Bailey Alexander

St. Gabriel satisfies my fetish for flowers.

Living in Prague gives great value. Far better than our last address. Rent is half as much and our place is twice as nice with a gorgeous view. The food selection provides good quality produce and the restaurants are both affordable and consistently good. Yesterday I had to buy more electronics for a current project and was pleased at the price, similar to when buying household sundries which I find to be surprisingly cheap. 

The fact I have a fetish for flowers allows me to save a little less but until I have a garden to call my own, Gabriel gives me a good deal. 

She's a gorgeous gal and owns a store in my hood called St. Gabriel Flowers. I took a foto of her today, always the sweetest smile on her face, funny and very cool. I made sure to 'like' her on facebook.

 

 

 

Gabriel runs a great business and last week I bought a lovely new petunia plant which allows me to pinch off the little flowers, making room for twice as many the following day.

I love Bohemia...

Guess who came to dinner; The Russians

Last night a couple of women from St. Petersburg showed up at Chez Bay. It was interesting to listen to their perceptions about Putin, their politics and their system. So different from my own experience growing up, yet one of my guests, Lola Voronina has become a good friend and we've ended up in similar worlds.  Odd to think the further east we move the  freer we seem to feel. 

Russians, I find, are cool, tough and refined. A great combo and they tend to complain less than the west. They go about their business, in spite of it all, underneath the radar. 

When living in Paris I didn't know any on a personal level, none came to play at Chez Bay yet apparently they were everywhere.

Modern Zeitgeists; parasitic spirit of our time.

“What I say today everybody will say tomorrow, though they will not remember who put it into their heads. Indeed they will be right for I never remember who puts things into my head : it is the Zeitgeist.” –George Bernard Shaw

Modern zeitgeists come in so many forms. Spirits of our time.

Few would argue Matt Drudge is the on-line media king of the muckrakers. Arianna Huffington proved brilliantly you could aggregate everyone else's content and take sole credit. Navigating effortlessly from the right side of politics to the left; the l-r paradigm was made for types like Arianna. 

Prague's goddesses

The Luxury of travel; The Internationals

Strange how safe I feel in Bohemia, a former Communist bloc, full of Slavs.

Travel is just fun. I get the Anglo-American mindset and now better understand what informs the Romance language countries, the Dutch are cool. Now I'm learning all about the Slavs, so far, so good.

And yet its the combination of multiple cultures that makes it more interesting than ever.

The other day I receive an invitation from a man from Azerbaijan, a man who obtained his Ph.D in linguistics at Cologne University. His wife is Turkish and their children live and work in Munich. His family settled in Prague long ago, its convenient for the kids as they visit often. Their home is full of oriental rugs and precious belongings that surround our space as we drink Turkish tea and local pastries. We chat for 3 hours as the conversation flows, its a luxury.

He works for media outfit, a venture funded by the US, devoted to reporting on Authoritarian States; he's internalized all that this means. They all speak Czech, German and a few other languages, their English fluent. They're the international set, civilized in that high end way, an open mindset, comfortable everywhere.  

I'm familiar with Internationals, happy to be married to one; nomadic by necessity built into their DNA. Their authentically global, realistic and less fearful of what lurks on the horizon. They get deeply how connected our world, the live it, they have perspective. I like it, being around them feels like a luxury all in its own.

 

 

Occupy Czech Republic

Occupy Czech appears to be suffering the same malaise I saw on May Day across the pond. 

I can assure the environment was far more depressing than my lame fotos. The man in the tent spoke some English, was sweet, and no, though he looks like he was ready to flip me the finger he wasn't.

 

 

More than willing to have a chat, his broken English better than any Czech I could come up with; I've barely mastered the most basic of daily exchanges. Just grateful I can say the name of my street with ease. It took me forever to pronounce the name of our address in Amsterdam, you have to throw so much guttural energy into their language it makes German sound smooth and lyrical. 

This guy was obliging and kind. The two other people hanging outside their tents were very somber. A few tents, some signage, a few pots and pans, they'll stay until May 15th. 

