The nation rises

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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...