A touch of summer

It's a long way to go just to get your hair washed.

From Lovin' Lima

I kind of like the snow. But I suppose mama and papa don't since they woke us up a three o'clock in the morning a few weeks ago and took us straight to the airport. They put us on a plane and headed off as far as they could. The other end of the world even. Twenty-four hours later we rolled up to my Mimi's rockin' new pad in Miraflores. It was summer there. I'd never been to deepest, darkest Peru, though my sister had.

From Holy Lima!

The skies there reminded me a lot of Paris in November, but without the rain. Of all the luck, I go to Peru when El Niño decides to make a rare appearance. But this was no ordinary trip. No lazy vacation in the land of Inca Cola. No jungle expedition to lost civilizations. I was being baptized, and the gray skies weren't getting in the way of my one-way ticket out of Limbo. No siree!

After the ceremony I could breathe easy knowing I would join my papa in heaven (he thinks) once the big journey is over. But my buddy Milo still had an important ceremony ahead of him. A couple of weeks later Papa walked up the Morro where his umbilical cord was buried next to Luma's. It was quite a celebration and I'm happy that they are together after all this time. Milo's mama and Papa are too.

From Christmas in shorts

This is my very first summer Christmas ever. I suppose it's my second Christmas ever so I've spent half my Christmases in light cotton. Hot or cold, Mimi knows how to do it right! I directed a careful decoration of the Christmas tree and provided light entertainment. New Year showed up six hours late, but it did arrive. And when it did there is nothing like a lightly-regulated country to place huge amounts of explosives in the hands of small children. I was a little upset that my parents didn't go local on that one. Still, I enjoyed the show.

Now my sister told me quite a bit about Peru. She told me of the Inca's and the pre-Inca cultures. She described the beautiful colonial architecture that adorns many of its cities. She talked about the streets, the people, the jungle, the high Andes and the dry coast. But she didn't tell me what really mattered. No, to know Peru, to really know Peru - or at least Lima - you must have a grasp, an understanding, a personal experience - you must know Wong.

<>

<>

Yeap, you got your Ceviche and Lomo Saltado, white houses in Asia, ATVs and SUVs, suntan lotion, baby alpaca, Mount Huascaran and the Ucayali River, Regatas, Frontón and bull fights; you have pisco sours and cerveza cusqueña, Larco Mar, Trujillo, Miraflores, San Isidro, La Mar, Astrid y Gastón, Pescados Capitales and La Gloria, corrupt legislators, balconies, funky sculptures, pan flute music, el cajón, the bridge where people no longer sigh, traffic, butifarras, garúa, Vargas-Llosa, pollution, potatoes and blue corn, taxis honking, mudslides and earthquakes, green parks in the desert, chicha, Villa El Salvador, Octopus and adobe. But forget it. You want to live the ultimate experience? Get yourself to Wong!

Wanna see my baptism? Check out: Escape from Limbo

Crazy about lunch at Sonia's? Check out: Sonia la belle


Thrilled by our Christmas festivities? Check out: No snow for sleigh


Intrigued by New Year's week at the beach? Check out: Malbec evenings

From Asia Peru

Still can't get enough? Check out: Lovin' Lima

From Lovin' Lima

 

¿...y si todos los domingos fueran así?

Breaking in

For some time now, I've known that something funny happens to parents when their kids turn about 13. They insist on telling them what to wear, criticizing their music or hairstyles, keeping them off the phone, and - worst of all - dropping them off right in front of school!

I figured I had another ten years to go before my folks went through their crisis of adolescence. So you can imagine how mortified I was when both my mama and papa showed up in class the other day, uninvited! By me at least. And on my birthday no less.

Showing up was bad enough, but papa was carrying a guitar which made him look like some aging war-protester hippie turned Benedictine monk. I wanted to crawl into a hole and die. Fortunately, I thought quickly. I told my classmates that the lady was my cook and the guy my buffoon. That seemed to go down well, especially since mama came in armed with a couple of high-energy chocolate cakes.


After enduring
"She'll be coming 'round the mountain' and 'happy birthday' in five languages we all broke cake together.

Adolescence may not be as bad as papa fears, but I can't seem to convince him of that.

Why not check out a couple more snaps here: Inès turns three

The battle of the Aisne

This time we outnumbered them. There were eight of us (Amicie, Melina, Gabrielle, Nefeli, Iris, Constantinos, the Gongo and myself) and only six of them. Our reinforcements didn't come in due to appendicitis in the ranks, so we were down three. But that also meant two adults less, and boy did they miss them. We couldn't wait any longer. Operation "drive them straight to the asylum" was put into action.






The battle took place in the Aisne. We used tactics picked up from watching documentaries about Guantanamo Bay and Abou Ghraib: sleep deprivation, high-pitched noises for extended periods of time, confusion, cross examination ("but mama said I could!"), and sabotage of personal belongings and furniture.





They did their best to counter attack. They tried to force us to sleep (failed). They tried to keep us away from sugar (failed). They tried to keep us from getting lost in the woods (failed). They even tried to keep us somewhat clean (failed miserably).

They knew they were losing badly and so a decision to reconvene around a dinner/summit on Saturday night was taken. But the adults are weak fighters. We survive on a steady diet of Mintos and orange juice; they feed their fighters fois gras, salmon, and Champagne. No new strategies came out of Saturday's dinner, only a couple more kilos around the waist, and then we suprised them with an early-morning offensive.






