Friday, Nov 6, 5:00 am. The alarm goes off. I get up thinking “Oh boy, is it early… Just because I really need to swim today…” Then I hear “Happy birthday!” Ah, true! It’s today. “Thank you!” I had forgotten (or, let’s say, I had not entirely waken up). But Olesya didn’t.

***

Fairly normal day in the office. I call Jacob Wirth to make a reservation. No luck, they say they are no longer taking reservations for the day. What are we going to do? It’s about 15 people who already confirmed. Well, let’s not change plans. We’ll show up and get in line for a table, and get some snacks or drinks (coke for me) at the bar while we wait.

***

I get home, and I am ready to leave for dinner. But not so fast! Olesya has a small cake for me, with candles and everything. Mmmmhhh!!! We eat some cake before heading for dinner.

***

Jacob Wirth is up to the expectations. OK, the food is simply good enough, and so is the service. But the place is nice, it has some, let’s say, “character,” and I am very happy to see all the friends who keep coming. Nice conversations, nice to be together. The piano guy starts playing, and many people in the restaurant start singing along. Little by little, more people participate in the singing. Then we completely ignore the piano guy, because Myongjin is singing, a capella, for the birthday boy (i.e., me); a complete hit —even the bar tender was clapping and cheering. Eventually we end up leaving the tables, and go to stand around the piano, together with other people, and sing for a while. Anyway, we really had a great time!

***

Saturday is uneventful. Some household chores (take care of one of the closet’s doors, try to replace a light fixture…). We eat well and try not to get our legs too tired. We have a race next day. Almost every year (and this goes back to the time we were in Chicago), I try to run a race around my birthday. Kind of like a self-birthday present.

***

Sunday. Get up, ready for running. For Olesya it will be her first half marathon on her own —we’ve run other halfs together, but this is her first time doing the race alone. It’s a “women’s only” race. Well, women, and “one lucky guy” chosen by lottery. I am not the “lucky guy” so I am doing the “significant other 5k.” Get some breakfast, and hit the road. The race is in York, ME.

***

We get to race location early enough, and we are able to get a parking spot in the high school. Go to the gym; pick up our shirts; eat a mini energy bar; stretch; see Kathrine Switzer in person (didn’t talk to her, but saw her signing books and talking to some more curious or more extroverted runners).

***

Warmup. Then I eat a couple of pieces of “uncrystalized” ginger from Trader Joe’s instead of GU (just experimenting; not bad at all). We head to the start line. The 5k starts 10 minutes earlier than the half. It’s only couple of minutes to go, so I say good bye and good luck to Olesya, and get ready. The race starts. First mile mark: right on pace. Second mile mark… not quite, my pace drops badly. It’s getting painful. Very. I think of what Mariana and Miguel are going through, and I realize I shouldn’t be whinning, but running faster (Olesya had a similar motivation towards the end). I try my best. Third mile mark —and 0.1 miles to go: the third mile is surprisingly fast, so much so, that if I could sprint to the finish (which I can’t, of course, because I am giving all I have and I am already pooped) I could have a chance to break 20 minutes. There is the finish line, and it’s already 20 something… nonetheless, I push very hard for the last few steps. 20:11. Not a sub 20, but it’s my fastest time this year. It feels really good.

***

I catch my breath. I go to the car to change my shirt, pick up the camera, and head to the half marathon course, to try to take pictures of Olesya. I chat with a couple of “significant others” there, also waiting for their wives. About an hour later, there is Olesya. I had been waiting for this, I had practiced a couple of times in the last hour how to set up the camera and everything. I get ready, start taking pictures, Olesya sees me, smiles, waves… and then she suddenly says “It’s closed!” Uh, oh. I didn’t remove the lid from the lens. Crap. I remove it quickly and take one or two shots, but Olesya is way past me. I feel bad. Olesya is running pretty fast, though; I reckon with this pace she will finish way under 2 hours.

