filming is occurring and the speed of the cars and trucks that zip down the streets.

The espionage doesn’t end there. Recently, I discovered that from the comfort of my own home, I can monitor what’s happening on the U.S.-Mexico border. Yes, that’s what I said, the border! When I’m not watching NYC traffic, I can put in some time watching the border in my free time, courtesy of the site BlueServo. So far, I haven’t had any luck catching illegals crossing on foot or swimming the Rio Grande.

It’s all but impossible to escape the presence of these “security” cameras. I can’t decide whether they make me safer or whether their existence terrorizes me. Sometimes, I wonder whether they’re implanted in places that are supposed to be private, like hotel rooms, bathrooms, or in fitting rooms of big department stores.

In New York, the cameras have replaced human eyes on every corner. They’ve become so pervasive that they’re seemingly as normal a part of the landscape as the city’s natural flora and fauna. But it’s not the only place where cameras are springing up. On my way to the airport in San Juan, Puerto Rico, I noticed cameras in the palm trees that were supposed to be mere decorations–how clever!

The race is on. And me, well, I’ve resigned myself to their existence, waving and letting them know that I know they’re there, looking at us with a fixed glance, not blinking, and without a minute of rest. One day far into the future, they’ll be retired. I’ll miss them, and I’ll tell the children of my children that once upon a time, we all appeared on screen for a secret and elusive public.

*

Mi peregrinaje esta vez es descubrir cuantas camaras de seguridad estan tomando imagenes de mi persona en la ciudad de Nueva York. De una manera u otra he notado las presencias de ellas en gran numero y en escala ascendente. El espiar el trafico de la ciudad desde mi casa en el canal 92 de mi television y tratar de adivinar algunas de las localidades de las tomas y la velocidad con que los autos o camiones cruzan la avenida se ha convertido en pasatiempo favorito. Del mismo modo es adivinar con apuestas las escenas sin direcciones ni nombres que aparecen en mi pantalla.

Todo este espionaje no para ahi. Recientemente descubri que puedo ver desde el comfort de mi hogar lo que esta pasando desde la frontera Mexico-U.S. Si eso dije, desde la frontera! Ya no solo veo el trafico de la ciudad, sino que tambien puedo cuidar la frontera de tiempo completo o parcial en mis tiempos de oseo con su servidor BlueServo. Hasta ahora no he tenido suerte en descubrir ningun ilegal cruzando a pie o nadando el Rio Bravo.

Es casi imposible escapar de la presencia de las camaras de videos de seguridad o de espionaje. No se si estas me dan mas seguridad o me aterrorizo de su existencia. A veces pienso en ellas en lugares privados como en habitaciones de hoteles, servicios sanitarios o en los probadores de ropas de las grandes cadenas de tiendas.

En Nueva York estas han re-emplazado al ojo humano en cada esquina. El problema ahora es que ya forman parte de la flora y la fauna de esta ciudad que de hecho puedo asegurar que no es la unica. Yo recuerdo que en camino al aeropuerto de San Juan, Puerto Rico estas se encontraban escondida entre los palmetos plasticos que pretendian adornar la avenida… muy ingenioso!

La carrera ya empezo! Y me he resignado a ellas, las saludo y les dejo saber que yo se que estan ahi, mirandome fijo, mudas, sin parpadear y sin tomar un minuto de descanso. El dia que las retiren en un futuro las voy a extranar y le contare a los hijos de mis hijos que una vez todos nosotros aparecimos en pantalla para en publico secreto e ilusivo.

Love in Hard Times/El Amor en los Tiempos Duros

Thursday, March 12th, 2009

Text: Martin Pei de la Paz
Photos: Brayan Collazo
Translation: Julie Schwietert Collazo
[vease abajo para la version en espanol]
*
Every couple needs a space that affords them the privacy
to share their emotions and physical intimacy, building their connection. Every recently married couple wants their own space, whether it’s an apartment, a room, or a house.

In Cuba, any of these three options is difficult to achieve.

Posadas, temporary hotels that once served couples, have disappeared. These were excellent options for couples in love; cheap, safe, and clean, they were visited by young and old alike who were in search of intimacy, looking for what all people in love around the world are looking for: a place to talk the secret language of love.

