Paris-Culture

State of play of the Union

2011-05-21T13:38:00.002+02:00

1974 by Teatro Meridional

©L. Rossetti, Phocus Agency

“Europe is not a continent, it’s an idea, a vision of the world.”
When he accepted the Europe Theatre Prize in 2007, Canadian director Robert Lepage could have been quoting Robert Schumann, whose proposal in May 1950 became the foundation for the European Union. Fifty years later, the issues have shifted from preventing war to protecting the economy, but the goal of cooperation remains.

One of the many projects created and funded by the now 27 EU countries, the Europe Theatre Prize recognises work that bridges European borders. In April, the 14th Prize was awarded to German director and European icon Peter Stein, in St Petersburg, Russia’s imperial “window to the west” itself a city of over 80 theatres. The event was attended by a few hundred journalists, directors, actors and VIPs from all over the continent, with only two things in common: interest in theatre and a general lack of ability to speak Russian. Or Icelandic, Finnish, Czech or Portuguese, which is where the winners of the festival’s other award, “New Theatrical Realities”, hailed from.

Read the rest of the article at the Irish Eyes site www.irisheyes.fr

Working rights on May Day

2011-05-01T19:51:00.001+02:00

Great sunny productive May Day Sunday - I made a commitment (gulp) to co-chair the Communications Committee for ACP; had a lovely coffee chat with Brendan and then Gail at Tribeca, did a fun ACP tour with foks from Cambridge and Pennsylvania, and then, instead of rooting for more Robert B Parker novels at the American Library shelves because it was closed for the holiday, spent an hour on a warm park bench in the Champ de Mars, with the Eiffel Tower looming over.
Lots of families; I rediscovered the cruelty of children and their intense focus on the moment, from a sobbing little girl chasing a boy who'd stolen a bright red toy, to a stoic little boy squatting in the dirt to capture a live wasp in a plastic beastie box. In contrast, his friend watched, jumping up and down, aghast, fascinated, nervous.
We adults have the same capacities for cruelty and fun, but we get so distracted, uptight and stressed - speaking of which, I totally forgot that this weekend is the one-year anniversary for buying my apartment! And my OECD twitter account is about to flip to 10,000 followers! Break out the champagne.

Russian light

2011-04-25T22:04:00.005+02:00

Sunny day on rue Cler, peaceful and warm Easter Monday, sitting at Tribeca with coffee to polish my article on last week’s Europe Theatre Prize festival in St Petersburg. Tough to find any strong links between Russia and Ireland other than February’s diplomatic scandal, when Russian spies were accused of using Irish passports in the US. Erg, peace broken here too, a couple of musicians are setting up on the pavement facing me, with a trombone and karaoke machine. Jazz swing, could be worse I guess, although Nina Simone she’s not.
As the sun shifts and I scoot my chair over to keep up with the rays, I wonder whether to mention in my piece about suffering from social media withdrawal all week. How can a theatre festival with a focus on pan-European solidarity ignore the latest global communication tools? My friend Molly argued that theatre critics are less interested in nerd technology and casual repartee than they are with serious analysis and , I suppose, formal profundity. Sniff. But maybe I’m just a twitter snob.
Meanwhile, parents and small kids have gathered around the music, a two-year-old is bobbing back and forth to the beat, a couple of little girls are swinging their arms and bouncing their knees, and it’s too much fun to write anything serious. Ah, yes, the song they’re singing is “I’m Beginning to See the Light”.

Movin up to 2011

2011-01-02T21:54:00.005+01:00

Omigosh, it's been practically a whole year without a blog entry. Got a great excuse, though, after taking the plunge into the murky depths of Paris apartment ownership and - erg - renovation, I surfaced with a great renter in November, just in time for a challenging 9-month internship for OECD's 50th anniversary.

Meanwhile, started teaching Pilates and hired a couple of Zumba teachers for the ACP fitness programme, big success! Introduced a new frequent-user card, and am just about to kick off the New Year Training.

Where will all this risk-taking end? (I vote for the beach!)

Haiti and Heart

2010-02-07T21:12:00.002+01:00

Speaking of fundraisers...the Paris Fitness fundraiser was a success on 6 February. Thanks to a great group of fitness fans, the expat community and the American Church, we raised 1300 euros to give to GOAL, who were one of the first aid agencies in Port-au-Prince.

Hearts for Haiti is another kind of fundraiser, again at the American Church, 19h, Friday 12 February. It's a jazz and gospel concert, with Paris legends Archie Shepp and Bobby Few, along with singer Joan Minor and poet Moe Seager.

And here's the 3rd event at the ACP, on Saturday 13 February, not a fundraiser, just an awareness-raiser: S.O.S. 101, an introduction to emergency care. From 11h-13h, I'll be presenting an overview of how to react in an emergency, including what numbers to call and a look at CPR, rescue breathing and helping a choking victim. We'll have hands-on practice and lots of Q&A. Everyone is welcome!

And I bet you thought the American Church was only open on Sundays...

w,

Climate Change - BAD09

2009-10-15T14:56:00.001+02:00

I love jumping on the bandwagon when the ride is for a good cause! Everyone who publishes a blog is encouraged to write about climate change today, so I've got the OECD Twitter team tweeting it up.

Lots of resources over here, from the OECD page on climate change, to the OECD Observer magazine, for whom the SecGen has written that climate change is the biggest threat to economic recovery.

But what made the biggest impression on me lately was a lecture - no, an outer space tour - by Dr Loren Acton, an ex-astronaut and geo-physicist whose specialty is the science of solar flares. He was at the American Church as part of their series on the science/religion dichotomy, but most of his talk was about the wonder of space, enthralling us with slide after video after slide from the space shuttle.

One image of the earth from the shuttle was especially impressive, and Dr Acton said it was frightening to see how very thin the planet's atmosphere is (here are other examples), with almost the delicacy of a bubble. The space between the cloud cover and the edge of the atmosphere is hardly discernible. He followed up with powerful visuals of solar flares and an explanation of the physics of global warming. I bet if he'd passed a hat for money to fight climate change, we would have raised a ton.

So come along for the ride, post on the Blog Action Day and say your bit about climate change.

Wheeeeelies

2009-09-27T16:49:00.003+02:00

Brrrrr, brisk chilly birthday morning, cycling to rue Cler and - watch out, everyone's on wheels! An 8-year-old surfs down the sidewalk like a pro, a couple of 6-year-olds cross the street kicking their trottinettes, there are a couple of little girls on pink plastic bicycles struggling to navigate the market crowd, and of course a toddler in her plastic push-me tricycle. The velibs, strollers and shopping "chariots", we're mixing it all up with pedestrians, dogs and fruit stands.

There is even a circle of poussettes in audience around the organ grinder, parents pulling in to park their toddlers in front of him while he plays La Vie en Rose.

Tribeca's patio heaters are thankfully on so I take a table in the front row, wait for the sun to come around. Oops, here comes the rinse water down the gutter, swirling around our bags on the pavement. After warning the mom next to me, she/Isabelle and her daughter/Tiphaine start chatting, and we discover we both want to master Italian, wish we could afford to buy a big Paris apartment, and love the city but appreciate the country.

Ended up meeting her distinguished father, and then a handful of her friends who pulled up chairs to describe the Vie en Rose party they'd thrown last night in Versailles - which included a ride out in a pink stretch limo. Sounded like fun but nowhere near as enjoyable as sharing my own birthday fete with my special circle of friends. Yep, a year older, lots of exciting challenges, and I am grateful-issimmo to have such incredible friends along for the ride. Turn, turn, turn.

