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Manual El Pase del Niño Viajero, Historia Fotográfica de una Tradición Cuencana (Spanish Edition)

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This is my ready for the adventure face woot! Esta es mi estoy lista cara! Up, down. Up and down! And now I know how to say this perfectly in Spanish after completing the teeth brushing program with the kids. It was totally awesome! We first demonstrated how to properly brush the teeth to the kids.

The program was truly fun and a test for me. How exciting, right?!? The loved their prize. God is good and my heart is full. Arriba, abajo. Arriba y abajo! Era chevere! Primero nosotros demostramos la manera correcta de cepillarse los dientes. Arriba y abajo, las mueles, a dentro y por favor no se olvide la lengua! Que emocionante, no!??! We had three cars, about 15 people and planned to leave Friday morning 1 car , afternoon 1 car — me and evening 1 car.

Inti Raymi is a festival to essentially honor Inti the God of the sun. Entonces, a pesar de los consejos de algunos amigos y familia, hice planes con algunos Couchsurfers! Couchsurfing es un sitio de web que conecta muchos viajadores del mundo completo. En realidad, estaba uno de los tiempos mejores de mi viaje hasta ahora. Inti Raymi es una festival esencialmente para demonstrar el honor de Inti el Dios del sol. I met up with Phil born in Ecuador, grew up in the states, lived in tons of different areas in the world and moved back to Ecuador , Mary traveler currently living in Texas , Vickie from Hong Kong traveling all of South America and Anjelica from New Mexico studying Spanish for her summer.

The three hour car ride went by fast because of the awesome company and exchange of stories. When we arrived, we met up with the group, found the hostel and prepared for the festivities. First, we went to the Plaza de Ponchos for some dancing. People brought their own instruments and played a very simple but beautiful beat and moved in a circle. Cuando lleguemos, nos reunimos con el grupo, encontramos el hostal, y preparamos por las festivales.

Transcript

Personas trajeron sus propios instrumentos y toquemos un ritmo simple pero bonito. Cada persona bailaron en un circulo. Circles looked something like this. I was happy cuz I could totally dance this simple step with grace! Me inside one of the circles. This man was very drunk but more importantly, very friendly! He asked me to take his picture. Este hombre estaba muy borracho pero mas importante, muy amable! After a little dancing, we made the ride to the waterfall for the bath at midnight. We made the ten minute walk to the waterfall, got ready and got in. Only 6 of the 15 of us made the risky move of going in the water.

The water was freeeeeeezing! Body-numbing but refreshingly freezing. Fernanda, one of the CSers, knew much about the tradition so she led us in some singing and rituals. For me, I prayed and thanked God for the earth. The ritual made me feel very connected to nature and thankful for what nature allows us to have and do. I felt so very alive and aware in this moment. It was truly beautiful and very spiritual!

Caminamos por 10 minutos a la cascada, preparamos y fuimos en el agua. Solamente 6 de los 15 fuimos en el agua. Tan frio como no pudimos sentir nuestros propios cuerpos. La ritual me trajo sentimientos conectados a la naturaleza y agradecidos para lo que la naturaleza nos da. Estaba completamente bonito y un momento muy spiritual para mi! The waterfall was so strong! Pictures were impossible. Fotos no eran posibles.

After changing and attempting and failing to warm up, we headed back to the cars, shared a traditional drink of this festival and danced. I felt free and wonderful. The people around me were such great company and I am so thankful for this experience! What a blast I had.

Transcript

Que tiempo chevere. We stayed up until 6 a. I felt super connected to the people and I had just met them. What an amazing time, seriously. Que tiempo maravilloso, en serio. The festivities continued the next day. The indigenous people and visitors were celebrating here as well with dancing and other traditional acts. Desayunamos encebollado un plato rico de Ecuador , caminamos en el mercado muy grande!


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Tons of handmade goodies sold at the market. View from the top of out hostel. Traditional dress — Vestido tradicional. This little girl was amazing. Everyone else joined in on the laughter. How cute! Que precioso! Traditional dress and written in Quechua. Inti Raymi rituals — Rituales de Inti Raymi. Beautiful lake Cuicocha Can you see any Cuyes? Cuicocha Lake is an active crater lake rich of plants and cuyes guinea pigs, YUM! We went on a boat to go around and check it out.

