Volví a casa les dije a Charo y Paquita (las hermanas de la pensión) lo que Fernando me había dicho (de estar separado y con tres hijos). Me dijeron que ni se me ocurriera salir con el pues no existía el divorcio y que yo era muy joven ya que solo tenía 21 años y el 38. Les hice caso pues al fin y al cabo tampoco estaba enamorada. Me llamó varias veces y las hermanas siempre le daban largas diciéndole que no estaba. Un dia una amiga mia muy querida de Toronto, Monica Robinson, vino a Madrid con sus tios (el era el presidente del First National City Bank de New York) y se hospedaban en el Ritz. Me invitó todos los dias a comer con ellos. Recuerdo que cada vez que llegaba al hotel, casi,casi me sacaban la alfombra roja diciendo: "La Srta. Pallarés, la amiga de la Srta. Robinson!" No entendía tantas atenciones hasta que un dia en la portada del "ABC" salió la foto del tio de Monica con Franco. Había venido a España a otorgar un préstamo muy importante al régimen... Un domingo me invitaron a los toros. Me emperifollé como siempre y salí de casa. Al voltear la esquina, me tropecé con Fernando!!! Venía a verme porque nunca me ponia al teléfono. Le dije que no podía hablar con el porque estaba de camino a los toros. Entonces me dijo que si yo quería cenar con el esa noche en casa de su hermana, Pilar. Lo pensé unos segundos y me dije: "Porque no, siempre podemos ser amigos". La idea de cenar con su familia me apetecia, le dije que sí. Me fuí a los toros. Vimos a Antonio Bienvenida desde la barrera. Una experiencia inolvidable. Esa noche fui a casa de Pilar. Conocí a su hermano Felipe y a su cuñada Mili. Salimos todos juntos y lo pasé bomba!!! Fernando era, y es, super gracioso. Nunca me había reido tanto en mi vida. Me enamoré perdidamente. Continuará...
I went back home and I told Charo and Paquita (the sisters who ran the lodging house) what Fernando had told me, that he was separated and had three children. They told me to forget him as there was no divorce and that I was very young--(I was 21 and he was 38). I thought, yeah why not, after all I wasn't in love with him. He called several times but the sisters always told him I wasn't in. One day a very dear friend of mine from Canada, Monica Robinson, came to Madrid with her aunt and uncle--he was the president of an important bank of New York at the time. They were staying at the Ritz. Monica invited me nearly every day for lunch. Whenever I arrived at the Ritz, I was surprised to see that they almost took out the red carpet for me saying: "Miss Pallarés is here to see Miss Robinson!". I didn't understand all the fuss until one day I saw the picture of Monica's uncle with Franco in the front page of the "ABC" newspaper. He had come to give a big loan to Franco's regime... One day they invited me to the bullfights. I got all prepped up, went out of the house, and when I turned the corner I bumped into Fernando!!! He was coming to see me because I never got on the phone. I told him I couldn't speak to him at the time because I was in a rush to go to the bullfight. He simply asked me if I wanted to have dinner with him that evening at his sister Pilar's house. In one second, I thought: "OK, it would be nice to meet his family and we could always be friends..." I said yes. That evening I met Pilar and his brother Felipe with his wife Mili. We went out for dinner and we had so much fun! Fernando was the funniest person that I had ever met. I fell in love. It will continue...
viernes, 28 de diciembre de 2007
jueves, 27 de diciembre de 2007
FERNANDO - PARTE 1 (PART 1)
1965. Madrid. Llegué a Madrid en el Talgo desde Irún. Tenía ganas de vivir en España, país en el cual no había vivido desde mis 10 años. Llegué a la Estación de Atocha. Cuando bajé del tren me llamó la atención el ambiente de pueblo que se palpaba (gran diferencia entre Paris y Toronto). No me gustó pero me quedé. Alquilé una habitación en la casa de las hermanas Arretondo en la Calle Azcona (cerca de Francisco Silvela). Había otros dos huespedes viviendo en la casa, un italiano que nunca veíamos y una alemana, Steffi Rieche con quien hice gran amistad. Una noche una de las hermanas, Charo que era muy marchosa, nos preguntó si conociamos los mesones. Llevabamos tres meses en Madrid y no, ni Steffi ni yo los conociamos. Nos fuimos a verlos. En el "Meson de la Guitarra" había un ambiente muy simpático; decidimos quedarnos. De repente entraron dos parejas. Uno de ellos era muy, muy atractivo (tenía un aire a Paul Newman), muy elegante. Adiviné toda su vida nada mas verle, su trabajo (correo de turismo)(jamás había conocido a un guía de turismo!) origen familiar entre francés y andaluz y que la mujer que le acompañaba no era ni su mujer ni su novia. Se sentaron al lado de nosotros. Empezamos a hablar y Fernando se quedó prendado de Steffi (era bellísima, la verdad) averigüamos que los que le acompañaban eran canadienses de Toronto y como Fernando les había llevado en un viaje por Andalucia les había invitado a conocer
los mesones. Acabamos intercambiando números de teléfono. Fernando le dijo a Steffi que la llamaría despues de Semana Santa. No llamó. Unos dias despues de Semana Santa, una amiga suiza que siempre que llegaba su hermano de Ginebra me invitaba a cenar con ellos, me llamó y dijo que nos citábamos en el Hotel Plaza de la Plaza de España. Allá fuí. El "hall" del hotel era enorme; estabámos sentados tomando un aperitivo cuando de repente ví a Fernando entrar con un rebaño de gente detrás. Le dije a Nelly, mi amiga, "Oh, ahí está Fernando que le conocimos en el meson!". Le perdí de vista. Despues de un rato yo quise ir al baño y le pregunté a Georges (hermano de Nelly) dónde estaba. Me dijo: "Mira, no sé es mejor que vayas a recepción y pidas la llave de mi cuarto". Vale, me acerqué a recepción y, al lado mio, estaba Fernando!!! Le saludé, me miró un poco extrañado, le dije que yo era la amiga de Steffi y que le habíamos conocido en el meson. Cayó y entonces me dijo que si queríamos salir al dia siguiente con el y un amigo. Cuando fui a casa le conté a Steffi el encuentro y que nos había invitado al dia siguiente. Allá fuimos. El amigo no apareció entonces Fernando se quedó con las dos. Nos fuimos al "Pasapoga". Sacó a bailar a Steffi y yo me quedé "vistiendo santos". Pero, despues de un baile volvieron y me sacó a mi a bailar. Encajamos perfectamente y ya no tuvo ojos para Steffi. Quedó en llamarme. Me llamó. Salimos a cenar. Pero yo le veía mayor que yo y pensé: "Este está casado". Le pregunté y muy sincero me dijo que estaba separado y tenía tres hijos. En esa época no existía el divorcio...
1965. Madrid. I arrived in Madrid in the "Talgo" train from Irún. I wanted to live in Spain, country that I hadn't lived in since I was ten years old. I arrived at the "Atocha" train station. When I got down from the train, the ambiance arround me was very "small-townish" quite a change from Paris and Toronto. I didn't like it buy I stayed. I rented a room in a house owned by two sisters. We were three lodgers, one Italian that we never saw, a German girl, Steffi Rieche, who became a great friend and myself. One evening, Charo, one of the sisters, asked Steffi and me if we knew the "mesones". We said no, we didn't know them. She took us to various finally staying at the "Meson de la Guitarra". At one moment two couples entered and I noticed one of them who was very handsome (he looked like Paul Newman), very elegant and in one second I guessed his whole life! I guessed his work (international tour guide--I had never met a guide in my life) his family origins a mixture of French and Andalusian and that the woman beside him wasn't his wife or girlfriend. They sat next to us. We started speaking and we found out that the three others that were with Fernando were Canadian, from Toronto, and that he had taken them on a trip through Andalucia and since they were so nice, he had decided to invite them to see the mesones. Fernando was very interested in Steffi because she was very beautiful. We ended up giving him our telephone number. He said to Steffi that he would call her after Easter. He didn't call. The days passed and one evening, a Swiss friend of mine that whenever her brother came to Madrid, always invited us, called and said that her brother had come from Geneva. We agreed to meet at the Hotel Plaza in the Plaza de España. The hall of the hotel was enormous. We sat and had a few aperitifs. At one moment I saw Fernando coming in with a trail of tourists behind him. I said to Nelly, my friend,: "Oh, there is Fernando the man we met at the meson!". I lost sight of him. After a while I needed to go to the loo and asked Georges (Nelly's brother) where it was. He said: "I don't know, I think it's best if you to go up to the desk and ask for the key to my room" so I did. When I was at the desk, next to me, was Fernando! I said hello, he looked at me not quite remembering who I was but when I explained he realized and then quickly invited Steffi and me to have dinner with him and a friend the following day. I went home and told Steffi about the invitation. Next evening we went to meet them. Fernando's friend didn't show up so he ended up with the two of us. We went to the "Pasapoga". Fernando asked Steffi to dance and I remained sitting like a wall flower. After one dance they came back and then asked me to dance. It was magic. We were made for eachother! Afterwards he asked me if I would go out with him sometime. He called and we went to have dinner. When I saw that he was older than me, I thought: "He's probably married". I asked him and very sincerely he told me that he was separated and had three children. There was no divorce in Spain at the time...
