More places to stay in Amaia Apellaniz: "From the beginning I felt it was my city"

Watch with sparks Amaia Apellaniz (Legazpi, 1978). And he gets even more excited when he talks about New York. It arrived in August 2002, “after the festivities in Vitoria”. He was issued a four-year visa upon arrival and spent three and a half years without returning home. “From the beginning I felt it was my city.” And he's given her a lot of things: “I was able to get what I wanted.” He doesn't think he's taken anything from him: “You adapt to situations. If you notice something being taken from you, you won’t be happy.” She works as a waitress, is an actress by vocation and is studying International Relations. “I will finish my studies well in 2012. Now that's my priority. Then we’ll see.”

When he arrived he had no clear intention. “I had just finished my drama studies in Madrid and I was afraid to stay there. I wanted to continue with the theater, but there were a lot of people in the same situation as me.” So, to New York: “To learn English and see what kind of theatrical atmosphere there was.” He started working quite quickly (“before it was easier”) and when he was only two months in the city, he met a person. “He offered me an audience for a theater play, and among the fifteen candidates I was chosen.” These were beautiful years for Amaia: “A new production, rehearsals, tours... My first years passed in a hurry.” He has worked for works such as Guadalupe años sin cuenta, Tell them not to kill me, A clear midnight or El pesebre. He was also nominated for awards.

He doesn’t have the feeling of having a hard time. “I don’t have a hometown, but I miss my family. A lot of them. I always thought I'd move on. The city has never broken me.” He admits he was lucky. “I’ve always been with people who are willing to help. It doesn't matter where you're from. They have acted with me without prejudice, and that is something to be thankful for. Well, now, because of immigration policies, it is more difficult to stabilize here.” He thinks the city has changed: “I’m the one who changed! Maybe I didn’t have the strength to figure things out at first.” But he wants to emphasize that he has achieved everything by “working hard”.

In order to return to the theatre, he is now engaged in studies, working as a waiter. “This city allows you to combine study and work. It’s hard to do that anywhere else. Life in the Basque Country is more relaxed. I don't know how to express it. I like the vitality and variety of possibilities here: there are a lot of concerts, an endless theatrical offer, you can taste food from any corner of the world...” This vitality and diversity, however, has its negative impact: “Relationships are superficial. There are very few friends here. It is very difficult to deepen a relationship. People usually come for a while. Otherwise, everyone has their own schedule, their own things... and it’s not easy.” Apellaniz, however, feels very much alive in the capital of the world. And his gaze is lit up.

Pictures of Eider Montero: "This city demands from you a certain way of life"

The English teacher didn’t like it. This is what the teacher told the mother of Eder Montero (Bilbao, 1975). That his son could never speak a third language.That even trying would be useless. Well, the professor was wrong. In fact, Montero has lived in New York since 1999, speaks English fluently, and owns the Txikito restaurant with his wife, Alex Raij. It opened in November 2008. “We are the neighborhood restaurant, so to speak, and we work with Basque cuisine.” This is how Montero defines its plant. On the other hand, when he asked for an explanation of the philosophy of the city of New York, he did not think twice: “This city demands from you a certain lifestyle, tenacious, aggressive...” Maybe that's why he loves New York: “I think it’s wonderful.”

Fifteen or sixteen years ago, however, he was one of those who proclaimed “yankee go home.” When he joined the San Sebastian School of Hospitality in 1993, Montero did not imagine that five or six years later he would go to work in the most cinematic city in the world. “Not at all.” Before heading to the USA, he toured Barcelona with Sergi Arola, Marc Singla and others. “Thanks to them I continued in the hospitality industry.” The next time he went to Mallorca, he went to Koldo Royo. There he met Luis Bollo. “Do you want to come to New York?” he told Montero. “At first I didn’t want to... But look, I’ve been here for eleven years.”