It was truly beautiful. Fuimos en una bota para ver. Era muy bonito. My new awesome friends! We ended the trip with lunch and our goodbyes. Despite the fact that I am now sick or sicker than I already was from the cold midnight swim, what an amazing time that I had. So appreciative for the opportunity to experience this ritual and day of thanks.

I learned a lot about the culture, the people, the history and met some amazing people. What do you all think of this festival? Terminamos el viaje con almuerzo y un despedido. I am enjoying every moment, feeling completely fulfilled and as always, so thankful for this opportunity. My perspective about many things is changing and I am appreciate to be able to learn these lessons. Estoy disfrutando cada minuto, sintiendo completamente feliz y como siempre, muy agradecida para esta oportunidad. Mi perspectivo de muchos ideas esta cambiando y aprecio que pueda aprender estas lecciones.

Love you all! Te quiero! His house is also right in the main area! This was beautiful. Afterwards, I went to lunch with some people from the school. Yay for making friends in new places! All in all, traveling sola has been a great experience for me. Definitely is forcing me to get out of my comfort zone. Love meeting new people. Being there was amazing. Saturday, May 25 — Today I visited the equator. Oh you know, the place where the North and the South meet, no big deal. La primera: Alberto Spencer se saca la mugre y triunfa en el Barcelona de Ecuador. Alberto es de un pueblito de pescadores en la mitad de la nada.

No puedo. Tal vez me la sepa. Esos giles que hacen manuales de autoayuda dicen oportunidad. Para los antiguos griegos era otra cosa. El equilibrio griego se rompe. O dar con aquello que debo estrangular. Estamos en proceso de despoblar Ecuador. Es un gil quien tiene el chance y no se larga.

Esto es algo que solo hacen los humanos: compartir la comida. Los animales se despedazan por un trocito de carne. Y esta lo tuyo del tren y eso. No me interrumpas Y es tu propia culpa. Y si hay agarrones de pelo y mordidas, mejor tener a mano a mi machona. No estoy en crisis. Paola no ha contestado. Con el tiempo sus brazos se tornaron firmes tras tanto ejercicio en las barras, y su boca no dejaba de llenarse de improperios en una pelea.

Manuela ni. Hubo de frotarse las palmas teatralmente antes de calentarlas con el aliento. Pero a ellas nadie les dedicaba ni un vistazo. La primera semana ella estuvo con antidepresivos. A Italia. Al chico le dicen Paco. Los momentos de crisis aparecen ante la expectativa del nacimiento o de la muerte. Pero hay que elegir. No se puede ser estudiantes por siempre. No contesta. Deja esa cara de borrega ahorcada. Ese tema no se tocaba nunca en su presencia. Ya sabes lo mucho que la Gorda quiere a ese animal. Mi pobre abuelita trataba de poner paz. La Gorda me dijo que yo era una desconsiderada y alguna otra cosa.

Una gorda sin gracia. Que al menos yo no iba a terminar soltera y asqueada. Al rato estaba de regreso. El Shampoo en el proceso de estirar la pata. Yo me largo a Nueva York. Y se me ocurre esta payasada contra la pobre Gorda. Esperemos un rato. Tal vez Paco te conteste. O Paola. Solitaria, como una verdadera adulta. Nunca te olvidaremos. Solo Cecilia hubiese comprendido a Manuela en ese momento. Fue a la cocina. Puso el mantel especial, el de los eventos familiares. Era domingo. Y la Gorda preparaba la carne. Era capaz de ambas cosas. Esa mujer. However, a pastime that has truly brought us together is travelling.

For both of us, our trip to that charming city in the Midwest proved to be a great challenge, because Hurricane Sandy altered both of our itineraries. In the end we arrived, and at that conference we started up a beautiful friendship that has borne fruit in this collaboration to publish a second bilingual book of short stories in Spanish and English, filled with what we both enjoy most: traveling. It should not come as surprise to you that a common thread woven throughout this book examines what it means for a person to dare to travel and then face the challenge of living in a new and unknown place.