los mesones. Acabamos intercambiando números de teléfono. Fernando le dijo a Steffi que la llamaría despues de Semana Santa. No llamó. Unos dias despues de Semana Santa, una amiga suiza que siempre que llegaba su hermano de Ginebra me invitaba a cenar con ellos, me llamó y dijo que nos citábamos en el Hotel Plaza de la Plaza de España. Allá fuí. El "hall" del hotel era enorme; estabámos sentados tomando un aperitivo cuando de repente ví a Fernando entrar con un rebaño de gente detrás. Le dije a Nelly, mi amiga, "Oh, ahí está Fernando que le conocimos en el meson!". Le perdí de vista. Despues de un rato yo quise ir al baño y le pregunté a Georges (hermano de Nelly) dónde estaba. Me dijo: "Mira, no sé es mejor que vayas a recepción y pidas la llave de mi cuarto". Vale, me acerqué a recepción y, al lado mio, estaba Fernando!!! Le saludé, me miró un poco extrañado, le dije que yo era la amiga de Steffi y que le habíamos conocido en el meson. Cayó y entonces me dijo que si queríamos salir al dia siguiente con el y un amigo. Cuando fui a casa le conté a Steffi el encuentro y que nos había invitado al dia siguiente. Allá fuimos. El amigo no apareció entonces Fernando se quedó con las dos. Nos fuimos al "Pasapoga". Sacó a bailar a Steffi y yo me quedé "vistiendo santos". Pero, despues de un baile volvieron y me sacó a mi a bailar. Encajamos perfectamente y ya no tuvo ojos para Steffi. Quedó en llamarme. Me llamó. Salimos a cenar. Pero yo le veía mayor que yo y pensé: "Este está casado". Le pregunté y muy sincero me dijo que estaba separado y tenía tres hijos. En esa época no existía el divorcio...
1965. Madrid. I arrived in Madrid in the "Talgo" train from Irún. I wanted to live in Spain, country that I hadn't lived in since I was ten years old. I arrived at the "Atocha" train station. When I got down from the train, the ambiance arround me was very "small-townish" quite a change from Paris and Toronto. I didn't like it buy I stayed. I rented a room in a house owned by two sisters. We were three lodgers, one Italian that we never saw, a German girl, Steffi Rieche, who became a great friend and myself. One evening, Charo, one of the sisters, asked Steffi and me if we knew the "mesones". We said no, we didn't know them. She took us to various finally staying at the "Meson de la Guitarra". At one moment two couples entered and I noticed one of them who was very handsome (he looked like Paul Newman), very elegant and in one second I guessed his whole life! I guessed his work (international tour guide--I had never met a guide in my life) his family origins a mixture of French and Andalusian and that the woman beside him wasn't his wife or girlfriend. They sat next to us. We started speaking and we found out that the three others that were with Fernando were Canadian, from Toronto, and that he had taken them on a trip through Andalucia and since they were so nice, he had decided to invite them to see the mesones. Fernando was very interested in Steffi because she was very beautiful. We ended up giving him our telephone number. He said to Steffi that he would call her after Easter. He didn't call. The days passed and one evening, a Swiss friend of mine that whenever her brother came to Madrid, always invited us, called and said that her brother had come from Geneva. We agreed to meet at the Hotel Plaza in the Plaza de España. The hall of the hotel was enormous. We sat and had a few aperitifs. At one moment I saw Fernando coming in with a trail of tourists behind him. I said to Nelly, my friend,: "Oh, there is Fernando the man we met at the meson!". I lost sight of him. After a while I needed to go to the loo and asked Georges (Nelly's brother) where it was. He said: "I don't know, I think it's best if you to go up to the desk and ask for the key to my room" so I did. When I was at the desk, next to me, was Fernando! I said hello, he looked at me not quite remembering who I was but when I explained he realized and then quickly invited Steffi and me to have dinner with him and a friend the following day. I went home and told Steffi about the invitation. Next evening we went to meet them. Fernando's friend didn't show up so he ended up with the two of us. We went to the "Pasapoga". Fernando asked Steffi to dance and I remained sitting like a wall flower. After one dance they came back and then asked me to dance. It was magic. We were made for eachother! Afterwards he asked me if I would go out with him sometime. He called and we went to have dinner. When I saw that he was older than me, I thought: "He's probably married". I asked him and very sincerely he told me that he was separated and had three children. There was no divorce in Spain at the time...
lunes, 24 de diciembre de 2007
WOODY ALLEN y/and AL PACINO
Sigo en 1977, en Nueva York. Cantero, Oriol y yo nos fuimos al Michael's Pub porque ese dia Woody tocaba el clarinete. Cenamos mientras le escuchábamos (a mi me pareció que tocaba bastante mal pero la orquesta Dixie que le acompañaba era fantástica). Despues de cenar, me acerqué a Woody para ver si nos concedía una entrevista. Como un robot me dijo: "Tienes que llamar a mi manager, fulanito de tal, 633-33333" insistí: "Pero si Vd. está de acuerdo será más facil que el me de la cita" siguió como un robot repitiéndome la primera frase. Sinceramente pensé que el no era el Woody Allen que yo imaginaba y que debía de existir algun cerebro gris detrás del personaje. Me defraudó. Llamé al manager al dia siguiente pero no pasé de la secretaria. Esa noche cenamos en el "Elaine's" donde iban muchos famosos, nuestro camarero era español (he constatado que todos los camareros trabajando en el extranjero en aquellos años eran españoles!!). Le pedimos que nos avisara si había algun famoso. En unos momentos vino y nos dijo que Woody Allen estaba en una de las mesas. Salté como un rayo y fuí a hablar con el. Estaba con otra pareja que no reconocí. Casi me arrodillé delante de él y le comenté lo del Michael's Pub de la noche anterior, que había llamado a su manager pero que no había pasado de la secretaria, que eramos periodistas españoles y que en España era muy popular y querido. Entonces sí que vi al Woody Allen que yo admiraba. Muy simpático y parlanchín me dijo que llamara a su manager al dia siguiente y que se pondría al telefóno pero que el no me podía asegurar nada porque estaba en medio del rodaje de "Manhattan". En frente de el sobre la mesa tenía una sopa. En un momento dado me invadió un sentimiento maternal y le dije: "Por favor tome su sopa que se está enfriando". En ese momento llegó el maître todo alborotado diciéndome que me levantara y dejara en paz al Sr. Allen!! Otro histérico. Bueno, resulta que Woody era el Dios de Nueva York en aquellos años porque acababa de ganar un Oscar por "Annie Hall"... Al dia siguiente, llamé al manager y hablé con el!!! Muy simpático, por cierto. Me dijo que vería lo que podría hacer y que me llamaría de vuelta. Me llamó. Me dijo que en Noviembre (era principios de Octubre) cuando acabara el famoso rodaje que sí nos daría una entrevista. Al final como he contado en el blog de IRENE no volvimos.
Ya que os he contado ésto, os voy a contar otra anécdota de aquella cena en "Elaine's". Nuestro maravilloso camarero nos dijo que Al Pacino estaba en otra mesa. Allá fuí a ver si le encontraba. Las luces eran muy tenues y no veía ni papa. Cuando de repente divisé a un guaperas y me dije: "Aha, Al Pacino". Me acerqué a su mesa (eran cuatro comensales) y, como seguía sin ver bien, le pregunté: "Es Vd. Al Pacino?", me contestó: "No, pero si quieres que lo sea, lo seré...". Al final no lo encontré...