***

Back at the finish line, I practice several times with the camera. I take pictures of the first, second and third place, and the “lucky guy,” too. It’s now one hour and fifty something minutes. Olesya must be approaching. I turn the camera on, remove the lid, and wait. There she is! I get ready for the moment she will cross the finish line and… I screw up again, don’t ask me how. Anyway, I run to meet her, and take pictures of her now that she’s not moving. She ran under 1:55; the official “chip” or “net” time will be 1:54:44. Personal best —which probably means, I just slow her down when we do races together!

***

After the race, we stop by the Nubble lighthouse. Very nice.

Back home, we finish the day with Indian food, ice cream, a movie (”Where the Wild Things are”) and a nice, relaxed walk to go to get to these places (a good thing to do to loosen up the legs, and get the blood flowing to avoid soreness the next day).

I look back, recall all the laughs and singing from Friday, and the nice race, and Olesya’s PR… And I just think: What a nice birthday weekend! With birthdays like this, it doesn’t feel so bad to get older

No, no me refiero a las letras del alfabeto. Esas me gustan. Incluso las del alfabeto griego. Y hasta las del ruso. Y el hiragana es un alfabeto muy bonito. Pero no, no hablo de esas letras. Me refiero a las letras de las canciones. Nunca entiendo nada.

Bueno, a veces sí entiendo. Por ejemplo, como algunos de ustedes recordarán (Te entiendo Herculano) me sé las letras de muchas canciones de Chava Flores. Y claro, en aquella época ya remota de borracheras, me aprendí letras de José Alfredo y José José. Y me sé el himno nacional, y todavía me vienen a la mente canciones de iglesia de vez en cuando (”Quea-le-grííí-aaaa-cuan-do-me-dijeeeeron…”).

Pero la cosa se me complica cuando el tema se pone más abstracto. De por sí oigo mal. Y si a eso le sumamos acentos, expresiones locales, y metáforas, pues no doy una. Vamos, hay veces que Olesya me tiene que repetir lo que dice una canción en español, porque yo no entiendo lo que dice el cantante. Para los que no conocen a Olesya, su lengua materna es el ruso, y su lengua adoptiva el inglés. Y aún así, no es raro que entienda las letras mejor que yo.

De alguna manera, la música ha sido siempre lo que determina si una canción me gusta o no. Me gusta, por ejemplo, El Gran Combo. La mitad del tiempo no les entiendo, la otra mitad me hacen reír, pero todo el tiempo me encanta su música. Me encanta Björk, y ni siquiera hago un esfuerzo por entender lo que dice. Me gusta la ópera, por ejemplo, y ahí sí mejor ni entender lo que dicen, porque las letras son tan, pero tan cursis, que da pena ajena.

Hay canciones que puedo cantar, o “tocar en mi mente”, cuya letra me sé de memoria, pero no tengo idea de lo que estoy diciendo, porque nunca le he puesto atención. Sí, hay canciones que puedo cantar, y no sé de qué se tratan, porque todo lo que está registrado en mi mente son sonidos, música, nada de significados. Y no se hagan, que a ustedes también les pasa: “Mexicanos, al grito de guerra / el acero aprestad y el bridón.” A ver, ¿qué dice? Pus que cuando empiecen los trancazos, agarremos nuestras armas y caballos (”bridón” es un caballo “muy acá”, lo acabo de buscar en el diccionario). Ahora me entienden, ¿verdad? Bueno, pues así me pasa, pero con muchas canciones.

Y todo esto, porque hace poco, platicando con Olesya, me acordé de algo que dije sobre Miguel Bosé hace muchos años, una frase que me gusta mucho —y ya con ésta me despido:

Casi nunca entiendo lo que dice, y cuando entiendo lo que dice, no entiendo lo que quiso decir.