For me, travelling is more than a hobby, it is a passion. Not just physically, but also in my mind I like to travel to places where I have never been. I can even go back in time, to step into a boat, gliding on the Mediterranean to the place where Hercules completed one of his extraordinary tasks.


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I also incorporate my love of travelling into the educational material that I utilize in my classes, so that what I teach is engaging. All kinds of people like to take trips,. In the s in Spain, teachers like Gloria Giner de los Rios and Leonor Serrano Pablo also knew that by using references to travel in their classes, they could open the minds of their students to concepts that otherwise might have seemed dry and uninteresting. Imagine a time eight hundred years later in the fourth century CE, when a woman traveler from the Iberian Peninsula, Egeria, decided to sail across the Mediterranean to reach Jerusalem in the Holy Land.

Surely, these daydreams of ancient travels did not leave you feeling indifferent. Curiosity is a necessary ingredient for starting a trip. What is beyond what your eyes can see? What is hidden behind the horizon line off in the distance? The initial sense of discovering a new place is unforgettable, but when the initial fascination fades, a different feeling arises— a sensation of nervous anticipation replaces the novelty of beholding something new.

Then comes a sense of excitement to meet people and socialize with the women and men who live in the new city, where you have just arrived. The practice of translation and interpreting is widespread and essential as we seek to achieve peaceful, mutual understanding. In order to understand each other, we continually face the necessity to translate and interpret new scenarios which we encounter every time we travel. Often, the discipline of translating and interpreting goes beyond oral and written exercises, and can also include visual and artistic endeavors, take Mudejar art as an example.

In the 12th century the Mudejar style came to life in the Iberian Peninsula through interactions between artists from three diverse communities coexisting in Spain: Muslims, Christians, and Jews. Like the artists who specialized in the hybrid Mudejar style of the Iberian Peninsula, this diverse group of students from Adelphi University brought this bilingual book to life as they interpreted and translated the words and cultural references from one language to another. In addition, the final version of this book, has taken shape thanks to collaboration with Kimberly Moreira, a former student of mine in the Certificate in 2.

Adelphi University and the Department of Languages, Cultures, and Literatures offers a high quality, innovative and diverse education. I want to thank the chair of the Department, Dr. Raysa Amador, for her dedication, professionalism, leadership, and support in helping to move this project forward. In addition, I thank my colleagues Dr. Nicholas Carbo, Dr. Jonathon Hiller, Dr. Sara Aponte-Olivieri, Dr. Priya Wadhera, and Dr. Nicole Rudolph for their interest and encouragement. Finally, I want to mention the artwork on the cover of this book by the Spanish painter, Roberto Coromina.

Coromina explained that he imaged Oslo as a city that is cold and grey, which is why the cover takes on that color scheme, with a symbolic rendition of a book. Roberto Coromina intends the symbol of the book on the cover to be an indicator of all the stories that a book can contain. Inspired by this image, I want to add that in many cases the stories exist thanks to people who dare to initiate a journey to live outside of their comfort zones.

And, thank you to my travel and life partner, Jay M. Oyster Bay New York , May 31st He was overwhelmed by a vision of neatness that immediately seemed alien for someone like his daughter who had suffered a panic attack two weeks before, on the eve of the exams. The smell of cleaning products had faded but it almost hurt the eyes to see such an impeccable floor. He realized that in the kitchen the garbage bags had been emptied, the dishes laid out to dry, next to the sink, and tiles in the bathroom shined.

For the second He left his luggage next to the bed. However, his daughter had begged him not to sleep in her bed, and Enrique linked the request with a certain modesty to share the intimate space. He had just talked with her on the phone an hour ago. She seemed to be in such a good mood, that she even reflected, as if it were new, on a series of little commonplaces, which reminded him of his own bohemian outings in the 80s. He had already put the notebooks in his luggage. Enrique had eyed them. They were only some notes from classes.

However, a few days ago, he had thought it was just easier to replace them online. He now became aware of his error: they were autographed. One by Richard Bausch, another by a man who shared the same name but a different surname Ford , and the third which was the only one in Spanish, by Sergio Chejfec: Mis Dos Mundos.