Tourist care & feeding

2009-09-13T16:04:00.008+02:00

There's a sort of look that tourists have, that distinguishes them from the locals. It's not the guidebooks or matching red windbreakers or comfy running shoes, but more a sort of self-conscious dis-engagement, looking at the storefronts, glancing at passers-by, discreetly scoping out places to sit or not at Tribeca, hoping not to be noticed. We all know the feeling, I do it myself even in Rome, my foster home.
So when a father and his son sat down at the next table and started nervously translating the menu out loud, it felt callous not to pull them into the comfort of the cafe chatter, even in English. And hey, I was charmed that they couldn't pick out my American accent. And they shared a good story about how once the head of Airbus unexpectedly gave them a personal tour around the Toulouse factory.
They left and I basked in the sun. Although summer is getting blown away by brisk gusts of chilly autumn air, the rays were still July-hot, and families were out for a stroll and a shop. Tribeca's sunny front-line tables were all claimed by 11h, and the terrace was full by noon. That's when I left, wound my bike through crowds, past the cheery organ-grinder and the competing soulful Peruvian pipes, and back to the ACP to train folks to be tour guides at the American Church, for next week's Journee du Patrimoine.
Yes, taking care of the tourists! Wish me good karma when I next hit the Eternal City.

Really the rentrée

2009-09-06T15:57:00.004+02:00

"Always late but worth the wait". Sitting at Tribeca this morning, I kept noticing t-shirts, not so much for the sayings on them as for the fact that so many women wore nothing beneath them. Not just t-shirts, of course, there were also plunging necklines with freckled cleavage, a bouncy black-striped balcony that passed by in profile, pointy bits under a grey knit dress - you get the idea. Guess everyone felt like stretching the summer mood into this final sunny weekend.

Sunny it was, too, bright, colourful - and after the summer calm, noisy! Vendors were clamouring, kids chattering, dogs barking and whining, the accordion-player in front of the fruit stand competing with the guitarist near the cheese shop. And lucky me, the rentrée brought friends to share breakfast this morning: Aldo back from Sardinia, pulling up on his bicycle, elegant even without his usual bow tie; Brendan recuperating from his urban holidays and touring China with son Sean; and Tara in for a week from London, looking graceful and healthy despite her feasting cruise around the Greek islands.

So what's up for the fresh new season? Let's see, besides fixing my kitchen, I aim to formalise my fitness business, get citizenship and buy an apartment, before Christmas. Ambitious? As Tribeca manager, La Chef, said, "it's great to be back in Paris, we're all full of joy and lightness after the holidays. I give it 15 days." Wait and see.

Summer travels

2009-08-23T23:36:00.008+02:00

Lovely weekend down south, thanks to super-TGV. Stayed overnight in charming Narbonne, in an elegant mansion-turned-hotel, got to sit at 11pm on the canal, listening to a jazz band and gulping down a crisp cool panache. For some reason, there was a truck parked nearby with three live bears, each in their own cage, and they were still eating from cake pans when I saw them. Very odd, and a bit sad of course.
Next morning to Perpignan and Mont-Louis, for a couple of days of hiking in the Pyrenees, beautiful fresh air, views across the mountains to Spain. The fruit - peaches and mirabelles incredibly sweet and juicy, why can't we get them like that in Paris?
Then back to work, classes, ACP, the Paris heatwave, and the end of summer in sight. Sigh. Did discover an excellent rosé wine this summer, note this down: Minuty. Cheers!

The Rev Jesse Jackson

2009-08-09T21:48:00.006+02:00

What a privilege this morning to shake hands with Jesse Jackson. He preached at the American Church in Paris, on his way from Chicago to the Ivory Coast. He made an impassioned call for peace in the world, calling himself a “troublemaker for peace”. He says he is asked sometimes whether, with all his political speeches, he ever preaches much anymore. His answer: “I preach the gospel every day – and I use words if I have to!” Nice.

Photos of the event here

Brrrr

2009-08-02T23:35:00.003+02:00

First weekend in August and it’s cold, damp, gray - which translates to very few people at Tribeca this morning apart from a handful of tourists. Amazing how the lack of sunshine mutes the colour in T-shirts, muddies it all down. No action, and just as it seems time to read my new fitness magazine, Randy sits down a couple of tables away. Randy! Of Randy & Jay’s BBQ restaurant on Place Contrescarpe back 20 years ago. We run into each other every few years, and his non-stop adventures make for good entertainment.

This time he ordered me a Calvados, informed me that France 24 is filming Patricia LaPlante’s weekly dinner tonight, gave me the news that Jim Haynes held on to his famous atelier apt in the 14th, and then we talked about how much someone should get paid if their productivity depends on the work of volunteers (e.g. heads of NGOs, charities, churches, community newspapers). Nice blast from the past, and the Calvados added its bit of warmth. Tchin!

Homefulness

2009-07-26T13:49:00.008+02:00

The office calls it home leave, sending me back to where my family lives in the Chicago suburbs. It was a lovely if strange two weeks with siblings and Mom, then back home to a water-damaged kitchen. Grateful that downstairs neighbour Catherine alerted me by email, and to friend Olivia for saving my wine glasses and dishes out of the sagging cupboards.

Now enjoying summer Sunday in the city, tourists galore, yet only Tribeca's front row of tables filled this morning while visitors crowded through rue Cler, dragging carry-ons, consulting guides.

We were entertained by a pretty 3-yr-old girl in pigtails and a pink sundress, insouciantly toting around a grinning wooden pig almost bigger than she was. Plenty of colour on this sunny day - I counted four brilliant purple sundresses, a blazing orange creation, and others in yellow, blue, green. The woman sitting behind me unfolded a portable bicycle, demonstrated it for half a dozen of us, then tucked it back behind her seat. Lots of velibs passed through, as well as one homeless guy whose bike hooked up to a possessions-filled rolling cart, his dog trotting alongside. What is the definition of homeless, anyway?

Leaving the cafe, I stocked up on fruit: sun-ripe tomatoes, sweet cantaloupes 3 for 5 euros, huge deep red cherries, juicy white peaches, golden apricots, yum. But that didn't stop me from testing out Amorino, the brand new Italian gelato parlor on rue Cler. Creamy cherry-vanilla ice cream slopping over the too-tiny cone, I managed not to waste a drop. Home again, home again, jiggety-jig.

Street hooping

2009-05-09T14:33:00.003+02:00

The waiter was particularly grumpy this morning at the cafe after aerobics class. We cheered him up, though, with the hoop I'd brought along, especially when one of the owner's mates volunteered to give it a try. There we were on rue de l'universite, showing off our hip moves with the hula hoop. It was so popular and such a blast to use this morning I've decided to order another one PLUS the training DVD from Hoopgirl. Look for us this summer on the quai!

Image realities

2009-05-03T13:07:00.005+02:00

Yes, well, I always said you have to be careful who you pretend to be. And after all these years, it does look like I have become a petite dame bourgeoise du 7eme! This morning I strolled down rue Cler, post-church in my silk suit and heels, to sit with my usual coffee and croissant and people-watching at Tribeca, cellphone in hand. It was only after, on my way home, that I saw the image. With a newspaper and vegetables stashed in a leather bag slung over my shoulder, I was clutching a bag with pots of basil and parsley in one hand, and a bouquet of flowers in the other, the obligatory baguettes under my arm, looking at windows and stopping to chat first with a friend, then a vendor.