I was on my way to meet a friend for lunch. She'd arrived back from Luxembourg, and yes, one can imagine the Occupy movement had less impact there, upsetting everyone as their Occupy protest collided on the same day as the disabled. Yes, telling and sad, so singularly anti-climactic.  My Russian friend had plenty of positive feedback regarding the Pirate Party, perhaps this movement could learn something from  the other, or not. 

The movement in general seems crippled by a lack of momentum, message and worst of all, perhaps little surprise, the media aren't paying any attention at all. 

Perhaps a demand or two wouldn't hurt but unless they're ready to storm the 'Bastille' its becoming harder to imagine how they can make a difference and impose a positive impact on their own lives. After I snapped the foto he just zipped up his tent and went to sleep...

Happiness and expectations

Heard a great talk on TED today on the ever elusive pursuit of Happiness. I agree with the notion its much ado about perspective and the amount of expectations we apply. The talk was served on a full tray of cliche's and yet the cliche's concerning expectations and choice appealed to me. Along my nomadic lifestyle I've often found my expectations decrease just as my level of contentment tends to increase, as if in complete unison. Such are the cycles of my life, so far. 

Its been interesting to meet so many fellow expats in so many countries but more oft than not its depressing. I'm not talking about the ones that live abroad part of the time or have their stuff in storage or teach English to stretch out the experience. I get that and I get they will eventually go back home. I'm talking about the ones that don't, that have lived abroad for a long, long time.

London Telegraph: "Young Italians flock to become Shepherds"

The Telegraph has its own angle on this trend yet I wonder if its only economic. I've spent so much time traveling through Italy, extensively up north, visiting 'family' members, on holiday, hanging out, many youth opt to stay close to home rather than travel and work in a major city. Why wouldn't they? 

I'm often struck, still, by the relationship Italians share with nature. While walking with my husband's uncle, Zio Giacomo, he often stops to touch the leaves and study the gardens and trees around his house, in his neighborhood. He teaches me the difference between male and female fruit, when at the market he studies the food with much attention and great affection. Its so fun.

Most Italians are terrific stewards, they toil their soil carefully for wine, fruit and vegetables, they discuss their nutrients and qualities with respect, regardless of whether they live in the city or the country. 

They travel throughout their country, inspecting, learning, enjoying the other towns. They covet and live well within their nature; this trend feels less economic and more natural and normal, to me at least. 

Travel is a luxury like no other; Church at St. Ludmila in Vinohrady

Before venturing off to a very Bohemian joint for lunch I met my friend @ Church at St. Ludmila. Two months ago the square surrounding the neo-gothic church looked lovely but austere, now bands and flowers at full bloom. Travel is a luxury like no other...

"The neo-gothic church of St. Ludmila is situated at Náměstí Míru (Square) in Vinohrady. The project plan of this church was prepared by the architect Josef Mocker, who was also one of the architects participating in the completion of St. Vitus Cathedral at Prague Castle.

The Things My Feet Have Seen series, ctd.

Beautiful, balmy, moody weather. Early evening, time to relax, temperature calm, light shifts silently; cue rainbow at my feet...

Jim Kunstler gives another elegy on America's post industrial landscapes...

JK begins:

"A few weeks ago I flew to Chicago, hopped into a rent-a-car, and navigated my way on the tangle of interstate highways to the now mostly former industrial region in the northwest corner of Indiana just off lowest Lake Michigan between the towns of Whiting and Gary. The desolation of human endeavor lay across the land like nausea made visible, but more impressive was how rapid the rise and fall of it all had been."

Think Pink...

The age of innocence, before life unfolds and cynicism sets in. It's lovely...

Driving thru Europe; cultures change along with their landscape

Schloss Fucshl is a gorgeous hotel just outside Salzburg, elegant environs, the trout for lunch arrived fresh from the lake.

Sun arrived for lunch then the weather turned foul. We tucked into the 'lodge'; he ordered Apple Strudel and coffee, I, Calvados. 

Austria, as lovely as any place on the planet, a favorite destination, a particularly pleasant and civilized state of mind...or so it always seems to me.

Germany: Pirate Party Polls @ 11%

Overnight biz trip to Salzburg and caught this headline over lunch the following day; Piratenpartei uberholt die Grunen, translation; Pirate Party overtakes Greens in the polls.

