I loved my chat with author Fiona Davis about her bestselling novel, The Stolen Queen. This is Fiona’s 8^th novel. She didn’t start writing novels until she was 45 and her first national bestseller, The Lions of Fifth Avenue, came out eight years later  when Fiona was 53.  Each of her books is set in a New York City landmark from Radio City Music Hall to The Chelsea Hotel to the New York Public Library. Below is just an edited snippet from our conversation. You can listen to the full episode here on Elena Meets the Author or wherever you listen to podcasts.

 Elena: And for The Stolen Queen, what sparked that story?

But then 10 years later a scholar found that the destruction had to have happened at least 24 years after her death which is a long time to hold a grudge. And they realized, no, it was about the line of succession. The stepson wanted his son to rule and didn’t want the idea of a female pharaoh out in the zeitgeist. So that’s why he did it. Her journey as a woman pharaoh has been fraught in a way that male pharaohs rarely are.

Not only did this book make me want to explore far-flung locales, but it also made me want to consider exploring what’s closer to home, namely The Metropolitan Museum of Art. Fiona’s web site has a scavenger hunt page where several objects mentioned in The Stolen Queen can be found at the Met. It’s quite a fun post-read activity.

My favorite object on the Met scavenger hunt was the Fragment of a Queen’s Face which in the novel is called the Cerulean Queen, linked to a fictional pharaoh Hathorkare who is based on the real life pharaoh Hatshepsut.

Second favorite was the broad collar:

What do you hope readers take away from your book?

If you like going to museums, or even if you don’t like going to museums, the key is to go and look at a museum, like the Met, not as a collection of objects, but as a collection of stories. Get a guide, join a tour, let the experts tell you about these objects. It gives you a much better sense of time, place, where we are now versus what things were like then.

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In the spirit of  saying yes to adventure, author Alisha Fernandez Miranda hit pause on her career for a year to sample possible careers missed in the race to be ‘successful’. Her memoir My What If Year raises lots of questions about the meaning of success, fulfilment, careers and pivots, rethinking failure and what it means to be alive. Really alive.

For anyone looking for a change in their life, this laugh out loud book about a harried 40-year-old CEO with eight-year-old twins who decides to become an intern for a year will inspire you to give it a go. And an intern during Covid, no less. A Harvard and LSE grad, plus perfectionist and control freak, Miranda worked as a CEO of a social impact company she had founded with her adoring husband. As good as her life looked, she was overworked and exhausted.

After a drunken night out with girlfriends brainstorming their dream jobs, Miranda took the plunge. With the tentative blessing of her husband and twins, she interned for a Broadway theatre (mostly filling water jugs), a London art gallery (where she learned catalogue raisonné had nothing to do with raisins) a luxurious Scottish hotel where she realised it’s ok to be really bad at something and helping a sassy ‘we got you babes’ on-line fitness class which Miranda compared to oatmeal raisin cookies;

On the outside, you might mistake them for chocolate chip, but once you took a bite, it was clear it was misery masquerading as joy, pain pretending to be pleasure.’

I caught up with Miranda who lives in Scotland on the remote island of Skye.

I loved your straight-talking humour. One of my favourite examples is at the end of your memoir when you compare the need for a new life to a pair of jeans that have become saggy- ‘they no longer make your tush look really cute.” Can you expand on this analogy?

Yes, I love any opportunity to talk about my rear end.

Seriously though, I love this analogy so thank you for noticing it. I remain a devoted fan of skinny jeans (which I realize are the new mom jeans, but I am who I am), but the same thing always happens. They start out fitting great. You look amazing. Everything is working and you walk down the street feeling like a million bucks. But after a while, the stretch in them becomes more of a sag. A fresh wash might do the trick for a day or two, but eventually the fabric stops fitting as well as it did once.

This is exactly what happened to me with my career. There was a point where it was exactly like those brand-new jeans – a perfect fit. But over time, I grew (or shrunk) and eventually it became too comfortable. So comfortable that I didn’t have to try, I wasn’t stretching (neither were the jeans). In the case of my professional life, I wasn’t as challenged as I once was, I wasn’t learning as much as I had before. That’s how I knew it was time for a new challenge. And also some new jeans.

You are a second generation Cuban American, how did your year-long stint change your definition of success?

I had always felt like success was a state I would one day achieve: I would get the job title, or the money, or the house, or the husband. And then that would be it. I didn’t realize that maybe once I had all those things, I would still be craving more.

Growing up, success for me was also about being the best, in every circumstance. It occurred to me during my what if year that I had avoided doing things I might have loved because I couldn’t be the best – singing or painting or stand-up paddleboarding. But in doing so, I narrowed my path so much that I felt like I had nowhere to go.

