motorcycle diaries

so much for the gold lamé.

this last week saw me board my first aircraft since my rather uneventful winter break on the slopes at sundance. the events of the last few days though were hardly uneventful. spoiler alert: gold lamé and neon pink plaster casts will not be featured together in the same figh gnarts routine.

late thursday night, i boarded a plane with seven friends, destined for guatemala. after the flight into guatemala city, and skipping any tour of the city altogether, we headed directly for the sunny, tourist-driven colonial establishment of antigua. leaving no time for trinket shopping or mercado bartering, we lounged leisurely in a lush courtyard while nibbling on a traditional guatemalan breakfast consisting of an egg, slice of queso fresco, pureed blackbeans and fried plantains (not to mention the tastilty acidic guatemalan cup of joe).

straightway after the meal, our itinerary took us to the somewhat less-visited san pedro on the bank of lake atítlan, beneath smouldering vocanic peaks. all that need be said is that much hammock-lying, cerveza-drinking, and sunbathing ensued. although the population of san pedro is small, the influx of spanish-speaking, ganga-smoking, reggae-loving travelers over the last decade has transformed the dreamy area into a small, non-traditional tourist destination, a paradise of daytime relaxation and lively nightlife.


minutes before our return to antigua, several friends and i were cruising through rural guatemala, secretly playing out our own half-hour version of motorcycle diaries (maybe it was just me?). we cruised through tiny stone-clad villages, past local familes walking home from the fields, around the brightly-decorated "chicken bus," a typically crammed-full-of-passengers and teetering-precariously-along-small-country-lanes version of public transportation. despite my own history of two-wheeled riding, i do occasionally (or rather often some might argue?) take a small spill; which is exactly what happened on the outskirts of the bustling little village of san juan de laguna.

now i am somewhat sullenly resigned to my en-cast arm, and again enduring my daily life in los angeles (despite delaying plans for the sophomore figh gnarts release), the cool evenings eating al fresco and the warm days traversing village paths in the heart of guatemala are enough to make me think i would do it all again, even if the result is still a hardened neon-pink cast.

i HEART a winter break

i left the breezy warmth of socal today for the bitter cold. the transition from blustering 40-degree los angeles nights to the harsher 15-degree utah frigidity is not easy to warm up to. but, just like my accommodating self (who not too long ago joyously frolicked in the sub-freezing colorado mountains), i managed to wrap the scarf a little tighter, zip the coat a little higher, and muster a bit of winter-air callousness, making my annual trek to utah's renowned film festival in search of a new big-screen gem or an old washed-up celebrity.

i intentionally woke up after my 7:45 am flight had already departed today. even though the thought of an early—and therefore dirt-cheap—flight sounded fine at the moment of purchase, yesterday's late-nite romping, in additon to a busy work week and lack of packing time (not to mention sleep!), put the terrible decision into its proper context. 7:45 is much to early to fly.

at 1:30 this afternoon, the interminable line at the check-in desk didn't wrest from me any anxiety, because my flight had already left hours ago, and i would be waiting any number of hours for another one anyway. after waiting for days for the single attendent to finish with the 5 people ahead of me, i was given a standby ticket by a questioning agent; and with my "i guess i'm a little late, but i just got to the airport" reply, i made my way to the den of hell: the tsa gate".

for those of you familiar with i-HEART politics, you understand that the staff here loves the act of traveling, but it is those pesky details like security and metal detectors and tsa agents that undermine the experience as it was intended. however, in an unusually chipper mood, i stepped up to the gatekeeper of the denizen, the little korean lady who takes id's and checks them against boarding passes. i'm not sure who told her it was her responsibility to maitain the airline's standard of two carry-ons per passenger, but it was with proud defiance that she denied my two bags and another much smaller tote containing a few essentials such as a very long green scarf, a pair of shoes, a winter jacket, all my toiletries, a few more scarves, a week's change of underwear, two weeks' change of socks, and a hair dryer.

at first i balked, for only three weeks earlier, and under the stress of holiday traveling, i had been stopped neither by tsa personnel nor gate agent when i attempted, successfully, to board a flight with these three same bags. my atypical accommodating attidude, however, prevented my making a fuss; instead, i turned around and found the nearest bench in the ticketing area. in epiphany, i proceeded to empty the contents of the tiny tote and rearrange its contents into my other bags and onto various body parts. minutes later, the three recently filled bags were condensed into two bulging—nay, exploding—pieces of luggage, while i myself was wrapped in two winter coats, three scarves, a pocketful of socks and a toiletry bag tucked safely somewhere underneath both billowing pieces of outerwear.

