¡Aquí! Opening Reception at the NoMaa Gallery

Thursday evening, was the opening reception of ¡Aqui! (Here) - an exhibition at NoMAA’s newly inaugurated gallery space in Washington Heights.

¡Aqui! (Here) will take place from September 25th - December 30th and exposes works by local artists depicting their creative experiences within neighborhoods in NYC, as well as celebrate Latino arts and cultures uptown. A panel of jurors selected the fifteen artists exhibiting in the show whose work was curated by Rocío Aranda-Alvarado, special projects coordinator at El Museo del Barrio.

I was able to speak briefly to artist, Hector Canonge, about his piece entitled "Intersections." His multi-media project includes neon signs, a map of NYC with bar codes, a scanner, and a projector and screen.

Joking how much of his art deals with food (a passion we have in common). He explained how the bar codes on the map are the locations of food carts around the city. When you click on a bar code, an interview with the person that handles the food card in that particular location appears on the screen. He continued to say how the people (who are mostly immigrants) that work in these carts are "codified" by the actual owners of these carts - a sort of underground mafia that we never see.

Canonge also has another exhibit called "Epistolar" which talks about his family history. This will be going on until September 29th at Peter Fingesten Gallery, Pace University.

Protest Against Chevron in South America Reaches NYC

Last Friday, I went to see the New York theatrical premiere of Crude (2009 Sundance Film Festival) at the IFC Center.

Crude is a documentary which delves into the 17-year-old fight between the Amazonian people of Ecuador and Chevron.

According to Amazon Watch, "While drilling in the Ecuadorian Amazon from 1964-1990, Texaco - which merged with Chevron in 2001 - deliberately dumped more than 18 million gallons of toxic waste water, spilled roughly 17 million gallons of crude oil, and left hazardous waste in hundreds of open pits dug out of the forest floor. To save money, Texaco chose to use environmental practices that were obsolete, did not meet industry standards, and were illegal in Ecuador and the United States. The result was, and continues to be, one of the worst environmental disasters on the planet...Chevron has never cleaned up the mess it inherited, and its oil wastes continue to poison [its people and] the rainforest ecosystem."

Today, the fight continues among not only Ecuadorians, but Colombians as well.

Yesterday, there was a rally for environmental justice outside The Essex House on Central Park South, New York City. President of Colombia, Álvaro Uribe, a representative from Chevron, and other investors were having lunch inside while about 20 people yelled outside that Uribe is allowing genocide.

Meet My Friend in NYC Adventure in Brighton Beach

Despite the predicted rain during this unusually rainy summer in New York, this Sunday, August 2nd, my Facebook group "Meet My Friend in NYC" decided to brave the storm to explore the mostly uncharted area of Brighton Beach, Brooklyn.

The day started out gray and gloomy, and even though many cancelled, I was surprised at the turnout of those who were insistent on going. Honestly, if it weren't for them, I think I would've stayed in bed under the covers. A friend, Chino, picked me up, as well as two of his friends, Sasha and Tito, who were new to me.

As soon as I got in the car, the raindrops started to fall outside, but in no way whatsoever did it dampen the aura of positivity in that car. The rain seemed to get heavier the closer we got to our destination, but we only laughed harder at the irony of the situation.

I remember Tito saying something like, "I'm glad I came out, because if I stayed home, it would've just been a boring Sunday. At least we're trying something new." He seems to like exploring neighborhoods in the rain - as I recognized him from this video in my friend Chino's blog.

As we kept driving towards the beach, and the rain intensified, I received a text from another friend, Tino, confirming that he is coming with two more friends. They met up with us after Chino, Tito, Sasha and I ate lunch.

We had found a $5.99 lunch special at Primorski Restaurant which included, a cabbage salad, soup, entree and coffee or tea while sitting in Chino's car searching for "the best Russian restaurant in Brighton Beach" on our phones. This one seemed exciting to us, because one of the reviews said mafiosos were often seen there - so of course we opted for it. Wet and cold from running about a block in the pouring rain to the air conditioned restaurant, we each ordered our authentic Russian dishes.

Thank goodness we had Sasha with us, who is of Ukrainian origin, to do some translating, because the waitstaff did not know English too well. She reminisced upon seeing large Russian families gathered around the tables with white table clothes. She said that during the holidays growing up, that after eating all the courses similar to the ones at Primorski, they would simply keep starting the process all over again.

About two hours later, we were stuffed, yet we finished eating our shared dessert of cheese blintzes topped with sour cream and sugar on top - the way my mom taught me. We then ventured outside where the rain had finally subsided. It was perfect timing to meet Tino and his friends who had just arrived.

After finding some coffee in a local shop for Tino's friend, Michael, we started walking to towards the beach, bonding as we went along.