I'm still in 1977, New York. One evening we dined at Michael's Pub where that day Woody Allen played his clarinet. We listened to him while we had dinner. Actually I thought he was pretty bad but his Dixieland Band was great! After dinner, I went up to Woody to see if he would give us an interview. He answered, like a robot: "You have to call my manager So-and-So 633-33333" I insisted: "But, Mr. Allen, if you're willing to give us an interview, it would be so much easier...". He replied the former phrase again (like a robot). I was so disappointed! Because he didn't seem to be the Woody Allen that I had imagined! I thought he was a fake and that he had an alter ego behind him. Following day I called his manager but I didn't get past the secretary. That evening we went to have dinner at "Elaine's", a celebrities' hangout. Our waiter was Spanish (actually ALL the waiters everywhere in those years seemed to be Spanish!). We asked him to let us know if and where there were any celebs. He came back and told us Woody Allen was sitting at a table. I dashed like lightning to find him. I saw him sitting there with another couple who I didn't recognize. I almost knelt beside him and said that I had spoken to him the previous evening at Michael's Pub, that I had called his manager but didn't get past his secretary, that we were Spanish journalists, and that in Spain he was very popular and greatly loved. Then, I saw the Woody Allen that I admired! He was very friendly and talkative. He told me to call his manager once again and that, this time, I would speak to him. He also said that he couldn't set a date for an interview as he was in the middle of filming "Manhattan". In front of him on the table he had a plate of soup. All of a sudden this maternal feeling overwhelmed me and I said to him: "Please Mr. Allen eat your soup before it gets cold", at that moment a very hysterical "maître-d" came rushing towards me and shooed me away, saying I shouldn't bother Mr. Allen! Well, at that time Woody was the king of New York as he had just won an Oscar for "Annie Hall"... Following day I called the manager. He got on the phone. He was quite friendly but said to me that he would call me back to let me know something. He called back and said that at the time (early October) it was impossible to give me a date for an interview as they were in the middle of the filming but that in November it could be arranged. Well, as I say in my blog "IRENE", we never made it back.
Another funny episode that happened that evening at "Elaine's". Our marvellous waiter told us that Al Pacino was also there. I shot up again from my chair and I went looking for him. The lights were very dim and I could hardly see anything. All of a sudden I saw this very handsome guy sitting with three other people, I said to myself: "Aha! Al Pacino". I went up to him, still not seeing very well, and I asked him: "Are you Al Pacino??", he looked at me and said: "No, but if you want me to be, I'll be"!! I never found him.
Ya que os he contado ésto, os voy a contar otra anécdota de aquella cena en "Elaine's". Nuestro maravilloso camarero nos dijo que Al Pacino estaba en otra mesa. Allá fuí a ver si le encontraba. Las luces eran muy tenues y no veía ni papa. Cuando de repente divisé a un guaperas y me dije: "Aha, Al Pacino". Me acerqué a su mesa (eran cuatro comensales) y, como seguía sin ver bien, le pregunté: "Es Vd. Al Pacino?", me contestó: "No, pero si quieres que lo sea, lo seré...". Al final no lo encontré...
I'm still in 1977, New York. One evening we dined at Michael's Pub where that day Woody Allen played his clarinet. We listened to him while we had dinner. Actually I thought he was pretty bad but his Dixieland Band was great! After dinner, I went up to Woody to see if he would give us an interview. He answered, like a robot: "You have to call my manager So-and-So 633-33333" I insisted: "But, Mr. Allen, if you're willing to give us an interview, it would be so much easier...". He replied the former phrase again (like a robot). I was so disappointed! Because he didn't seem to be the Woody Allen that I had imagined! I thought he was a fake and that he had an alter ego behind him. Following day I called his manager but I didn't get past the secretary. That evening we went to have dinner at "Elaine's", a celebrities' hangout. Our waiter was Spanish (actually ALL the waiters everywhere in those years seemed to be Spanish!). We asked him to let us know if and where there were any celebs. He came back and told us Woody Allen was sitting at a table. I dashed like lightning to find him. I saw him sitting there with another couple who I didn't recognize. I almost knelt beside him and said that I had spoken to him the previous evening at Michael's Pub, that I had called his manager but didn't get past his secretary, that we were Spanish journalists, and that in Spain he was very popular and greatly loved. Then, I saw the Woody Allen that I admired! He was very friendly and talkative. He told me to call his manager once again and that, this time, I would speak to him. He also said that he couldn't set a date for an interview as he was in the middle of filming "Manhattan". In front of him on the table he had a plate of soup. All of a sudden this maternal feeling overwhelmed me and I said to him: "Please Mr. Allen eat your soup before it gets cold", at that moment a very hysterical "maître-d" came rushing towards me and shooed me away, saying I shouldn't bother Mr. Allen! Well, at that time Woody was the king of New York as he had just won an Oscar for "Annie Hall"... Following day I called the manager. He got on the phone. He was quite friendly but said to me that he would call me back to let me know something. He called back and said that at the time (early October) it was impossible to give me a date for an interview as they were in the middle of the filming but that in November it could be arranged. Well, as I say in my blog "IRENE", we never made it back.
Another funny episode that happened that evening at "Elaine's". Our marvellous waiter told us that Al Pacino was also there. I shot up again from my chair and I went looking for him. The lights were very dim and I could hardly see anything. All of a sudden I saw this very handsome guy sitting with three other people, I said to myself: "Aha! Al Pacino". I went up to him, still not seeing very well, and I asked him: "Are you Al Pacino??", he looked at me and said: "No, but if you want me to be, I'll be"!! I never found him.
sábado, 22 de diciembre de 2007
ANDY WARHOL
Vuelvo a 1977, cuando fui a Nueva York con los periodistas de la revista "Interviu" para contactar y traducir a los famosos. Un dia fuimos a la "Factory" el lugar de trabajo de Andy Warhol porque teniamos una cita. El "manager", un hombre con apellido italiano del cual no me acuerdo, bastante histérico y snob, nos recibio y cuando supo que veniamos de la revista "Interviu" monto en colera porque dijo que habiamos copiado el nombre de la revista que ellos publicaban "Interview"; que nos iba a llevar al tribunal de La Haya y no sé cuántas cosas mas. Como comprendereis yo venía de Ibiza y no tenía ni idea de la existencia de esa revista. Se lo expliqué. Se apacigüo un poco pero nos dijo que entrevista con Warhol, ni hablar. Entonces apareció el artista. Nos saludo la mar de amable y nos invitó a comer. El "manager" se quedó de piedra. Acabamos comiendo en su comedor particular con el dueño del "Studio 54" (discoteca de moda en la época), una nieta de Patiño (el rey del estaño boliviano--multimillonario), un fotógrafo de la revista "Look" que estaban tratando de relanzar en aquellos años y otros comensales (en total seríamos diez). Encontré a Warhol muy simpático, asequible y muy carismático a pesar de su albinismo. Lo de simpático me pasó con todos los famosos que conocí durante esa estancia de tres semanas que ya iré contando. Ahora bien, los que les rodeaban eran insoportables!
I'm back in 1977 when I went to New York to set up and translate interviews with various celebrities. One day we went to Andy Warhol's "Factory" because we had an appointment. The manager that greeted us had an Italian last name, which I cannot remember right now, and he was quite histerical and snobbish. When he found out that we were from "Interviu" magazine he went berserk! He said that we had copied their "Interview" and that they would take us to the international court at The Hague and I don't know what other horrible things. At the time I lived in Ibiza and didn't have the slightest clue that they had a magazine called the same although spelled differently. I tried to calm him down and explained that we didn't know about the existence of their magazine. He relaxed a bit but told us that the interview was off. At that moment Warhol appeared. He was very friendly and invited us to have lunch with him and other friends at his private dining room. The manager nearly fainted! We had a lovely lunch with the owner of "Studio 54" (the "in" disco at the time), (Patiño - the Bolivian tin-mine owner's) grandaughter, a photographer from "Look" magazine, which they were trying to re-launch at the time, and a few others (we were approximately ten people). I found Andy Warhol extremely nice, accessible, and very charismatic despite his albine look. Actually, all the celebrities I met were very nice (I'll write about them in future blogs) but the persons surrounding them were unbearable!