Now it’s about more than being the best or winning. I tried new things and failed at many of them, and the world didn’t fall apart. Those things are no longer as important metrics to me as things like learning and joy.

Tell us about your spin-off podcast Quit Your Day Job? How did that come about?

My amazing publisher, Zibby Owens, also had a podcast network and she emailed her authors: does anyone have any show ideas? I was not a podcast “person” but I did have an idea for a show called Quit Your Day Job; for me it was basically a way to continue one of my favorite parts of the internship experience without leaving home: learning what dreams jobs were really like by talking to people who worked in them.

I have done nearly 50 interviews and each has been a true joy, and a beautiful opportunity to peek into a different life. I chatted with a former spy for the CIA, a gardener, a pair of ballroom dancers, and a tv director. It was too much fun and never felt like work.

One conversation that stands out was with Bianca Horn, an actress who had been in the cast of Assassins which I interned on. She talked about the challenges of acting, the rejection, the fact that she had kept up a restaurant job to pay bills between gigs, but she never gave up. And now she has just recently made her Broadway debut!

Click here for the rest of my Q&A with Miranda on UK writers’ s site 26. I also highly recommend reading articles by Miranda

They’re funny, topical and wise. She got a pap smear during Covid just as an excuse to leave the house. That article is called  “I Was Desperate to Leave the House and then I Found the ‘Wild Women’.

Happy Reading!

May, 2023

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My feet is my only carriage. So I’ve got to push on through

Ten things I learned on the Camino:

That there are a myriad of ways to tackle the Camino, and it’s best to speak to a specialist to choose the route that’s best for you. We used Camino Ways …

That before boarding that plane, someone- thank you Jef in the green –

needs to map out the daily walks on All Trails – Sometimes those Camino seashells are hard to spot, not to mention decipher …

That making a bad weather call and joining our motley crew a day late was the right move

But when the sun came out there was no place I’d rather be..

That blister pads and poles are essential,

not to mention waterproof boots, wool socks, a sunhat, cash, battery charger and an open mind..

That the best conversations happen on the road

And since I walk a lot faster than my beloved Stretch those conversations were not with him

That I don’t like pinxtos, but love Catalan artichokes

That it’s good to get out of your bubble (for short periods), as long as there’s hot water, clean rooms and people to laugh with

And that I still don’t like the Beegee’s

The Camino delivers. At the end of each day I felt a mixture of exhilaration, exhaustion and peacefulness. I left my laptop at home and barely checked emails. There was a real sense of connection and community on the trails. Strangers were constantly wishing us a Buen Camino and vice versa. It felt freeing to be so switched off from the day to day grind and at the same time very focused on spotting those seashells, figuring out our route, lunch and getting from Point A to Point B each day. It was kind of like being on a very long treasure hunt. Who knew what was around the next bend.

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In Mary Oliver’s poem, The Summer Day, she asks,

Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?”

Some might interpret this as a call to action, to get busy ticking off that list of “1000 Things You Must See and Do in Mexico in Seven Days”.  But no, to Oliver that line of poetry meant being idle, getting to know a grasshopper, strolling through the fields, enjoying the moment, the now.

And that’s the approach I took to Mexico. I only did what I felt like. I lived in the now. I didn’t  look at those notes much. For me, enjoying the now translated into taking long daily baths and calling the hotel concierge a lot because I could. And saying olà to everyone because my voice had returned and because the people in San Miguel are very friendly. Sadly, that was as far as the conversations could go.

I thought of Oliver frequently on this trip- what would Mary, who lived in New England, do  if she were in Mexico? She’d have a margarita. She’d take a nap. She’d have a taco, maybe some ceviche. She’d lie in the sun by our pretty hotel pool. She would not spend 5 hours in Mexico City’s mammoth National Anthropology Museum, the Louvre of Mexico, if her guide was offering her the 45-minute whistle stop tour. No she would not. She would use those precious hours to wander through the neighboring Chapultepec Park. No wonder Mary won a Pulitzer.

If you’re looking for the Outsider’s Guide to Mexico, one that will leave you feeling well-rested, happy and a little more knowledgeable about Mexico than when you started this blog, read on. This guide’s for you. And for you eager beavers out there, I’ve added a not conclusive and not lengthy list of must-sees at the end.

Where to stay in San Miguel?

Included in those reams of notes that I ignored were suggestions of  cool places to stay, boutique hotels, even an airbnb in a hip neighborhood. But I learned many hotels ago that while I wish I was adoring of that minimalist one chair, one lamp look, I’m a 5-star gal. I want to know that—tsunami, kidnapping, earthquake, nuclear war, vicious seagull invasion, take your pick—our hotel can helicopter us out of that disaster in 0.8 seconds. I like a hotel to know that as smiley as I may be when I check in, I am not an easy guest. I’m not as bad as a White Lotus character, but I can often see their point.  I mean, he did request the newlywed suite.

