La habitación donde vivió el escritor colombiano Gabriel García Márquez en París se encontraba en un hotel de la Rue Cujas llamado Hôtel de Flandre, era una buhardilla de menos de 10 metros cuadrados.
The room where the Colombian writer Gabriel Garcia Marquez lived in Paris was located in a hotel in the Rue Cujas called Hôtel de Flandre, it is an attic of less than 10 square meters.
Allí estuvo viviendo sin un centavo, comiendo pasta para no morir de hambre y escribiendo una de sus novelas fundamentales: El coronel no tiene quien le escriba.
There he lived penniless, eating pasta to avoid starvation and writing one of his fundamental novels: El coronel no tiene quien le escriba.
Para mí, era un sueño un poco obsesivo el de visitar aquel estrecho cuarto de Hotel donde se alojó el aracateño. Se me metió en la cabeza, como una idea terca que revolotea y revolotea como las mariposas de Mauricio Babilonia o como la mosca que tienta aproximarse al trasero de algún animal el cual intenta espantarla con la cola.
For me, it was a bit of an obsessive dream to visit that narrow hotel room where the Aracateño stayed. It got into my head, like a stubborn idea that flutters and flutters like the butterflies of Mauricio Babilonia or like the flies that try to approach the backside of some animal that tries to shoo it away with its tail.
Asimismo yo pretendía sacudirme la idea pensando en su imposibilidad, reflexionando en el costo de un pasaje a París, metiéndome en otros proyectos más concretos, productivos y realizables, pero igual la idea seguía allí, como el dinosaurio de Monterroso.
Likewise, I tried to shake off the idea by thinking about its impossibility, reflecting on the cost of a ticket to Paris, getting involved in other more concrete, productive and feasible projects, but the idea was still there, like Monterroso's dinosaur.
Creo que el capricho de conocer el cuartucho del Gabo en París me llegó luego de escribir un artículo para la revista Épale que rendía homenaje al Premio Nobel de Literatura de 1982 a pocos días de su muerte aquel 17 de abril de 2014.
I think the whim of knowing Gabo's quarters in Paris came to me after writing an article for the magazine Épale that paid tribute to the 1982 Nobel Prize in Literature a few days after his death that April 17, 2014.
It was a text of his life as a reporter in Paris and since I started writing it I wanted to know the spaces he walked through in the French capital, actually my desire was more ambitious, it was to make a space-time trip to that city in the 1950s and see live the adventures of the writer.
Lo que deseaba era observar en directo cómo la pasión de escribir puede más que el hambre. De alguna forma ir a esa habitación significaba para mí tener una idea más precisa de los límites humanos que puede sobrepasar un escritor para estar donde quiere estar y escribir lo que quiere escribir.
I wanted was to see firsthand how the passion to write can overcome hunger. Somehow going into that room meant for me to have a more accurate idea of the human limits a writer can go beyond to be where he wants to be and write what he wants to write.
Él era corresponsal de El Espectador y un día el diario fue cerrado por la dictadura de Rojas Pinilla, el pobre periodista se las vio duras, no tenía ni para comer decentemente mucho menos para pagar la habitación del hotel de Flandre donde se alojaba.
He was a correspondent for El Espectador and one day the newspaper was closed by the Rojas Pinilla dictatorship, the poor journalist had a hard time, he did not even have enough to eat decently, much less to pay for the hotel room in Flandre where he was staying.
A mediados del 2021 llegué, estaba allí, en la ciudad de la Torre Eiffel, donde estuvieron los grandes escritores latinoamericanos, Carpentier, Cortázar, Nicolás Guillén, Vargas Llosa, Borges. No contaré las peripecias que pasé para llegar, lo cierto fue que caminé por la ciudad como el Gabo cuando visitó Caracas: feliz e indocumentado.
In the middle of 2021 I arrived, I was there, in the city of the Eiffel Tower, where the great Latin American writers were, Carpentier, Cortázar, Nicolás Guillén, Vargas Llosa, Borges. I will not recount the vicissitudes I went through to get there, what was certain was that I walked through the city like Gabo when he visited Caracas: happy and undocumented.
En aquella época, años 1956-1957, el hotel era manejado por una doña que lo albergó sin presiones. Me había inquietado esta mujer, un personaje invisible de la historia del Gabo que confió en aquel joven sin saber que no muchos años después frente a un pelotón de lectores recibiría el Nobel de Literatura.
At that time, 1956-1957, the hotel was managed by a lady who took him in without pressure. I had been interested in this woman, an invisible character in the history of Gabo who trusted that young man without knowing that not many years later, in front of a squadron of readers, he would receive the Nobel Prize for Literature.
Her name was Madame Lacroix and in a certain way, in the midst of the misery the writer was facing, she allowed him to hit the keys of his typewriter to write the story of the unfortunate colonel. I learned shortly before that his colleague Plinio Apuleyo Mendoza, had made an audiovisual report on Gabo's life in Paris, and in it he had interviewed this lady.
En mi visita, reservé una modesta habitación en un hotel del barrio Latino, dejé las maletas y salí a caminar. Llegué al Panteón Nacional, luego merodeé por los alrededores de la Sorbona y caí sin saberlo en la Rue Cujas, donde estaba el viejo edificio donde residió el creador de Macondo.
On my visit, I booked a modest room in a hotel in the Latin Quarter, left my bags and went for a walk. I arrived at the National Pantheon, then I wandered around the Sorbonne University and unknowingly fell into the Rue Cujas, where the old building where the creator of Macondo lived was located.
The hotel occupied an entire corner and part of a street, I looked from below to the windows of the rooms on the top floor carefully walking my gaze through each one trying to guess which was where Garcia Marquez stuck his head out to see what was happening in the street or to take a breath of air while writing the daily life of a colonel sunk in misery waiting each month for a payment that did not arrive.
The old hotel was renamed Hotel Des 3 Collèges in 1984, and when I went there in August 2021, it was completely closed, the stained glass windows that used to show into the reception area were covered with a kind of yellowish paper. I knocked on the door unsuccessfully. Everything seemed to indicate that it was disabled. I could do nothing but say like the Colonel at the end of Garcia Marquez's novel: -Shit.
I took the pictures with a sturdy but modest cell phone.
Traducido al inglés con https://www.deepl.com /
Traslated to English with https://www.deepl.com
Congratulations @eltony! You have completed the following achievement on the Hive blockchain and have been rewarded with new badge(s):
Your next payout target is 100 HP.
The unit is Hive Power equivalent because post and comment rewards can be split into HP and HBD
You can view your badges on your board and compare yourself to others in the Ranking
If you no longer want to receive notifications, reply to this comment with the word
STOPTo support your work, I also upvoted your post!
Check out the last post from @hivebuzz:
Support the HiveBuzz project. Vote for our proposal!
Hi eltony,
Join the Curie Discord community to learn more.
Thank you very much for your support. It is motivating to feel the support of this community. I have already joined you.
Congratulations, your post has been added to Pinmapple! 🎉🥳🍍
Did you know you have your own profile map?
And every post has their own map too!
Want to have your post on the map too?
Congratulations, your post has been added to Pinmapple! 🎉🥳🍍
Did you know you have your own profile map?
And every post has their own map too!
Want to have your post on the map too?
Interesante recorrido para acercarnos más a García Márquez. Qué bueno que lo compartiste, fue agradable este hallazgo. Saludos.
Qué bueno, digo yo, encontrarme con un ameno figbag a partir de este texto que consideraba caprichoso y personal. Gracias