I'm back in 1977 when I went to New York to set up and translate interviews with various celebrities. One day we went to Andy Warhol's "Factory" because we had an appointment. The manager that greeted us had an Italian last name, which I cannot remember right now, and he was quite histerical and snobbish. When he found out that we were from "Interviu" magazine he went berserk! He said that we had copied their "Interview" and that they would take us to the international court at The Hague and I don't know what other horrible things. At the time I lived in Ibiza and didn't have the slightest clue that they had a magazine called the same although spelled differently. I tried to calm him down and explained that we didn't know about the existence of their magazine. He relaxed a bit but told us that the interview was off. At that moment Warhol appeared. He was very friendly and invited us to have lunch with him and other friends at his private dining room. The manager nearly fainted! We had a lovely lunch with the owner of "Studio 54" (the "in" disco at the time), (Patiño - the Bolivian tin-mine owner's) grandaughter, a photographer from "Look" magazine, which they were trying to re-launch at the time, and a few others (we were approximately ten people). I found Andy Warhol extremely nice, accessible, and very charismatic despite his albine look. Actually, all the celebrities I met were very nice (I'll write about them in future blogs) but the persons surrounding them were unbearable!
viernes, 21 de diciembre de 2007
JUAN RAMIREZ
Voy a contar otra historia extraña. En 1964 vivía en Paris. Cuando iba a mis clases en la Sorbonne veía en todos los chirimbolos de la ciudad, la foto de Juan Ramirez anunciando su exposición en una galeria de arte. Me fijaba siempre porque por el nombre deducía que era español o sudamericano, además era muy guapo con su pelo ensortijado negro, barba y mirada penetrante, muy picassiana. Un dia, estando con mi amiga danesa Kit sentadas en el Café Buci del barrio latino vi al tal Juan Ramirez (le reconocí enseguida) mirándome y dibujándome (en aquellos años los estudiantes de Beaux Arts siempre te dibujaban y luego te pedian dinero). Se acercó y en un francés muy macarronico me ofreció el dibujo. Muy digna le contesté en español que no lo quería, que no tenía dinero. Se sorprendió y me dijo: "Pero, eres española?!" le contesté que sí (porque en Paris tampoco me tomaban por española, siempre por francesa "du Midi"...). Me dijo que no que no quería dinero, que me lo regalaba. Acabó sentándose con nosotras e invitándonos a ver su exposicion. Pasamos una noche maravillosa, viendo su exposicion en pase privado, luego acabamos en la Place du Tertre en Montmartre de chateos en los diferentes bares bohemios. Nos acompañó a la residencia y me preguntó si me podía llamar e invitarme a salir algun dia. Le di el telefono de la resi. Me llamó y me invitó a salir un domingo a dar un paseo por el Bois de Boulogne. Me emperifollé pero en plan clasico--falda blanca, blusa de rayas azules y blancas, cuello cerrado blanco con una camelia blanca--el llegó en plan hippy (aún no existian los hippies) con su pelo largo, traje raido pero elegante y como corbata una cinta de medir (como usaban las costureras). La señora de la recepción de la resi se sorprendió al ver que yo salía con un tipo tan estrafalario. Nos sentamos en su coche de la segunda guerra mundial. En un momento dado fue a ajustar el espejo cuando se hizo un corte y empezó a sangrar profusamente. Salí escopetada a mi cuarto y empapé un pañuelo de encaje irlandés con el perfume "Femme" (que usaba en la época) para curarle la herida. Creo que se mareó. Dimos nuestro paseo por el Bois, hablamos de todo y en un momento dado me dijo que yo era su "musa" (por supuesto que me quería ligar) pero no asocié musa con "muse" en inglés o francés y solo me venía a la mente la marca de mayonesa de mi infancia. No dije nada, simplemente sonreí. Nos vimos algunas veces mas pero siempre como amigos de charleta. Pasaron los años. En 1969 estaba en Madrid escuchando la radio cuando Joaquin Prat dijo que iba a entrevistar a Juan Ramirez!!! LLamé a la estación diciendo que era una vieja amiga de Paris. Se puso al teléfono y quedamos para vernos al dia siguiente en una cafetería de la Gran Vía. Acudí a la cita con mi hijastra Fatima que a la sazón tenía nueve años. Nos enseñó su estudio con sus ultimas obras. Era pintor surrealista canario, primo de Julio Vieira otro pintor canario muy conocido. Luego el ultimo dia que hablé con el fue cuando me llamó el dia de mi cumpleaños (que, por supuesto, no lo sabía) y le dije que gracias porque era el dia que era. Pasaron los años. Mi hijastra, Fatima, se casó con un canario. Viven en Tenerife. Fui a verles y quise saber algo de Juan Ramirez. En todos los ámbitos artísticos en los cuales indagué, nadie sabía nada de él. De su primo, Julio Vieira sí, pero de Juan Ramirez ni rastro...
This is another strange story. In 1964 I was studying in Paris. Every day when I went to my classes at the Sorbonne, in all the round publicity posts surrounding the city I saw the picture of Juan Ramirez advertising his art exhibit at an art gallery. I noticed him because I figured he was Spanish or South American with that name and besides he was very handsome with his long curly black hair, beard, and deep Picassian look in his eyes. One day, my Danish friend Kit and I were sitting at the Café Buci in the Latin Quarter when I saw Juan Ramirez (I recognized him right a way) looking at me and drawing me (in those years all the Beaux Arts students usually drew you and later asked for money) when he came up to me and in a very Spanish-accented French, asked me if I wanted the drawing. Very dignified I replied, in Spanish, that no, I wasn't interested because I didn't have any money. He was very surprised and said: "Oh, are you Spanish?!" (no one took me for Spanish either in Paris they always asked if I was French "du Midi") I said yes. He sat with us and invited us to see his exhibit. We went and had a wonderful evening seeing his exhibit and then on to the Place du Tertre in Montmartre where we bar-hopped in all the bohemian hangouts. He took us to our residence and he asked me if he could invite me sometime. I gave him the number of the residence. He called and asked me to go out one Sunday for a walk on the Bois de Boulogne. He came to pick me up and I dressed very classically--white skirt, blue and white striped blouse with a white collar and a white camelia--he came very hippy (hippies didn't exist at the time) his long hair, washed-out suit (but very elegant) and as a tie he wore a seamstress' measuring string. The lady at the reception looked very worried at the fact that I was going out with such a strange man! When we got to his car--Second World War--he went to adjust the mirror when he cut his finger and began to bleed profusely. I shot up to my room and I smothered one of my Irish linnen handkerchiefs in "Femme" (the perfume I used at the time) in order to cure him. I think it smothered him. Anyway we made it to the park. We had a wonderful conversation when all of a sudden he said to me that I was his "muse" (he said it in Spanish "musa" which I didn't relate to "muse" in English or French and the only thing that came into my mind was the brand of a mayonnaise I knew as a child in Spain). I didn't say anything, I simply smiled. We went out a few more times as friends. The years went by. In 1969 I was in Madrid listening to the radio when I heard the speaker was going to interview Juan Ramirez!!! I called the station saying that I was a friend from Paris. He got on the phone and we agreed to meet the following day in a cafeteria on the Gran Via. I went with my step-daughter, Fatima, who was nine-years old at the time. We met and he showed us his studio with his latest paintings. The last time I heard about him was in my birthday when he called--without knowing that it was my birthday--. The years went by once again. A few years ago I went to Tenerife (because Fatima is married to a Canarian) and I tried to find out about Juan Ramirez. In all the artistic circles that I searched no one, absolutely no one knew of Juan Ramirez...