Not that I mind the image - but where will it end? Better polish that longterm vision, would much rather emulate those still-elegant 80-year-olds in the neighbourhood rather than the grey-haired hippie mommas. Ah, oui - meme si au fond je sentirai toujours non-conformiste...

Easter 09

2009-04-13T21:25:00.003+02:00

What fun at the American Church Easter morning! The works - trumpets, bells, the choir, big organ sound, magnificent music - Fred Gramann (music director) is a genius. Enjoyed doing the reading, participating in both services - and just a week ago I was jumping up and down waving flags at the US prez. Oh my, what ever happened to the fun I used to have as a hippie anarchist in the 70s?!

Obama 5 months later, Prague

2009-04-03T20:13:00.003+02:00

Synchronisticity - here I am in Prague, excited because I've got an invitation to the Obama bash at the Prague Castle on Sunday, hope to make up for missing him at Grant Park in Chicago.

Prague is great, sunny, warm, what a beautiful city in April. And guess what, just tasted a lovely Czech muscat wine, peachy and fresh, yum. Yes, the beer is easy to drink, lots of mellow honey flavour and especially good for post-tourism fatigue. But I may bring home a bottle or two of wine after all...

The nation rises

2008-11-05T17:28:00.006+01:00

What an amazing morning - we have a new president coming in, and he is not old, white and blindered. Still hard to believe. Lots of emotional stories, as people come forward saying it's something they never thought they'd see. Maya Angelou gave a great interview, said "I'm an American, baby!" Yeah. Imagine what women would have felt if Hillary Clinton had got in and multiply it. We are finally a real melting pot, it was crystal clear or should I say black & white: when scanning the crowds at Grant Park last night vs the McCain supporters in Arizona, the overview of who voted for which candidate couldn't have been more visual.

No, it's not all about race. As a candidate Obama is exciting, inspiring, fresh, confident, smart. Yet, the race card is half the thrill. As a counterpart to Obama's triumphant "Yes we can", here is part of the evocative poem Angelou recited this morning, "I rise":

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.
....
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.

Election Day, Chi town

2008-11-04T14:38:00.005+01:00

Barack Obama did it. He broke the colour barrier. Amazing. And how much more miraculous that the Americans voted him in. What happened to that Republican manipulation machine? No more funds?

SO happy I made it to sweet home town Chicago for this victory, although it would have been delirious to have been downtown at Grant Park, despite the lack of a helicopter to get me there and back. Instead, I got to watch the hilarious Jon Stewart/Colbert show and lots of coverage on the tube with my family - and a bottle of champagne, of course. This election has been all about breaking records - including the number of voters, the early voting possibility, the outside rally, even the weather!!!

Yes, it's splashy autumn weather, fresh, warm, sunny, and the trees are still glowing, showing off their brilliant reds, golds, oranges. Took a walk in the wood with my sis, who thought there is no way Obama couldn't win. And yet not so convinced - it wasn't until McCain conceded that we popped the cork, and how sweet it was!

DV8 - To Be Straight With You

2008-10-26T20:36:00.005+01:00

I got to one Festival d'Automne event so far this year, thanks to my friend and theatre critic Molly Grogan. It was the punchy, innovative performance by British theater-dance company DV8 - but go to the Paris Voice site and read her excellent review. Except she forgot to complain that the show started 5 minutes early, to the dismay of the 60 or so people who arrived together from the Creteil metro station exactly on time and had to wait 20 minutes to get seated...little enough to complain about in these days of juggling recession/inflation, Obama/McCain, polar bears/SUVs.

If you like Molly's review, see more at www.paris-theater.blogspot.com.

To everything there

2008-10-19T17:54:00.007+02:00

Turn, turn, turn - it's the season for change, and not just in the colour of the chestnut leaves or global economies. Got a new pair of glasses, gained a clean new vision, none of the scratches and scars from the old ones, beloved as that view was. Amazing how long we can hang on to our comfortable if sometimes flawed ideas and habits. Took a new friend to push me into a new look, but unabashed self-interest got me into taking a course last week in InDesign, helped to shake up the immobility of what-next after breaking off with both Meetic Man and the OECD Observer.

So what next? Why not more training - who doesn't love learning new things, new skills? Will polish skills on Photoshop, watch some free training videos from the IDEA fitness conference last summer, learn how to spiff up my fitness website, try to understand the mysterious process of publishing at OECD, and why not spend some time in Rome or Pisa or Naples, and strengthen my Italian.

Nice saying came up the other day: if you rest, you rust! Get out the oil...

Roman holiday

2008-09-26T15:21:00.007+02:00

Now, why did I expect Rome, the eternal city and my favourite city in the whole world, to remain exactly the same since I was here two years ago? For almost 10 years I came back here two or three times a year for a week, a weekend, and every time I arrive at Termini station, I inhale and fell re-born, refreshed, re-grounded. If I could only meet a man in Paris who makes me feel this way!

Meanwhile, it was sometime in 2006 that I was here last and oh my, there are changes. At the Roman forum, where I used to be able to just ramble through on my way from the Colosseum side of town to the Pantheon area, there is now an entrance fee - and a queue to get in! This morning at the cafe the man behind the counter asked if I wanted a cappucino con choccolati or normale - even though I asked for normale, my accent gave me away and he sprinkled chocolate powder on it anyway. But what ecstasy that coffee was, so much that when I climbed up to the Campidoglio bar/terrasse, I ordered another one. Changes there, too, now the city has installed a couple of glass elevators, at a staggering 7 euro fee. Tant mieux, it means I got the climb up the stairs to myself.

Oh, and at Piazza Navona they're renovating the Bernini fountain AGAIN. Via Nazionale is ripped up and hard to cross, there are a lot more vendors on the via that leads from the Jewish quarter to Piazza di Fiore, and what an amazing coincidence of American accents. In the end, it's the same chaotic, busy magnificent place. And hey, I finally achieved my ambition of buying something at MaxMara - walked in, confessed I needed some elegant pants that would NOT need hemming for a lunch date in 20 minutes, and walked out with a big smile in a beautiful pantalone that got me a few masculine smiles and murmured compliments along the way.

The sunshine, the people, the food and the wine, none of the best things in Rome have changed, and la vita e bella - buona compleanna a me!

New debuts

2008-09-14T18:14:00.020+02:00

Well, it's the Paris rentrée, a time for transforming vacation energy into new projects, new ideas, new life. And this September, special pizazz is guaranteed.

Great news, but keep it hush-hush: Yves Riquet is sneaking his speakeasy into the revered, if recently sullied, sanctum of the Slow Club this fall! Live swing music every Monday and Tuesday night, with vintage 1920s cocktails and high-calibre rye whisky. Best, Yves has got saxophonist Marc Laferrière and friends to reprise their 15-year gig (1957-1972) as the Slow Club's house band. For a preview, check out the excellent disk, "Marc Laferrière au Slow Club" or, better yet, "Jubilé", featuring his favourites, including Sidney Bechet's classic Petite Fleur, to a jazzed up Disney theme, Heigh Ho Heigh Ho.

Crossroads for me, too - how much time should I commit to this jazz adventure? Shall I cut back to a half-time bureaucrat and expand on life's fun: write articles for cash, teach more fitness, do some personal training, organise events, become a speakeasy groupie? Or shall I rather retreat into the OECD sludge of bureaucratic security with the blessings of retirement pension and paid sick leave, sign a contract for full-time handcuffs?