Absolutely amazing and inspiring. Polling at around 11%, because the Pirate Party continues to effectively focus on very specific issues, privacy and copyright, they should reach their goals. Learning, living and working  over here allows me to better understand European politics. German government depends upon establishing coalitions,therefore Merkel needs and relies upon the smaller parties to have a majority.

As an American this is almost impossible to fathom, es ist true. In the article, which mio marito read to me, she spoke about the importance of smaller parties, and called the Pirate Party a "force to be reckoned with".

Dinner in Dresden. 'Inde irae et lacrimae'

Death of a relative arrived early Saturday morning and dinner in Dresden was already on the itinerary later that evening; hence a timely trip.

An hour an half drive from Prague to the city once described as the Jewel Box of Europe. Dresden; few places illustrate death quite like Dresden.

European data settles on a conservative number, perhaps 57,000 Germans killed. In one night. The Allied Forces decision was driven by Churchill, apparently he wanted to appear tough to Stalin at the Yalta  Conference.

The dates for the Soviet meeting were changed but they went ahead with the bombing campaign anyway.

Wall to wall Catholic Culture within Rome and the Vatican City.

This painting demanded attention while roaming the Louvre. So austere and atmospheric, a crucifixion scene to meditate on, a reprieve, tranquil and awfully elegant.

Painted by Dutch artist Karel Dujardin, having spent most of his time in Italy; apparently felt the influence.

Timely pic as today bells will ring throughout Rome @ precisely 3pm, signifying the moment Christ died.

I loved living in Rome, they do 'catholic culture' like no other yet wear their religion, like their lives, lightly.

You'll feel the weight of their emotions, certo, along the streets of the eternal city, perhaps a woman sobbing into her mobile next to a fountain, overwhelmed, then less so, gone, replaced by a man making broad gestures, Roman fluency at its finest.  "Ne abbiamo vista di cotte e di crude" Translation; they've seen it all. 

I took this pic back in 2009 atop the gianicolo (Juniculum), little Colette and Godot being blessed. 

Further down the gianicolo you'll find grand statues of Giuseppa Garibaldi and his fierce wife Anita. He unified Italy, one of the founding fathers, with a gift for rallying troops on several continents. When Abraham Lincoln asked, he declined. 

Garibaldi thought priests the cancer of Italian society therefore his gaze looks upon almost all of Rome, all but the Vatican. 

Such are the environs that make up the eternal city...

Paris in 33 hours.

Another petite sojourn to Paris, this trip slightly longer than last, perhaps the last for quite some time. A magical city, also expensive, dusty, musty and hyper busy when skidding through RER and a half dozen metros with two tasks to be accomplished within a short period of time, alas too dear. The French do love their contact sports, a fact that manifests up and down the escalators and along the conveyor belts throughout Les Halles.

Don't get me wrong, got an awful lot for the price; Catching Greg Proops, live, finally, laughed allot. Stayed overnite in a room with a charming view and most especially spoke with Mme. Sophie Descamps, curator for antiquities Roman@Le Louvre.

From Maubert-Mutualité to Náměstí Míru; metro stations close to 'home'.

Being a US expat from Seattle we couldn't possibly be bothered with public transport so its refreshing to find my 'metro stops' here in europe inspire both nostalgia and great fondness. 

Whenever in Paris I try to find a reason to hit line 10, if only to see the sign for a moment, run upstairs and view a previous address in the 5th arrondissement. 

 

 

Strange; I waited @Maubert-Mutualité, almost daily, for 3 years but it might as well have been a decade. 

My new local metro stop in Prague comforts me with its instant familiarity, giving my new environs a base, a place to call my own.

Prague; by Sunday its serene...

The Czech's call their Friday 'short Saturday's, if their lucky. On Saturday most shops are closed by 1, latest 2; so by the time Sunday arrives Bohemia's about as calm as can be...

Bohemian Spring's on its way...

 

First warm day since we arrived, light gear only, stunning day with jazzy branches for surround sound; weekend's supposed to be great.

Walked all over the city centre; three women to guide home...