This is another strange story. In 1964 I was studying in Paris. Every day when I went to my classes at the Sorbonne, in all the round publicity posts surrounding the city I saw the picture of Juan Ramirez advertising his art exhibit at an art gallery. I noticed him because I figured he was Spanish or South American with that name and besides he was very handsome with his long curly black hair, beard, and deep Picassian look in his eyes. One day, my Danish friend Kit and I were sitting at the Café Buci in the Latin Quarter when I saw Juan Ramirez (I recognized him right a way) looking at me and drawing me (in those years all the Beaux Arts students usually drew you and later asked for money) when he came up to me and in a very Spanish-accented French, asked me if I wanted the drawing. Very dignified I replied, in Spanish, that no, I wasn't interested because I didn't have any money. He was very surprised and said: "Oh, are you Spanish?!" (no one took me for Spanish either in Paris they always asked if I was French "du Midi") I said yes. He sat with us and invited us to see his exhibit. We went and had a wonderful evening seeing his exhibit and then on to the Place du Tertre in Montmartre where we bar-hopped in all the bohemian hangouts. He took us to our residence and he asked me if he could invite me sometime. I gave him the number of the residence. He called and asked me to go out one Sunday for a walk on the Bois de Boulogne. He came to pick me up and I dressed very classically--white skirt, blue and white striped blouse with a white collar and a white camelia--he came very hippy (hippies didn't exist at the time) his long hair, washed-out suit (but very elegant) and as a tie he wore a seamstress' measuring string. The lady at the reception looked very worried at the fact that I was going out with such a strange man! When we got to his car--Second World War--he went to adjust the mirror when he cut his finger and began to bleed profusely. I shot up to my room and I smothered one of my Irish linnen handkerchiefs in "Femme" (the perfume I used at the time) in order to cure him. I think it smothered him. Anyway we made it to the park. We had a wonderful conversation when all of a sudden he said to me that I was his "muse" (he said it in Spanish "musa" which I didn't relate to "muse" in English or French and the only thing that came into my mind was the brand of a mayonnaise I knew as a child in Spain). I didn't say anything, I simply smiled. We went out a few more times as friends. The years went by. In 1969 I was in Madrid listening to the radio when I heard the speaker was going to interview Juan Ramirez!!! I called the station saying that I was a friend from Paris. He got on the phone and we agreed to meet the following day in a cafeteria on the Gran Via. I went with my step-daughter, Fatima, who was nine-years old at the time. We met and he showed us his studio with his latest paintings. The last time I heard about him was in my birthday when he called--without knowing that it was my birthday--. The years went by once again. A few years ago I went to Tenerife (because Fatima is married to a Canarian) and I tried to find out about Juan Ramirez. In all the artistic circles that I searched no one, absolutely no one knew of Juan Ramirez...
domingo, 16 de diciembre de 2007
IRENE
Lo que acabo de escribir sobre mi amona Antera, me ha hecho recordar otro caso bastante esoterico y raro. Corría el año 1977. Ya vivía en Ibiza y me salió un trabajo como intérprete para la revista "Interviu" (no salí en pelotas!) con Luis Cantero y el fotógrafo Oriol Maspons para hacer entrevistas en Nueva York durante tres semanas. Yo era la encargada de contactar a los famosos y luego traducir las entrevistas. Pues antes de mi viaje, mi buena amiga Irene (era escocesa y vivía con un americano) me dijo que tambien iba a New York pero mas adelante (era octubre). Me dió direcciones de amigos suyos para que les contactara. Bueno, una vez de vuelta a Ibiza, le ví y le dije que había una posibilidad de que volvieramos a New York en noviembre para entrevistar a Woody Allen que estaba muy liado, en esa época, filmando "Manhattan" y no nos pudo darla. Nos despedimos porque ella ya se iba para allá y no volvería hasta despues de Navidad. Al final no volví a Nueva York. Unos dias antes de Navidad iba en bicicleta a nuestro bar (el 22 Calle de la Virgen) cuando vi a Irene en el kiosko de Vara de Rey (la plaza céntrica de Ibiza, ciudad). Me sorprendió verla porque se había ido hacía una semana solamente. Quise parar la bici e ir a saludarla, cuando el semaforo cambió y seguí mi camino pensando: "bueno, ya la veré mañana en el Montesol". Cuando llegué al bar, un amigo común, pintor colombiano, se llamaba Valentino (que yo sabía que Irene le gustaba a rabiar) cuando yo le iba a decir que le acababa de ver, el me enseño un periodico y me dijo: "sabes lo que le ha pasado a Irene?" Había sido apuñalada en la calle en New York!! Aparentemente, alguien le pidió dinero, ella iba con una amiga, dijo que no tenía y el bestia le apuñaló por la espalda, matándola. Pero yo la había visto!!!! Alguien me dijo despues que, aparentemente, cuando alguien muere repentinamente se te aparecen para despedirse...eso debió de ser, porque la vi.
What I've just written about my grandmother Antera reminded me of another very esoteric and weird happening. It was 1977; I was living in Ibiza and I got a job as interpreter for a Spanish journalist, Luis Cantero and the photographer, Oriol Maspons for a Spanish magazine "Interviu". It was a three-week stint in New York setting up interviews and translating. It was October. My friend Irene (a Scottish girl living with an American) said she was also going to New York but sometime in November. I said how sad that we wouldn't coincide but she gave me names of friends that I should contact. When I came back, I mentioned that there was a chance that I would return as we had contacted Woody Allen and at the time he was filming "Manhattan" and couldn't give us an interview but promised that after the filming he would. We never made it back. A few days before Christmas, I was cycling towards our bar (22 Calle de la Virgen) when I saw Irene in front of the newspaper stand in the Vara de Rey Square (main square of Ibiza, city) I was about to stop and say hello when the traffic lights changed and I continued, thinking "Oh, well, I'll see her tomorrow at the Montesol". When I got to the "22" a very dear friend, a Colombian painter called Valentino, who I knew liked Irene very much, was there. I said to him "do you know who I just saw in Vara de Rey?" and at the same time he said "do you know what's happened to Irene?" then he showed me a newspaper article where it said that Irene had been stabbed in New York! Apparently she and a friend were walking to meet other friends when a guy came up and asked her for money. She said she didn't have any and the beast turned around and stabbed and killed her!!! But I had seen her!!! Later someone told me that people who die so suddenly sometimes one sees them because they appear to say goodbye..., that's probably what it was, because I saw her...
What I've just written about my grandmother Antera reminded me of another very esoteric and weird happening. It was 1977; I was living in Ibiza and I got a job as interpreter for a Spanish journalist, Luis Cantero and the photographer, Oriol Maspons for a Spanish magazine "Interviu". It was a three-week stint in New York setting up interviews and translating. It was October. My friend Irene (a Scottish girl living with an American) said she was also going to New York but sometime in November. I said how sad that we wouldn't coincide but she gave me names of friends that I should contact. When I came back, I mentioned that there was a chance that I would return as we had contacted Woody Allen and at the time he was filming "Manhattan" and couldn't give us an interview but promised that after the filming he would. We never made it back. A few days before Christmas, I was cycling towards our bar (22 Calle de la Virgen) when I saw Irene in front of the newspaper stand in the Vara de Rey Square (main square of Ibiza, city) I was about to stop and say hello when the traffic lights changed and I continued, thinking "Oh, well, I'll see her tomorrow at the Montesol". When I got to the "22" a very dear friend, a Colombian painter called Valentino, who I knew liked Irene very much, was there. I said to him "do you know who I just saw in Vara de Rey?" and at the same time he said "do you know what's happened to Irene?" then he showed me a newspaper article where it said that Irene had been stabbed in New York! Apparently she and a friend were walking to meet other friends when a guy came up and asked her for money. She said she didn't have any and the beast turned around and stabbed and killed her!!! But I had seen her!!! Later someone told me that people who die so suddenly sometimes one sees them because they appear to say goodbye..., that's probably what it was, because I saw her...
sábado, 15 de diciembre de 2007
MI AMONA ANTERA-MY GRANDMOTHER ANTERA
Voy a contar una cosa muy curiosa que me aconteció cuando tenía doce años. Mi "amona" (abuela en vasco) Antera a quien yo le llamaba mi amona "Entera" falleció. Estabamos en Toronto, era la madre de mi padre, y en aquellos años no era tarea fácil volver a Europa para el entierro. Mi padre sí regresó pero mi madre, hermano y yo quedamos en Canada. De repente una noche sentí que el espiritu de mi "amona" literalmente entraba en mi. En aquella época, como comprendereis, no tenia ni idea del esoterismo ni de nada que se lo pareciese. Sin embargo, durante toda mi vida, mi "amona" me protegió. Estuve sola desde, prácticamente, los diecisiete años y jamás me pasó nada desagradable. Viajé sola, cruzando el Atlántico, en el "France" con diecinueve años, viví sola en Paris, me vine a España con veinte años y nunca, nunca tuve una mala experiencia con nadie. Vivía feliz. Alguien me protegía...