needless to say, tsa couldn't say much about two carry-ons, regardless of their over-abounding contents, nor could they dissuade me from donning such ridiculous amounts of cold-weather gear. after all, both they and i knew that in just a few minutes i would strip down to essentially my socks and panties anyway.

it's safe to say i'll be warm this week. and regardless of what happens over the next few days, it's safe to say that i have arrived at the film festival, with it's hollywood hullabaloo and petty partying, with the proper (though often berated) attitude: there is always a back door.

i HEART coffee

what was merely a staple of the yuppie scene 10 years ago, the american coffeehouse is now a staple of american culture. a majority of thanks is due to starbucks's institutionalizing of the product, and—while the staff at i HEART feels the green giant still brews a mostly decent cup—the trend has happily spawned (and maintained) hundreds of smaller establishments across the country.

the i HEART team is pleased to bring you its picks for the best of american coffee from those establishments.

best coffeeshop
lux coffeebar, phoenix

although the decor reads as shabby chic, the music rocks and the wallpaper is artistically pieced together from scraps of paper on which old poems and stories were scribbled. the homeade treats are flaky and perfect, and the shop even employs a roast master to finish off its own beans. the baristas are smiling and charming, and they definitely know how to pull a good espresso and steam a perfectly frothed pot of milk. while some shops like to feign coziness and forgo wifi access, lux realizes its place in the modern world and offers it for free. and despite its absurd locaton in one of the hottest (literally) places in the states, this phoenix shop knows how to make you forget.

best hipster hang:
chango, echo park, los angeles

beck moved long ago to the hills of hollywood from this east side neighborhood, but his 2007 counterparts are still the hippest hipsters on the west coast. while other cities' hipster haunts may do their best, it is only in a place like la where the casual bedheaded youngsters are disguising their beautiful looks under scarves, skinny jeans, and retro glasses since their last magazine spread or music gig. one of the best perks of this shop is its location just off the busy sunset boulevard, nestled on the corner of a slow street where one feels privy to a hidden neighborhood secret. and contrary to many of its los angeles competitors, it offers free wifi. not only does chango brew one of the strongest and cheapest cups of coffee, but if you order your coffee to stay, you are entitled to the unheard of free refill. and you might as well stay since you stood in line for 10 minutes just to get a cup.


best east coast scene:
doma cafe & gallery, west village, nyc

despite a lack of internet access, this west village establishment is always packed with mac computers, four-eyed thirty-somethings, and sexy librarian-looking lasses. going to doma makes one feel like he ought to be a writer, live in a brownstone, and wear cardigans all winter long. that is, if you didn't already before you visited this downtown shop. it's just the sort of place you want to sit on a windy autum day and watch the constant flow of customers at the counter. while the intensity of the coffee may be lacking, the atmosphere certainly isn't and that counts for a lot.

best west coast scene:
alcove cafe and bakery, los feliz, los angeles

if you have never noticed the lack of day jobs in los angeles, take a trip to the friendly alcove where the outdoor seating is always filled with pretty young things and their distinguished-looking counterparts. the sort of crowd that appreciates the boutique version of urban outfitters is always stylish in a casual los angeles manner. the decor is perfectly manicured (don't look, but the tiny plot of grass my not be real), which is refected in its decision to serve decadently sumptuous portions of salads, sandwiches, and cakes along with decent coffee. if alice escaped wonderland and opened up a subdued version of what she found in her adventures, this would be it.

best cappuccino:
joe the art of coffee, west village, new york city

one who knows a good cappuccino appreciates the perfect proportion of espresso to the minimal bit of milk, the tangy bite of the nutty shot, and a perfectly frothed cap of milk that—though warmed by the steam—is light enough to be almost suspended above the drink but still maintain its thick creaminess. a three-store manhattan chain, the best of the bunch is the west village location on waverly. although the small shop's ambience is eerily similar to that of any trendy chain's, the amazing, perfectly created cap overshadows any ill feelings toward's the operation's aim. besides, the two benches out front are perfect for people watching.

best home roast:
alterra at the lake, lafayette hill, milwaukee

the cold northern midwestern city of milwaukee is probably not next on your travel list, but at least when you do visit (most likely for christmas or a family wedding) you are sure to find a good morning stop, and one of the best at that. although alterra has become a mini-chain, serving drinks from a few mall installatons across the city, its lakefront property on the east side is still as good as it gets. not only does the location utilize a defunct city water treatment plant, but it does so well. the loft-like seating overlooking the main floor is typically full, and the atmosphere remains cozy despite the open, two-story plan. the best part about this city institution is its own assortment of beans, well roasted to any preferred darkness. with a hip aesthetic to match its baristas, it's safe to say that this establishment will only continue to do well.