Customized scents from Paris to Prague; perfume, liqueurs and whiskey too.

In Paris you'll find fragrance boutiques to create custom scents for the skin and they're far less expensive than you'd imagine.

I'd spend 20 to 30 euro every coupla months on a petite present to self and when the need arose for a special Shiseido purchase I'd take a sojourn to Le Salon du Palais. You needn't even venture inside; window shopping along the Jardin du Palais Royal provides enough sensory overload to last for days. 

If you're like me and don't shop for recreation, at the very least its a novelty and great way to get lost amidst the pretty architecture and alleys in la lumiere.

However living in Prague inspires elixirs and scents you imbibe before they might emanate in other ways; olive oils, liqueurs, brandies and whiskies of all kinds. 

Why not, the bottles are so beautiful and the taste test lasts as long as you can with a super sweet salesclerk to write your labels in English, French or Czech; as you wish.  Lovely, wonderful stuff. 

Cycling around Prague on electric bikes.

Rented a coupla bikes and cycled around, found some of the famous clocks and sun dials withinn this city; daylight savings must create some havoc.   

Cold but such stunning weather for the past month, its rained but twice, the place continues to feel so wide and inviting.

Cobblestones a bit bumpy yet only seems to lull the kids into further bliss, as if being in the basket a massage, comfortably ensconced, secure, part of the action. 

Many people taking pics of everything including the kids,  5 Italians aimed at us, or rather thuh muffins...a paparazzi kind of moment, such fun to live vicariously.

Godot's so relaxed he appears almost bored but that's perhaps because he's already arrived. 

Halcyon days in Prague

We've managed to land in an awfully elegant neighborhood, with a large park called Havlickovy which boasts a vineyard surrounding the grandest gazebo I've ever seen. Full of long paths that swirl this way and that, overlapping; a lovely space to walk the dogs, enjoy the environs and have some cognac with ice-cream in the gazebo. Why not. 

Gore Vidal and Breitbart might have actually met, if only for a sec...

Update:

Apparently Matt Taibbi's piece really angered Breitbart's fans. So many muckrackers in our midst, tearing one another apart, deliciously interesting.

You have Matt Drudge and Breitbart, apart from their politics, boys that did and do continue with deeply subservice tactics, too bad the left doesn't get it.

I'll watch is from the sidelines with Gore Vidal the master, as it burns...

Dawn Powell said, "Satire is people as they are..."

Tiabbi update: Well done, Breitbart fans, well done! In less than 24 hours you’ve hacked into my Wiki page, published my telephone number on Twitter, called the Rolling Stone offices pretending to be outraged “advertisers” (anonymous ones, who hung up before we could figure out which “ads” to pull), and then spent all night calling and texting my phone with various threats and insults, many of them directed at my family. “Better grow eyes in the back of your head,” was one; “I’m going to take a shit on your mother’s grave,” was another; a third called my wife a “piece of shit like you,” and many others called me a “pile of human excrement.

Guess Alex Jones can happily move another conspiracy theory into the conspiracy fact file.

Everyone's been laughing at AJ's crusade against poisoning and medicating the public through Fluoride forever. Many came before him but through sheer force he's bringing the issues into the news. Mainstream, no, that's impossible, their complicit.

Long before the TSA, when Lord Berners met Sergei Diaghilev; details were different.

Once upon a time we weren't buried in brands, enticed to 'like' chic luggage and major airlines on FB, as if suddenly glamorous by association. Travel is anything but attractive...    

Mio marito recently skidded in from Eurasia, he'll travel to another 5 countries in the next 10 days. I project nothing but stress, what with sim chips, plugs, phones, currencies, passports let alone packing for multiple places and meetings. Interesting, perhaps. Stressful, very. 

I suppose the change of scenery could provide enough sensory overload to override the reality. But travel can be rough. 

Ironically enough traveling to Paris is far more glamorous than living and banking in la lumiere. Arguing in another language with inebriated neighbors once famous for soft porn movies like Emmanuel was less than, but yes, traveling by train to Paris is glamorous, d'accord.  

Salvador Dali

Whenever there's a chance to see his art, I'm there. Salvador Dali makes me feel so happy, always.  

