Amor de Dios...Flamenco, Fearless

Madrid, Spain.

I remember getting lost in La Latina searching for Flamenco shoes. Finding a small shop and being fitted with these black leather, heeled works of art that looked like artifacts compared to the costume shoes I used to wear in dance performances growing up. I splurged for a skirt. I went back to my place in Salamanca and tried it all on, with a black leotard, put my hair in a low bun and tried to make my best Flamenco face. I took out my map of Madrid and tried to memorize the way to Amor de Dios, so I wouldn't look like a tourist. A visitor. Someone that doesn't belong.

I wrapped up in layers, it was fall, and walked to the metro. Took the blue line to Antón Martín and took a peak at my map. I wandered the old cobblestone streets, past la Jamonería, past Cine Dore, through a market, up the stairs and stumbled into a bare room. Christián was the teacher. I was never the same.

I've always been inspired by Flamenco -- the passion, the music, the style, the movement, the arms. Even though once my sister and I snuck out of a performance half way through, because we couldn't take any more wailing, I love it.

Here are some photos that inspire me and I hope inspire fearlessness in you!

Here are a song from Christián's flamenco cd that he gifted me when I left Madrid: Flamenco de Christián uno

wanderlust wednesdays: Santa Monica

Santa Monica, California.

Travel time from West Hollywood on the bus: 1 hour. Ideal trip length: 5 hours (or until you burn). Nice to haves: retro bathing suit, sun hat, and camera. Directions: take the 704 bus towards Santa Monica.

There is nothing like a day escape to the beach. And sometimes, you aren't looking for a quiet place to relax, but a public arena to watch the crowds. Santa Monica is best for that: sun tanning amongst the general public. Avoid Santa Monica Pier (unless you want to really be in it) and Venice boardwalk (unless you want to literally walk through a mosh pit). Just pick a spot anywhere near the water on the stretch of beach near the pier or the boardwalk and watch.

There will be families from all over around you, but that's precisely what is fun. You won't read your magazine because you will be too busy laughing at surfers. Or watching kids in the sand. It's great.

I just heard a piece on NPR about Nick Gabaldon, an early surfer of African-American and Mexican decent. He grew up in Santa Monica in the 1940s and started surfing on the stretch of Santa Monica Beach nicknamed "Ink Well" or "Negro Beach" because it was one of the few places minorities were allowed to use the beach. He died in June of 1951 attempting a 'pier ride'; crashing into the Malibu Pier.

His story reminded me of the segregation my grandparents and great-grandparents faced growing up in Miami, Arizona and San Pedro, California. I don't know if my great-grandma ever went to Santa Monica to sun bathe, but I'm thankful to not face the same discrimination myself when I go to sun bathe with my friends. Though the same discrimination still exists and I see it, however subtle it may be, every time I go to a public beach.

So if you are angry about being too close to a beach neighbor that doesn't look like you, remember, we all have a right to wander.

The capricious ocean so very strong, Robust, powerful, can I be wrong? Pounding, beating upon its cousin shore, Comes it clapping, rapping with a mighty roar.

The sea vindictive, with waves so high, For me to battle and still they die. Many has it taken to its bowels below, Without regards it thus does bestow, Its laurels to unwary men.

With riches taken from ships gone by, Its wet song reaches to the sky, To claim its fallen manmade birds, And plunge them into depths below, With a nauseous surge.

Scores and scores have fallen prey, To the salt of animosity, And many more will victims be, Of the capricious, vindictive sea.

O, avaricious ocean so very strong, Robust, powerful, I’m not wrong. Pounding, beating upon your cousin shore, Come you clapping, rapping with a mighty roar.

-- by Nick Gabaldon May 31, 1951, six days before he died at Surfrider Beach.

Have you been to Santa Monica? What was your experience? Leave a comment below and share your travels!

#threegirlsinthewoods

 

Nevada City, California.

I spent this past weekend up in the woods with Rachel and Aimee: #threegirlsinthewoods. Rachel is creating yoga wear for an in yo' face booty -- InYo, and Aimee is bring back the fanny pack with Reveler. I am so thankful to have the support of two amazing young women that are also starting their own businesses. We all powered through our business plans amongst the tress in a beautiful cabin, thanks to Julie of Nesting Days.