Ditto on the romantic scene: am I just not made for a full-time long-term commitment? Why does putting up with a man's idiosyncracies seem just as sludgy? Would the smart woman simply bite the bullet and settle with Meetic Man?

Double-digit birthday coming up, and I still identify as a Libran looking for balance and meaning. Guess this calls for a weekend of serious reflection on the beach at Cap d'Agde. Heigh ho!

Morocco mileage

2008-07-13T16:58:00.003+02:00

It is another adventure on another continent, going from a ministerial meeting in Seoul to a road trip around Morocco. Presently at an Internet cafe in a little town south of Fez, Sefrou, camping with my Internet friend and his (grownup) kids, heading slowly towards the Atlas mountains. Lots of small adventures, from the drive down through Spain to the heights of the rock of Gibraltar, a lovely evening in Tarifa, and the ferry ride to Tangier, where we couldn't stop for long because we couldn't lock the car because the window wouldn't roll back down.
We stayed with a Moroccan family in Rabat for two nights, participated in a musical therapy rite, got my fortune told, and have bargained in the souks in Meknes and Fes. We have visited the only mosque in Morocco that is open to non Muslims, and toured royal palaces and roman ruins. Fantastic stuff, and we still have two more weeks!
Photos to come...

A little bit of Seoul

2008-06-16T15:44:00.005+02:00

Three months later, and where did I land - in KOREA! Here for the OECD ministerial meeting on Internet Economy, and what a blast! Working half for press, half for the bookstore, there were two days of high life, touring the Seoul markets, getting lost near city hall and wandering through the anti-American-beef protests, zenning out in a calm temple complex nestled among shiny skyscrapers. and then gearing up to meet the rest of my colleagues.

Tonight after the preliminary NGO forum, I'm all sore feet, sleepy eyes, sore back from standing all day, but it is all worth it. What a blast chatting with people about IT and development, politics and culture, with everyone who stopped by the OECD booth. Wild, a woman who organises a yearly World Women's Forum here who reads Adrian Leed's Paris newsletter; the Pakistani guy who co-founded the project to get cheap computers to developing countries; a rep from AT&T talking about the American strategy of getting kids into computers instead of to war.

Working with a sharp volunteer student, Yeon-su Kim, who is guiding me through the intricacies of dealing with the locals, and keeping me from any more faux pas - apparently Koreans do not say "excuse me", they just indicate it with a smile, she says. When they want to excuse themselves they say "I'm sorry". Too bad, I was getting pretty good at that phrase, easy to remember: "silly amida". Now I understand the grins.

And tonight the Seoul mayor, the OECD sec gen, and a number of ministers, including the Australian minister of communications - no, of broadband - who showed up at the conference earlier in a t-shirt and shorts, hosted a huge dinner for everyone. The drinks were Korean - rice wine, plum liqueur, a sake-type drink and a lovely rice-and-hawthorn-berry wine (a bottle of which I carried away with me), but the meal was western. The entertainment was just as yin/yang - started with a quintet of young Korean girls playing a traditional harp-like instrument, seguing into a couple of Beatles' tunes (Let it be and Obladi-Oblada), and then backing up the B-beat boys, a rap/hip-hop dance team. The suits found it hard to jam, but a few of us were having a GREAT time.

What else? Tomorrow is an early day, have to be downstairs by 7:30am for a 9:30am gala opening because the riot police are screening the guests. Korea's prez is supposed to attend and the same protestors who've been upset about American beef are expected to come and beef at the head of state. It may be exciting! Unlike this early evening - I'm off to my lovely bath and bed, hope I make it. Carol and Sabrina, y'all take care of Fred Hoffman who's teaching body-sculpt tonight, will ya?

Contradictions and conspiracies

2008-03-16T23:50:00.007+01:00

Didn’t make it to rue Cler this rainy Sunday, got held up at the ACP working the Palm Sunday crowd, and checking out my Meetic contact actually attending church!!! How did that happen? I suspect a conspiracy.

The date with George on Thursday night at Tribeca was, after a nervous start, really fun. Partially because it was with someone from my g-g-generation for a change, no need to feel embarrassed referring to culture from the 70s. Partially because George is actually quite attractive, intelligent, friendly, fun, curious, lively, and HAS A MOTORCYCLE.

So here’s the way it works. You make a date for an early drink so that if it doesn’t work out you excuse yourself and escape. If it is worth spending more time, you agree to dine together. I was very pleased when George suggested we stay for dinner at Tribeca, and at 22h30, I wondered aloud, “So what happens next?” He laughed and said Meetic doesn’t provide an etiquette guide, and he didn’t know either since the other two dates he’d been on didn’t have a what-next (2 points for my side!). So we improvised and I climbed on to his motorcycle for a spin through the city lights, YES, can it get any better?

It did. Saturday night we feted the Ides of March and dined at the Italian restaurant on rue Grenelle, chatting until we got kicked out at closing time. And the next morning there he was in church. The thing is, Meetic is generally known as the Meet Market, as in everyone goes there for casual bonking. Yet my female co-explorer in this Internet romance scene has received a sincere email from someone wanting to shoot up some serious religion together.

You know what I think? It's a conspiracy of Meetic missionaries. Fundamentalist males are delving into the devil’s shopping cart and sneaking away a few souls to personally deliver to the promised land – not the PL the women are expecting. In a way it would be like a fisherman dropping a hook into a pet shop aquarium, gotcha!

Well, if it is a plot, I like the bait, will let the contradictions work themselves out while my new friend and I plan a two-wheel getaway. Vroom.

Voting for adventure

2008-03-09T15:40:00.006+01:00

Voting day and all is calm on rue Cler – doesn’t help that it is grey and rainy. So I broke habit this morning and ordered a bright orange juice and settled down to wait for colleague Sue’s arrival.

Happy to see that both the young bookstore guy and the news vendor are back in their usual places, she’s crying “N’oubliez pas votre journal, l’Express et là!” Two infants in strollers pull up to a front-row table, and the itinerant Peruvian pipes band shows up, except with only one flautiste and a CD, takes him a bit of screeching and scratching to get warmed up before the harmonies turn breathy and smooth. Tough way to make a living.

Next to me a young guy in a beret offers Laura the waitress a packet of photos as he leaves. She shows them to me, turns out he is an adventure photographer, they are all breathtaking mountain shots – Everest, Ararat, Kilimanjaro, Mont Blanc – from the “International Year of Mountains”, 2002. Never thought much about how that kind of remote wilderness shot gets taken, to need both artistic and athletic skills. Oh, and courage.

Meanwhile, it’s a bit nervous thinking about calling a Meetic contact this afternoon – note of advice for singles: Match.com is aridesque and Meetic thankfully doesn’t seem to be the sex-driven site it’s known for, although it’s early days yet. But of the three people I’ve exchanged emails with, two are exceptionally interesting and sympa guys, not a bad ratio!

So with a nod to those who live a little on the edge, wherever that personal edge may be, I buy some luminous yellow jonquils from the young guy standing out in the rain next to Tribeca, and come home with both colour and a bit of borrowed courage, to make that phone call. A suivre...