I'm going to tell a very curious experience that I had when I was twelve years-old. My "amona" (grandmother in basque) Antera who I called my "amona Entera" (my whole grandmother--a Spanish word-play) died. We were in Toronto, she was my father's mother, and in those years it was very difficult to travel back to Europe for the burial. My father did return but my mother, brother and I remained in Canada. All of a sudden, one night I, literally, felt my grandmother's spirit entering me. As you can gather I didn't have a clue about esoterecism (sp?!) or anything close to it
But all through the years my "amona" protected me. I was alone, practically, since I was seventeen and nothing ever horrible happened to me. I travelled alone, crossing the Atlantic on the "France" from New York to Southampton, when I was nineteen, I lived alone in Paris, I came back to Spain when I was twenty and never, never did I have a bad experience with anyone. I lived vey happily. Someone protected me...
I'm going to tell a very curious experience that I had when I was twelve years-old. My "amona" (grandmother in basque) Antera who I called my "amona Entera" (my whole grandmother--a Spanish word-play) died. We were in Toronto, she was my father's mother, and in those years it was very difficult to travel back to Europe for the burial. My father did return but my mother, brother and I remained in Canada. All of a sudden, one night I, literally, felt my grandmother's spirit entering me. As you can gather I didn't have a clue about esoterecism (sp?!) or anything close to it
But all through the years my "amona" protected me. I was alone, practically, since I was seventeen and nothing ever horrible happened to me. I travelled alone, crossing the Atlantic on the "France" from New York to Southampton, when I was nineteen, I lived alone in Paris, I came back to Spain when I was twenty and never, never did I have a bad experience with anyone. I lived vey happily. Someone protected me...
viernes, 14 de diciembre de 2007
NAVIDAD EN COPENHAGEN-CHRISTMAS IN COPENHAGEN
En 1964 estaba estudiando en Paris y residia en una residencia de estudiantes de la Rue de Naples donde compartia habitación con otra estudiante danesa, Kit Findergaard, con quien hice gran amistad pero que con los años he perdido todo contacto como me ha pasado con muchos amigos muy queridos desgraciadamente debido a todas mis mudanzas. Ese año Kit me invitó a pasar las navidades en su casa de Copenhagen. Fueron unas fiestas inolvidables! Su casa muy acogedora con un arbolito lleno de velas y decorada profusamente con temas navideños. Copenhagen me encantó! Con sus tranvías que me recordaban a Toronto, su limpieza, los bares del barrio marinero, Nyhaun (perdonad el deletreo que seguro que está mal) donde una noche, Kit, sus amigos y yo cogimos una buena con el Schnapps!! Todo el mundo se saludaba con un cantarín "Gledly Yul!" (Feliz Navidad!) y "Got Ny Taw!" (Feliz Año Nuevo!) (una vez mas disculpad el deletreo). Los deliciosos sandwiches abiertos de cuyo nombre ahora no me acuerdo pero que son muy populares en Dinamarca. La famosa sirenita me decepcionó un poco porque creía que era mas grande de lo que es. Es pequeñita y está sentada encima de una roca. Muy mona. Un dia fuimos de excursión a la casa de Hans Christian Andersen que se encuentra a las afueras de Copenhagen. Me gustó mucho, una típica casa danesa con su "thatched roof" (tejado de paja), muy pintoresca. El famoso parque de Tivoli no lo vi porque en invierno estaba cerrado. Pasé unas fiestas maravillosas en la compañía y con la hospitalidad de Kit, su familia y sus amigos. Un año de estos tendré que volver a Copenhagen, una ciudad preciosa.
In 1964 I was studying in Paris, living in a students' residence in the Rue de Naples, where I shared a room with another student,a Danish girl, Kit Findergaard who became a very dear friend but with whom, through the years, I've lost contact, unfortunately. That has happened to me with many good friends due to all my travelling moves. That year Kit invited me to Copenhagen to spend Christmas with her family. Her home was very welcoming, there was a beautiful Christmas tree decorated with candles as well as other Christmas decorations all over the house.
I loved Copenhagen! With its streetcars, which reminded me of Toronto, its cleanliness, the colourful bars in Nyhawn (sp?!) the port area where Kit, her friends and I finished up quite tipsy one evening with all that Schnapps! Everyone greeted eachother with a tinkly "Gledly Yul!" (Merry Christmas!) and "Got Ny Taw!" (Happy New Year!) (excuse the spelling once again). The delicious open sandwiches, which name I cannot remember right now, but are very popular in Denmark. I was a bit disappointed with the famous mermaid, though, because I thought she was bigger than what she is. She's quite small, but very cute, sitting on top of a rock. One day we went to see Hans Christian Andersen's house on the outskirts of Copenhagen. Lovely house, tipically Danish with its thatched roof, very picturesque. I liked it very much. I didn't get to see the famous Tivoli Park as it was closed during the winter. All in all I spent two unforgettable weeks with Kit, her family and her friends. One of these years I must go back to Copenhagen, a very beautiful city.
In 1964 I was studying in Paris, living in a students' residence in the Rue de Naples, where I shared a room with another student,a Danish girl, Kit Findergaard who became a very dear friend but with whom, through the years, I've lost contact, unfortunately. That has happened to me with many good friends due to all my travelling moves. That year Kit invited me to Copenhagen to spend Christmas with her family. Her home was very welcoming, there was a beautiful Christmas tree decorated with candles as well as other Christmas decorations all over the house.
I loved Copenhagen! With its streetcars, which reminded me of Toronto, its cleanliness, the colourful bars in Nyhawn (sp?!) the port area where Kit, her friends and I finished up quite tipsy one evening with all that Schnapps! Everyone greeted eachother with a tinkly "Gledly Yul!" (Merry Christmas!) and "Got Ny Taw!" (Happy New Year!) (excuse the spelling once again). The delicious open sandwiches, which name I cannot remember right now, but are very popular in Denmark. I was a bit disappointed with the famous mermaid, though, because I thought she was bigger than what she is. She's quite small, but very cute, sitting on top of a rock. One day we went to see Hans Christian Andersen's house on the outskirts of Copenhagen. Lovely house, tipically Danish with its thatched roof, very picturesque. I liked it very much. I didn't get to see the famous Tivoli Park as it was closed during the winter. All in all I spent two unforgettable weeks with Kit, her family and her friends. One of these years I must go back to Copenhagen, a very beautiful city.
sábado, 8 de diciembre de 2007
IKASTOLA CLANDESTINA-SECRET BASQUE SCHOOL
Ahora vuelvo atrás muchos años. 1949. Tenía cinco años y mi primera escuela fue en Gainchurizqueta una aldea entre Irún y San Sebastian. Es donde aprendí a leer y a escribir. La maestra, Pepita Chapartegui, era amiga de mis padres. Tanto mi hermano como yo empezamos nuestro aprendizaje en esa escuela. No sé cómo aprendí pero cuando fui al colegio en Irún y mi hermano a La Salle, los dos sabíamos perfectamente cómo leer y escribir. No sé cómo aprendimos pero la verdad es que cuando fuimos a Canada jamás tuvimos problemas con el famoso "spelling" (el deletreo que es una de las cosas más difíciles en inglés). Años despues me enteré que era una ikastola clandestina y que su método de enseñanza era de lo más avanzado de la época. Sí que recuerdo que todo era en euskera--venían curas vascos a recitarnos poesías vascas--y como la escuela estaba rodeada de soldados, cuando alguien llamaba a la puerta, Pepita hablaba en castellano.
Now I go back many years. 1949. I was five-years old and my first school was in Gainchurizqueta, a little village between Irún and San Sebastian. It's where I learned to read and write. The teacher, Pepita Chapartegui, was a friend of my parents. My brother and I both learned our first letters there. I don't know how we learned it but when we went to school in Irún and my brother to "La Salle" both of us knew how to read and write perfectly. As a matter of fact, we learned so well that once we were in Canada we never had any problem with spelling. Years later I found out that it was a Basque secret school where their educational methods were the most advanced at the time. I remember that everything was taught in Basque--priests would come and recite Basque poems--but we were surrounded by soldiers and whenever anyone knocked at the door, Pepita would immediately speak in Spanish.
Now I go back many years. 1949. I was five-years old and my first school was in Gainchurizqueta, a little village between Irún and San Sebastian. It's where I learned to read and write. The teacher, Pepita Chapartegui, was a friend of my parents. My brother and I both learned our first letters there. I don't know how we learned it but when we went to school in Irún and my brother to "La Salle" both of us knew how to read and write perfectly. As a matter of fact, we learned so well that once we were in Canada we never had any problem with spelling. Years later I found out that it was a Basque secret school where their educational methods were the most advanced at the time. I remember that everything was taught in Basque--priests would come and recite Basque poems--but we were surrounded by soldiers and whenever anyone knocked at the door, Pepita would immediately speak in Spanish.
