Etiqueta: travel

  • Visiting Stonewall Inn, in twenty-sixteen

    Visiting Stonewall Inn, in twenty-sixteen

    As you know, I went to New York recently. My first goal was to see Starry Night, by Van Gogh, and my second goal to visit The Stonewall Inn, a legendary place. The spot where all the LGBTIQ+… etc. liberation movement started. Willow came too, you can see her looking happy in this pic:

    the-stonewall-inn-bego-willow

     

    Willow deserves her own story… another day. I’m transcribing from my diary here. Tomorrow [last week, I’m already here] I’ll leave for Barcelona and I’m already knackered. Maybe it’s exhaustion what’s allowing me to tear down the barriers that keep me from publishing things? That, and knowing that I’ve got people on Patreon waiting to read what I’m writing. More on the Patreon later. But guys, THANKS. You’ve become my top 9 favourite people in the world. Promised.

     

    I can’t believe I’m at Stonewall Inn. There’s a huge poster of a photo, very well (back) lit, that says:

    STONEWALL MEANS FIGHT BACK! SMASH GAY OPRESSION! GAY CAUCUS [gay Ché Guevara guy’s head] AGAINST WAR & FASCISM

    I also took a picture of it:

    Stonewall means fight back! Smash gay oppression!

     

    There’s this guy that looks like gay Ché Guevara, unlike the Tim Minchin song The Fence, which includes the lyrics “Che was a bit of a homophobe”:

     

    We’ve sheltered ourselves from the rain here, and from the fact that it looks like my period is about to come and kill me. OUCH. At Times Square I’ve had to ask Pablo to carry my backpack, and then squat, and breathe. That was my small-town girl moment in New York: Why is there so little space to sit in such a crowded a public space? The answer is obvious: to keep you circulating. And circulate we did.

    We arrived running through the rain all the way from the subway station. Willow and Pablo are drinking White Belgian with Orange Peel. That’s a beer and it’s delicious (each bottle costs seven dollars plus one dollar tip, which is the standard issue in this town).

    Elisa and I were fooling around over Skype yesterday, and she said:

    “You’re going to Stonewall? Cool!”

    “Yep, apparently it has 3.8 stars at Yelp”. ¬_¬’

    [This was clearly a joke, because her answer is, as it should be, outraged laughter].

    “But how is it possible that anyone would DARE to rate such a mythical place on Yelp? And once you’re at it, what kind of person gives it less than five stars? It’s legendary!

    And yet, people dare…

    When we arrive I’m afraid we’ve sat at the back, where they had normal chairs and sofas, not high chairs… and we’ve interrupted a couple of gentlemen of around fifty years of age, very formal, with their suits and shirts, a black gentleman and a white gentleman that kissed each other very sweetly while sitting in their stools.

    There were two bathrooms, one that said “All genders” and another that said «Urinal room». Cool. Specially considering all the fuss going on in the US with toilets.

    Five stars. I mean, come on.

    stonewall-pablo-bego-willow

    (Trying to smile behind my dark circles and rainbow scarf).

     

    The Patreon thing

    Patreon is an online platform in which people can support artist so they can go on doing their stuff. I’ve just published my profile, at last! Now you can support me so I can go on writing, for as little as a dollar a month. There are several types of rewards for the patrons, but mostly the main reward is that I’ll be able to devote more time to writing (and also to sleeping, eating, having showers, that kind of thing) and I’ll have more resources to publish stories like this one (and hopefully better). If you want to give me a hand, visit this link for more information: http://patreon.com/minibego.

    patreon-screenshot-june-2016

    This post was created with the support of my patron Marta Serrano. Thanks so much, Marta! <3

  • I had to see Van Gogh with my own fingers —painting at MOMA, New York

    I had to see Van Gogh with my own fingers —painting at MOMA, New York


    Pictures above by Natalie Hope, Calgary, Alberta.

    I had to see Van Gogh with my own fingers.

    Viendo a Van Gogh (completo) from Begoña Martínez on Vimeo.

    I’ll update this with more pictures from other people. 🙂

  • I’m Nica: a short note from Niquinohomo, Nicaragua

    I’m Nica: a short note from Niquinohomo, Nicaragua

    You can always count on me to find the library. Biblioteca Augusto Sandino, Niquinohomo, Nicaragua.
    You can always count on me to find the library.