Seasonal signals

2008-03-02T15:53:00.014+01:00

Damp, breezy, fresh, the first Sunday in March feels like winter is reluctantly ceding its seasonal lodgings in the city. Rue Cler is empty-ish partially because of the also-cyclical vacances scolaires, so I easily slip into a ringside seat on Tribeca’s terrace and watch while volunteers hand out more of the same political pamphlets and argue about the municipal elections next week. As changing temperatures have made me unusually lethargic, I thought of simply writing about the spectacle of online dating. My tentative steps on Meetic and Match.com the last few days have been curious, giggly, a mix of feeling humble and nervous, while technology isolates us all in a weird voyeurism…

Instead, I get distracted when the Tribeca blackboard-menu topples BOOMing onto the street, a pigeon flies out from somewhere under the canvas overhang, a lanky resident of the market street at rue Daguerre walks past, an ACP-er shows up to chat about the fitness workshop last week. Meanwhile, a couple of French women greet me as they sit down at the neighbouring table and a friendly dad orders hot chocolates for his two young boys seated next to them.

Murmurs are overheard that Rachida Dati will also be making an appearance today, as signs are placed across the street, “La greffe DATI ne prend pas dans le 7ème” – grafting Dati onto the 7^th arrondissement won’t take. Brochures add the phrase “le 7ème LIBRE”, whose pitch seems a bit over-stated coming as it does while I’ve been reading up on the Roman republic and Julius Caesar’s assassination.

Ah, and down the street I can see a small crowd in black, must be the justice minister herself, as a couple of unmistakeable security guards have posted themselves in front of the Café du Mars next door. Suddenly there is loud chanting, “Panafieu au boulot, un toit pour les séropos” and “Panafieu – elle s’en fou!” and a handful of young guys in political t-shirts, notably “ActUp”, push by, almost too quickly to read their signs calling for AIDS funding.

As Dati’s group sloooowly approaches and the street gets increasingly crowded, a shrill trilling of bicycle bells announces another political campaign as five velibs manage to roll through, each attached to a gaggle of bright pink balloons that broadcast “Laurence Girard and Bertrand Delanoë”.

And now amid cameras flashing and popping arrives the glamorous Rachida Dati and her entourage, again evoking images of Roman politicians and their obligatory following of clients. Tribeca’s owner comes out to greet her, and – it can’t be accidental! - she spots the two adorable boys at the next table and hey-presto it’s an instant photo op. She holds back from actually kissing them, but they delightedly get hugs as the customers all smile, and the press eats it up. Then she drifts inside, a blonde also holding a bouquet follows, first greeting my neighbour, shaking hands with us all. I shake back, everything quiets down as the journalists hover and wait for her exit, and I find out that I’ve just shaken the hand of Francoise de Panafieu.

Diverse-city

2008-02-24T21:35:00.010+01:00

Got to rue Cler late today, had to stay and hear the sermon twice this morning at the ACP - the pastor actually addressed out loud the issue that’s been silently eating away at the congregation, the question of homosexuality and Christianity. Without getting into details, despite confessing that he is one of those who consider homosexuality biblically forbidden, he was able to preach unity, love and tolerance. And he accomplished it with grace, dignity, humour and intelligence, and more - I wasn’t the only one who had to dig for tissues. Hats off to pastor Alex Aronis.

But the kicker for me was that afterward I looked for cheer in the faces of my fellow supporters of gays in church matters, and found instead glum looks of “he didn’t go far enough”! They sounded as stubbornly suspicious and intolerant as the homophobic members of the congregation!

So at noon, walking in the blinding sunshine away from the church, I met and spoke with my 3^rd floor neighbour, discussed the upcoming elections – is Rachida Dati really being parachuted in by Sarko? – and the diversity topic came up again. How the 7^th arrondissement risks losing its community feel because no one but the rich can afford living here anymore. She said there is discreet government housing in the 7^th – one apartment building right on St. Dominique - but everyone knows that it goes to people who know the right people, who hardly need cheap rent.

There are still surprises here, though. As a bike races past me, I look up and the cyclist is not a flashy guy in tights, but an elegant businessman in an impeccable black suit, pedaling fast. Heading down rue Cler, where gypies are selling jonquils and street entrepreneurs are hawking sunglasses, I find the usual diverse Sunday strollers along with politicos and their cameras, and even more circus than usual despite the vacances scolaires starting this weekend.

Eating lunch at Tribeca with next-door neighbour Vincent, we wonder, how far does diversity go on a personal level? Cheap rent would be great but do we want to live next to those who can only afford it with financial support? We’ve all had neighbours from different cultural backgrounds whose mode de vie clashes with ours – late-night partiers, smelly food-lovers, early risers who blithely turn up the radio at 6am. Love thy loud, smelly, obnoxious neighbour? That’s a challenge – and we’re talking on a trivial level, let’s not even try to figure out places like Kosovo and Israel.

Then a big American thrusts his way into the conversation of the French trio dining next to us: “You gotta great dog, your Pekinese, does he bark at people he meets like mine does?” Speaking too quickly, he repeats himself, “does he bark at people?” Smiling, the dog-owners are trying to compute the word “bark”, I translate, everyone is happy – they thought he said “bite!”

And monsieur tells a great story about going through airport customs coming off a Paris/NYC flight, jetlagged, tired, and the agent asks his reason for the visit. His brain is sluggish, so turning to his companion in line behind him, he asks loudly, “C’est quoi le mot pour vacances?” And 100 waiting Parisians yell out, “holidays!” Big laugh from the douane, as he waves him through.

Diversity – culture, language, wealth, sexuality – despite the hiccups, in the end it’s half the fun of being here, isn’t it?

Changing comforts

2008-02-17T17:11:00.003+01:00

Ageing is such a habit-driven process. Comfort, expectations, the illusions of security, all encourage our bodies and minds to fall into patterns that eventually refuse to accommodate change, whether it is a work shift, an emotional jolt or even a bumpy ride on a bus.

Take Sunday on rue Cler. My timing was off this morning, arrived too early, while the delivery vans were still lingering, empty dollies clattering past, stacks of canned goods on pallets waiting to be liberated. At Tribeca, the heat was only just warming the terrace, and I sit trapped among the smokers who’ve arrived for their morning caffeine and nicotine fix. The guy waiting tables is inept and slow, my croissant is cold, and I see the regular serveuses just now drifting in, along with the manager rolling up supplies for the kitchen.

Ah well, the sun is out, the coffee is hot, and I have some time to spend. But what’s this – there are women running the bookshop across the street, a teenager at the cash register, her mom at the shelves, and the third generation talking to customers. What happened to the young guy who is faithfully there each week? And – gasp – the fish van drives past with one of the vendors from La Sablaise at the wheel, and the van says Poissonnerie du Bac! I thought my fish market was one of a kind!

Then Tribeca’s owner comes over to shake hands with the lovely dark-eyed man on my right and I listen in while they discuss the food biz. Afterward, I politely ask him about Café Vergnano, closed a few months ago, and he confirms that it has been bought by someone new, not a chain. We start talking about the US, and the live-ability of different cities. He is a native Parisian, been travelling around the world all his life, and he thinks that European cities – especially Paris and Rome - stand out for comfort, culture and beauty. Seoul, Tokyo, LA, even New York – where else can you have access to the cultural treasures of the whole city without a car? He confessed that he is now one of those Parisians who start feeling uncomfortable as soon as they get past the périphérique.

