You are a splendid butterfly

...it is your wings that make you beautiful. And I could make you fly away, but I could never make you stay."


So in my renewed new plan to Enjoy Montreal, Tom and I went to see the butterflies be free at the Botanical Gardens. First we walked to the Beijing in Chinatown for some lunch and then we took the metro to Pie-IX. At the ticket booth they told us the wait for the butterflies was an hour and a half. It was 3pm and the exhibit closes at 5pm. We bought tickets anyway and went it to see what could be done. Maybe we could see something else worth our $10 and the metro trip there. The gatekeeper told us to visit the Insectarium first and come back later. He said the wait was worthwhile and that we would be let in until 5pm anyway.

So we went to look at the bugs, living and dead. My first impression upon entering the Insectarium building (all of the different buildings are spread out on the Botanical Gardens' grounds) was: kids, noise. Elementary-school-aged children were running around, using all the interactive displays (I want to play too!) and just being themselves. But once I got into it, they didn't seem to be too much trouble. I was able to press a button and try to identify the smells that came out of a nose-sized hole (flowers, honey and a banana-scented alarm odour bees give off), weigh myself in ants (2,500,000) and match pictures of insects to their homes.

The ick-factor was quite low. I managed to watch a hive at work through glass planels without getting too grossed out at the swarm and the dead bees lying below. Also was able to peacefully observe another swarm: ants. But the one creature that I cannot, could not, look at without my entire stomach flipping over and wriggling, is the cockroach and all of its relatives. Soooo gross. I once ran in the street to get away from a roach. My first boyfriend, Alfredo, said my fear of cockroaches represented my atavical fear of poverty. Whatever, they disgust me. Tom, on the other hand, had no issues with the roach but couldn't look for one second at a big fat centipede that was lying under a rock. Whereas for me, I could have looked at it for days. I felt nothing. It just looked like a flat out snake, no biggie. He was grossed out there. As far as the kids were concerned, I only heard one little girl -who was probably too close to adolescence- saying "ooooh, gross" (in French). There was small boy, probably 4 or 5, who was crawling all over the tarantula's terrarium. He just couldn't get close enough.

Done with the Insectarium, we walked back to the Main Exhibition Greenhouse, where the butterfly display is going on until April 30. The line was nowhere near as long as we'd been led to believe. We detoured to look at Napoleon's long-lost relatives (orchids) and we amazed at how vibrant and healthy these cousins of our dead Napoleon were. Too sad. We need to buy a new one, but maybe we should start off with something simpler, like a cactus. And no pets until we're able to keep a plant alive.

There is something of a wait, but it's all in the greenhouse, so you can look at bonsais and such while-u-wait. And then it's the butterflies!

It's amazing. You walk into a room and a butterfly zooms past your face. They're on the ceiling (mesh), hanging in the trees in front of you, zipping past your knees, eating a plate of fruit among the plants, hanging in cocoons (those are moths), flitting about a waterfall's mist... So beautiful, so many of them, and so free -within the confines of this room, of course. It's a big room, and I definitely recommend the spectacle. It's fun to watch the kids knowing more than the adults, and behaving very seriously (one little girl told Tom to shush as she kneeled in observation of a feeding b-fly).

If you have ideas of more enjoyable things we can entertain ourselves with this spring, please comment. I have accomplished mission one of my return to Montreal and this is mission two, for the long haul.

An eventful day in Denver

So the conference was finally over and I had the afternoon to myself to “discover” downtown Denver. I did a quick search on Frommer’s.com and made reservations for “English tea” at the Brown Palace Hotel. I found it odd that tea is served from noon to 4pm. I thought it was supposed to be an afternoon thing, like in Chile, but then again I’m not English so what do I know.

I went by myself to the French-inspired hotel with a stained glass ceiling about 7 floors up. Tea is served in the lobby below that ceiling, with a piano player nearby. There are tables surrounded by sofas for larger parties, as though you had to go to a hotel to have tea the way you might in your living room. Maybe the maid was out that day…

It was so easy to imagine myself having this tea with other people. It would have been more fun, but I think that would also depend on who went. Nothing ruins a fancy tea afternoon more than going with someone who doesn’t enjoy it. First I pictured, who else, but my mother. If she had been there I’m sure she would have showed a restrained pleasure, as though accustomed –even bored- by these plebeian customs, but still enjoying it because … what’s the alternative, dear?