Bright and balmy winter / Invierno luminoso y cálido

(English below)

“…desde un verano largo como tres vidas / hasta un invierno luminoso y cálido / gracias a tu regreso.” Esto lo escribió mi hermano Martín, papá de Mariana, en un poema hace unos días. ¿La razón? Mariana está mucho mejor, y esperamos de que cuando llegue el invierno, ella ya se encuentre en casa, y que sea, por lo mismo, un “invierno luminoso y cálido” (lindo oxímoron), bien merecido para quienes han estado al pie del cañón desde el verano, que fue “largo como tres vidas”.

Por lo pronto, el otoño ya se siente luminoso y cálido.

***

“…since a summer that was long as three lives, until a winter that will be bright and balmy thanks to your comeback.” My brother Martín, Mariana’s dad, wrote these words in a poem, a few days ago. That’s because Mariana is doing a lot better, and we are hoping that she will be back home by the winter, making for a “bright and balmy winter” (beautiful oxymoron), a comforting winter for those who have been “on call” since the summer, a summer that felt “long as three lives.”

For now, autum already feels bright and warm.

golden morning chill
maples blushing on the street
feathers heading south

¿Recuerdan esa canción de Chava Flores, Herculano? “Justiniano, Luciano, Ponciano, son tres nombres con fin maloliente…”, etc. Y el buen Herculano, harto de las burlas, va al juzgado a cambiarse de nombre. Se presenta con el juez, y “el juez, alburero y villano, luego luego le dice: ‘Me presta’”. Y Herculano, deseando tener en su nombre “lo profundo de un sabio del mundo”, elije como nuevo nombre “Profundo”. Y cierra la canción con la despedida del juez: “A sus órdenes don Profundillo, y si puede también me lo presta.” Pues algo por el estilo conmigo.

Empecemos por el principio. Mis papás decidieron ponerme “Gabriel Alberto”. Si abrevias el segundo nombre, lo cual es muy común para papeleos y demás, queda “Gabriel A”. Ajá, casi “Gabriela” (el otro día me pararon en el aeropuerto por eso). Y de chiquito, en mi casa, me decían “Gaby”, lo cual es perfectamente común en otros países, donde, además, lo escriben como “Gabi” (¿por qué en México le ponemos “i griega” a los nombres que acaban en “i”?). Pero claro, en nuestro país, como hay que ser machos, alguien decidió que había que usar “Gabo”, “para hombres”, para distinguirlo del “Gaby”, que es “de mujeres”. Así que por allí de los once o doce años, la edad en la que uno empieza a padecer en la escuela los inconvenientes cotidianos de ese “tener que ser machos”, entre el “Gabriel A” y el “Gaby”, no me la acababa. Pedí, insistí, supliqué en casa que dejaran de decirme “Gaby” y me dijeran “Gabo”, o “Gabriel”. Tarde o temprano, se logró el objetivo, y las burlas disminuyeron.

Fuera de casa, el “Gabriel” era lo común, salvo por uno o dos amigos que me decían “Gabo”. En la universidad como que se me antojaba convertirme en “Gabo” en lugar de “Gabriel”, pero a mí casi todos ya me conocían como “Gabriel”, así que no resultaba práctico el cambio —ni original, porque había “Gabos” en otros semestres. Dejémoslo en “Gabriel”, pues.

Más tarde, decidí venirme a los EEUU. El primer día (de verdad, el primer día) un brasileño me pregunta:
—¿Cómo pronuncias tu nombre?
—Gabriel.
—Eso pensé, pero le pregunté a la coordinadora del programa por “Gabriel” y no entendía, pensó que le estaba preguntando por una mujer.
A ver, a ver, barájamela más despacio.
—¿Por una mujer?
—Sí, si dices “Gabriel”, aquí les suena como “Gabrielle”, que es nombre de mujer.
Otra vez la burra al trigo…

