The Unofficial Bacardi Girl (Puerto Rico)

Piña Colada? Cuba Libre? Mojito? 

Si, señorrr, I'll take all of the above.

I am the unofficial Bacardi girl. Earlier this year, my dance partner and I won the 10th Annual Bacardi Summer Salsa Competition in Chicago. The grand prize: round trip tickets to Puerrrrrrto Ricoooo! My bags were literally packed the next day.

While visiting the tropical island, I went to the Bacardi Rum Factory. I had my heart set on meeting Mr. President and thanking him personally for sponsoring my trip. Although I adamantly requested to see Mr. Bacardi to several tour guides, I had no luck. They all probably thought I was crazy and gave me polite vague answers telling me that the President was "not able to see me at the moment." Ha!

Hey, it was worth a shot...

Not to despair, I spent my time with my partner in crime, Chiarra, at the bar "sampling" all the Bacardi products. Although technically you are only given two sample tickets, we had no problem sweet-talking all the bartenders in letting us taste the entire variety of the Bacardi products (for research purposes, of course). I know, I know, it's a rough job but somebody has gotta do it.

Hanging out with Chiarra at the bar.

Drinking a Cuba Libre on a boat in the Caribbean. 

Damsel In Distress (Puerto Rico)

Phew! What an adventure it was arriving to Puerto Rico. I don't think I've ever felt this many emotions all in one day. Let me take you on my roller coaster ride. Strap yourselves in tight.

I arrived at O'hare airport at 4am in the morning, pimped out with the following items:

• an obnoxious hot pink sunhat (special thanks to Kathy)
• my movie-star sunglasses (also hot pink, stolen from a bartender in Scotland)
• a pink boarding pass (not pink on purpose, I was out of black ink)
• a backpack stuffed with all the skimpy summer clothes I own
• a cocky attitude

Yes, people did look at me and probably thought to themselves, "Now is that really necessary this early in the morning?" I didn't care. I was going on vacation to a paradise island in the Caribbean. Of course I'm going to flaunt it. And as obnoxious as I probably looked, I did receive several compliments about my hat.

"We are now calling all first class passengers to board the aircraft..."

Yup, that's me! "Excuse me, excuse me, VIP coming through...."

This was my first time ever flying first class. (I had to make a phone call to Delta to book the flight a couple weeks ago and the lovely lady I spoke with gave me a free upgrade to first class. Score!)

The minute I sat down in my seat, I passed out. It was too early to function. In no time, we landed in ATL. I got off the plane and tried to orient myself within the hoards of other travelers. When I finally found my connecting flight to San Juan on the giant television listing, I realized they were already boarding the plane! I sprinted like a madwoman towards the magical train that takes you from one terminal to the international terminal.

Upon exiting, I hear, "Final boarding call for San Juan, Puerto Rico."

"WHAT!?!?!" There is no way I was going to miss this flight! Of course, my gate is miles away, at the very end of the terminal. I don't think I ever ran as fast in my life!

Oh, I made it alright! The flight attendant greeted me with a glass of champagne. I chugged. Then breathed a sigh of relief and made myself comfortable in my seat. OK, I'm ready. Take me away to paradise island...

Three hours later, we land in Luis Muñoz Marín International Airport (SJU). Whoop whoop!

When I left the airport, I had a really hard time finding the bus stop to take me to the city. A couple of cute security guards pointed me in the right direction. After I got on the bus, we kept driving and driving and I didn't hear my stop. Well maybe we just didn't get there yet. So wee kept going and going...

At this point, I was 100% sure I was not at the right place. I decided to get off, figuring I'll just go to the bus stop across the street and take it back.

Yep, like may things in life, not so simple. There was no bus stop across the street. I walked along the road, still in my obnoxious pink hat, completely disoriented, with no map, carrying my heavy bag in the hot and humid weather, sweating profusely, trying to figure out what to do. Every Puerto Rican that drove by was staring at the pink blob on the sidewalk, me. Obviously, I didn't belong there. I reach a gas station and ask the attendant for help. She had no idea about how the bus system worked. She recommended I ask the men outside.

So lil' 'ol blonde me approached a couple of big tattooed Puerto Rican men in a questionable neighborhood with a sheepish smile.

Boy, I thought I knew how to speak Spanish. They tried to help me, but I couldn't understand their Spanish. After trying to decipher what was being mumbled for 10 minutes, I realized that this isn't going anywhere cause they also had no idea what I was saying. They recommended that a taxi was my best bet. So I go back inside and ask the gas station attendant to call a taxi for me as I waited around. She comes back and tells me that she called a couple companies but because it's Sunday, they don't operate. WHAT?!? Why!? That doesn't even make sense. Dammit Puerto Rico! What the heck am I supposed to do now? Where am the hell am I? How the heck do I get out of here? This is not my fantasy paradise island, but a sketchy neighborhood in the middle of nowhere.