The centrally located Belmond’s Casa de Sierra Nevada is a very pretty hotel comprised of several restored haciendas with bougainvillea filed courtyards, an inviting pool, Mexican tiles, and big copper bathtubs. Beyond looks, the hotels gets a 5* for service. Read on.

Stretch can sleep through a tornado. I get woken by a drip two rooms away. On day one in the Belmond as we were just dropping off for our daily nonnegotiable nap, a passing mariachi band convinced me that this was not the room for us. I dialed 0 on the hotel phone and was impressed with the quick pick-up. Always a good sign. I explained our dilemma and got us an even nicer room.

Once we left our new room after a refreshing nap, I discovered that San Miguel is a charming, hilly (and I come from SF)) town paved in cobblestone, 7,000 feet elevation. Unless you’re an Olympic athlete, expect to be breathless walking uphill and leave your stilettos at home.

The weather in San Miguel was perfect; warm, windless, blue skied. I was told residents  complain if the temperature climbs above 90 degrees or drops below 70. Prepare to undress and redress throughout the day. Mornings in January require a warm jacket and scarf. By lunchtime you’ll want a sombrero and sunglasses. By 5pm, you’ll be back in that jacket and warm scarf. Great rooftop restaurants like Zibu, La Dona  and Pégaso offer wonderful views, but little heat so dress accordingly.

Apparently, there are tons of expats in San Miguel who like to socialize a lot. So, the key to the social scene is knowing a few. We knew none. So, by day three, I was reading the news aloud at dinner. Instead of making friends, we hired a tour guide. It’s another person breaking up the Stretch and Elena repartee. We could talk about things like how avocado, chili, and tomato were originally Aztec words. I developed a real hatred for Spanish explorer Hernán Cortés over dinner who I hadn’t thought much about since fifth grade history.

It worked out well. I couldn’t hate my husband (who else was I going to talk to for the next week?) so Cortés was the best option available.

Stretch insisted we travel carry-on only, so I chose my outfits with care. Early on in our trip Stretch told me that it was good I had packed two particular outfits because I could leave them behind in Mexico.

They do you no favors. Wear them on the long car rides, or when we see the pyramids and it’s really dusty.”

Should we talk about Cortés again?  On our way from San Miguel to Mexico City we visited  Teotihuacan, some very impressive, very old Mayan pyramids.  I have a fear of heights but am also uber competitive. Even if I must slide down on my bottom, which I did, Stretch was not going to be the only one who scaled this ancient rock. Whoever designed these steps was not thinking of comfort. These steps would never pass muster in a NYC planning meeting. No siree.

Below I can be seen wearing one of my gifts to Mexico. “It did me no favors’…

Next, we went to Mexico City, where we stayed at the Four Seasons, which suited me just fine. The hotel has an expansive courtyard for breakfast and lunch, is very well-located to the hip hoods of Roma Norte and Condesa and the concierge answered the phone just as quickly as at Sierra de Nevada. And Stretch liked the gym.

We loved Mexico City. It’s big and bustling with lots of cool neighborhoods, people watching galore, culturally rich, and full of great restaurants. It’s only an hour time difference from Manhattan but feels a world away. The only thing we didn’t love was the altitude sickness. Stretch was light-headed and I was nauseous for about two days.

We had fully recovered in time to visit the stunning Museo del Palacio de Bellas Artes (better with a guide to explain the murals)…

eat a long late lunch (Mexicans eat lunch around 2-3pm) at buzzy Contramar, visit Diego Rivera’s house and see a Ballet Folklorico in the park at sunset.

One of my favorite nights was when we decided to stay home and binge Netflix’s Treason. (The Mary Oliver equivalent of watching a grasshopper) Part of the joy of travel is rebelling, defying expectation, and eating junk food. We discovered just enough of the city to know we want to come back and see everything we missed.

Eager Beaver Guide of Must-Sees:

 San Miguel: I recommend hiring a history guide (so you too can talk  about Cortés at dinner), visiting the art and design hub Fabrica Aurora and getting yourself invited to an expat party. For the intrepid  Meson Hidalgo a two bedroom guesthouse boutique designed by Laura Kirar and set in an ancient old manor is very stylish.

Mexico City:

To stay- if you’re more adventurous than we are:

Hotel Condesa

Casa Olivia- airbnb

We missed all of the below but won’t next time. This was a rough draft trip.

Museo Anahuacelli was designed by Diego Rivera and has a collection of pre-Columbian art. Everyone raves about it.