So much for change. I gather my things to head out, and then learn one more thing about early Sunday mornings on rue Cler: the accordionist starts playing at exactly 10h15. La vie en rose…

Sunshine silliness

2008-02-11T00:08:00.000+01:00

The sunglasses are out in force today, even a cool 5-year-old boy poses in his shades, leaning casually on his trottinette. Also dozens of small, perky dogs who talk and sniff at each other, leashes straining, nobody hurrying. Except the sunshine has clients discreetly fighting for the sunlit tables on the terrace, so the serveuse was a little out of temper, "ils courent, ils crient..." I got there early, snagged a few seats for Pat and Damon, while Brendan’s sympa family hung out with the kids behind us.

Thought I’d have something to say about prepping for Valentine’s Day today, but no inspiration despite the parade in front of me. I did get some useful information, including the precious name of a super bricoleur: SOS Alan, he does everything and at a good price. Let me know if you want his contact details!

A friendly American guy named Fred is sitting at the table next to me, he’s in from Washington for the annual antique car show and he informs us that – GASP – there is a French restaurant in Durham, North Carolina, called Rue Cler! And it’s true, I found the website: www.ruecler-durham.com/, it is part of a renewal project for downtown Durham. Ouf. I suppose it’s just as well that it has little to do with anything found on MY rue Cler, offering as it does: “truffled potato soup” and “sautéed pumpkin slices” - and the wine is way expensive. Sniff. Imagine a Tribeca in the Chicago suburbs, where dining-out dogs wouldn't get to sniff in your handbag for chocolates, and toddlers would have to stay in their seats.

Meanwhile, one side of my face has gone tan, time to turn the other cheek!

Sunday politics

2008-02-03T18:50:00.000+01:00

Rue Cler on a crisp, cold, sunny morning, and tout le monde is abuzz with – what else? - the marriage of Sarko and Carla, who quickly tied the knot yesterday morning at 11am at the Elysées. Rumor has it that the bride wore white, although the grapevine is also whispering about pregnancy tests and visits to the American Hospital.

Caught up with an acquaintance who works high-level at Societé Génerale, says the weakened bank is facing a bitter takeover, perhaps from BNP who didn’t get hit as hard from the sub-prime scandal. That would make it doubly harsh given that the players degenerated to name-calling a few years ago; “pauvre con” was one insult exchanged.

Suddenly the space in front of the café is crowded, and the chat level rises a bit as French justice minister Rachida Dati passes through. Shaking hands, flashing her brilliant smile, greeting friends at the next table, she leaves brochures describing what she’ll do for the 7^th arrondissement if she is elected mayor next month.

And what is happening in Italy? How did Prodi lose his grasp, and why oh why is Berlusconi being given a chance to lead again?

Meanwhile my ex from down south, who was running for councillor in the Agde area, calls to say the fisc has caught up with him and he is likely to become a clochard in the next few days. Sigh.

So here I sit at a café terrace with my chocolat chaud, while he and others struggle to stay warm; disgusted with my job, but grateful for it nonetheless; wishing I could afford to buy a nice apartment, but able to rent a decent one. “Live for today” is the slogan I grew up with, but “watch out for tomorrow” is what I’m hearing from my peers today. Without being foolish, should I concentrate on quality of life or quantity of security? History teaches us cynicism, religion preaches hope, in the end the only thing that is sure is change. I guess I’ll just do the usual Libran balancing act, put off life-changing decisions until politics and prices turn to my advantage!

Municipal selections, rue Cler

2008-01-27T14:09:00.000+01:00

Crisp winter sunshine today brought out the sunglasses on rue Cler, and gaggles of flaneurs, Sunday sauntering in groups. Part of it is because of the municipal elections coming up, so sincere young men and women have converged to hawk their parties’ brochures, the Front National leaflet warning about clandestine immigrants, another promising cheaper lodging for young families and better handicap access in the 7^th arrondissement. Yet another suggests a Velib service for cars, an Autolib, with 2,000 cars available for short-term uses, I like it! Can it work? Berlin tried it at one point, but that was back in the alternative 80s.

More municipal talk with Brendan, Pat and Damen, about capital gains taxes – the difference between handing 33% of profit vs 50% of profit to the state depends on whether you look like a speculator or not, doesn’t matter whether you are French or an EU resident. US stateside, Obama has won South Carolina, looks like the next US president will be either an idealist/Obama, an insider/Clinton or a hawk/McCain.

Meanwhile, a group in the street facing Tribeca has started arguing politics but I can’t understand the dialogue because there is a bilingual group at the table next to me, with a very LOUD American. Makes me feel like a Front Nationaliste…

Smoke-Free Paris

2008-01-06T17:10:00.000+01:00

Omigosh - yes, the cafes and restaurants are now clean and clear, no more wafts of smoke floating through the wine or cigarettes waved under my nose, or smoke-saturated clothes to be aired at home. While regretting the loss of this oh-so-Parisian motif, it will be lovely to just choose a cafe, any cafe, instead of monitoring for breathability before sitting down.

But guess what? The smokers are claiming the terraces! Guess it should have been expected. Instead of the smoke evaders sitting out in the fresh air for morning coffee, we are now better off inside, while the smokers are claiming the sidewalk.

So this morning Tribeca's terrace was almost full by 10:30. Although perhaps that is because of the New Year rentree. Everyone has returned from the holidays and shopping to refill the fridge. So rue Cler was lively again, with crisp sunshine, the music buskers and shouting vendors, strollers and shoppers, dogs and babies, brand new scooters, a few shiny fur coats. What will 2008 bring? At least it won't bring a Starbuck's to rue Cler!

Festive and Feisty

2007-12-02T18:52:00.000+01:00

It’s the first Sunday in December, and Christmas lights are up! This year the Gros Caillou neighborhood gets red bells lighting up the streets, and this weekend the annual brocante was crowding the cobblestones and sidewalks on rue Cler. Unfortunately the morning was grey, windy and wet, so the merchants must have been disappointed, along with the families, bargain-hunters and shoppers who wanted to browse.

I got mine in yesterday, spent a couple of hours examining the glassware and silverware, old farming implements and antique mirrors, old well-read books and shiny new editions, paintings and posters, CDs and DVDs. There were brass candelabras, art pieces from Thailand, strands of freshwater pearls, handmade wooden toys, stacks of china plates, precious Limoge boxes. I asked the price of a wine cork with a golfer on top, a perfect gift for Mom, but it was made of silver, and the seller wouldn’t be bargained down from 50 euros. Ran my hands over a soft Moroccan rug, got offered it for only 2,000 euros – a real bargain, I was told, as it sold in the shops for 8,000. New this year were fur coats and fur hats, mink and beaver. The vendor called it “le rat américain” because 100 years ago trappers would claim government bounty for having killed a “rat”, and profit also from selling the beaver pelt.

I managed to stay sage and succumbed only to my usual weakness, came away with a handful of silver forks and spoons, and a few linen pillowcases. So this morning I was just as happy to follow my umbrella through the mist to Tribeca, being followed part of the way by a homeless man singing through the rain, with a smoked-out voice repeating a verse from a French love song. He must have got lucky at a fruit stand because I saw him later walk by munching on a bright green apple.

Lucky him – he got by before a gust of wind shook the café’s tent-roof, flapping a wave of rain water onto passers-by. It also missed a little 3 or 4-year-old struggling to balance a tremendous green-wrapped bouquet of flowers almost as big as he was.

A young man to my left is drawing the street scenes in black and white, the women on my right are conversing in English, and voila - here are Molly and her girls, Esther and Miriam, come to share the festive, feisty morning with me!