No parecía que fuera a ser una lata, de cualquier modo, porque los gringos me empezaron a decir “Guéibriel” (Gabriel, en inglés). Pero un día, casi al principio del curso, una maestra me preguntó:
—Guéibriel… así no se dice, ¿verdad? ¿Cómo pronuncias tu nombre?
—Guéibriel está bien.
—No, ¿cómo lo pronuncias tú, cuál es la forma correcta de decirlo?
—“Gabriel”.
—Es difícil, ¿hay algo más fácil? Por ejemplo, ¿cómo te dice tu mamá?
—Gabo.
—¿“Gabo”? OK, “Gabo”. Eso está mejor.
Y yo pensé: Esta es mi oportunidad para convertirme en “Gabo”, aquí todavía nadie se ha acostumbrado a decirme “Gabriel”. Así que me convertí en “Gabo”, primero por estos rumbos, y poco a poco también en México, donde varios de mis amigos se dieron cuenta del cambio y generosamente lo aceptaron. Listo, al fin el nombre que quería.

Pero claro, nada es tan fácil, ¿verdad? Tenía que haber alguna trampa. El primer problema resultó ser que si me presentaba como “Gabo” la mayoría de la gente no tenía idea de cómo me llamaba. Tenía que repetirlo, o de plano decir “Guéibriel, pero me dicen ‘Gabo’”. Y claro, también tenían problemas para escibirlo (“Garbo”, “Gabor”,…). De todos modos yo continué usando el “Gabriel” para todo lo “oficial” (papeleos, cuentas de sitios de internet, etc.). Y me acostumbré a que, al presentarme, lo mejor es “Gabriel (o Guéibriel), pero me dicen ‘Gabo’”.

Cuando entré a trabajar a donde trabajo ahora, me preguntaron: “¿Cómo quieres que aparezca tu nombre en tu cuenta de e-mail, y en el sistema? ¿Prefieres ‘Gabo’ o ‘Gabriel’?” Y decidí usar “Gabo”, dado que en mi equipo hay un “Rick”, un “Chris” y un “Bob” (así aparece su nombre en sus e-mails). Listo. Contento de ver “Gabo Lopez-Calva” en mis e-mails. Pero claro, no hemos terminado. En todo este tiempo, no me había topado con una curiosidad más del idioma inglés relacionada con mi nuevo nombre. Para los americanos, “a” es “ei” (como en el alfabeto: “ei-bi-ci…”). Así que los que nunca han oído “Gabo”, tienden a leerlo como “Gueibo”. Un día, un colega me pregunta: “¿Cómo pronuncias tu nombre? (yo pensaba “mira nada más, nunca me habían hecho esa pregunta…”) ¿Prefieres ‘Gabo’ o ‘Gueibo’?” Y le dije “Gabo”. Pero noté como que mi compañero estaba un poco avergonzado de preguntarme, y sentí como que no era pena por no saber decir mi nombre, sino como que había algo más. Lo comenté con Olesya, y, en efecto: Si lo dices rápido, “Gabo” o “Gueibo” como que da igual, pero si lo dices despacio, con un acento muy gringo, suena como “Gueei-bouu”, que suena casi igual que “gay boy” (chavo homosexual). Ah, que la ching…

Dicen por allí que una de las ventajas de hacerse viejo es que cada vez te molestan menos las burlas. Y es cierto. El otro día otro colega me saludó: “Hola, Gueibou ¿cómo estás?” Otro que no me ha oído decir mi nombre, pensé. Bueh… A estas alturas, no vamos a entrar en aclaraciones, si le da risa o no, la mera verdad, ya me vale madres.

Así que ya ni regrese al juzgado, don Profundo, evítese el trámite. Ya verá que en unos añitos las bromas le hacen lo que el viento a Juárez.

About two months ago, not sure how or why, we decided to do more hiking this summer, and that the “summit” of our season would be Mt. Katahdin, the northern end of the Appalachian trail —a beautiful mountain and a real challenge. Olesya found out about it; she showed me some pictures, mentioned some details, and I was sold.