Secretariat of Public Education- houses many well-preserved large-scale Rivera murals

Casa Luis Barragan- all Barragan sites are apparently amazing, especially the convent

Museo Frida Kahlo- it’s very crowded, but I guess it’s a must-see

A few restaurants to get you started  in Mexico City: Maximo Bistrot,  Lardo and Rosetta 

San Angel Inn– eat lunch or have a drink in the garden across the street from Rivera’s house

Shops: Unfortunately, Stretch is no fun to shop with. He hovers and looks bored.  So, I have zero tips. When we return, I will suggest that he take a half-day bus tour of this amazing city.

January, 2023

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I want to stay put, cosy on my upper east side sofa, cosy in my upper east side life, binging on the latest mind escape. White Lotus got me through December. What’s going to get me through January? But being the amazing wife that I am, I put on my coat, hat and gloves and follow Stretch to what I’m sure will be an outing we’ll regret.

How late does this thing go? I ask Stretch in the Uber downtown?

4am

Jesus Christ.

Don’t worry we can leave after an hour. It’s good for us, take advantage of this city.

The Uber pulls up to some nondescript street full of small shops. I don’t really want to get out. Old fears sometimes stick. But there goes Stretch heading to the back of a line of people so I follow.

Did you bring any ID? They’re checking people’s ID, Stretch says.

I quickly scramble scanning my phone for some ID. When we get to the bouncer, he looks at us and our tickets and waves us in. No ID needed. We’re clearly not minors. Fine, I’m old I know it. Then we go inside, and I see a big room filled with people, all in their 20’s and 30’s.

What are we doing here? I wonder. We so don’t belong. My next thought- No way I won’t get Covid. Then we go to check our coats. It’s the honesty system. Ohh Jeez. Goodbye coat, I think. Why did I wear my favorite snuggly coat, plus saffron-coloured cute hat and brown leather gloves? They’ll all be gone by the end of the night.

We go to the dance floor- it’s very intimate- crowded but people make way for us oldsters. Stretch beams at me and immediately starts swinging his hips, getting into the groove and calling me Baby.

Who is this man? We are too old for this. My name is Elena, not Baby.

But he’s not deterred. He won’t comply. He keeps dancing, smiling, kisses my neck. PDA, no, no, no. Not at 60! I turn and face the stage and pretend I don’t know him.

Doesn’t he realise we look ridiculous? We are the oldest people in the room by at least twenty years. I scan the crowd looking for anyone, please someone older than us. Spotted! There’s a woman, full head of grey hair, jacket still on, wearing a mask. And I feel better. The lead singer is a man named Brian Jackson. He talks to the audience in between each song. I’ve never heard of Brian, but the crowd seems to know him. There’s a lot of clapping and whooping when he talks.

IMG_5287

One song, Brian says, he wrote in 1973. I was 11 in 1973. Brian couldn’t have written this song when he was 11. Brian is older than us. And he’s good. Before another song he tells us that the media is full of violence and war right now, but we need to remember tonight-

We’re a cool, calm fun community, he tells the attentive crowd.  My band, our mascot is the gorilla. The gorilla is a super peaceful animal.

I look around the room. Everyone is having a good time, dancing and chatting, meeting up with friends. We’re all just peace-loving gorillas. No one is interested in stealing my stuff. Everyone here just came out for some fun  and good music on a Saturday night.  I might not even get Covid.

When did I become so negative? So cautious? So uptight? Age is about an attitude, and I didn’t like mine.

Then Brian talks about it being ok to disagree with your neighbor- and if you want change, you need to change yourself first. I like this guy. I realise as I scan the room that I used to be like these people. Carefree, somewhat adventurous (I’m only a few miles from my cosy apartment after all), relaxed and willing to give it a go. But as I got older I put up walls, got more afraid, resistant to winging it and seeing how an unconventional evening might go. By the end of the set, I am dancing with abandon as is that other older women with the grey hair and the mask.

I realise that it’s easy to come here in your 20’s and 30’s but what’s important is to come here in your 60’s, to be reminded of who you once were. I’m not quite ready for Burning Man. For me, this was adventure enough. I saw glimpses of myself thirty years ago and don’t want to say goodbye to that person.  And my coat and favourite hat and gloves, they were right where I left them.

Postscript- when we got home I googled Brian Jackson and here’s what came up:

Brian Jackson earned mythic status among music fans thanks to his pioneering work with Gil Scott-Heron in the 70’s, where his flute and electric piano performances on ‘Pieces of a Man’ and ‘Winter In America’ virtually defined the sound of an era. From the 80s onwards he went on to record with Kool & The Gang, Will Downing (whose debut album he produced), Roy Ayers and Gwen Guthrie among many others, and while many veteran musicians tend to stick with the sounds they know best at some point in their careers, Jackson remains an unusually adventurous, vital and broad-minded artist to this day.

January, 2023

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