The battle lasted two days, but in the end, we won! And yes, the loot was exquisite. We turned all adults into our slaves, watched videos at will, and slept where and when we wanted to. For having perfected my torture tactics, I received an early birthday celebration, and we all enjoyed an explosive chocolate cake topped with extra chocolate, some more chocolate, a little more chocolate, and candy.



We also forced the bald guy to give us a lesson in SLR photography. You can see our artwork here: did someone say Henri Cartier Bresson?




It's hard to return home to Paris after experiencing the sweet taste of victory in the Aisne.


Why not check out all the pictures here: ABC: Aisne, Birthdays, and Cousins

Más Feeesh!

The First World War lasted a pretty long time; but it had to end someday, and that day was the 11th of November. Now, I guess that was generally good news for those soldiers left standing; but it's also good news for those of us who, all these years later, get the 11th of November off as a commemorative holiday. Yeap, and since mama and papa didn't have to go to work today they decided to take the Gongo and me to the aquarium!

After a couple of pictures of us in front of the Eiffel Tower (we can do that without looking dumb, we live here) we plunged into the deep dark waters of the Paris Aquarium. And who would have believed that so many fish live in Paris? I mean, it's a crowded city but so far I've seen mostly people, dogs, and a few Canadians! Here was a huge underground apartment complex for fish. Big fish, small fish, colorful fish, jelly fish, just lots of fish (and a few screaming kids, like me).



After the shark tunnel I was so excited that I needed a little rest, so we emerged from the fish world and hit a touristy café terrace on the Place de Trocadero. By then , of course, the sun was out and I had to reach for my sunglasses in mama's bag. Ahh, sun on the 11th of November? I'm glad they ended that war, and that doing so was such a big deal that 91 years later they still had to give mama and papa a day off to remind everyone that fish don't know how to use heavy artillery.


Why not check out our Armistice Day celebrations here: fish, not canned

Theater daaa'ling!

From Field trip!

When the weather turns cold you eat soup, wear dark colors, and go to the theater. And I just loooove the theater.

From Field trip!

Now, I don't understand why the grown-ups can't make their own plans! We were forced to chaperone some 30 adults right across Paris. That's right, the show was in the 12th arrondissement of Paris and we are in the sunny 15th, so we had to hold their hands (2 kids to an adult no less!) and make sure that none got lost in the metro.

From Field trip!

From Field trip!

But that's okay. Once at the theater I lost myself in the story of a baby violin growing up on a steady diet of musical notes that its mother would search high and low to find. I think I saw a couple of the grownups choke up when the baby violin finally grew up. Silly parents! They should know that children are only on short-term loan!

From Field trip!

At least we didn't lose any parents along the way.

Number one

From Life starts at one

This morning, as I drank my milk, my thoughts wandered. They wandered off to days past. To all the people that have adorned the road of life. I suppose it was normal to feel a little introspective, to take stock of my life. It was the morning of my first birthday.

From Life starts at one

You, dear blog reader, may not know what it's like to look back on the long road traveled, to contemplate whether I have lived my life to its fullest, to ask myself whether I have made the right choices and done the right thing.

From Life starts at one

Yeah, whatever. It's my birthday and I'm going to tear it up!

From Life starts at one

And tear it up we did. Well at least the apartment. I don't suppose it'll ever look the same again. I mean, this was like some American college party movie. I haven't quite picked my crowd yet so I invited a few of my sister's friends. Some real babes (you know what I mean, that is, really, babes, as in babies).

From Life starts at one

Tess, Gayathrie, Anna, Tess, Emma. I couldn't handle them on my own so I invited Nickil along for a little guy help. Oh yeah, and there were a couple of parents I suppose. But they didn't ruin the party. They helped serve.

From Life starts at one

The parents couldn't handle the high-fructose corn syrup so they sipped Champagne. We downed cake, Kinder chocolate, and apple juice like the swine flu was just around the corner.

From Life starts at one

Oink, oink dude, I'm one!

From Life starts at one

La Rentrée

From Summer's setting sun

France has two beginnings to the year. Like much of the world, a good part of the country wakes up on January 1st with a headache and a bunch of short-lived good intentions. This year, my resolution was to keep mama and papa from sleeping. I’ve pretty much kept that one up rock solid.

From Summer's setting sun

But the real New Year in France starts at the rentrée. No headaches or good intentions, just a lot of suntans and stories about summer vacation. Anyone who knows France knows that, here, the rentrée is the real beginning of the year, which lasts until the following summer.

From Summer's setting sun

The wind down to the summer was quite busy on the fourth floor of the rue Lecourbe, and at abuelita’s house. After the cherry jellies there were the mirabelles and then the wild blackberries. The terraces were still full of sun and people looking cool. I hung out by the pool and watched the Gongo practice his backstroke. Fancisco came back and then left again. My cousins came to visit from Rome. Sam and Robby cooked great things at the Chetif Moulin, and cousin Mathieu braved the thorns to pick three kilos of blackberries with papa.

From Summer's setting sun

I’m ready now to tell all my new friends at school about my glorious days on the beach. About my wonderful abuelita. About Franciscos’s visit and the wonderful jams that my papa made. I’m ready to tell them about how they better be nice to me or the Gongo will kick but and take names. I’m ready for my first red helium-filled balloon. Yep, it’s been a good summer.