Café Couleur

2007-11-25T23:33:00.000+01:00

Heading down to rue Cler for Sunday morning post-ACP, the bakery at the end of rue Jean Nicot is covered in faux log-cabin wood as workers are constructing the annual holiday deco, which if I remember correctly will include a waving Santa from an upstairs window. Walking down St. Dominique, I passed the shiny new Starbucks, just open, and of course there's a buzz of hungry clients and steamy chatter. Sigh. Yes, I will eventually stop in for a coffee milkshake or a fancy flavoured latte, but it's a jolt to know that my neighborhood has been chosen by a mega-chain. It's all the fault of Rick Steves.

Next disconnect comes from a couple pushing their baby toward me down the sidewalk – it’s a colleague from the office! The brain scrambled, sirens blaring, to mesh the Alison personas, fumbled a bit then – clunk, personalities syncronised, introductions, small talk, move on quickly. Turning down rue Cler, passed a gorgeous black sofa upended on the sidewalk, while a meter a way a couple of homeless guys are begging seated long-legged on the sidewalk. I suppose if they sat on the couch it wouldn’t look serious?

Approaching the market, I could hear a violin and classical music, turns out two young women are playing, lovely, while I made my way to Tribeca for a ringside seat and, gasp, the sun pierced through the clouds (direct quote from the waitress). Un grand crème and a warm croissant finally clears the overdose of wine from yesterday’s Salon des Vignerons Indépendents (note: find out how Sabrina did, we kept up with each other at each tasting booth!).

Here comes an elegant French woman with a stylish bright purple hat and scarf set – the red lipstick and heels help pull it off. And there goes a woman in a pomeranian hair style with matching dog. Meanwhile, a little boy in a yellow helmet is struggling with his bike in front of the grocery store, as a dad pushes a toddler by in in one of those push-tricycles, but wheelie style, her front wheel in the air, wonder what she thinks floating off the ground like that. My downstairs neighbour trundles by, no chance to nod a hello, as a waitress walks out looking like she spent the night in an SM dungeon, all breasts and naked arms, outlined in black leather and silver chains, leopard belt on her hips. Friendly enough.

And omigosh, here’s another purple scarf, on a man this time. The sun has faded, I’ve plotted out my mom’s agenda for her visit at Christmas, just about finished my orange pressé, when here comes the purple coiffed lady again, this time with a white fluff dog she is setting on the ground. Looks like it’s time to get home and dig out my own purple scarf.

Life’s spectacles: Sunday on rue Cler, Paris – pedestrian market street extraordinaire

2007-11-04T21:53:00.000+01:00

Coffee and croissant at a terrace table at Tribeca on Sunday mornings, what a yummy and privileged position for watching the Parisian parade, the postures, the clothes, the boots, the ages and energy. Overhearing conversations in French, English, Italian, American, Spanish, the fruit vendors crooning their musical sales pitch, children squealing at the front table, customers shouting for the waitress, the knock of shopping trolley wheels against the cobblestones. So much to absorb, from the clichéd to the crude, the tots and tourists, shoppers and strollers, spotting the occasional jogger and VIP, with street music and Paris chiens oblige.

This morning was lovely, brisk and not sunny enough to over-crowd the terrace, had a clear view of the street after saying goodbye to Damen and Pat, heading home for Christmas. I settled in with a second crème and became an audience of one, craning my neck as I watch a homeless man join the hapless music vendor, singing “La vie en rose”.

Just as a shiny BMW rumbles slowly through the crowd, steered by an elderly gent with a beret and glasses peering over the wheel, his English spaniel leaning on his shoulder as navigator.

And the pretty, tough newspaper vendor across the way leaves the stand to the charge of the fleabitten vendor of toys, tapping the door code of the building behind her, going in for change? The young bookstore owner en face is busily re-arranging books in the shelves outside, and my attention is caught by a young father and his giggling little girl sneaking up on mom who’s walking slowly ahead, waiting to be surprised.

Meanwhile the table on my right has changed couples three times this morning, each pair sitting down, ordering their coffee and settling down to read the morning papers. Here comes a single woman to take the table on my left, and her longhaired pup, with bangs perfectly combed, politely pokes his head between us to say hi. His attention is diverted when the waitress sets down coffee and tartines; an eager bark, and, yes, they are sharing breakfast. The couple on the right snarl disapproval, but the canine and his mistress ignore them.

I look up to see that the music vendor and his crank organ have been liberated of the unwanted accompianist and are now churning out Montand’s “A Paris”. Yes, it’s a perfectly content Sunday on rue Cler, à Paris.

Rolling Stones, it's a blast!

2007-06-20T23:53:00.000+02:00

The Rolling Stones ROCK! Despite a nasty cold, I got to the Stade de France early, to wait around on the “golden” pelouse, the grassy area closest to the stage, along with colleagues/friends from the OECD. Frances brought along vodka and straws, and I had cookies and water, and we stood there for hours surrounded by thousands of other people, waiting for the show to begin.

Star-something was the opening act, good talent but not really stellar – why couldn’t the Stones have opened with something more bluesy, more soul? Then, part of the problem is it’s so light out – no flashy light show to help the mood.

But Mick and the boys jumped into it with Start Me Up, and it was high energy. Newer songs – Rough Justice, She Was Hot – and jams throughout the first set up to the intro’s, then the golden oldies. Waiting on a Friend was mellow, surprising, and Sympathy for the Devil was HOT (pun intended). Satisfaction and Brown Sugar rocked, and the Brown Sugar video was sexy-soft on the eyes.

But don’t take my word for it – check out the blogs at http://www.iorr.org/tour05/paris2.htm

And hey, for you fans of Pirates of the Caribbean and Captain Jack Sparrow, Keith Richards is indeed a hoot! I knew Johnny Depp had modeled his role on Keith, but didn't realise how incredibly well done it is indeed. Whenever Keith Richards was spotlighted on stage, it was a giggle to be getting flashbacks of Pirates! And when I watched YouTubes of Keith from the 70s, Cap'n Jack and Keith are twins, NOT son and father.

A better reference for those who don't care for Pirates is the YouTube of Mick Jagger and Dick Cavett's interview from 1972, when Dick asks Mick, "So how long can you keep this up, do you think you'll still be touring when you're 60 years old?" Mick: "I don't see why not!"

Me either, Mick.

Shows coming up in Paris, not to miss!

22 June - George Michael, Stade de France
http://fr.sitestat.com/paris-touristoffice/paris-touristoffice/s?wwwstadefrancefr&ns_type=clickout&ns_url=www.stadefrance.fr

23 June – Lou Reed “Berlin”, Palais des Congres de Paris
http://fr.sitestat.com/paris-touristoffice/paris-touristoffice/s?wwwpalaisdescongrespariscom&ns_type=clickout&ns_url=www.palaisdescongres-paris.com

28 June - Hommage à Serge Gainsbourg: with Marianne Faithfull, Jean-Louis Aubert, Jane Brikin, Carla Bruni, at the Salle Pleyel
www1.sallepleyel.fr

30 June – Genesis, Parc des Princes

http://fr.sitestat.com/paris-touristoffice/paris-touristoffice/s?wwwpsgfrfrticketing0001html&ns_type=clickout&ns_url=www.psg.fr/fr/ticketing/0,,,001.html

30 June – Gay Pride, street theatre at its most fun!

Roaring 20s alive and well in Paris

2007-06-03T22:10:00.000+02:00

It's not prohibition, but Yves Riquet's speakeasy is the best excuse for drinking rye whiskey that I've found yet. Generous bon-vivant Yves shares his glowing enthusiasm, passion and extraordinary knowledge of the jazz era with friends, musicians, artists, dancers and, well, acquaintances like me. We met at the 4th of July party I organised in 2006 around the theme of the 20s. Lucky me - Saturday or Sunday afternoons at his cave in the 18th arrondissement are convivial, enlightening and sparkling FUN. Players from the troupe of the Josephine Baker musical came along to the opening and chatted and performed, pianists Jean-Paul Amoureux and Pierre Bertrand are regulars, and Axel Zwingenberger and Vince Weber, in town for the weekend, joined us on Saturday 2 June for a four-piano extravaganza. Pinch me, I'm dreaming!