He first worked at the Meigas restaurant. As a fan of Japanese cuisine, he later worked at Nobu. And before opening the doors of Txikito, he carved his own style in both Euzkadi and Tia Pol. Before he decided to start on his own, his sack of experience was perfectly full. “Nothing is impossible here.” Montero opted for Basque cuisine. “You can make whatever you want here.” But the competition is huge. “Nothing is safe in New York. In the Basque Country, for example, you open a restaurant that can be said to be for life. Not in here. I’m thinking about what the next step is now, even though the restaurant is only two years old.” Besides, people don't forgive. “Today everything can be great, but the next day a guy gives you the wood in a blog who knows why, and the business goes to shit.”

In one way or another, but Montero believes that this competitiveness extends to people: “You can’t express what you want here. Relationships between friends are a little weird. There is no therapy between friends, so to speak. Therapy, like most things, is paid for!” But he's very happy in New York: “This city is energy and for the moment I am motivated by this lifestyle. It gives me the strength to move forward.” He gave an example: “The opening of the Basque bar in a hotel has motivated me even more. You want to show who you are.”

Montero is a fine worker. The one that spends a lot of hours in the restaurant. “I’m there at 10:30. And I hardly ever leave before 9:30.” Among the dishes he prepares, the pork is the most successful. And among the customers, about 40% is fixed, which goes almost every day. “You get a lot of joy.” They've got a great guy, too. “Everything or almost everything belongs to the Basque Country, and if not, we prepare meals in its own way.” And the selection of wines... extraordinary. He works with food from the Basque Country, he is Basque, from Athletic, but every time he returns home he has strange feelings at his back: “Before, when I went to Bilbao, I felt like coming back. Now, on the other hand...” But he misses his homeland: “Of course, of course! Your relationship with people, that atmosphere, the coffee you drink every day in the same bar...” But I would demand another life, and for now New York is satisfied.

Assisted by Iñaki Bakedano: "Every day is different here"

Iñaki Bakedano “Cheroki” (Hernani, 1966) lived very well in the Basque Country. “I had no intention of leaving.” He worked as a light technician in theatre, television and music concerts. But he met Kirsten, his wife. “He is from Minnesota (USA) and went to San Sebastian to study Spanish.” And to try something new, they both came to New York in September 1992. They didn’t have a specific purpose, but they’ve been in the East Village for 18 years. The city has changed a lot for Bakedano, and he liked it more in the old days. But New York has a “special” energy, and it also maintains that intense rhythm that characterizes it. “Every day is different here.”

Bakedano himself has moved at a rapid pace in the city. After “six months” of learning English, he began to work. “I used to ride my bike as a messenger. Then we were just the messengers walking around the city with the doorbell. I enjoyed getting in and out of taxis. It was a game,” he said with a sense of humor. “Even though they had pieces of iron, they stole a bunch of bikes. Even today, actually. That’s why the owners put giant padlocks on them.” But the city is rapidly transforming, and as a result, people jump from one job to another easily and naturally. Bakedano, therefore, was the next to restore the premises.

The first years were “very punky” in his image. The East Village was like that. “When I arrived, the neighborhood bars were like youth bars.” Remember, for example, that the Ramones have left the East Village. “I preferred that time. Now people have more money, so everything is cooler, more comfortable... Well, of the times.” Some things, however, do not change. “It’s amazing to go on the subway and listen to eleven different languages. This gives me the strength of Christ and I realize that it is very important to have our own language, as we have Basque. Not English or Spanish. No, I don't. It's Russian, it's ours."

Basque tourists also frequent New York. But in Bakedano’s opinion, there are few who walk outside the usual places. “I was on the subway the other day and I was wondering why tourists don’t go to the East Village, for example. You don’t have that fascination with lights, but it’s real and you can experience the pleasure that little things give you. “The Old Bar, The Details.”

Taking care of the details is currently one of Bakedano’s main tasks. He has been devoted to photography for three or four years. After “working and working”, he made the bet: “In terms of money, I was in a stable position and moving forward.” He's been working in a studio in Brooklyn, but he says the atmosphere over there is fading. “Now I plan to go to West Williamsburg. There’s a lot of movement there.” He has also arranged an exhibition with his photographs, but it is difficult to highlight: “You have to be very good at relationships, go to parties, sell yourself... And I don’t like to be like that.” He took classes at the prestigious Pratt school to refine the technique, and Bakedano is making his way: “I’m very critical of my work and I’m still working on the product. I know exactly where I’m going to play.” It will take pictures in black and white. “That, for sure.” She brings out a lot of beauties.