To train, we decided to include hikes or long walks in our weekends, besides keeping our regular week-day workouts. We went to the Middlesex Fells Reservation, Great Brook Farm State Park, and Wompatuck State Park in MA; we went to Mt. Monadnock and Franconia Notch Park in NH; we did some long walks here and there (see, e.g., Walking NY). Olesya ordered maps and a book about Katahdin, and found trip reports. We had tentatively decided to aim for Labor day weekend; it would depend on the weather. Once Labor day weekend was included in most weather forecast services, at the end of August, we noticed an agreement about very good weather conditions, and we booked one of the Katahdin Cabins in Millinocket, ME, the town closest to the south gate of Baxter State Park, where Mt. Katahdin is located.

We drove to Millinocket on Friday, after work. Our cabin at was all we needed. Cozy, very clean, and with complimentary freshly baked, and really tasty muffins and / or cookies every day.

We brought our Galileoscope (we just got it recently), and gave it a try on Friday. It took some effort to aim and focus, but in the end we had a very nice view of the craters of the moon, first, and then a nice (though tiny) view of Jupiter, including three of its moons.

On Saturday we went to the park. It’s about 30-40 min from the cabins. We asked at the gate what would be a good time to show up next morning to climb Mt. Katahdin. We were originally planning to arrive at 4:00 am. They said they had a lot of visitors for the weekend, and that they were aware of some people who had shown up at midnight the night before. Uh, oh. We decided to shoot for a 3:00 am arrival next day. They said that 3:00 should be “an OK time”. Uh, oh, again.

In any case, that would be the next day. For the time being, we entered the park and drove to Daicey Pond. It took like 45 min to get to Daicey Pond. Driving inside the park gets kind of boring after a while, to be honest, but it’s OK. On the bright side, though, the pond is beautiful, and you can “rent” a canoe for $1 / hour (one could almost say “borrow,” because of the low price and because it’s self service). We rented one. It was our first time canoeing, which probably was evident, since two women came to provide us with some advice as soon as we got on the canoe —we were not even seated properly. They explained the basics to us, and we canoed for one hour.

After that, we hiked to the “Big Niagara Falls” (or was it the “Little Niagara Falls”? I don’t know) and took some pictures.

We then drove to the north side of the park. Long drive, I think one an a half hours or more. There, we went up the Trout Brook Mt. With the excitement, we hiked at a fairly good pace; in fact, on the way down, it almost felt like trail running sometimes. That was probably not a great idea, though, since on the way down my left hamstring started complaining. It would be OK next day, but I got a little worried when it happened.

After the hike, we exited the part from the north gate, and drove back to the cabin —another hour and a half or so; the north end of the park is kind of far from Millinocket.

Back in the cabins, we grilled some sausages, ate some of them, and packed some for the hike next day. (In the middle of this, we got a phone call with really good news from our friends Irina and Dobri, congrats!) We finished preparing things for next day, and went to sleep by 8:30 pm.

Climb day. The alarms (two of them) went off at 2:00 am. We got up, washed our face, got dressed, got our bags, and left for the park. We got to the gate at 2:50 am, and there were already like 15 to 20 cars in line.

The gate opened at 5:00 am. By 5:15, we entered the park and headed to the Roaring Brook parking lot, celebrating. Yes, being allowed to park at Roaring Brook is the first reason to celebrate when you want to hike Mt. Katahdin. This parking lot can only fit a small number of cars, and that’s why people get to the gate so early. If the parking lot fills up, you are out of luck for the day, you can’t climb Mt. Katahdin that day. Well, there is still a small chance that you can park at two other small parking lots on the other side, but it’s a different route to the top. Some people prefer to camp inside the park to avoid this parking problem. Next year, the park will try a reservation system to avoid the big lines of cars in the middle of the night, which is a great idea.