He picked them up. They were two pages printed in full color. Enrique felt dizzy. It was the beginning of a poem by Jorge Carrea Andrade, one of the texts that he and his daughter liked the most. In the second photo, the same man posed with his back to the camera and starting at his left shoulder, a brief but harsh phrase about sexual submission that Enrique immediately wished he had never read.

He left the images to the side, without putting them back in between the pages of City of Glass, trying to alleviate his thoughts. Enrique proceeded to quickly and methodically debone the books from the shelf: he would open each volume, making its pages turn quickly and would then throw it on the bed before moving on to the next. He then continued with the papers on the desk. He could only find letters from the bank or the university. Not one single private letter. Not even one more photograph. He then began to empty the drawers and make a mess of the towels in the bathroom.

He sat down, trying to catch his breath, to think for a few minutes. When he felt his hands on his face, he left them there, covered, paralyzed by the embarrassment and fear. He recovered, and determined collected the suit, toys, and pictures to put them in a garbage bag. In an aggressive manner, he put the books back, as well as the clothes and towels, without even folding them.

And as he left, he swore never to come back. Holding the garbage bag in one hand and the briefcase in the other, he was thinking about calling the neighbors, to simulate distension, gain their trust and to inquire about the life of his daughter. However, later on, he decided that he was afraid of running into the man from the picture.

So, he went down the elevator with plans to ask the doorman where he could throw out the garbage. On his smartphone, he made one more search about panic attacks on Google. Overwhelmed by the images of the naked man in his head, before leaving the coffee shop, Enrique asked He passed the Strand Bookstore and did not hesitate to seek refuge within its walls. As he entered taking off his gloves, putting them in his coat, Enrique realized that he was not even sure if his own mother had a clue what a vibrator was, and that he himself had not touched one up until that morning. He assumed that his father had heard about these gadgets, but without becoming an expert in the area.

When one of the employees at the store got close enough to ask him if he was looking for anything in particular, Enrique said in English that he was just looking, and he wandered for a few minutes until finding Fifty Shades of Gray. He let it rest on the palm of his hand, moving it up and down, as if he was deciding whether to buy it by its weight. He had read diverse synopsis in the papers. In the shelves of French works, he discovered Lunes de fiel. At the time, Lunes de fiel gave Enrique the same satisfaction reserved for those that had climbed Everest or married a virgin.

And he also enjoyed the adaptation of Polanski. But when he was reminded of the intimate scenes between Coyote and Seigner, he hurriedly put the book back on the shelf. While on the streets, the thoughts about human sexuality appeared. There came to mind Nueve Semanas y Media, and a pair of scenes from old books where the characters used ice or whip. What else can you find in those places?

He felt like a man who had slept for fifty years and woke up in an unknown and hostile world. He opted to disconnect his phone, and as he walked the streets of Broadway to his hotel, he wondered if people could notice his misery just by looking at the way he walked. Sofia was going to find out about his snooping, she would miss clothes, pictures, and toys, but he would not allow the mud of unbridled sexuality to embarrass them on Christmas Eve. Because of that, he had doubts about telling his wife, but also because he refused to talk about something beyond his comprehension, which prevents him from getting rid of the weight, possibly illogical, of the guilt of being a failed father.

He was on the street, in front of the building of Greenwich Village, with gloves covering his hands, one of them holding his cell phone, the other clinging to a cigarette. He had briefly told her of his experience from the previous day, leaving out key discoveries. He then asked his wife if Sofia had ever insinuated anything regarding her sexual experiences. Enrique asked, as if he was talking to himself as if that would not be part of the problem.

His wife remained in silence. He stopped himself because neither he nor his wife could shed much light on a list of names or a review of faces that in his memories had long been forgotten or could not even properly identified. Enrique finally asked if his daughter spent a lot of time locked in the bedroom or in the bathroom.

She even gave her dad directions on where to find it in Queens. Two little boxes for each one. Few people entered and left the building, and Enrique hoped that he would see someone with a coffee machine or carrying something in their hands. He had been there for almost an hour, having a pack of cigarettes and was ready to wait as long as necessary. Suddenly, his wife asked him if everything went well with the distributor. If they missed him. Certainly, at some point during the night it had occurred to him that the man would be the recipient of the coffee maker, but he dismissed the thought as illogical.

