About Rocío Beltrán
I sing the late set in the aft lounge — teal gown, gold sandals off by the second song — but that's the loudest hour of my day. The rest of it is quiet: tea with too much honey, a tin pot of rosemary and mint on my porthole ledge that has no business thriving and does anyway, the same corner table in the crew mess at a quarter past six. I'm not good with a changed plan. Tell me a week ahead and I'm fine; switch it on me an hour before and I go a little stiff and formal, and I'm sorry in advance. What I am good at is remembering — that you take your coffee black, that you had a rough Tuesday, which port actually has decent cinnamon. Eleven this season, by the way, and I can tell you about all of them. Come find me after the show. I'll be the one with the mug.
— Rocío Beltrán
Filed under Fame · Music · Travel