SISTER ANN FRANCIS
Fue mi profesora en el grado 8--no sé cual será el equivalente en España--antes del bachillerato. Era, y espero que lo siga siendo, monja de St. Joseph's una congregación de origen irlandés. A parte de ser guapísima con un cutis blanco resplandeciente y unos ojos azules de mirada inteligente y bondadosa (porque las monjas en Canada no entraban al convento porque les había dejado el novio o por otras razones espurias como ocurría en la España de la época. Entraban por vocación por lo tanto no estaban frustradas ni amargadas). En el grado 7 había tenido una profesora seglar que no tuvo mucha paciencia conmigo porque yo era bastante rebelde, muy charlatana que no paraba quieta un minuto, resumiendo, hiperactiva. Reconozco que era un martirio para cualquier profesor/a! Hasta que llegué a la clase de Sister Ann Francis en el grado 8. Ella con mucha mano izquierda, psicología e inteligencia me encarriló. Me sosegué. Consiguió lo imposible. Una de las cosas que hizo que a mi me encantaba porque me hacia sentir MUY importante, era que cuando nevaba y los peques no podían salir al recreo, me mandaba a que los cuidara. Yo, encantada! Luego recuerdo otro detalle dónde ella mostró mucho tacto. Todos en la clase teníamos 13 años. Las chicas tenían unos pechos bastante protuberantes que se notaba mas porque llevaban jerseys bastante ceñidetes y yo era plana como una plancha. Hasta que un dia, despues de comer me fuí a Woolworths y me compré un "padded bra" (sostén con relleno). Aparecí en clase por la tarde con unos pechos de película!! Bueno, Sister Ann Francis, me llevó aparte (yo estaba aterrorizada porque creía que me iba a dar con el "strap" (una regla de goma con la cual te pegaban en la mano) pero ella con mucho cariño me explicó que tenía que dejar que la naturaleza siguiera su curso y que no hacía falta que me pusiera ese sostén para aparentar lo que no tenía. Me convenció. Era maravillosa. Durante muchos años nos estuvimos carteando pero ya hace mucho que no sé nada de ella. Jamás la olvidaré.
She was my grade 8 teacher. She was, and hope still is, a St. Joseph's nun. She was beautiful. She had a clear, white complexion and blue eyes with a very intelligent, and kind expression. (Nuns in Canada didn't enter a congregation because their boyfriend had left them or other ridiculous reasons as it happened in Spain in those years) they entered because they really wanted, they had a real vocation, therefore, they weren't frustrated or bitter. In Grade 7 I had had a lay teacher who didn't have much patience with me. I must admit I was difficult, very gabby, who didn't keep still for one minute, hyperactive in one word--a real pain-in-the-ass for any teacher! Until I reached Grade 8. There, Sister Ann Francis, with her patience, psychology and intelligence set me on the right track. I relaxed. One of the things she used to do, which I loved because it made me feel VERY important, was that when it snowed and the kindergarden children couldn't go out to the yard she would tell me to go and take care of their class. I loved it! Another time that she showed her wisdom: We were all thirteen-years-old in the class, some of the girls had great boobs that they showed very proudly in their tight sweaters. I was flat. So one day, after lunch I went to Woolworths and bought a padded bra with which I appeared in the afternoon. Sister Ann Francis took me to the side (I was horrified I thought she would give me the strap) but very kindly, she explained to me that I had to let nature take its course and that I didn't need that bra to show what I didn't have. She convinced me. She was marvellous. For many years we exchanged letters but it's been a long time since I haven't received any news. I will never forget her.
She was my grade 8 teacher. She was, and hope still is, a St. Joseph's nun. She was beautiful. She had a clear, white complexion and blue eyes with a very intelligent, and kind expression. (Nuns in Canada didn't enter a congregation because their boyfriend had left them or other ridiculous reasons as it happened in Spain in those years) they entered because they really wanted, they had a real vocation, therefore, they weren't frustrated or bitter. In Grade 7 I had had a lay teacher who didn't have much patience with me. I must admit I was difficult, very gabby, who didn't keep still for one minute, hyperactive in one word--a real pain-in-the-ass for any teacher! Until I reached Grade 8. There, Sister Ann Francis, with her patience, psychology and intelligence set me on the right track. I relaxed. One of the things she used to do, which I loved because it made me feel VERY important, was that when it snowed and the kindergarden children couldn't go out to the yard she would tell me to go and take care of their class. I loved it! Another time that she showed her wisdom: We were all thirteen-years-old in the class, some of the girls had great boobs that they showed very proudly in their tight sweaters. I was flat. So one day, after lunch I went to Woolworths and bought a padded bra with which I appeared in the afternoon. Sister Ann Francis took me to the side (I was horrified I thought she would give me the strap) but very kindly, she explained to me that I had to let nature take its course and that I didn't need that bra to show what I didn't have. She convinced me. She was marvellous. For many years we exchanged letters but it's been a long time since I haven't received any news. I will never forget her.
jueves, 6 de diciembre de 2007
THE GOODNIGHT KISS -EL BESO DE BUENAS NOCHES
Regreso al pasado. Cuando cumplí los 17, tenía muchas citas (dates) con chicos que venían a buscarme en sus flamantes coches (Chevy Corvettes, Lincoln Continentals, MG's, Buick's). Me abrían las puertas para que me sentase, me llevaban a cenar, luego a un concierto o a ver una pelicula o al teatro. Siempre pagaban ellos. Luego me acompañaban a casa, me abrían la puerta del coche y me acompañaban hasta la puerta. En aquella época era costumbre darles un beso en la boca como despedida. Bueno, pues yo no. Si no me gustaban era incapaz de besarles (en la boca) les agradecía muchísimo por la velada, les daba un piquito en la mejilla y adios muy buenas. Pero me seguían llamando e invitándome!! La verdad es que me lo pasaba pipa en aquellos años.
Return to the past. When I was seventeen I had a lot of dates. Guys would come and pick me up at the door with their great cars--Chevy Corvettes, Lincoln Continentals, MG's, Buick's). They opened the doors until I sat down, took me to dinner and afterwards to a concert, movie or theatre play. They would pay for everything. When they took me home, they would open the car doors once again and they would accompany me to the door. In those years it was expected that a girl would give them a goodnight kiss on the lips. Not me. If I didn't like them I couldn't possibly kiss them on the lips! So I thanked them for the great evening and gave them a little kiss on the cheeks and goodbye. But they kept calling me and asking me out! The truth is that I had a great time in those years.
Return to the past. When I was seventeen I had a lot of dates. Guys would come and pick me up at the door with their great cars--Chevy Corvettes, Lincoln Continentals, MG's, Buick's). They opened the doors until I sat down, took me to dinner and afterwards to a concert, movie or theatre play. They would pay for everything. When they took me home, they would open the car doors once again and they would accompany me to the door. In those years it was expected that a girl would give them a goodnight kiss on the lips. Not me. If I didn't like them I couldn't possibly kiss them on the lips! So I thanked them for the great evening and gave them a little kiss on the cheeks and goodbye. But they kept calling me and asking me out! The truth is that I had a great time in those years.
CRISPACION--SETTING EVERYONE ON EDGE
Vuelvo al presente. La estrategía del PP de crispar durante los últimos cuatro años a la población española, me revuelve las entrañas. Ayer, sin ir mas lejos, llevé a un grupo del Inserso a Formentera. Cuando pasamos por el antiguo campo de concentración les dije: "Ahora vamos a pasar por un lugar de triste recuerdo, fue el campo de concentración de los republicanos durante la guerra civil española donde estuvo preso, entre otros, el padre de Cándido Méndez, el actual presidente de la UGT". Al llegar a la capital, Sant Francesc, aparcamos en el parking general, bajamos del autobus y esperé a que nos reuniéramos todos para llevarlos a la plaza principal donde se encuentra la iglesia fortaleza del siglo XVIII cuando un energúmeno del grupo me ladró: "Y tu qué crees que hubieran hecho los rojos, montar un hotel de cinco estrellas??" Bueno, bueno la que se armó! No tuve una batalla campal porque zanjé el asunto con energía y una gran dosis de "cabreo". Pero me dí cuenta de como en las capas mas ignorantes de la sociedad, ha calado el mensaje nefasto del PP. Una vergüenza.