Posadas were refuges for Cuban lovers, a place to spend the night or just a few hours. Even well into the Revolution (as recently as 2003!), the posadas continued functioning, whether out of necessity or custom. They were one of the few places that survived profound social changes, more or less intact, functioning as they always had.

But now, the posadas have disappeared. They’ve all been closed, and in their closing, have created worries among thousands of young Cubans who can’t find an intimate place to discharge their sexual energy with their partners.

Wondering about the social impact that the closure of the posadas has had on Cuban youth, I began to collect opinions about the subject. Personally, I thought the closure of the posadas was a loss, but I wanted to confirm that my opinion wasn’t personal, but was, rather, well-founded in larger social concerns and, possibly, with serious irreparable moral and social implications.

I interviewed Pablo, a 30 year old who lives in Havana with his girlfriend.

“How long have you been together,” I asked. “We’ve been together a year and we’ve only had sex twice. There are five of us in my house: my mom and dad, plus my two younger sisters. With the addition of my girlfriend, we’re six. The apartment where we live only has one bedroom, where my sisters and my parents sleep. After 9 PM, I turn the living room into my bedroom. There, my girlfriend and I have sex, but with caution. She tells me her house would be even worse!” Pablo said.

“Do you think your situation is unusual?” I asked Pablo. “No, not at all,” he responded. “In fact, just so you get an idea—in my building, all the apartments are the same as mine, and in all of them three or more people live in the same little space.”

“But you can rent a hotel room, right?” I asked him. “Sure- last year the government passed a law permitting Cubans to rent hotel rooms; before, only tourists could rent them.”

“And so?” I asked, wondering where he was leading. “Are you kidding?” he asked, without stopping to think. “We don’t have money for that!” “What amount are you talking about?” I asked Pablo. “Between 50 and 200 or more a night,” he replied. “In Cuban national currency? Pesos?” I continued. “No! In convertibles. 24 Cuban pesos are equivalent to one convertible peso, or CUC. Cubans can’t pay that—not unless they’re the creme-de-la-crème of society,” he said.

“So, where does that leave you?” I asked Pablo. “There aren’t any hotels where you can pay with Cuban pesos?” “Not that I’m aware of,” Pablo said after a pause. “And look, I’ve walked all around Havana and haven’t found a single one!”

“Before,” Pablo continued, “there were posadas.”

“Posadas?” I asked him. “What’s a posada?”

“They were little motels where you could pay a reasonable sum in Cuban pesos. You could rent a room by the hour and, well… you know…be alone with your girl.”

“So what happened?” I asked him.

“Nothing, they disappeared,” Pablo said with obvious disappointment. “The government turned them into housing. They gave the posadas to families who didn’t have a place to live.”

“Has the government looked for another alternative for the posadas?” I asked. “No!” Pablo said.

This is the Cuban reality. It’s true that if you have a connection, you might be able to rent a room in a “casa particular” (the Cuban equivalent of a bed and breakfast), giving rise to an underground money-making business. Renting a room in a casa particular will cost you $5-10 CUC per hour, depending on the location and the demand. For the average worker, that price is equivalent to one’s monthly salary.

In Havana, plenty of couples are looking for a place to do the 1-2-3 on any given night in any given month. Searching for a safe place, a dark place, couples may find themselves making love in public places at odd hours: in stairways, doorways, parks, and rooftops.

These encounters aren’t the product of some romantic fantasy, an erotic adventure, or any sort of moral deviance or perversion. No, these clandestine acts are simply young people responding to the biological demands of love. Yet the risk of being seen and the fear of being arrested go hand in hand, and today, a mother’s greatest concern in Cuba is when her son introduces her to his girlfriend: Where will they make love? How will the mother protect her family while giving her son and his lover the space they need?

The effect of the closure of the posadas is one of degradation. Young men feel impotent; young women feel hopeless. The lack of a place that’s safe and appropriate for couples to make love is the primary reason why many young people’s relationships end prematurely. Personally, I’ve found that this situation reduces loving relationships to an animalistic, repulsive encounter.