By the time we got to the water, everyone was talking to each other and laughing. Looking back, it was quite the spectacle. Tino was taking pictures of everything and anything, Chino was out and about with his video camera, Tito was walking in the water with his shoes off as he debated whether or not to dive in, and then before I knew it, Tino was taking pictures of the inside of his friend Paul's mouth munching on M&M's.

As we kept walking along the beach, we kept goofing around and being ourselves - basically doing whatever striked our fancy. Tino asked a little girl if he could use one of her toys for one of his photo opportunities. She just stared at all of us with a big smile on her face - as if she was in disbelief that an adult would want to use one of her toys.

I felt like I was on the beach with 5-year-olds, but in a good way. The kind of way that nothing mattered but having fun. Who cares if it was raining earlier and the sand was wet? Who cares if the water in Brighton Beach is polluted? - It's still water. Who cares that we don't really know each other? Let's have fun where we are, with what we have, and who we're with.

So, even though this seventh event of "Meet My Friend in NYC" had the potential of being a disaster, in my opinion, and I think the others might agree, it turned out being one of the best.

Perhaps the recipe to a good time is looking at things through the eyes of a 5-year-old. The next time it rains, don't let it spoil your plans. Go out and have fun in the rain, because you never know what you might discover or the friends you'll meet along the way.

A Tragedy in Queens

Framed photos of Bessy Velásquez are arranged neatly above the television stand in the home where she lived with her two daughters. Her apartment in Fort Greene, Brooklyn remains spotless, just as she liked it.

Velásquez’s daughters, 17-year-old Bessita and 14-year-old Kimberley, still reminisce about how they used to call their mom "Doña Perfecta" because of her obsessive cleaning—a name they got from one of the Spanish-language soap operas they used to watch together.
"She was so headstrong," Bessita said, recalling the mother who raised two teenagers kept the house meticulously clean, worked and who once took classes at New York City College of Technology hoping to run a day care center one day. But after separating from her husband, Carlos Velásquez in 2000, Velasquez stopped going to college and focused full time on working to pay the bills.

Velasquez grew up in a middle-class family in Tegucigalpa, the youngest of five daughters. Her parents ran an inn and sent all five daughters to private Catholic schools. At 17, Velásquez decided to follow her heart to be with her future husband, Carlos, who had already gone to New York. Her sister Danny Lee Arroyo, then 18, also wanted to start fresh after breaking up with a boyfriend in Honduras. Together, the two sisters started a new life in the U.S. Velasquez’s closest sister in age, Arroyo, today 43, says the absence of her sister is still palpable.

"I still try to dial her number," said Arroyo, who lives in Boston. "We would talk over the phone all the time, especially at 4 or 5 a.m. I would keep her company via cell phone."

Arroyo’s last conversation with Velásquez was on Saturday at 5 a.m., the morning before her death. Bessy was working when she called her sister to tell her she was going to a workshop for parents of children who are going to college. Her daughter, Bessita, is graduating from high school in mid-June.

After three months of working at both LaGuardia Airport and Myrtle Car Service, Velásquez decided to dedicate more time to her daughters and work exclusively at the cab company since it was close to her home. With the base a block away, she could frequently check on her daughters or stop by to prepare them dinner.

Her cab, a black Lincoln, was like her second home, with pictures of the two girls and her favorite bachata CDs. From her car, she would call everyone she knew."She'd call me like five times a day,even when I was in class,just to say ‘I love you,’" said Bessita, who would often confide in her mother about school, gossip and boys that she liked.

Once, when the girls went to a Christian summer camp in Pennsylvania, Bessita remembers she opened her journal to write in it, only to find a note from her mother that read: "I love you. I hope you have fun. I'm miserable over here." Then, when Velásquez picked them up a week later—the longest they had ever been away from her—she brought them yellow roses, tinged with orange.

On the eve of the accident, the girls' last conversation with their mother was very much like most they had with her. They were visiting their father in the Bronx, and she was impatient to see them soon.

"When are you going to come back?" Velásquez asked. "Ma, it's only been a day," Kimberley replied.

Before that night, Bessita had only once begged her mother not to go to work. That afternoon four years ago, while driving on the job, a bullet had grazed Velásquez's shoulder when a jealous husband following his wife shot at the cab where both women were riding.

Even though Velásquez didn't have much time on her hands, she made a point of being very involved in other people's lives."She always surprised me," said Edgar León, her boyfriend of eight years. One night, when they were sitting in the car chatting, León casually mentioned he would like to see Albany. Before he knew it they were on the highway. "Where are we going?" he asked her. "To Albany," she responded. "Let's go now. If we think about it, we will never go."

