Mike Woliver

Return to the world

Over the past few years I have had the pleasure of living on four different continents. In each location, I was positioned near the sea. Although the cultures have varied and the faces have changed, one constant has remained the same.
Consistently across the globe, the happiest faces have been situated along the beach. It’s the point of refuge after a long day’s work; my friends, locals, and children alike were all drawn to the splashing of waves against the setting sun. Whether it be the salted air, the sand beneath my feet, or a quick dip in the sea; returning to the sea, will always be, returning to the world for me.

 

Taste Mike's story 

Daniela Rivas

La casa de Cathy 

2011, en este año realice mi primer viaje fuera de mi país de origen, arribe el 24 de Abril a la ciudad de París y durante las siguientes 8 semanas recorrí 14 ciudades en 8 países.

Mis expectativas de viaje eran, además de conocer la cultura, arquitectura y arte saborear las opciones culinarias representativas de cada ciudad. 
 

Cómo viajera joven no contaba con grandes recursos así que mis elecciones de alimentación se basaban en que fuera barato, supiera bien y en que tuviera algo característico de la ciudad en turno.

Probé el mejor helado que había comido hasta ese momento en Venecia, el mejor yogurt y capuchino en Roma, la mejor pizza en Barcelona, muy buenos chocolates en Bélgica y una singular mayonesa en Bruselas pero seguía añorando México con su gran variedad de sabores y estilos.

Transcurrieron las primeras 7 semanas del viaje de esta manera. Pero la octava me traería una sorpresa, organizado de último momento pasamos nuestra última semana en Europa en la casa de Cathy antigua casera de una de mis amigas y compañeras de viaje.

Cathy nos ofreció su hogar para hospedarnos y además nos brindó comida casera, la cual añoré durante todo el viaje, siempre pensé que está sería la mejor manera de conocer la comida de cada ciudad y deseaba que alguien me invitara a cenar a su casa, pero esto no sucedió hasta llegar con Cathy.

La comunicación con Cathy no fue fácil, ella no hablaba español y yo no hablaba francés, pero me gusta pensar que nos comunicamos a través de la comida, sin duda disfrute cada uno de los platillos, que amablemente nos preparó, los disfrute y aprendí mucho de ella, de su forma de vivir y de su forma de cocinar. Su comida me hizo añorar menos a mi país y me hizo sentirme más como en casa.

Taste Daniela's story 

Rocio Almangui

This is the story of cake being baked in the oven. 

There were so many ingredients, and all of them so nervous of being baked, that there was an explosion inside of the warm oven.
 
Flour, yeast, eggs, sugar, yeast, pecans, butter, yeast, everywhere.
 
It was so messy and complicated!
 
This seemed like an impossible task!
 
The baker managed to save (and try) scattered pieces of cake...
 
Wait!
 
Three times yeast is like saying Bettlejuice three times: complete disaster.

Poor cake. Poor baker. What a mess!

Or can this mess be something else?

These may work as cupcakes. "Messy cupcakes" will be their name. Ugly, chaotic, but tasty!

And they were eaten happily ever after. 

Taste Rocio's story

Rafael Reygadas

HACIA EL CAMPAMENTO DE YIBELJOJ 

El 30 de noviembre de 1997.

Alrededor de 60 OSC de todo el país y del mundo, organizadas en la Primera Misión Civil por la Paz íbamos a subir durante casi dos horas a un campamento de comunidades indígenas expulsadas por grupos paramilitares del PRI, refugiadas en lo alto de un cerro llamado Yibeljoj en las montañas de Chiapas.

En la Misión iba Blanche Petrich, periodista de la Jornada que tuvo poliomielitis de niña y camina apoyada en dos muletas.

Blanche dijo: 

- Yo los espero aquí abajo, tomen algunas fotos y graben.

entonces un indígena tzetal le preguntó: 

- ¿Cuánto pesa, seño?,

- Como cien libras - dijo Blanche,

y le dijo el indígena:

- ¡Ay seño!, menos que un costal de café, yo la subo.

Y durante dos horas la llevó de caballito hasta la punta del cerro, donde Blanche hizo un reportaje histórico sobre la resistencia indígena.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

TOWARDS THE YIBELJOJ CAMP 

November 30th, 1997.

About 60 CSOs of around the world, came together for the First Mission for the Peace.

We were for about 2 hours in an indigenous refugee camp who have been forced to leave their homes due to para-military actions commanded by the PRI (National Party in 
Government). The community found shelter on the top of the Yibeljoj mountains in Chiapas.