best espresso:
cafe gitane, nolita, nyc

before nolita became the new soho just blocks away, cafe gitane was serving dark and morbid demitasse cups full of espresso to the haute hipsters downtown. still the place for a plate of greens or a crusty piece of baguette served with butter, this tiny, bustling joint manages to fullfill the fashionable francophile's fantasy of rivaling paris's offering on this side of the atlantic. but remember, the french expect good espresso, not pleasantries; and you shouldn't expect any either.

best newbie:
inman perk, inman park, atlanta

since its opening less than a year ago, inman perk has gained a steadfast audience. nestled on a sidestreet and hidden behind a single-story office building facade, the interior is a pleasant surprise of dwell-cum-wallpaper design. slinky couches line a wall-long bookshelf, and the island housing raw sugar and carafes of creme is custom made to fit the coffee condiments. the well-tuned staff serve great drinks, and they stream a playlist seemingly made from the morning's scouring of pitchfork. free wifi is the perfect accompaniment to the dark coffee ordered from the pretty girl at the counter.

best cuddling:
uncommon ground, lakeview, chicago

when the snow storms and the wind whistles (oh, and it does) duck into this cozy establishment just blocks from venerable wrigley field. although the once tiny hole-in-the-wall has been expanded and now has an entrance on clark street, the fire still roars, and the couches are just as inviting. large cappuccinos, meant to be cupped with both hands and served in small bowl-sized portions add to the fire-side appeal of the joint. it's easy to stay, especially when leaving means donning a heavy parka in favor of wrapping yourself in your date's arms.

best read:
bauhaus books & coffee, capitol hill, seattle

although it may not be the coffee capital's best cup, the remaining essential elements are in just the right place to make this capitol hill hang the sort of casual coffeeshop that fits seattle's reputation. the endless shelves of books nod to the fact that the regulars are the types who might sit and discuss green politics rather than pink paris. then again, that's seattle for you. the upstairs seating area is quiet enough for some down time, while the downstairs offers sweeping views of the city's skyline. one part dusty den, one part post grunge, and one part post grad, this is just what seattle ordered.

i HEART downtown

my newest hood: downtown. although the sum of my la life is a mere six months, i have spent it in many corners of the city. first it was the northern world of "the valley" in studio city. then i took a few months to explore the consciously trendy hipster hotspot of silver lake. this past week, in the middle of getting the boot from my swell silverlake pad and overtaking a two-month lease for friend hatnim's tiny studio in koreatown, i bunked with a fellow figh gnarts member on a quiet but urban stretch of street in la's mystifying downtown.

naomi and i took a "vacation in our own city," trying our darndest to become aquinted with the hidden little gems of the oft-overlooked portion of the city just east of the 110. here are my pics for a good time downtown:

a latte from the bishop, where owner susie (also a native coloradoan!) will let you have a bite of her amazing chicken salad. just be careful of the locale late at night, because into the upstairs lofts is where we spotted paris fluttering during an evening visit to her boyfriend.

for a more legitimate paris experience, try a flaky croissant at cafe angelique, nestled into a trianglar corner of traffic where spring and main meet.

for lunch, spend the afternon with a glass of wine and panini at the fashion district's tiara cafe, an organic gem.

lounge for at least an hour by the edge of the standard hotel's rooftop pool. just be certain to jet before the flurry of activity by the well-heeled picks up when the sun goes down. unless you're into that scene.


i propose, instead, a visit to the best little dive bar downtown: hank's. there's never beer on tap (they're still waiting for the keg to come in apparently), so a good gimlet or grolsch will do. be careful not to touch the mannequin or try dimming the harsh lights in the back room. although a great gal, deb is territorial about her bar.

for a snack, grab a delicious double-dipped french sandwich from the century-old establishment philippe's the original. still original, still delicious, still coffee for 9 cents.

for a less authentic gritty crowd, throw your cash down at the beautiful golden gopher. perhaps a little too trendy for it's own good, at least one can buy a pack of smokes (not for my delicate lungs, of course) at the tiny little liquor market in the corner or pop in a few quarters at the surprisingly well-curated jukebox.

and if the tunes you choose keep you partying well into the night, head to one of los angeles's very few afterhours venues, the deliciously illicit speakeasy. illicit, because there is no liquor license. delicious, because the no-smoking law is flouted in favor of a more aesthetically european experience: smoky, dimly lit, and sometimes even a little three-piece jazz number. only on thursdays. location undisclosed.