Did I ever told you about the time I shared bathroom with Gael García Bernal in a hostel in Madrid? With open showers and all

When I was little, I always thought of Paris as a dream, very Disneyland like, having in mind that I visited the Disneyland park in Anaheim, California when I was 3 years old for the first time, and the images I had in my mind years later, were like steels of me enjoying, smiling, surrounded by castles, gardens, super clean streets and stuff. I always dreamed of flying to Paris and thought it was going to be, if not exactly like that, at least similar in spirit, everything like in the movies.

I have already mentioned that I have been lucky enough to have travelled around the world since I was a teenager, my sister and I without parents but with their full support (in every way). The first time in Europe was kind of delayed because Egypt and the Middle East in general got into our way and we left for almost six weeks to an unexpected adventure to a place didn´t even crossed our minds we were going to visit (and connect with as strongly as we did). After these unrepeatable first weeks in the Middle East a nonstop flight to Paris from Cairo was the beginning of a very anticipated french experience.

My first impression was good, I have always had the capacity to see beauty no matter the circumstances, always keeping realistic expectations but being the dreamer I am. The city welcomed us cloudy, humid and warm, kinda grey and a little dirty, as I have mentioned before, dog shit all over town but wearing a dignity with no rivals, like an old french actress from the 50s and 60s, think of Catherine Deneuve today, wrinkled but still beautiful and more elegant than ever. The opera wasn´t till renewed by the time and many façades were cover with scaffoldings and under restoration.

The maintenance of the city was fine, food as well, all ever heard and even better than that, croissants, pastries, cheese, everything was great, the only detail was the language, parisians in general weren´t very fond of the americans at the time, and I was living in San Diego, California with my family then and even I was carrying a mexican passport, that would make me american-ish, ergo they were´t very fond of us either.

Every time I tried to communicate I would mumble something nasal like french and they would be like "Quoi!!!???", then I would ask if they´d speak english and they were like "No english, espagnol!!", I would start speaking spanish and they would be like "No idea… desolé" and there we were, trying to survive in a place we loved but we kinda also hated.

Service in France is not the best, waiters are payed well by the hour and they just have to limit themselves to put whatever you managed to order in the table and that´s it, if you ask for anything in particular that´s extra, like salt, pepper or onion, you better start eating and say good bye to whatever you ordered extra, they would appear for a polite "is everything ok?" and then to deliver "L´addition", the bill, expecting no tip, people don´t usually tip in Paris or France.

The point of the story is, the first time I came to Paris I left 3 or 4 days earlier than what we planned to the-ever-friendly capital of Spain, Madrid with the Tintos de Verano in the sidewalks. We left loving the city and hating the people, nobody wanted to speak to us and the attitude of the parisians was awful, especially for three teenagers traveling here for the first time (a great friend of my sister and I was doing the trip with us). I personally kinda promised to myself I wasn't coming back… but my competitive personality had second thoughts, and as soon as I was back home, I got into french lessons and decided I was going back a year after, only this time speaking french and making myself clear around town. After that, I kept studying french while I studied architecture, the whole 5 years, and always returned to Paris, at least once a year to practice all that I´ve learned along the year.

Today I got myself into french lessons again, for the first time in Paris, at La Sorbonne, they asked me why I wanted to keep studying french and I told the story again after many years, realizing how much in love I am now with the city I thought I hated the first time, how much I love the language I could´t articulate at the beginning of my affair with Paris. Now that I´m here I walk the streets and go to the bakery almost every day and understand what is to be where once I dreamed to live, like a dream you don´t really think you will accomplish, but that turns into the most amazing surprise and a great omen for the other places I have wished to live, a couple more and both of them by the beach and California.

When I make a wish, it´s not like I say what I want just in case. When I make a wish I make it with the certainty that it is greatly probable that it will come true and smile, and then I thank because in my mind that wish it´s already true and on its way.

Did I ever told you about the time I shared bathroom with Gael García Bernal in a hostel in Madrid? With open showers and all. I will tell you tomorrow, happened in the same trip right after Paris.

When a potential Horror Movie Story collides with one´s real life

This weekend has been a pretty loose one, in a good way, taking things easy and disconnecting from everything in general. Fitness activities were privileged; a collective session of many different cardio activities sponsored by an important sports brand, everything took place in one of the most iconical buildings in the City of Light, Le Grand Palais, by the Seine and on for more than four hours, started at dusk and finished when the 5000 assistants were about to drop dead, not that far, but at 10 pm during the winter in a "nonexistent heater" hangar size structure, covered in glass, the temperature tends to low fast. After a long session we all were done and Cambodian Food near the Opera Garnier was the best closure for a very active day.

