Hello, my name is Alex Machado. I have been a downtown New Bedford resident for the past 4 years. You always hear about how New Bedford has changed so much over the decade but I came to meet her during a flourishing moment; a sort of renaissance that can only be experienced every century. The reason I fell in love with this bright city is not just the glorious buildings or beauty in dilapidation, it’s the people. They are resilient, creative and kind—I felt a welcoming that I had never otherwise experienced.

I am originally from Southern California—a place that packs a lot of heat and virtue of desire. I was born in Riverside, famous for its abundant citrus groves and escape from the hustle of Los Angeles. I wish the 5 years I have been away from the golden state could provide me with a bit more objectivity to look back upon it more fondly, but home is a complicated thing.

Before the pandemic shook our world, and more intimately, our thriving city, I bartended at Cultivator Shoals. Magic was created there; brought together the most unlikely of people and introduced me to the power of community. Along with bartending, I began performing poetry with the amazing Collective, a group of wildly talented actors and performers. Writing has become very difficult as of late, but when I reminisce on the stage and those moments where words created bridges , I am soothed and reminded that art doesn’t leave, it just travels to different parts of you, perhaps soothing and healing the unseen.

My background is in hospitality and sometimes I feel it’s all I have ever known. The delicate intimacy that goes into comforting strangers is a practice I have been fine tuning for a long time. I wonder if their hasn’t been pieces of myself lost in those exchanges of late nights, cocktails and endless conversations. After I moved to Massachusetts I vowed to myself that instead of always being someone’s destination, I would become the traveler. I would stash some of those hard earned, (mostly) untaxed tips and I would create mini lives all over the world.

My first big trip brought me to the south of France where I visited my friend Marie. I learned that French is the most impossible and beautiful language and the wine truly is liquid gold. While studying English and writing at Bridgewater State University, I would travel to Cambodia, a country so rich with culture and happiness, regardless of its past traumas, that I still can’t help but cry when I think about it. Cambodia taught me that humanity’s resilience goes beyond survival—it enters into a sacred realm where empathy thrives.

In my love of all things spirits, I have bounced around the Caribbean, chasing rum, warmth and sunsets. And to Ireland, where the sands stretch long out to the shore line and the Guinness is creamy and good. The breakfasts are far too heavy but every Irish host is a jovial character, waiting to receive your story of the prior night’s pub crawl or morning stroll through the bogs.

By this time in the year, I may have already purchased plane tickets. I most likely would have spent countless hours researching the best restaurants and bars of my future destinations. I surely would have booked my AIR BnB in a place that was considered ‘local’ and ‘non-touristy’ in my eternal attempt to pretend I live wherever I go. But this year, I read and watch movies about places. I make meals and drink wine from the places I cannot be. I sit outside with friends and discuss what could possibly become of us. I even bought a bicycle.

I believe food and drink to be transportive. One sip or bite can provide a flight away from current realities and drop us right in a distant seaside village where the wine is grown just a few meters away and the pig was slaughtered around the corner. This is how I have found inspiration; to break bread with an imaginary world where friends, food, and beverage are the only plane ride you’ll need.

But in all of this, I can see that escapism is a driving force in my desire and ability to detach. I understand playing pretend does not change that we are in a pandemic or that we have yet to arrest the cops that murdered Breonna Taylor. I can see that my want to remove myself from our real world issues is not helping matters directly, however, we must take time for ourselves wherever we can find it. I do not know the next time I will travel, but I know that I can hop in my car, pick up a bottle of wine and olives from Portugalia (in Fall River, if you have not gone yet, please do) and I am back in Lisbon in awe of the painted tiles, each person with enough happiness and melancholia to be considered human.

I think people are drawn to old cities, like New Bedford, to continue that timeless conversation of, “who am I, how did I get here, where am I going?” In moments where our lives are paused, capsules like the buildings that line Union Street, a reminder that time goes on and I am just lucky to be a part of it. Even now.

Women Who Inspire - Alex Machado