     

    8705340850_0a5056fa98_z
    The local church, just out of Romeo+Juliette.

    Yesterday I visited the birthplace of Sandino in Nicaragua: Niquinohomo.

    Yo soy del pueblo que un niño
    en Niquinohomo soñó.
    Soy del pueblo de Sandino
    y Benjamín Zeledón
    —Yo soy de un pueblo sencillo, by Luis Enrique Mejía Godoy (see the complete lyrics and my translation below)

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    The general

     

    A lot to ask? — “Living clean, healthy, safe, beautiful and good is living with joy, with physical and mental health. Living with --, safety, respect, faith and hope. -- Sandino!”
    A lot to ask? — “Living clean, healthy, safe, beautiful and good is living with joy, with physical and mental health. Living with –, safety, respect, faith and hope. — Sandino!”

    Benjamín Zeledón’s fortress —the political prison

    We also visited Benjamín Zeledón’s fortress, then turned to political prison. We saw the cells where first Somoza, then the FSLN, kept their political prisoners. It is on top of a hill, with breathtaking views of Masaya, Granada, the lakes, forests, volcanoes and vultures. The Nicaraguan scouts manage it, and a scout greets you and tells you the story when you get there.

    The cells are dark and full of graffiti, bats and ominous stains.

    There’s one level that they didn’t want to dig up yet.

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    In nearby Laguna de Apoyo I felt more naked than ever before in my life

    In nearby Laguna de Apoyo I felt more naked than ever before in my life, bathing in a volcano crater in my bikini. The nicas swim (well, bath, because in this area they can’t swim) fully clothed. It’s so weird. Everyone was looking at the pale skinned gringas swimming in their bikinis. It felt like a political defiance act.

    I discovered something: nakedness, like beauty, is in the eye of the beholder.

    A remix of Gangnam Style blasted on huge loudspeakers.

    On another note, my youngest son broke his leg while I was away. Bummer. Poor him, poor Pablo.

    All night I’ve chased planes in dreams.

    *************

    Yo soy de un pueblo sencillo
    Luis Enrique Mejia Godoy (on the right, my translation for my friend Michael: improvements welcome)

    Yo soy de un pueblo sencillo
    pequeño como un gorrión
    con medio siglo de sueños
    de vergüenza y de valor.
    Yo soy de un pueblo sencillo
    como la palabra Juan
    como el amor que te entrego
    como el amor que me dan.
    Yo soy de un pueblo nacido
    entre fusil y cantar
    que de tanto haber sufrido
    tiene mucho que enseñar.
    Hermano de tantos pueblos
    que han querido separar
    porque saben que aún pequeños
    juntos somos un volcán.
    Yo soy de un pueblo que es poeta
    y sus versos escribió
    en los muros y las puertas
    con sangre, rabia y amor.
    Yo soy de un pueblo orgulloso
    con mil batallas perdidas
    soy de un pueblo victorioso
    que aún le duelen las heridas.
    Yo soy de un pueblo reciente
    pero antiguo su dolor
    analfabeta mi gente
    medio siglo en rebelión.
    Yo soy de un pueblo que un niño
    en Niquinohomo soñó
    soy del pueblo de Sandino
    y Benjamín Zeledón.
    Yo soy de un pueblo sencillo
    fraterno y amigo
    que siembra y defiende
    su revolución.
    I come from a simple people
    small as a sparrow
    with half a century of dreams
    of shame and of courage.
    I come from a simple people
    like the word John
    like the love I give you
    like the love they give me.
    I come from a people born
    between a rifle and a song
    that after so much suffering
    has a lot to teach.
    Brother of so many peoples
    that they’ve wanted to keep apart
    because they now that even small
    together, we’re a volcano.
    I come from a people that’s a poet
    and wrote his verses
    in walls and doors
    with blood, rage and love.
    I come from a proud people
    with a thousand lost battles
    I come from a victorious people
    with wounds that still hurt.
    I come from a new people
    but its pain is old
    my people are illiterate
    half a century in rebellion.
    I come from a people that a child
    dreamed of in Niquinohomo
    I come from the people of Sandino
    and Benjamín Zeledón.
    I come from a simple people
    fraternal, friendly
    that sows and defends
    its revolution.