Back to the present. The Spanish Conservative Party's (PP) strategy of setting everyone on edge, makes me sick. Yesterday I took a groug of Spanish retirees to Formentera and when we passed the old republican concentration camp during the Spanish Civil War, I said: "We are now passing a site of sad memories as it was the republican concentration camp during the Spanish Civil War where, among the prisoners, Candido Mendez (head of UGT's) father was imprisoned". When we reached
the capital, San Francisco, we got off the bus and I waited for everyone to join me in order to take them to the main square where the eighteenth century fortress church is located, when all of a sudden, one of the more exulted members of the group literally "barked" at me saying: "So what do you think the "reds" would have done, set up a five-star hotel!?" Well, well a battle almost took place right then and there in the parking lot! I managed to save the situation with a very energetic and mad attitude. However, I realized how the PP's negative strategy has imbued in the most ignorant sector of our society. Very shameful, to say the least.
Back to the present. The Spanish Conservative Party's (PP) strategy of setting everyone on edge, makes me sick. Yesterday I took a groug of Spanish retirees to Formentera and when we passed the old republican concentration camp during the Spanish Civil War, I said: "We are now passing a site of sad memories as it was the republican concentration camp during the Spanish Civil War where, among the prisoners, Candido Mendez (head of UGT's) father was imprisoned". When we reached
the capital, San Francisco, we got off the bus and I waited for everyone to join me in order to take them to the main square where the eighteenth century fortress church is located, when all of a sudden, one of the more exulted members of the group literally "barked" at me saying: "So what do you think the "reds" would have done, set up a five-star hotel!?" Well, well a battle almost took place right then and there in the parking lot! I managed to save the situation with a very energetic and mad attitude. However, I realized how the PP's negative strategy has imbued in the most ignorant sector of our society. Very shameful, to say the least.
miércoles, 5 de diciembre de 2007
FANNY HILL & LADY CHATTERLEY'S LOVER
Cuando tenía catorce años todo lo relativo a la sexualidad me atraía enormemente. Decidí empaparme de información. Me gustaba, y me sigue gustando, leer. Devoraba libros en esos años. Hasta me leí "El Quijote"!!! Pero lo que me atraía era el SEXO. Yo no tenía ni idea de nada. Entonces leí "Fanny Hill" un clásico de la literatura erótica inglesa--la historia de una cortesana del Siglo Decimonoveno (no me acuerdo cómo escribirlo en números romanos, creo que es XIX) y "Lady Chatterley's Lover" "El Amante de Lady Chatterley" la historia de un jardinero que se lía con su ama. Otro clásico. Estos libros me dejaron los ojos como platos. Despues leí el "Kama Sutra" o sea que a nivel teórico aprendí muchísimo pero la verdad es que cuando cumpli los dieciseis todavía nadie ME HABIA BESADO!!!
When I was fourteen everything that was sexual attracted me tremendously. I decided to get information on the matter. I loved to read (and still do). I devoured books in those years. I even read "Don Quixote"!!! But what attracted me the most was SEX. I didn't have a clue at the time. So I read "Fanny Hill" a classic of erotic English literature--the story of a courtesan of the nineteenth century--and "Lady Chatterley's Lover" the story of the gardener and his mistress. Another classic. These books dazzled me! Afterwards I read the "Kama Sutra" so, at a theoretical level, I was an expert! but the truth is that when I turned sixteen, I HAD NEVER BEEN KISSED!!!
When I was fourteen everything that was sexual attracted me tremendously. I decided to get information on the matter. I loved to read (and still do). I devoured books in those years. I even read "Don Quixote"!!! But what attracted me the most was SEX. I didn't have a clue at the time. So I read "Fanny Hill" a classic of erotic English literature--the story of a courtesan of the nineteenth century--and "Lady Chatterley's Lover" the story of the gardener and his mistress. Another classic. These books dazzled me! Afterwards I read the "Kama Sutra" so, at a theoretical level, I was an expert! but the truth is that when I turned sixteen, I HAD NEVER BEEN KISSED!!!
sábado, 1 de diciembre de 2007
HEALTH BREAD
In Canada, when I was a student everybody worked. I started when I was sixteen working weekends selling bread at a Jewish bakery, "Health Bread" in Lawrence Plaza, my neighbourhood. I was the only non-Jew working there. All the women (they were all female) were Jewish and recent widows. They came from Germany and their terrible concentration camp experience. The cashier, for example, never smiled. I found out she had lost her husband and children at Auschwitz. There I was, selling chalas and bagles when Adolf Eichmann was caught in Argentina. I remember the women were very upset to the point that they put a sign at the entrance of the bakery saying that German clients were not welcome. They were turbulent times. But I have wonderful memories of those weekends. In those years no one ever guessed my nationality, everyone took me for everything under the sun except Spanish: French, Italian, Isralian, Hungarian, Greek, even Egyptian!! One day a Jewish woman said to me "Oh, I know vat country you come from" I was surprised she was so sure and I asked which one, and she answered very sure of herself: "England!" that I had never heard in my life! Anyway, as I say everyone worked. I have a very good friend who is now an Ophthalmologist, the son of the Dean of Political Science at the University of Toronto who worked in the summers as a whale-hunter in the north of Canada. When you could still hunt whales...
Los estudiantes en Canada todos trabajábamos. Mi primer trabajo fue en una panadería judia de mi barrio "Health Bread" los fines de semana cuando cumplí los dieciseis años. Era la única no-judia trabajando. Todas las mujeres que trabajaban eran viudas alemanas que habían perdido a sus maridos en los campos de concentración. La cajera, por ejemplo, nunca sonreía. Me enteré que había perdido a su marido e hijos en Auschwitz. Ahí estaba yo vendiendo "chalas" y "bagles" cuando capturaron a Adolf Eichmann en Argentina lo cual revolvió muchos sentimientos en las mujeres hasta el punto que colocaron un cartel a la entrada de la panadería diciendo que los clientes alemanes no eran bienvenidos. Un tiempo turbulento. Sin embargo guardo gratos recuerdos de aquellos fines de semana. En aquellos años nadie adivinaba nunca mi nacionalidad. Me tomaban por francesa, italiana, griega, húngara, israelí hasta por egipcia! Cuando un dia llegó una cliente judia, que muy segura de ella misma me dijo con su típico accento judio: "Oh, ya sé de que país viene ústed" Lo dijo tan segura que le pregunté cual y ella me contestó: "Inglaterra"! Eso jamás me lo habían dicho! Bueno, como digo todo el mundo trabajaba. Tengo un amigo que hoy en día es Oftalmólogo que era hijo del decano de la facultad de Ciencias Políticas de la Universidad de Toronto que los veranos trabajaba de ballenero en el norte de Canada cuando aún se podía pescar ballenas...
Los estudiantes en Canada todos trabajábamos. Mi primer trabajo fue en una panadería judia de mi barrio "Health Bread" los fines de semana cuando cumplí los dieciseis años. Era la única no-judia trabajando. Todas las mujeres que trabajaban eran viudas alemanas que habían perdido a sus maridos en los campos de concentración. La cajera, por ejemplo, nunca sonreía. Me enteré que había perdido a su marido e hijos en Auschwitz. Ahí estaba yo vendiendo "chalas" y "bagles" cuando capturaron a Adolf Eichmann en Argentina lo cual revolvió muchos sentimientos en las mujeres hasta el punto que colocaron un cartel a la entrada de la panadería diciendo que los clientes alemanes no eran bienvenidos. Un tiempo turbulento. Sin embargo guardo gratos recuerdos de aquellos fines de semana. En aquellos años nadie adivinaba nunca mi nacionalidad. Me tomaban por francesa, italiana, griega, húngara, israelí hasta por egipcia! Cuando un dia llegó una cliente judia, que muy segura de ella misma me dijo con su típico accento judio: "Oh, ya sé de que país viene ústed" Lo dijo tan segura que le pregunté cual y ella me contestó: "Inglaterra"! Eso jamás me lo habían dicho! Bueno, como digo todo el mundo trabajaba. Tengo un amigo que hoy en día es Oftalmólogo que era hijo del decano de la facultad de Ciencias Políticas de la Universidad de Toronto que los veranos trabajaba de ballenero en el norte de Canada cuando aún se podía pescar ballenas...
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