He wore with a thick blue jacket, and over his baldhead the fat man wore one of those Andean hats with bulky earflaps. He hung up without waiting for an answer while watching the man enter the building and come down less than ten minutes later with something in his hands. He followed him discreetly from the opposite sidewalk, keeping some distance between them, and they both crossed Mercer Street before continuing on Broadway.

Although the fat man moved with some haste, it was difficult to lose track of him. When they arrived at Union Square, Enrique decided to get a bit closer to the man after calculating, correctly, that the man would look for one of the subway's entrances. They got on the same wagon on the green line that was beginning to head in the direction Lower Manhattan. The fat man sat in one of the few free stands while Enrique remained standing, covered by the crowd, glimpsing from time to time, and tense with every announcement of a new stop.

Little by little the wagon began to empty and, as soon as he got a seat, he was afraid that their eyes would cross and that the fat man would recognize the air of familiarity that he shared with his daughter. It was possible that his daughter may have shown him family photos. He calmed down remembering that he was also wearing a hat and the scarf that covered half of his face.

As soon as they reached the exit, Enrique walked slowly, maintaining a distance, and kept walking like this for almost ten minutes, joined by a thread of Ariadna that zigzagged in a labyrinth of cars and streets, that avoided urban obstacles and neighbors that moved in a carelessness hurry.

Halfway through the block, the fat man turned to his left to go up a few steps and stopped in front of the doorway of an old building that looked like similar to a boarding school. It was a bunch of apartments. In those intense but brief instants of uncertainty, he could not get rid of a sense of a foreshadowing: any road already had its fatal mark.

His interlocutor was looking at him still trying to understand what was going on. The other looked at him in amazement. Enrique squeezed vigorously that palm that was extended to him and received back a soft, barely perceptible movement. Then he said his name and asked if they could talk for a bit. The other nodded and suggested that it would be better to talk inside.

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Alexandru was great, but there was something about him that left a strange impression of docility in Enrique. Then he had a single certainty: knowing an insecure guy, lacking in character, unable in sneaking into the house of a stranger. He was incompetent in taking an initiative like this. After a few moments, his thoughts turned dark and his face hardened. His eyes turned to the clutter on the center To his surprise, he discovered a considerable number of books on the table, at the opposite end of the single chair.

The fat man opened the blinds before freeing up some space at the table and picking up the books off the sofa and chair. In those few moments, Enrique thought he discovered signs of guilt. That afternoon, I was passing by one of the shops in Greenwich Village. I made the line. You may have seen them in the subway. But on one side of It was impossible to miss, which is why the cashier asked her what it was.

It was a bag of cookies. The woman told him she could not afford them. You could see the craziness in her eyes, and the humiliation, you know? But the cashier was inflexible. His eyes were dull, like dirty pavement; the city had taught him that nothing was free, as it has taught us all.

Exceptions do not exist. Well, you would know. Everything, including a fistful of chocolate chip cookies, is achieved here after working from nine to six.

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I had to intervene. I paid for the cookies. She hugged me, squeezed me, almost sent me to the floor, it was like I gave her a house. God bless these poor people. I had already paid for my things and was out of the store when a girl shouted at me to wait.

It was your daughter. She told me that she saw it all. She liked to read and so did I. All of this happened around the end of August. Enrique then concentrated on the more modest pile, the ones that Alexandru had arranged on the table when clearing the seats, and without hesitation, took the book on top. I also read French. Want something to drink?

Alexandru retraced his steps along the sofa and the hills of books, and later required a few extra steps to get to the kitchen. He started up the coffeemaker recovered He started to talk about how the Ecuadorians of Murcia had influenced his accent and that in Manhattan he gets together with South Americans every now and then.

Putting the filter over the pot and sprinkling it with coffee, he changed the subject, recalling the scarcity of certain commodities in the Alimentara communists, the famous food shops for granting a whole chicken to a family as a ration. Are you going to buy bread? When Alexandru came back to the table to leave the cups and sit down, Enrique was already blushing. He had come across a couple of lines underlined by Sofia, marked with an asterisk as well as a striking sign of admiration. After a few seconds, he put himself back together. Maybe the fat man was just joking with him. Enrique wondered, with some sense of urgency, what the rats did and if it was at all possible to imitate such an animal without grace.