Havana is home to more than 2.5 million Cubans. The diversity of thoughts and tastes is obvious in a city of this size. The voices against the closure of the posadas are growing stronger every day, with the need for a response to this social problem growing in urgency.

*
Para toda relacion amorosa un espacio que le permita a ambos la privacidad emocional, intimidad, y coneccion personal es una necesidad inegociable! Los deseos para todos los recien casados es tener su propio espacio, ya sea un apartamento, una habitacion o una casa independiente. En Cuba, cualquiera de estas tres opciones es un deseo muy dificil de alcanzar.

Las posadas (hoteles de paso) que antes servian a los enamorados, viajeros de paso en ruta de un sitio a otro ya han desaparecidos. Por excelencia eran sitios baratos y seguros. Visitados por parejas jovenes y no muy jovenes en busca de la intimidad, buscando hacer lo que las personas que se aman hacen en todo el mundo: hablar el lenguaje intimo del amor.

Eran los sitios de escape para los amantes, o simplemente un lugar donde pasar una noche o unas horas. Aun hasta bien avanzada la revolucion (2003) estas posadas siguieron funcionado por necesidad o por costumbre social; fueron uno de los pocos lugares que sobrevivieron los profundos cambios sociales, mas o menos intacto, como funcionaron en el pasado.

Estas posadas han desaparecidos. Todas han sido cerradas, creando con su cierre la preocupacion de miles de jovenes Cubanos que no encuentran lugar intimo para descargar esa energia sexual con su pareja. Buscando una respuesta al impacto social que este cierre propino en los jovenes, me di a la tarea de recojer opiniones al respecto. Personalmente tenia mis dudas; queria confrontar mis dudas con los demas, queria confirmar que no era una preocupacion personal sino una bien fundida preocupacion social con posibles danos morales y sociales irreparables.

Pablo, un joven de no mas de 30 anos que reside en la Habana con su pareja:

Cuanto tiempo llevan juntos? –le pregunte- Llevamos 1 ano y solo hemos tenido relaciones sexuales a plenitud en dos ocasiones. En mi casa somos cinco: mi madre y mi padre y mis 2 hermanitas pequenas. Ahora somos 6 con la llegada de mi novia. El apartamento en que vivimos tiene un solo cuarto dormitorio donde duermen mis hermanas y mis padres. Yo convierto la sala de mi casa en mi cuarto despues de las 9 pm, alli es donde con mucha precaucion tengo relaciones sexuales con mi chica. En su casa-me dice al hablar de su novia- es imposible ya que la situacion es peor!

-Crees que tu situacion es algo fuera de lo comun?- No, no del todo- Pablo me responde- de hecho para que tengas una idea. En mi edificio todas las casas son iguales que la mia y en todos ellos viven tres o mas personas en el mismo espacio.

Pero puedes alquilar una habitacion en un hotel?-le pregunto- Si, el ano pasado creo que salio una ley que los Cubanos ya podemos alquilar habitaciones en los hoteles que antes eran solo para turistas.

Entonces?-le digo algo asombrado y dudoso- Nada chico, -me dice casi sin pensar- es que no tenemos el dinero! –De que cantidad hablas? Entre 50 y 200 ……o mas por noche- me dice- Dinero Cubano? Pesos? – No! eso es en monedas convertibles que serian un equivalente de 24 pesos Cubanos por 1 en moneda convertible o cuc. Eso no lo puede pagar los Cubanos, al menos que no seas la elite de la elite.- Entonces donde?-le digo-no hay hoteles que puedas pagar con pesos cubanos?- que yo sepa no, -me dice despues de una pausa- y mira que yo camino toda la Habana y no hay ni uno!

Antes habian posadas. Posadas?-le pregunto para estar seguro-Eso que es? Que eran?

Eran unos motelitos que se podia pagar en pesos cubanos a un precio aceptable para cualquiera que podia rentarlos por hora y tener…tu sabes, estar solo con la jeva (novia).

Y que paso?

Nada, desaparecieron-me dice con resignacion- las convirtieron en casas. Le dieron esas posadas a familias que no tenian donde vivir.

El gobierno ha buscado otra alternativa?

No! –me dijo de manera final.