Blanche Petrich, a journalist from La Jornada (National Newspaper), was among the Mission. She had polio as a child. So, she walked leaning on two crutches.

Blanche said:

- I will wait for you down here. Don't forget to take some photos and record.

so, a tzetal indigenous asked her:

- How much you weigh, Ma'am?

- About 100 pounds - said Blanche,

and the indigenous told her:

- Ma'am! Less than a sack of coffee. I carry you up!

For almost two hours he carried her on his back, up to the top of the hill, where Blanche made her historical report about the indigeneous resistance.

Taste Rafael's story

María Fernanda Perez Tello

El teléfono sonó.

Era ella. 

Me dijo que ya estaba todo listo.

Tomó un largo suspiro, y prosiguió.

Nos vemos a la 1.

Me despedí en casa.

Me dispuse con mi sombrero en mano y libro hacia el aeropuerto.

Ella estaba allí, con su gran sonrisa.

Nos abrazamos y corrimos a tomar nuestro avión.

Después de una hora de vuelo.

Llegamos a esta hermosa isla en la punta de Colombia, donde todo es color y felicidad.

Bajamos del avión y él estaba ahí.

Empezó a reír a carcajadas.

Nosotras también, los nervios, calor y felicidad nos hicieron sentir vivos.

Sus dreads llegaban casi a la rodilla, tenia un pantalón oscuro y llevaba su camisa bien planchada.

Nos abrazamos, y nos dirigimos a su hogar.

En medio de todo el turismo, las calles llenas de frutas y árboles.

Al final de la calzada estaba su casita.

Llena de amor y detalles, reggae por doquier.

Bajamos un cocos, brindamos con ellos en la mano, y caminamos donde el mar toca la arena.

Nos sentamos frotando nuestros pies con el agua cálida que traía la marea.

Suspiramos de nuevo.

Nos quedamos en silencio hasta que el sol se escondió, bajo los nueve colores que representan el mar de San Andrés.

Después de renunciar a nuestros trabajos y emprender esta aventura de dos meses en esta isla.

Nuestra felicidad había vuelto a nuestros cuerpos.

Taste Maria Fernanda's story

Jeff Franklin

He walked as quickly as the snowy streets would allow him, keeping his head down until the subway entrance was overhead. The train doors closed and he crossed his arms as his eyes slowly closed. A few seconds later the sun poked through the trees above. Warm and refreshing, everything around him came to life at once.

Taste Jeff's story

The mad-hatter

She was a senior. I was a sophomore. She was the captain of the women's soccer team and I, the captain of the men's.

In the spring, after our seasons had ended, fate brought us together, sharing a scene in a wacky school musical that my friend Mike had written. I was the mad-hatter and she was at one of my tea-parties. It seemed almost like he had deliberately written those parts to put the two of us in the same space together, but I don't think he actually did.

We got closer than we'd ever been during those two months of rehearsal and cast parties. We spent tons of time together, completing each other's sentences, watching movies, grabbing meals, and drinking at house parties and in friend's basements. Intoxicating times, both because of the alcohol and because of her. She wasn't bubbly, but she was a beautiful, funny, midwestern girl.

For some reason though, I never said anything. Maybe it was a lack of courage or a fear of rejection veiled in a story that I "didn't want to ruin the friendship." Or maybe that she was older and I needed her to take the lead. Excuses aside, I sat silent on the central question.

And then she graduated...from being the drunk mouse at my mad tea party to the one that got away.

Taste Mad-hatter's story

Lee-Sean Huang

The first time I had cardamom was an eye opening experience. It was my first year in college, and I took an ethnomusicology class on South Indian music. At the end of the semester, our class went to have dinner at an Indian restaurant. I don't remember exactly what we had, but I remember that it had a spice I didn't recognize. It tasted vaguely like ginger, but our Indian teacher disagreed and explained that it was cardamom. Enchanting taste. A few years later I would encounter that spice again in Scandinavian sweets, a remnant of the Viking travels and Crusades to the Middle East and beyond.

 

Taste Lee-Sean's story

Katja Frederiksen

This is a story of a steadfast phone, who have encountered many falls and breaks over the time.
I got it when I moved to New York. It was the first time I had to be digital in order to keep track of my calendar events and mail monitoring.
It was shiny, smooth and smelled like 'new'
But after two winters, cold hands and trying to text while walking, it now have crashed its back and front cover. I can't read and see very well when texting and often misspell. And when walking outside when its cold - it freezes and the screen turns black.
In a way it have more value to me now than ever before, because the amazing thing is - its still working.  

Don't know if this can help in any way
But just wanted to share

Enjoy the snowy day

 

Taste Katja's story