I was freaking out on the inside, thinking that my life is probably over and I will probably have to sell my body on the street. A small Puerto Rican lady that overheard my conversation mentioned that there is a bus stop a few blocks away. So I grabbed my things and walked out. The second I step foot outside, it starts raining. First it's a light tropical drizzle, but a minute later, buckets of water are spilling from the sky. At this point, I am completely soaked and completely miserable. I may have even shed tears but I was so wet that I couldn't even tell.

I stood at the bus stop and stared at the cars drive by like a lonely lost puppy...

That's when I found Elsa. Gracias a Dios! Elsa is an older Puerto Rican lady that came to the bus stop with an umbrella in hand. First, she looked at me questionably. I got scared. Then she inched her way over and put half her umbrella over me.

Elsa was my savior that day. She explained how to get back to the airport and how to get to the city. She explained the bus system and pointed me in the right direction. She even talked with the bus driver to make sure he would stop at the right place for me. Boy, I couldn't thank her enough for saving my day.

Wet, starving and tired, I finally made it to my hostel. A fellow traveler was cooking some food and kindly offered me a warm meal. And that was all I needed. I was content. Even more than content, I couldn't be happier.

Today made me really appreciate the kindness of strangers, because everyday we cross paths with new people, and even the smallest of gestures can make the biggest impact.

Looking out from the airplane at San Juan, Puerto Rico

The Season Of Change

No other season brings a blend of raw emotions like autumn—of mystery and pensiveness, of reflection and nostalgia, of melancholy and excitement. There is something magical it.

It is the time of year that you that needed long walk in the park where you ponder endlessly. You put on that favorite over-sized sweater and hit the streets wearing your heart on my sleeve. You slip the headphones into your ears and let the the songs fill the heart.  You simultaneously feel the summer sun's lingering rays and the coming winter's cool blows.

As you walk, you can see the world change its colors, admiring the golden leaves being swept into the wind and then reluctantly falling to the ground. The crisp cool breeze kisses your cheeks as you squeeze the warmth of your sweater.

You observe the strangers that slowly pass you by, each lost in their own thoughts. You reflect on your past and imagine a perfect future.  You slowly and carefully organize all the little compartments in your brain. You let go of old and make room for all the new that is yet to come your way. Your mellow heart mingles in between the summer's commotion and winter's lethargy. As the world changes its colors, you too make changes within your heart and mind. You  piece together the puzzles of your life.

The days grow shorter, the nights get colder and your heart gets fuller.

You look forward.

Autumn is the time to sip on the hot chocolate, to swing in a hammock, to sleep-in those extra 5 minutes, to bite into the caramel apple, to read a classic, to snuggle underneath the blanket, to smell the spices, to eat your favorite comfort food, to give in to temptation, to indulge, to cuddle, to hug, to reflect ...

... and to feel like all is right with the world again.

Love, Locks and Lovers (Paris)

Thousands of delusional lovey-dovey couples flock to Paris every day. Paris is said to be the city of lovers, one of the most romantic place on earth.

Flowing through the heart of the city is the Siene River. One of my favorite parts of the city are the adorned bridges that are filled with hundreds of colorful love-locks. As tradition goes, lovers would get a lock and inscribe their names onto it. The couples would then lock it onto the metal bridge and throw the key into the river, symbolizing their eternal love and commitment for each other. How rrrromantic! (insert girly sigh here)

As you stroll on the bridges, you can admire or detest (based on how you feel about your current relationship status) the ocean of colorful padlocks adorned with little hearts and names of the lovers who proclaimed their everlasting love. Perhaps you can even add to the collection if you're there with a special someone, hmm? (insert nudge and creepy wink here)

Anyway, I later learned that the heavy metal locks quickly overwhelm the bridges as thousands of hopeful lovebirds of the world come to proclaim their never-ending love. As a result, every couple months, the city has to go around and clip the locks from the bridges. I hope those relationships last longer than the locks. So much for never-ending love, huh?

I think we all know the real winners of this tradition: the lock making business must be pretty lucrative in France.

The Language of Love

Our languages may be different, but our emotions transcend all barriers.

I know a couple (a Chilean muchacho and a Russian devotchka) that are head over heels for one another, yet neither of them speak each other's language. But it doesn't matter, because there is no stopping love.

I see them romantically stroll though the streets, as one hand squeezes the palm of their lover, while the other hand clutches to a small worn-out translation dictionary. Que romantico!

I suppose love goes beyond words.

A look, a wink, a smile, a kiss- the language of love is universal.