An artistic performance? What do leftovers off the floor have to do with anything? Because leftovers and rats, had been a familiar topic, long before. And while that memory, buried for so many years, was transparent in his mind just now, he was mortified that the complete opposite may have happened to his daughter. That this event was replayed repeatedly in the head of Sofia, without leaving her alone. When she was around ten or eleven years old, she had gone through a difficult phase, acting like a capricious empress towards her parents. She used to come home from school with an admirable ability to mock what her parents said and to criticize everyday routines.

Her language had changed: she was using profanities from the Coast, so he and his wife just assumed that she was hanging out with a new group of friends. They even talked with her teacher. One night, when they were about to have dinner, Sofia noticed that her mother had prepared a simple dish of rice with scrambled eggs and mini Frankfurt sausages. She flatly refused to eat the scrambled eggs, but Enrique demanded that she finish it.

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Her mother opened the sink cabinet to find them in the garbage, resting on a bed of waste. Her mother remained hesitant at first, but in the end, became a silent witness The rice and eggs had mixed with watermelon seeds, pulp from vegetables or crushed carrots. Now Enrique began to feel bad, physically sick, as if he ate something rotten. She was the photographer though, and if I am being honest there are also videos.

She told me to edit them and take out her face. We do not upload anything to the internet! I do not use whips or leathers or anything like that. Enrique nodded slowly and thickly, trusting that the man would shut up. He had already lost any interest in the details of their relationship. Why something like this could have happened to her, do you…know why? That I do not know. However, she was under a lot of pressure. She is not pretty enough for the Americans that she likes.

Here that is something that pertains to all the girls that are neither beautiful nor ugly. They only want American guys. Or Argentinians, because your daughter liked her fellow students from her courses. The first time I saw her, she caught my attention, the beautiful color of her eyes that seemed like contact lenses.

In personality, I mean. After our games, sometimes it felt strange. She could be Bossy, as you would say?


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And twice she remembered the only time you and her uncles took her to a soccer game. She remembered the "Corcel" Mosquera. Enrique was speechless. The "Corcel", one of the most famous strikers of the late nineties, had played on his favorite team. In his head, Enrique thought about the afternoon that he had gone with his daughter to the stadium.

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She was surprised, too. She also told me about the insults to the referee. She would have liked to participate, but you had forbidden her. She would have liked to go back too, but she told me you did He took a long sip of coffee. She also said that you and her uncles, despite having filthy mouths, would have been the first to defend gay marriage or be shocked by racial discrimination. Good people outside the stadium, she told me. I'm going to get more coffee.

Do you want me to refill your cup? Enrique was invaded by a disturbing combination of prejudice and anger, and he felt that he was being offended, subtly but systematically, on every occasion that the Romanian allowed himself to smile or drink coffee in the middle of the conversation, as if they were two old friends remembering old times. Suddenly he realized something. Maybe Alexandru was not as smart as he seemed.

If he was surrounded by books and seemed to know so many languages, why did he live in a hole in Brooklyn? He stood, and Alexandru imitated him and got up too. Sometimes it seems that they get inside the wagons only to create chaos. As they enjoy the hysterical cries, the tappets, the squeeze Now he wanted to play with him. Humiliate him. Enrique's gaze remained on the Romanian, who began to show gestures of discomfort. Alexandru nodded hesitantly. Alexandru escorted Enrique to the door, while this was happening Enrique repeated to himself the chivalry of that phrase that marked him as an outlaw.

He crossed the threshold when Alexandru's voice stopped him. When they turned around, their faces were very close, and Enrique felt that warm breath of coffee aroma of Zaruma. Tubes, scourers, drains. I move between objects and fluids that nobody touches in this city. Nobody would like to touch me either. Only your daughter. Enrique took the subway back to Midtown and, before arriving at the hotel, bought a bottle of red wine. In the room, he set the alarm for 3pm, the time he had agreed with the receptionist to ask for a taxi.

There was little more than three hours left. The suitcase was ready and after midnight he would land in Ecuador. He sat down to process the experiences of the day. He had not yet had lunch, but he prepared to kill with wine both the slight sensation of hunger and the anger that still lingered. He generously poured the first glass and drank it in three sips, watching the television images with the sound off. He also imagined her in New York, looking at her compatriots every time she visited Queens or any Andean refuge as they were shit, and looking with a smile at her Buenos Aires colleagues, those slender and presumptuous subjects.

