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Sunday lunch. Avocado soup with chipotle shrimp, corn, red pepper, cilantro and a yogurt sauce. Paltas for the win. Thanks to my girl Heather for the inspiration.
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I´m a North American living in Chile, drinking Chinese jasmin tea out of a maté cup from Argentina listening to Brazilian bossa nova writing an e-mail to Germany.
That time my boyfriend went to Chicago without me and hung out with my family. What?!
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More pictures of Natalie and I loving each other with a glass of wine in my hand.
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So yesterday out of no where I got a message from a friend looking for something to do on a Wednesday. We tried to go to this place by my house that’s supposed to have great food, great live music, etc etc. The catch is that all these great things happen on Thursdays, not Wednesdays. So we laughed that off and I said I knew the perfect place to go and we went and drank terremotos which is bottom shelf white wine with pineapple sorbet and fernet (sounds disgusting, actually amazing) and then a box of Gato Negro red wine. We ate french fries, cheered when Chile made goals in the game with Brazil and then the table on the other side of the room broke into song and busted out their instruments so we asked the maestro for four spoons and played and sang along. All of the sudden the whole place is singing, my glass is never empty because the table next to us is sharing their wine, my eyes are so small and he thinks it´s because I´m tired but it´s because I´m smiling so much because this is the exact environment where I want to be.
Surrounded by Chileans belting out the songs that have been passed down from generation to generation, playing the spoons with a new friend who sees the world very similar to how I see it, learning from another person, having him learn from me. THIS IS WHAT IT IS ABOUT. It´s not about after work forced mingle sessions, its not about the “where are you from, do you like it here?” conversations. It´s a tiny bar down the street where the bathroom is disgusting but you don´t even care because the french fries are cooked to perfection and cost one dollar. And its 2am on a Wednesday night and I`m walking around my romanticly lit neighborhood where the sound of my shoes on the cobblestone street is purposeful yet relaxed. It´s a silly conversation with a boy who tells me he likes me, eyes sparkling with wine, seeing how far his Latin charm will get him. It´s me opening the door and telling him goodnight, friend, after seeing what it was like to kiss him. It´s his cab ride home, purpled stained lips. It´s my big warm bed, my morning commute by bicycle, and it goes on and on and on.
Tienes que aprender controlar la mente para liberar el espíritu.
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