León, a 36-year-old Myrtle cab driver, said that even his family in Ecuador took a liking to Velásquez. "She won the love of my family, without ever meeting them," he said.

"Few people in life can shine with such pleasure," said Dagoberto Marín, the owner of Myrtle Car Service, where Velásquez worked for 12 years.

"Number 125," Velásquez's cab number, received a great number of requests from customers asking specifically for her because they enjoyed her cheerful attitude, said Miriam Marín, the owner’s daughter and manager of Myrtle Car Service.

Velásquez would always go to the cab company's soccer games, and sold water and drinks on the sidelines to make some additional money. And she rejoiced the day their team won the city cab company tournament last October, Dagoberto Marín said.

Soccer was also the subject of the last exchange of messages between Velásquez and her ex-husband Carlos, 65, who she had met in Honduras and later married when they reconnected in New York. On the night before the accident, Velásquez phoned him five times but never got through. She left messages, though.

"The Red Bulls won! The Red Bulls won!" she excitedly told him in her first voice message.. That same Sunday, when the national soccer team of Honduras stunned the heavy favorite Mexico, she left another one. "We will beat Mexico now, and we will go to the World Cup!" she said. .Carlos transferred the messages to tape so that he could listen to them whenever he wants to remember her voice.

Nelly Tamayo, one of Velásquez's close friends, was waiting for a call from her on that Sunday morning. They had planned to meet to attend services at the New York City Church of Christ in Park Slope.

"I waited until 9 a.m. but she never came," Tamayo said. “I never yelled so hard when I found out. I fainted."

Velásquez often went out of her way to bring Tamayo, who is blind, anything she needed, even though Tamayo is able to take care of herself.

On the day of the funeral, a procession of 150 cabs departed from Myrtle Car Service for the Ortiz Funeral Home in Sunset Park, Brooklyn, and the drivers parked in two rows surrounding the entire block. They also raised $2,700, which they gave to the daughters.

The pews at the church were packed as family and friends walked by Velásquez's open casket.It was hard for Velásquez's family to recognize her. "We had to study her hands to make sure it was our sister," Arroyo said.

"It gives me so much grief that a person like this is enjoying his life," Arroyo said of Omar. "He destroyed not only three lives, but three families."

Bessita gets choked up at the thought of her mother not being at her high school graduation in June.

But she has taken on the role of her mother by staying positive and remembering the importance of keeping the family connected. She is unsure whether to accept her upstate college offers or study locally because she doesn't want to leave Kimberley alone.

"She's only 14," Bessita said, while looking at her younger sister with sadness in her eyes.

-Andrés Bermúdez Liévano, Elizabeth Henderson, Kristina Puga

(Published in The Columbia Journalist)

Video: Immigration in Peru

Interview with Aldo Calixto
Cuzco, Peru

Jollibee Opens in Queens

I first heard about the opening of the first Filipino fastfood chain on the East Coast, Jollibee, in New York Magazine, during Valentine's day weekend, but I was reminded about it while riding the 7 train this past Saturday evening and seeing three teenage girls holding white plastic bags with the Jollibee logo on them. I asked them where it was located, and one of them replied, "63rd Street." So I got off on the 61st. stop in Woodside and decided to check for myself what the hype was about.

I reached Jollibee at 6:15 p.m. - a site one cannot miss due to the long line around the corner and the glowing red letters spelling Jollibee. Men and women were also crowding around Jollibee's mascot - a giant red bee with a white chef's hat - in front of the establishment and taking photos with it. I got in the line to ask what exactly it was that was so special about this place that's making it the main attraction of "Little Manila" - the strip of Roosevelt Avenue from 63rd - 71st Streets.

The first woman I encountered said she is just visiting from the Philippines, yet she still decides to take a picture in front of Woodside's Jollibee.

Maila Marantal, 37, on the line with her mom, while her two kids waited in the car, drove over 50 minutes from Jersey City taste the famous Chicken Joy. "It's been three years that I didn't taste this, so I had to come," she said. "The sauce, or gravy, is number one in the Phillipines. It really tastes good. They are known for the chicken and the sauce." She continues to go on involuntarily about the peach mango pie, and how it's crispy crust way beats McDonald's apple pie.

At 6:38 p.m. I finally reach the doorway, but am stopped by the guard who is still monitoring the number of people entering, as the space only allows a maximum of 70. The manager, Philippe Garcesto, says that it is now much more bearable than the first two weeks when there was a line since 5 a.m. and closed at 3 a.m.

"Part of me being here is that it's important for me to reconnect to my people," said Garcesto, a 23-year-old art student who moved to NY from the Philippines at age eight. "I wasn't able to do that growing up and now I get to practice Tagalog with the customers. Sometimes it goes over my head, but I just do it."