I am so excited for all of our ventures. It's pretty amazing how much collective knowledge we have: Google talk, Patternmaking, crazy start-up experiences, all the stuff we've learned from watching the other apparel, e-commcerce, tech, and other rando businesses here in San Francisco. I can't wait to share what's next for me, but I'll be spending the next few weeks ramping up, sampling and blogging here so stay tuned!

xo,

Stephanie

wanderlust wednesdays: spa day in berlin

  Berlin, Germany.

Travel time from San Francisco: a transcontinental flight, hopefully around ten hours, but if it is over 20 this post is for you. Ideal trip length: day, if you are already in Berlin. Nice to haves: Extra Euros. Directions: Cab it, or take the U-Bahn to Potsdamer Platz.

After a long (and quite horrendous flight -- but more on that in a future post) to Berlin, I was a bit distraught and my mom gave me good advice: go to the spa. This is something I probably would never do in the States, but I was on vacation and let's just say the incident on the airplane (with me) almost caused us to land somewhere over France.

I googled some spas and for some reason decided on Ono Spa at the Mandala Hotel in the center of Berlin. I probably liked the name, and the idea of standing on the 11th floor and looking down at the main street.

The staff was very friendly and understanding of my German skills, which at the time were nonexistent. They helped me pick a massage and offered me cucumber, ginger, or lemon water. I even got a nice nut and cheese plate after the massage. There was absolutely no one else there at the time, or at least it seemed that way, which really added to the atmosphere and gave me some much needed peace and quite.

I got their basic classic massage. It was just what I needed to make the transition from airplane rollercoaster to fun times in my favorite city. I also got my nails painted this snot green color, which I've been trying to find ever since and finally found the color at Target this week. Afterward I got a drink at the Qiu Lounge Bar on the first floor and skyped my sister with the bartender.

The Mandala Hotel Potsdamer Straße 3 10785 Berlin 

pricelist

Have you been to a spa in Berlin? What was your experience? Leave a comment below and share your travels!

coming together...

San Francisco. April. 2013.

I'm not quite sure what the future holds, but I am sure that I will keep doing what I love best: writing, designing, hanging out with friends, living abroad, and creating my own reality. I think as you get older, that's all you can really do...just keep doing it.

In an attempt to get things more together, I just created a portfolio of some things I've created in and out of my day job. I still have a pinterest board for my writing portfolio. Everything is a work in progress, but you've got to start somewhere.

I remember thinking I would be a lawyer, back when I was in high school. Then I remember wanting to be a film producer, back in college. I remember wanting to be a professor, which I still want to do later in life. I remember wanting to be an artist, when I was teaching English and making art in Bilbao. I remember wanting to be an adult, so I moved back to the US, which was probably stupid. I remember wanting to make money going out, and writing about it, which I did until I got bored. Then I remember wanting to be a barista, because I never was one. Then I was a barista and quit when they started selling hot dogs; I still miss having that constant sense of community. I always remember  writing and making clothes, so I think I'll just stick with those things for the rest of my life. I'm surprised I actually get paid to do both of those things. So, dreams do come true.

repost from this recording: Men Like Him...

San Francisco. March. 2013. Men Like Him

by STEPHANIE ECHEVESTE

Dating in San Francisco is weird.

He said after he sipped his second sazerac, that I paid for, on our first date.

I replied, agreeing without really knowing why. Wondering how many other girls, or boys, or in-between unidentifieds he had dated before me. How many he would date after me.

We first met at a bar. It was during baseball season and we were winning and everyone was excited. He claimed I was eyeing him and I never corrected his assumption because I wasn’t actually eyeing him. I was eyeing this other guy standing near him, probably a friend of his, and debating whether or not this Javier Bardem look-a-like was gay. I then asked all my co-worker friends whether or not they thought he was gay. No one knew. No one really cared because from afar you can speculate, fantasize and then move on. No harm, no foul, no expectations, no disappointment. That is dating in San Francisco. Before I knew it I was no longer drunkenly speaking German to my boss, but instead to this other Chris, who had been lingering near Bardem but was now sitting next to me. And who also, I thought, could possibly be gay...

Go to original at this recording to continue reading.