Tom Stoppard

2007-05-23T00:56:00.000+02:00

I got to shake hands with Tom Stoppard and I am delighted! He attended the play Generation Jean by the Belarus Free Theatre, on the same day that he won 7 awards from New York theatre journalists and critics for his play The Coast of Utopia. In my recent voyage of getting to know theatre I now am a bit familiar with the work and aspirations of Robert Lepage, Bob Wilson and now Tom Stoppard, and it is inspiring, and humbling.

Now I am starting to think that meeting Johnny Depp may not be so impossible after all....

Horses and Irish Luck

2007-05-21T00:31:00.000+02:00

Sunday 20 May – It was the annual Irish day for the Galop de Dimanche at Longchamps racetrack, and Hilary and Gael Staunton from Irish Eyes invited me there out for lunch and a bit of gambling. Well, it was a jour de chien, dripping Irish rain all day, and so their green-tented cabane offering shelter and entertainment for children was mobbed. We had our hands full from 2-6pm showing little ones how to mold clay with leaves and then carve their names in gaelic. Great fun, got my kid fix in for a while, and actually watched the last 30 seconds of one of the final races! Bonus: got a free invite to go to the track at Auteuil next Sunday, looking for a gambling partner.

Les excès de Paris

2007-05-21T00:25:00.000+02:00

Saturday, 19 May – Les nuit des musées calls. Didn’t even know it was happening until coffee hour after aerobics and a couple of friends invite me to go with to the Musée Branly, which is open until 10pm tonight, and for free, with jugglers, dancers, music, drums. Went along at 8pm, found a line that snaked around the block, so instead we went through the café and ended up sharing a bottle of Pouilly Fumé with a couple of chirpy French women from the neighborhood, Yvonne and Nicole.

The park of the Musée Branly is great, situated as it is practically underneath the museum itself – which interior I’ve yet to see, since the lines have always been exaggerated after it opened last fall! When the foliage catches up to the landscaper’s vision, the park will be lovely, and colorfully exotic.

So instead, after some wine and pasta chez moi (with a superb sauce I scrambled together a l’improviste), Abby, Lynn and I wandered over to the Dome des Invalides and enjoyed the music and lights over Napoleon’s tomb, with neighbor Vincent joining us. Breathtaking, the men’s choir and the Corsican quartet and the horns, the sound vibrated throughout this cathedralic monument, a surreal bit of Saturday midnight pleasure.

Belarus Free Theatre in Paris

2007-05-18T14:20:00.001+02:00

NOT TO MISS - the performances of the Belarus Free Theatre at Maisons Alfort this week and next. Saw two performances last night, Technique of Respiration in an Airless Space and Being Harold Pinter, and they were both strong and vibrant. Next Tuesday, 22nd May, Tom Stoppard hopes to be in the audience, and the troupe will be showing their recently finished documentary.

See www.theatre-studio.com

2007-05-08T23:34:00.000+02:00

Photo: Alvis Hermanis - photographer, Epaminontas Stilianidis

New Realities:
Disturbing the sounds of silence

Theatre in the dark – as in ages or mood, as in approach or “hasn’t a clue”. All were to be found at the recent Europe Theatre Prize, an awards event that took place in Thessaloniki, Greece, from 26-29 April. One theme that threaded its way through the weekend was, as prizewinner Robert Lepage put it, “Theatre as communication: we try to change our public and to change the world.”

Dark ages: Think revolution, dissidence, struggle and art. Hark back to the sixties, when youth had specific issues they were fighting for or against, not just torching cars and spray-painting their 21st century angst. Yes, there is still oppression in continental Europe, and a clandestine theatre company from Minsk talked up their cause and their conflicts

During the breaks between symposia and performances, Belarus Free Theatre spoke with participants about how the theatre they created two years ago got closed by the state; how they secretly produce plays in apartments whose location and dates are obtained by discreet word-of-mouth and cellphone; how the government hinders their travel. Despite the roadblocks, and helped by such notables as Tom Stoppard, Vaclav Havel and Harold Pinter, the company has been nominated for next year’s Europe Theatre Prize for New Realities, and will be performing in France for the next two weeks.

The New Realities prizewinner for this year, Latvian Alvis Hermanis, best known for his breathtaking verbatim play “Long Life”, also talked about growing up under Soviet repression in Riga. He described in an interview in Thessaloniki how he and his friends would secretly gather to tune into Radio Free Europe, to watch forbidden Western videos, exchange forbidden books. It was a dark period, he said, and projected a series of short pieces called Sound of Silence, thespian exercises based on songs from Simon and Garfunkel’s eponymous album. One was a portrayal of people crowding into a tiny room to listen to the radio and moving different metal objects around as receivers to try and capture the elusive radio waves.

Speaking of “theatre in the dark”, he stated his dream to make “light” theatre, arguing that Simon and Garfunkel represented the last spirit of utopia in the 20th century: “There was such positive energy in those songs, before we lost our innocence and purity”.

Taking the idea a step further, Hermanis said, “Today especially, theatre should be about getting people out of their houses and together, so that they’re not just huddled incessantly over their computers, their TVs, listening only to their stereos, cellphones, Ipods.”

Alexandru Darie, head of the European theatre union, also spoke of days as a theatre student in Romania when western materials were forbidden books and videos were smuggled in. “What a change when the walls came down,” he said. Plays were brought in, communications opened up, and he became first head of the state theatre and now head of the union. His voice cracked as he said, “I only got to see live performances by Lepage and Hermanis in the last few years, and it was so moving to finally see these pieces come alive.”

Accepting his New Realities prize, Hermanis said, “In the past, artists were bohemian, self-destructive, alcoholic; but the art they created was always seeking beauty, humanity. Nowadays we artists behave very nicely, more like businessmen, we drink mineral water, do sports, go to bed early. But we create art that is pessimistic and dark, focusing on the dark side of our lives. It would be a good challenge for artists to present a more positive theatre. I think our brains are too large, and our hearts are too small. But we have to try.”

Belarus Free Theatre performs in France at Nancy from 8-12 May, and in Paris from 15 May to 2 June, 2007. See http://www.festival-passages.fr/idx.php?ed=2007&p=the&pp=70

Intro

2007-05-08T16:47:00.000+02:00

I recently returned from the European Theatre Prize in Thessaloniki, where Robert Lepage won the top award, and won us all over with his generous personality and passionate ideas. Discovered Alvis Hermanis, one of the New Realities prizewinners, and his incredible piece, Long Life. Met the Free Theatre troup from Belarussie, and a host of other interesting people, too numerous to mention. A few articles will soon be posted, describing the event. Meanwhile, see Michael Billington's inspired yet scathing article for the Guardian Unlimited at http://blogs.guardian.co.uk/theatre.