At 6:45 p.m. I decide to come back to eat since there were no available seats, but I will come back - especially to try some Filipino breakfast of tapas and tocilog which should be available in about two months. As I walked away, there was still a line around the corner.

Serving Up Vegan Food in the Land of Red Meat

If there was one word to describe Larry Fleming, the 60-year-old owner of the Financial District vegan restaurant, Little Lad’s Basket Bakery & Cafe, it would be indefatigable. For the past two years, he has adhered to a rigorous schedule. On Sunday evenings, he packs his truck with homegrown food from his farm in Portland, Maine, and then drives over 300 miles to New York City, arriving Monday morning. Monday is spent working at Little Lad’s followed by a trip to the market to buy more produce for Lad’s and his restaurant in Maine of the same name. Tuesday is spent working at Lad’s in New York, followed by another overnight drive back to Maine. Wednesday he spends cooking with his wife and gets to see his five children who range in age from 2- to 11-years-old, before driving back to New York. He’s in the restaurant all day Thursday and gives his weekly $10 nutrition class in the evening. Friday is spent at Lad’s and then he drives all the way home once more, only to start the process all over again on Sunday evening.

The $3.99 all-you-can-eat buffet offered at Little Lad’s on 120 Broadway, brings a non-stop crowd of about 400 customers daily — which has only been increasing with the recession. Ranging from their late 20’s to early 60’s — some are dressed in suits, some in blue-collar gear. Most pile up their trays from the buffet, which includes items such as, spicy corn chowder, green salad, Jamaican-style black beans, flavored brown rice and potatoes au gratin. There is also an a-la-carte menu including veggie burgers with a side of herbal popcorn instead of fries, and nachos topped with a cheese sauce made from pureed carrots and potatoes. One can also try a healthy, caffeine-free version of coffee called Cafe Roma made from roasted barley.

During a typical busy lunchtime shift, Fleming wears a suit in order to remind his customers that he’s serious about his mission. He looks fresh, not worn out. In fact, his skin is wrinkle-free and almost glowing. His age is solely revealed by his shiny white hair. He stands in his usual spot behind the counter — which is adorned with items for sale such as, natural maple syrup, homemade almond butter and his ever popular herbal popcorn — where he mans the cash register. As each customer passes, he doesn’t forget to wish them a wonderful day, or ask them how their lunch was — and he can do so in multiple languages, including Hindi and Bengali.

He doesn’t go long without a smile emerging on his face, and he somehow finds the time to write songs for his five young children. Songs with lyrics like, “I loved that sugar so faithfully, but I found out sugar didn’t love me.”

Originally from eastern Washington, Fleming was ironically raised on a beef cattle ranch. He voluntarily adopted vegetarianism at age 18, after he became aware that not even the cattle ranchers bought grocery store meat due to the grocery store’s unhealthy standards. At 22, he became a Seventh-day Adventist — a Christian religion with a strong focus on eating healthy.

“I was a vegan before I was religious,” he says in his calm and soft-spoken manner. “Everything made sense when I stopped eating meat. I felt stronger. It was a process.”

Even though, he could never convince his parents and siblings to eschew animal products, he isn’t even close to giving up on the rest of us. Over the last 30 years, he has committed himself to spreading veganism around the world. From a small farm in New Jersey, he started training people to open vegan restaurants internationally. He’d help to find locations and get them started. “I’d stay with them till their restaurant was full and up and running,” he said. “We train people to be independent.”

He says there are restaurants still open today that he got going in Tennessee, Czech Republic, France, Korea, Japan, and Norway. A family is running the Maine Little Lad’s.

Fleming used to run two Country Life’s – one on 48 Trinity Place and the other in Midtown, as well as another vegan locale called Living Springs on E. 60th St. during the 1980’s and ‘90’s. These restaurants made a mark on many; so much so that the owner of 120 Broadway, World Trade Center developer Larry Silverstein, who has an interest in healthy eating, offered Fleming significantly lowered rent in the basement space if he would come back to the area. This is only one of the reasons Little Lad’s has been able to exist in Manhattan for the past two years. He makes just enough for him and his family to survive humbly.

“My wife and I cook the food.” he says. “It’s not like we spend a pile of money for what we do.”

Many of his customers say they are grateful to him for their significant weight loss after even just a month of eating his food, and report increased alertness, and an overall feeling of well-being — all for the price of a Happy Meal.

Answering his cell phone on a Tuesday evening, with at least 10 hours of driving still ahead of him, Fleming remains as enthusiastic as he is when greeting customers.

“My goal is to have a vegan option in every city,” he says. “I want to see the biggest carnivores and serve them. I want to see their cholesterol fall!”

(Published in Downtown Express)