The tea was Twinnings, a special blend made especially for the hotel that reminded me, oddly, of the smell at the stables where my brother and I took horseback riding lessons in late 80s. It was awesome.

Then I imagined my grandmother, who, unlike my mother, would have expressed amazement and wonder and EVERYTHING, and probably left having made friends with the pianist, the waitresses and the people at the next table.

The only other person I could think of who might have as much fun with the whole thing was Bubi, based on her reaction to Moby’s tea house, Teany, in the Lower East Side.

After my $27 pastries and tea, I headed to the State Capitol. When I first saw on Frommer’s that this was one of the top attractions I thought that was a sign of how boring Denver must be. Come on, a political building, who cares? But then I read that the 18th step on the west side was exactly 1 mile high (ie “the mile high city”).

It was a beautiful spring day yesterday. Similar to Fall, with a sort of wetness coming from the ground and warm sun mixed with cool air. A guy was skateboarding past me on a steep street and I could feel my heart beat faster than usual in this pre-Rockies town. When I got to the Capitol there were… bikers. Bikers holding US flags with yellow ribbons and wearing jackets that said things like “Riding for Christian Motorcyclists” and “US Marine Extermination Corps”. One of them had a Canadian flag patch next to a US one, and an RCMP patch underneath. Bizarre. Anyway, at first I didn’t know what was going on and I was just annoyed that I couldn’t go up to the 18th step because there was a podium set up there and tv cameras, etc. So I sat on a railing to listen.

The ceremony was to say they were going to try to pass a bill forbidding protesters to approach funerals. What I understood was that anti-war protesters were bothering the grieving members of dead soldiers’ funeral parties. And somehow this was related to the bikers, who were referred to publicly as “the guard”. Mostly I found the whole thing pretty quaint, a great sightseeing experience for a foreign tourist in America.

When that part was over I start taking notes of what I was seeing, for this blog. A guy carrying a sign that read “God hates is oxymoronic” came up to talk to me. Maybe he thought I was a reporter. I told him I didn’t understand his sign, and after a while (first he tried to tell me what “oxymoron” means…) he explained that it was “God hates” (the phrase) is oxymoronic. In other words, he doesn’t think God can hate. Ok, whatever. He told me that the “guard” went to high profile military funerals and put up tarps and revved their bikes so that the grievers couldn’t hear or see the protesters. I smiled and nodded at whatever he said and then left him to go see a new protest that was happening below us on the sidewalk. Here were the people the new bill was supposed to protect citizens against. Now THIS was hilarious.

A dozen people carrying hippie-coloured (you know, rainbowish) signs were approaching. Some of the people had US flags tied to their legs, like bandannas. Very big bandannas. And this is what the signs said:

“Thank God for 9/11”
“God hates the USA”
“God is the enemy”

And then it got more bizarre:

“God hates fag enablers”

I could barely keep myself from cracking up. Surely this was all a big joke. Who were these people? Police were trying to keep us “regular” folks from going down to where the protesters were so there were a lot of on-lookers like me in the patch between the State Capitol and the sidewalk (it’s a little hillside). I overheard one explaining to another that the freaky hippies were actually a sort of cult from Kansas that believes that… get this.. God is punishing the United States BECAUSE the country tolerates homosexuals. HAHAHA.

Possibly my favourite part was when someone in a passing car yelled in the same sing-song rhythm as the protesters “God hates fundamentalist wackoooos”.

As I was leaving a counter protest arrived, with placards reading “God forgives, we don’t. 9/11”. That reminded me of when Pinochet was asked if he would ask the Chilean people for forgiveness and he said “only God forgives”. Honestly, I’m quite confused as to how so many people seem to KNOW what God does, is, approves, rejects, etc. But whatever, feel free.