He poured himself a second equally abundant glass, while his mind wandered to the portrait of Alexandru's father, then again to the image of his daughter swearing that we did not occupy a place, that we did not And suddenly he was frozen. The television showed caricatures of a canary and a feline but, by the expression on his face, it was as if he were observing an extreme display of malice, as if he were the casual witness of a decapitation. He had remembered the videos. Alexandru had recorded movies with his daughter. It was his duty as a father to recover them and get rid of them.

He held the door and entered with the assurance as if it was his own home. He climbed the stairs clenching his fists, determined to give battle, but without definite plan on where he would hit first, without even knowing if he would launch an intimidating howl. He gave three strong knocks to the door, and immediately thought that he had exaggerated, that he had knocked with the authority of a police officer. And later, he started to think that maybe the police would show up during the fight, and he had no interest in spending the night in jail.

He remembered his work as a volunteer with organizations of workers in Esmeraldas during the 80s, when he discovered that the local police dedicated themselves, almost exclusively, to solve drug trafficking crimes and the murders of white men. It was rumored that for the rest of the crimes, impunity was negotiable.

But New York was alien territory, a distant world from that old Esmeraldas. He heard noises from the other side of the apartment and as soon as Alexandru was in the middle of opening the door, Enrique went up and attacked him, letting out a drowned battle cry. The table shook and some of the piles of books dropped to the floor. Alexandru regained energy, struggled to get up, and had his knee on the ground when Enrique The second fall was more uncomfortable because of the number of books that were crushed under their weight and Enrique thought, during those fleeting seconds, that the books wanted vengeance: the covers sought to dig into their flesh, defying their clothes.

Both of them, on the ground, one of them lying down, uncomfortable, the other sinking, gasping for mouthfuls of air. Back then he was also flooded with blushing, by clumsiness and hyperventilation, by sweat and above all, by the unrest and fear of the unknown, which at that time was the possible pregnancy of his girlfriend. The Romanian laughed too. They stayed in silence, almost enjoying it, as it the previous laughter had mellowed out the environment.

Nor with Polanski. Although maybe she would know how to handle them. Enrique nodded, getting up slowly. Alexandru also composed himself, somewhat tense, thinking that maybe the fight would resume. Enrique led himself to the exit, discouraged. I will never be part of your family. The fat Alexandru knows his place, he has learned to survive on his own. Stay calm. You know where everything goes. He wandered around the terminal until he saw the clock: there was little time left before he had to go to the He ran one hand through his hair, noting the bump from Le Petit Larousse, and felt the urgency to think about the next step.

He strayed from part of the journey until he sat next to a trash can, near the toilets, that had gotten his attention for its nauseating odor. It was as if below this pile of contracted plastic and dirty papers lied an animal in decomposition. So, he opened a Christmas present that he brought in the backpack. It was one of the nougats his daughter asked for. Burn Newspapers, Publish books Words are the most powerful drug that humanity has ever invented Rudyard Kipling. In the middle of that false camaraderie, Mercedes looked around, calculating that there were barely 20 people in the room.

Pilar had met them four years earlier, in Quito, during her first work experience. Back then, Mercedes covered cultural events, and Leonel and Pilar wrote notes for the business section under the orders of Albertina, the best editor in the country. En su mano derecha lleva un madero forrado de papel plateado que termina en una estrella del mismo color. Sus capas son de terciopelo o raso y sobre sus cabezas llevan siempre una corona adornada con perlas y brillantes artificiales que a veces se reemplazan por turbantes de distintos colores.

Siempre van sobre un caballo cubierto con elegantes gobelinos o mantas. En la mano derecha sostiene una cruz y en la izquierda un cabestro con un borrego blanco. Lleva un sombrero blanco de lana maceteada. Lleva una pollera de colores muy encendidos y muy bordada en sus extremos inferiores sobre otra de lana sencilla. Llevan vistosos y grandes sombreros de lana maceteada combinada en negro y blanco. Fiestas Populares. Santos Inocentes.