I heart New York all together, just in a different way for the time being.
I have loved New York since the day I first visited the city in the early 1990s. I was in my twenties and as soon as I landed, I met a family that would eventually become my American pillar. I spoke very little English then and did not know I would come back to attend a graduate program in journalism. As did so many before me, I immediately felt enamored with the vibrant, fast-pacing, colorful city and have called it my home since the Fall of 2000.
When 9/11 struck Manhattan a year later, the whole place suddenly came to a halt. Flabbergasted New Yorkers left their offices and their apartments all the same. None panicked. Some started to grieve the loss of a parent, a colleague or a friend; most stared bewildered at what the terrorists had done to their town, a reminder of the attack against Pearl Harbor in the wee hours of December 7, 1941, the only other time when the United States faced war on their own soil.
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Tres Abejas for a Nectar Named Happiness: The new Café in Mexico’s Colonia Roma
Just like his brother Rafael Tovar y de Teresa, the former and first ever Mexican minister of Culture who wanted his country to shine through ideas, music, dance and visual arts, the late Guillermo Tovar de Teresa was a man of letters and knowledge.
Until his death in 2013, Guillermo spent his life in various homes of la Colonia Roma in Mexico City, chronicling from his wooden office the life of a city he was enamored with. His latest address of more than two decades was on 52 Valladolid, steps away from Parque Mexico. The writer’s two bedrooms—one for the winter; another one for the summer—have remained as they were at the end of his life, and tucked behind his office, a courtyard still hides a marbled angel. The 119-year old house, filled with Tovar’s collection of more than 10,000 books, paintings and furniture from the 19th century, porcelain from France and a Victorian lush garden, is now part of the Soumaya Museum.
Somewhere inside 52 Valladolid, there are tiny purple-pale blue flowers with a yellow pistil alongside a green ivy. They could be hidden on a painting or an object.
Try to find them or venture past the tall, heavy door, next to the villa’s entrance on Valladolid. Separating the home in two, a long narrow-path has morphed into a contemporary European-style bar: a place for people to reflect, think, exchange ideas, and perhaps even love.
Its name is Tres Abejas (three bees).
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