We registered at the ranger station at 6:02 am, and got started. Kind of chilly at the start. We followed Chimney Trail, which leads (of course) to Chimney Pond, which, in turn, is the “hub” for a handful of different trails that lead to the top of Katahdin. There is a really nice view of the mountain when you get to the Basin Ponds, your first view of it during the hike. Wonderful feeling.

We got to Chimney Pond by 7:30 am, and got even more excited to see, almost to “feel” the mountain all around us: Pamola Peak, the Knife’s Edge, South Peak, Baxter Peak, the Saddle, Hamlin Peak… it’s about 180 degrees around you. Impressive. Exciting. We registered again (yes, again, they are very strict about safety in Baxter, which is good) at 7:42 am, and headed towards Dudley Trail: 1 mile and 2,000 feet ascent.

The Dudley “trail” is, well, not your usual Sunday hike. You start using your hands and arms, that is to say, you literally start climbing, not hiking, as soon as you start going up. Tough. A little scary at some points for a first timer like me, to be honest. But the views get amazing just as quickly as the trail starts getting difficult.

The end of the trail is Pamola Peak. We reached it around 9:30, together with Jay, another hiker who had climbed Katahdin the day before following a different route. We ended up sticking together with Jay for most of our hike. The views from Pamola are, again, gorgeous. The day, by the way, was perfect, sunny, not hot, not windy, and with great visibility. We took a break, and had a snack.

We turned towards the Knife’s Edge. Deep breath. The first question that came to my mind was “how are we supposed to get there?” I mean, you are here at Pamola, and you see the Knife’s Edge there, and in between what you see is… well, a “mini-abyss.” There is a rock wall on your side, dropping several meters, and there is another wall that goes up to the Knife’s Edge on the other side. Another deep breath. Brave people take the initiative; Olesya led. And she’s really good. She basically had to wait for Jay and I, who were more, say, “chickened-out.”

Once on the Knife’s Edge, it certainly gets better. There are some spots here and there that are very sharp, with drops on both sides that get your heart rate up, but it is an exciting experience. The views (I know, I have said it already, but I have to say it again) are amazing. And from time to time you look back, and it’s hard to believe you just came from there.

We reached the South peak and took a couple of pictures, and from there there was just a little stretch to Baxter Peak, the actual summit of Katahdin. We reached Baxter peak at about 11:30. It felt so good; I cannot imagine the feeling of someone who gets here after finishing the whole Appalachian trail. We took a good lunch break at the summit, and enjoyed the views, the feeling of achievement, and the conversation with Jay and other hikers.

We went down by the Saddle trail. A good section of it is very hard, very steep and full of small rocks, almost gravel. But then you reach a flatter region, and it’s more comfortable from there to Chimney Pond. We made it back to the pond by 1:40. Little break, “sign out” at the ranger station (to let them know we were back), one more picture, and back to the trail.

We were already tired going down Chimney Trail. It actually took us to go down about the same time it took us to go up that morning. We were signing the registration sheet, back at Roaring Brook, at 3:22 pm, for a total round trip of nine hours and twenty minutes. Absolutely worth it. I would wake up at 2:00 and do it again anytime —uh… maybe not the following day, though

Back in the cabin, we took a good shower and a light dinner (we had been munching all day, both days), and then we went to bed and slept for several hours.

Next day, we took it easy. On the way back, we stopped at Ogunquit, walked The Marginal Way (nice, as always!), ate at one of the restaurants at Perkins’ Cove, and had the only (but traditional) ice cream of the trip.

Wonderful trip.

I saw a “My schnauzer is smarter than your honor student” sticker a couple of days ago, and I thought it was funny. I browsed a little, and it turns out that that sticker is as mellow as it gets when it comes to anti-honor-student stickers. Just check this. Many good ones. (I like self-deprecation, so I especially like “Previous owner had an honor student.”)

