Recovering from another late night that wound up in 205 club, at the end of Ra’s last Saturday night in NYC before going to India for 5 months. Am listening to Jorge Celedón on my i-pod speakers, which I’ve finally set up in my bedroom: it’s been a slow process of getting the various essentials, like music, and a duvet, which I just bought yesterday, together for this room.
Speaking of Jorge Celedón, B, Ch and I trekked to Queens last Sunday to see him in concert. I’m sure they wondered where on earth I was leading them as we walked down a windswept road of warehouses, drifting plastic bags and newspaper pages, somewhere between Woodside station and La Guardia airport. At the far end of the road the blue neon words “La Extravaganza” marked our destination. We entered a cavernous club with round tables set out across the room, a bar in the middle adorned with artificial flames and palmtrees, a stage and dance floor set up on one side. Waitresses wove in and out of the tables in gold and black corsets, their boobs bursting out of the ribbons. B was in seventh heaven as one of them leaned over our table to take our order: a bottle of vodka, jugs of tonic and Coca-Cola, a cup of limes, and a mountainous plate of meat. The room gradually filled up, a DJ started playing a mixture of salsa, merengue and vallenatos, and couples got up to dance. Two hours later, I asked the couple sitting behind us what time Jorge Celedón was coming on. “A la una. Más o menos," they replied. We felt the ultimate tourists when we decided, as it was a Sunday, not to stay on for the concert and headed Manhattan-bound at 12ish, just as the club was bulging with expectation. So another Annabel-escapade that falls a bit short for being over-stretched. But worth it for the atmosphere, and lessons learned for next time Celedón's in town.
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