I didn’t stick around for things to get uglier. I asked some ladies with name tags if they worked in the Capitol and they showed me the 18th step. The mile-high point has actually changed over the years due to land shifting, so they have different markers with years on them. They brought me inside the building and I had my little self-tour. Unfortunately, since –guess when- 9/11, you can’t go up to the observation deck on the third floor anymore. I wanted to go see “as far as the Wyoming border” like it said in Frommer’s. You can’t get any views anymore in this country. All roofs are off limits.

The interior is very lavish. Apparently they used all of the world’s known supply of pink onyx on the walls when they built the place. It must be weird to be a public servant in a place that’s more elegant than any 5-star hotel.

After that I went to the nearby Art Museum. The building was the best part of it. It was designed by Gio Ponti, an Italian architect who liked diamond shapes very much. There are thin rectangular windows placed like the broken pieces of a cross all over the 10-storey building. When you’re inside looking out it’s really cool because they frame the city in odd ways: cutting a piece of the Capitol’s dome, leaving only the corner of a skyscraper and a bunch of blue sky… The museum’s collection wasn’t so hot. I looked mostly at the Native American stuff, since you know their “Renaissance collection” isn’t going to be better than what I’ve seen at the National Gallery, or the Chicago Art Institute, or the Met. For sure. They did have one Boticelli. The man with the red hat.

My eventful day ended with a shortcut across the Civic Center Park and its assortment of homeless and loitering population (apparently the weather in Denver makes it a sort of capital to the homeless). When I passed by a woman sitting by herself on a park bench, with her sleeping bad by her side, I wanted to tell her “everyone gets to enjoy the weather”.

Jom Sentar

Ya po, cachan que estoy en Denver, cierto? Bueno, y el proximo anyo esta conferencia en que estoy trabajando la haran en Columbus, Ohio. A nadie. Resulta que uno de los senores que estaba trabajando aca, ayudando con las inscripciones de la gente, me dijo que el se crio en Columbus, pero que no ha ido hace como 40 anyos! Tiene un primo que conoce ahi, mas otros primos que no cacha mucho.

Y le dije. Me parece tan raro esto que se que en Estados Unidos es muy normal, de crecer en un lugar pero de irse a otro y simplemente no volver nunca a casa. No me lo puedo imaginar. AMO Montreal, porque todo ahi me pertenece. Son recuerdos sobre recuerdos. Me encanta ver los fotologs y blogs de mis amigos en Santiago porque me recuerdan el hogar que construi ahi, y lo familiar que todavia me son esas botellas de Coca Cola de plastico ultra grueso, y los asados, y los lanzamientos y los recitales donde tooooooodo el mundo va, aunque ni cachen la banda.

Esta bien, eso mismo me demuestra que el hogar se puede construir, en un lugar nuevo, donde no naciste ni te criaste. Pero pucha, hay que volver a casa! Porque es casa. Como lo hace este senor? Como lo hacen los gringos? Construyendo casa nuevas y dejando las viejas para que otros se vayan de alguna parte para reemplazarlos.

Lo que quiero decir es: sigan posteando y creando nuevos blogs. Me encantan. Me recuerdan a mi otra casa.

But is it art?

In the elevator to my room at the Hyatt Regency at the Colorado Convention Center (mouthful, yes) there's a flat screen tv that shows what appears, at first glance, to be a still image. But on your way up to the 37th floor you hear strange noises. Maybe bird chirps, or a football team's members talking to each other. And you look around you in the empty elevator and you see that the image on the screen is actually moving, ever so slightly. Maybe the trees in the frame (the picture is not always the same each time you get on the elevator) are moving with the wind, or something.

My initial and principal reaction is: this is the most useless waste of money I have ever seen. I mean, what is it FOR? It's not even like a luxury benefit, like a spa, that may see useless but is good for relaxing or creating a mood. It's nothing. It affects me in no way, except for a very mild curiosity.

And then one of the temps here at the convention center was selling me her city and mentioned that there's all kinds of art in this town. There's a giant bear, for instance. A giant BLUE bear, looking into the convention center with his paws up, inches from the glass. I think it's called "oh, I see what you mean". The way she said it, I thought there was some double entendre I wasn't getting. I'm still not getting... "oh, I see what you mean", she kept repeating, ever more meaningfully, you know? Raising the eyebrows a bit...