In New England, a common bumper sticker is “This car climbed Mt. Washington.” I saw it this morning on my way to work, still sore after a pretty good hike yesterday, and I thought “why would you want to tell everyone that you hike by car.” Maybe it’s a tough drive, I don’t know, I’ve never been there. But now I’m curious. And I am also curious to see if the smart schnauzer likes hiking, too; imagine: “My schnauzer is smarter than your honor student… Oh, and he climbed Mt. Washington, too.”

(English below)

Mariana salió ya del hospital, e ingresó a una clínica de rehabilitación. Miguel salió del hospital en Amsterdam, y está ya en España, también en rehabilitación (este es blog: Miky el magnífico). Grandes avances, los dos. La rehabilitación llevará tiempo, y paciencia, pero aquí seguimos, con Mariana y Miguel en nuestros pensamientos y nuestro corazón, para que sigan tan fuertes como hasta ahora, progresando día con día. Sí, les llega el cansancio a veces, pero al día siguiente están listos para trabajar duro otra vez. Sigan así. Estamos orgullosos de ustedes dos.

***

Mariana left the hospital and is now in a rehabilitation clinic. Miguel also left the hospital in Amsterdam and is now back in Spain, also in rehab (this is his blog: Miky el magnífico). Great progress. It’ll take time and patience, but we are still here, with Mariana and Miguel in our thoughts and our heart, to help them stay as strong as they have been so far, making progress day after day. Yes, they get tired sometimes, but next day they are ready to work hard again. Keep going. We are proud of you two.

We haven’t been running much this year. And we haven’t gone for bike rides, like we did last year in the Summer. And I am not swimming much this year either. BUT… we have been doing a lot of walking. Really, a lot. And we love it.

An example. We spent the last weekend in NY. And, except for a short play that we saw, we spent our time either talking to a few people, dear to us, that we had not seen for some time (family, friends, really nice spending time with them, hopefully next time we will catch some others that we couldn’t see this time), and, of course, walking.

The day we arrived, we walked, as usual, from the bus terminal to the place where we stayed, in this case, from 34th and 8th, to 96th and Columbus. The next day, after the play, we decided to walk back to the apartment. That was sort of going accross the island. We went from Houston and Avenue A on the East Village (near Katz Deli), to 96th and Columbus (9th ave.), sort of from “zero” (that’s where the numbered streets start, I think) to 96, and from East to West. Along the way, we went by the farmers market in Union Square, and bought a snack and some apples. We went by the Flatiron building, which I love (among other reasons, because it’s Chicago architecture in NYC, a mix hard to beat when it comes to skyscrapers) and took some pictures. We went by Times Square, and enjoyed the crowd, and the new “look” of Broadway in the area, mostly for pedestrians. We went by the Lincoln Center, and “old friend” of ours, still undergoing renovations, but functional it seems (and we had our not uncommon “pit stop” at the Borders in Columbus Circle). We found Grandaisy Bakery, which we tried the following day, and certaily loved, and we drooled as we went by Levain Bakery, two blocks later, and thought of their huge and absolutely terrific chocolate-chip cookies, though we didn’t by any this time. A really enjoyable walk. On Sunday, we walked from the apartment to the bus again, though this time we mostly stayed on Amsterdam / 10th ave, for a change (we are somewhat familiar by now with 8th and 9th avenues).

As you walk, you see how the neighborhoods change, you see the ridiculous amount of restaurants, coffee shops, and all sorts of businesses that there are in NY. You see skyscrapers and parks. You smell roasted nuts, pretzels —well, and some other less memorable smells, too. You see all kinds of people (and dogs) around you, and hear all kinds of languages. You even start noticing how some business that compete with each other stick together: If you see a Pinkberry, chances are you will see a Lenny’s, and its Yolato, within a block or so. It is just a wonderful experience.

There are tons of things to do in NY, and we’ve done many of them. Walking all over the place is just one more thing you can try, and it is highly recommended.

Courtesy of Emanuel Derman’s blog, here is an abstract about the effect of wind on stock market returns. Yes, wind. And yes, they claim it affects stock market returns. No comments (Derman’s comments are probably enough).