Esta es la realidad Cubana. Es cierto que si tienes un “contacto” puedes encontrar casas particulares que han ocupado el vacio que estas posadas dejaron, dando paso al lucro clandestino. La renta por hora van desde $5cuc hasta $10 cuc, dependiendo el lugar y la demanda. Para un trabajador normal ese precio es el equivalente al salario mensual.

La discusion al respecto se torna fuerte siempre y cuando un hijo le introduce a su madre su pareja y vice-versa . Es una verdadera odisea tener privacidad en lugares seguros y al alcance del bolsillo.

En La Habana, hay mas de un punado de pareja buscando un sitio para hacer el uno, dos, tres en cualquier noche de cualquier mes. Como lugar seguro, un lugar oscuro, este puede ser la via publica a altas horas de la madrugada, en escaleras, portales, parques y azoteas. Estos encuentros no son productos de una fantasia romantica, aventura erotica, ni producto de una desviacion moral y pervertida. Es un acto clandestino que obedece a la necesidad. El riesgo de ser visto y el miedo de ser arrestado por la policia moral van de mano en mano.

El efecto de esto cierres en las relaciones es desbastador y degradante. El joven se siente impotente y la joven se enfrenta al que diran. La falta de un ambiente sano y decoroso para ambos es factor principal para mucho de los conflictos que terminan en separacion entre pareja. De hecho, personalmente encuentro que esta situacion reduce las relaciones amorasas a un estado animalista y repulsivo.

La Habana es la casa para mas de dos millones y medio de Cubanos. La diversidad de pensamientos y gustos es obvio en una ciudad de esta magnitud. Las voces en contra de estas medidas son cada dia mas altas, las preocupaciones mas constants, y la necesidad de una respuesta a este problema social es de caracter urgente.

One Ingredient: Artichokes

Wednesday, March 11th, 2009

[in which we resuscitate the occasional series, "One Ingredient"]
Text: Julie Schwietert Collazo
Photo: minwoo
*
When your husband is a chef who happily turns out meals, you don’t have a whole lot of motivation to labor over the stove, but I had to get into the kitchen.

Spending hours at a stretch in front of the computer was getting to me. I wanted to move my fingers in a different way and see if I still possessed any culinary skills of my own.

Saveur, Bon Appetit, Cook’s Illustrated, Food & Wine… they’re food lovers’ porn. I have stacks of old food magazines and clipped recipes stuck in journals; every so often, I get the urge to try one out.

So last week, I sent Francisco off to the grocery with a list: Two artichokes. Creme fraiche. The rest of the ingredients we had.

I displaced him from the kitchen for an hour and puzzled over the directions for Artichoke Fritters with Green Goddess Dip: How was I supposed to trim the artichokes down to usable bits that would become crispy fritters?

As I peeled away the tough outer leaves, I wondered when I’d reach the point of no return–that moment when I’d stripped away too much, leaving nothing to work with. I wondered about a food that produces so many useless parts. I thought about my first memory of artichokes: Mrs. Lemon, my third grade teacher, took a curious pleasure in strange things, like spanking students with a wooden paddle on their birthdays and introducing them to foods they’d be unlikely to know, growing up in a rural community in South Carolina. Artichokes are the only ones I remember.

I thought about Chilean poet Pablo Neruda, who wrote an ode to artichokes, comparing the “soft-hearted…warrior suit” with cabbages, which “spent their time/trying on skirts.” I thought about Maria in the poem, who “picks up/an artichoke/fearlessly,” knowing exactly what to do with it. I wanted to be her, as I kept stripping leaves and then made tentative slices with the long knife blade. Though I lacked her confidence, I kept going.

As I fished for the golden fritters floating and crackling in the oil, I still wasn’t sure I’d been successful.

But then we dipped the crispy little fans into the sauce, and I knew, next time, I’d approach an artichoke with her confidence.
*
If you attempt the recipe (linked above), I’ll confirm the following:
-It’s just as delicious without the anchovies and chives, both of which I forgot to put on the shopping list.
-Reducing all ingredients by 1/3 produces the perfect yield for two people.
-This recipe seems exceedingly effortful for an appetizer. It is. But if you’re in a writing funk, it’s just what you’ll need.

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