By this time, I have to drop the third person writing and tell one of my stories.

Not too long, I ran a whole marathon in Los Angeles, my first one, after a few half marathons I felt ready and close to home it felt safe (I grew up in San Diego and southern California is home), the forecast in general was good, I was already well trained and my best super friend and brother Jorge would escort me along the way, stopping every two or three miles to encourage me (he driving my car). By that time, Jorge lived in this awesome apartment complex in Irvine, California, not to far from Newport Beach (place I love very much). I got to his place in saturday morning, we spent the evening hanging out together around the area and we left not to late in the afternoon and headed our ways to Downtown L.A. We got there, and since the marathon would start at the Dodger´s Stadium, we decided for a hotel not far but still in the area.

The chosen hotel was convenient for many reasons, super inexpensive, well located, a historic piece of edification and it looked pretty awesome in the pictures at booking.com, so we went for it. The check in was fine, the hotel seemed older in person, like always, but nothing more than the expected. The area was from so-so to OK, so, for a night stay for a couple of friends that wasn´t important, we were there to go to bed early, a long run of a bit more than 26 miles awaited the after´s morning.

To be honest, the place gave the creeps as one would get in, very The Shining like energy, recently renovated, but with the old vibe that stays and never leaves of "things" that probably happened there, for my benefit, ignorance was bliss and we stayed there, in a very tall room with back side view, not knowing what I will detail next.

Much to my surprise, the shower was inside but the toilettes were communal, that wasn´t pointed out at the website, then again, we are pretty laid-back, no prob there. another confession, when I had to go to the toilette I had to do it on my own and long (very The Shinning like again) hallways and turns were to be walked before getting there, but I was with my very straight brother-like best friend, and I wasn´t gonna ask him to escort me, although I did and he refused, so I went on my own and came back running like crazy.

The next day we woke up at 6 am and headed to the stadium, the crowd was growing by the minute, the skies were cloudy and the morning was crispy but OK. Then the time to start the run arrived and down came the rain… more like a drizzle, that became a soft rain that turned into a horrible storm that lasted for the 4 hours and 30 minutes my ran took, a bit more than I expected, although taking the wild conditions, the freezing temperature, the fact that we were running in 4 inches of cold water at many points and that the radiation from the Fukushima Nuclear Plant was expected to arrive that same day with that same rain into count, I think I did pretty well.

At the end I´m here, proud of my medal and always love the times when my friend Jorge and I get to do brotherly activities together, that make men bond (doesn´t matter if one´s gay and the other one straight) and bonding and building memories with my brother makes a happy day.

Today, I was browsing pages and ran into a very interesting one, Top 10 real horror stories that would make a great movie, immediately got into it and by number 3 I was more than hooked, I was reading and simultaneously looking for further information about the story I was reading in other tabs; number 3 was the story of Elisa Lam, a Vancouver 21 old girl who was vacationing in L.A. in january 2013 and was captured in video in one of the elevators behaving in a strange manner, she was never to be seen again after that video and was found, unexplainably, in one of the sealed water tanks in the rooftop of the hotel she was staying two weeks later, because some of the guests complained for the "funny" taste and color of the water coming out of the faucets and showers.

Since I was completely captured by the whole thing and nothing seemed to make sense, I went further and inquired into the subject, ending up in google maps looking for the address, but to my surprise and agains my secret wishes, the hotel where everything happened was nonetheless the one Jorge and I stayed, and the creeps it gave us when we got in were not just us being afraid of nothing, the place has been the house of two serial killers, one of them kept the bodies inside; also, countless suicides have taken place since it was built in the 1920s.

Today´s post is about how clever we really are. The building it´s fairly beautiful, lives through it´s age and style and wears a good amount of dignity; the lobby is impressive and it is clear it has been recently renovated. We are clever because as we got in, the vibe the place gave made us feel uncomfortable and despite that we kept going (we weren´t that clever there), had a good night sleep and wrapped it up for the stay very early the next morning, harmless and in one piece.

Now knowing that I stayed in that place, make me feel the creeps even more. I have been more than overwhelmed, a bit scared and a big deal relieved, got goosebumps a few times and couldn´t stop thinking about the fact that I probably took the elevator where she was seen for the last time by a surveillance camera a few months later.

For more in that story and to see the video, click in this link and see how it makes you feel.

http://vigilantcitizen.com/vigilantreport/mysterious-case-elisa-lam/