Ok, and THEN she brings up the screen in my elevators! She says this too is ART! Well... this was news to me. I mean, it was a fresh perspective, and I appreciated it as such. Ah, ha, so maybe THAT'S what they were going for. Because, honestly, I didn't even understand until then WHY someone would put those screens in the elevator. But now if they thought they were being artistic! I see...

But still, is it art?



PS I also saw a pretty interesting show on A&E about polygamy in Utah. Crazy how many sub-Mormon groups there are there. And some of the women have moustaches!!

FOUND

One silver ring. In the pocket of a jacket I rarely wear.

Now it's gone again, to my dad, who by coincidence knows a jewellery repairman who may be able to fix the fisure on the underside.

Woohoo!

PS I'm in Denver.

what was john denver's last hit?

I'm off to Denver today. In Frommer's guide they give 0-3 stars to a city's attractions. Denver has no attractions with more than 2 stars. I've never seen that before. So, keeping the expectations for my afternoon off in check, eh?





Answer: the pacific ocean, get it?

Está bien que un domingo esté nublado

Es raro como la primavera se puede parecer -anímicamente- al otoño. Será algo que tienen las estaciones intermedias, como las llamó la Vero. Hoy está nublado en Montreal. Estamos acelerando la primavera, pero con llovizna y luz gris, más se siente como esos ricos días otoñales en que todavía es divertido ponerse ropa abrigada, brrr! Supongo que algunos en Chile están esperando con ansiedad esos días. Yo, en cambio, estoy feliz de que partan aquí los días de más calor y flores.

En términos de clima prefiero el verano, pero conceptualmente prefiero la primavera porque entonces todo está por delante. TODO ESTÁ POR DELANTE!

***

Ayer me junté con las chicas de Events, mi antiguo trabajo. Qué rico verse con gente que te quiere tal cual eres, que te aprecia como persona y como profesional, y con quien es tan fácil llevarse bien porque los sentimientos son mutuos! Cómo quisiera volver a trabajar con/para gente así...



Un recuerdo con otra gente de Events en el Caramaño. Noviembre, 2003.
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Todos los piscianos están de cumpleaños: la Bubi, la Justina (¿te llegó el regalo?), Luis, mi prima Carmen, Isabel Stengler (ver arriba), el señor K, Pampa, Marcia, Vero Veritas! A propósito del señor K, me lo topé en la calle hoy. Creo que yo lo ponía nervioso. ¿Creen ustedes que la gente me pueda tener miedo? ¿Cómo puede ser si yo soy tan dulce y delicada como una flor?

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De Montreal

Anoche fui a ver Of Montreal, una banda que no es de Montreal en realidad. Super buen show, y bien gastada la plata. Telonearon las Lesbians on Ecstasy, que si, son lesbianas. Tambien entretenidas ellas.

Queria poner una cancion de Of Montreal aqui para que se entretuvieran bajandola, pero ahora no tengo tiempo para hacer esa pega. Asi que los que quieran una, escribanme o encuentrenme en msn. Me compre el ultimo CD, The Sunlandic Twins.

Manana voy a Boston por el dia, que lata no? El proximo viernes me voy a Denver. Puro viaje. Me quiero quedar en casa.

El otro grupo que queremos ver con Tom es Serena Maneesh. Super buena la unica cancion que tengo en mi iTunes.

Oye, estoy medio fome asi que parare, pero solo queria decir que ya se ve venir la primavera aca. Jaja! Bacan. voy a plantar hierbitas que me regalaron para la navidad.

Silver Spoons

I’m so not made for the suitcase/hotel life. What is this place where you don’t own anything?

I bought a salad at Au bon Pain for lunch and decided to go eat it in my room. Of course, I had to stop by the Front Desk first and get a new key since I hadn’t thought to bring the plastic card with me. They should just program their locks with a PIN. I could remember that.

Anyway, as soon as I got to my room I realized I had nothing to eat the salad with. They don’t give full service here. You have to pick up the plastic fork yourself at the same little table where you pour your own milk and sugar into your coffee and get your napkins, etc. So I had no fork.

I slipped out to the hall, waited for the housekeeper to go into a room and rummaged around someone’s breakfast tray, left on the floor for room service to pick up. Found a spoon.

I’m serious!