He's working on it now. And enjoying the city. “It makes me feel very alive, even though the relationships are very different from the Basque Country.” And citing the homeland, Bakedano has the intention of returning there for good. “Kirsten also loves our culture, our way of life.” He doesn't know when he'll be back. “Anyway, I spend a couple of months a year at home and, new technologies have brought us much closer.I think I’m in two places.” They call him “Cherokee” because he wore long hair when he was younger. He is also completing a long, prosperous and exciting career in New York. The fact that every day is different will have something to do with it.

Assisted by Patxi Olabe: "I don't know what the city has given me, but I know what it has taken from me"

Patxi Olabe (Elizondo, 1960) was a teacher of the Post-Ecclesiastical School for thirteen years, between 1979 and 1992. In the Baztan Valley. A beautiful place. The bucolic one. “I’m from a small town, but back then I was very urban.” He also had a passion for travel and went on holiday to the Dominican Republic on Christmas 1989. “I fell in love with someone.” He returned to the Caribbean six more times in the next two years. “In 1990 I came to New York to spend a month with that boy. In 1984, I spent another month here.” Olabe’s boyfriend, however, wanted to give a boost to fashion studies and decided to go to City in 1992. “And I came with him.” For almost 19 years. Olab loves the city but has a “love-hate relationship” with it. “I don’t know what he gave me, but I know what he took from me.”

Although many years have passed since he landed in New York, Olab uses the beautiful Basque language of Baztan. Keep the language. On the other hand, he does not remember the moment when he greeted the people, his family and his friends. “I didn’t know how long I was going to be here. I asked for a year off from work.” It was a hard start. “But I was very excited. A new place, new things, a different society... It was very interesting for me.” It was also hard to find a job. “And when I found it, I would put in a lot of hours but earn little money. But I was happy. I had a lot of things to learn.” He started working with a person who lived on his doorstep in Lower East Siden. “I had the truck and I was helping him with the local change of old furniture.” Then he began to serve, and to this day. “Well, there was a time when, without leaving my job as a waiter, I helped a linguist with texts translated from English to Spanish.”

And a rough time in between. “My then-boyfriend died in 1994 from an illness.” But Olabe moved on. It was another New York back then. “I think it’s more authentic. Nowadays, some places have the appearance of Disneyland...”, he exclaims with a sense of humor. “42. On the street, for example, there were a lot of sex shops. The city was cleansed in the 1990s. Yes, something had to be cleaned up, but... It was a moral cleaning to a certain extent.” But it remains a meeting place for the intercultural mix. “Everyone is here. You don't feel weird. There are people like you who don't speak English well. It was very easy for me to get used to.It’s not hard to fit into a group where everyone is a stranger.” He came with a low level of English, but he fits in perfectly today. “The fact is that here in Spanish you can talk to almost everyone. However, I think my Spanish has gotten worse and my English is not getting much better!”, laughing.

Language skills are open to each other. And New York, the city itself, also, according to Olabe: “Different people are accepted here. The Basque Country, for example, is very homogeneous and it seems to us that other cultures are not as good as ours. You can see good and bad people everywhere.” Olab believes that the city has given him an open perspective. “With respect to languages, gastronomy, life, races...” But since he lives in the city, he admits he's obsessed with security. “Maybe it’s because I’ve been robbed both at home and on the street. It’s safer than it used to be.” Some things will never change in New York. “It feels so lonely. It’s hard to be with people, to be with friends. You are an animal in the wild and you have to fight alone.”

The idea of returning to the Basque Country has crossed his mind a thousand times, “but I have never had a clear intention. This is where I have my life, my job, my boyfriend... coming back is not easy to see. What would I do there?” But he misses his family and friends. He spends a month in Elizondo once a year.“This city is capturing you. I don’t know what he has.”