Decades ago, before he died in '89, people still spoke about his art as much as whimsical antics. He was a serious surrealist, a technical virtuoso then a question mark was quietly put alongside his name.

Doubt he cared, a superb draftsmen, technician, master artist.  

Praha; a little Roma, a little Parigi...

I keep saying it if only because it's true; Prague's a luxurious combination of Rome and Paris. Pretty, sad and architecturally magical like la lumiere; world weary, surreal and psychically complex like Rome.  

In Daniela Hodrava's "Prague, I see a city..." she writes, "It is said that Prague, the city in the basin cut in in two by the Vltava, is, like Rome, spread over seven hill."

When walking, taking the metro,  
the bus, the tram with a cool Czech chick, getting acclimated, addressing details or finding the stores and markets, where to buy lights, batteries, butter and bread and exploring by myself, with the kids, feels like Rome.

And Paris. The place we bank, below, with interior lights resembling those used for external use in other cities...we may only have enough currency to cover rent and local bills but the environs resemble Versailles. 

The view with the moon, from our terrace, give bliss.

The police are cool but better have your metro ticket stamped, armed with some kind of ID on your personage or 'whoop, whoop its da sound o da police', and the funny bit is, being from where I came from, it feels so eastern and otherly, the imagination conjures up all kinds of mischief, if only in the mind...

Alas, if you've taken care of business, you're fine. 

The metro, those long trips down the escalator, so long you could finish a novella, feels like London but far less claustrophobic, fewer people, it's easy to get about in this town.

The bohemian crystal lurks everywhere, banks, design stores

cafe's, much ado about art deco.

Like Rome there's plenty of graffiti, and just like Rome, doesn't bother me a twit
I'd rather see the kids vent their frustration through their 'art' than violence, and they do, although I saw a coupla kids giving an old guy an awfully hard time with soft snowballs the other day, but he fielded them fine, another way to while away the day.

This place, Bohemia, sort of surreal, like Lord Berners, the eccentric composer who had a house near Oxford where the pigeons were dyed all the colours of the rainbow.   

Bohemia...

Absinth; my lips begin to dance and my pencil got really, really big.

End of day and errands, happened to pass the oldest Absinthe bar...asked for the classic, she suggested I take a seat, sip it slowly and enjoy, so I did. 

Amsterdam to Prague; from black and white to technicolor.

Who cares how or if one arrives, it's all about the process innit? And now that the boxes have arrived and left, I'm can get lost and explore this lovely state of mind, I can imbibe that kind of excitement that bursts each time you turn a corner and uncover another surprise.  

We live in Praha 2, it's central and wonderfully enough, it's finally snowed...who does not love that first flurry of flakes, the locals seems happy the white stuff has finally arrived.

my family, our past, the future

Unpacking 192 boxes, again, inevitably lends to reflection as old photos arrive, tease the mind, make me smile and wanna skip down memory lane.

I can practically see the nostalgia kick in but the heart survives, a soft pain at first, then quickly lessens for what better way to move on in life then to honor ones past. Isn't this how the Goths or Visigoths prayed, by honoring their ancestors? Yes, I like that, that's my kinda faith. 

Of course one can pretend to be what they wish to become, why not, there's nothing quite as hopeful as the day following the one being lived; self-help and therapy provide so much promise, to so many.

And yet what about the past, we can't possibly deny how manners and the ability to focus created balance even as modern life, full of informality and distractions, expedites the chaotic nature of our collective lives.

Alas, reviewing the past can be an insightful exercise, the kind that carries emotional weight, enough to lighten the load in future.

No Hogmanay for moi.

Mio marito's too sick to travel so we've had to cancel our plans, we're no longer off to the UK for New Years. Flights were booked, dog-sitter set, alas, but no.

This makes me terribly sad for several reasons. When I, as an American get to engage in what feels like Gosford Park, (without the murder, certo) it's like going into the past, a perfectly pleasant past when England was great and manners meant the world. 

Globalization; good for the globe, not so great for the nation state.

It seems so swift, yet suddenly you can't help but notice, an entirely new tribe touring right alongside.

It happens so quickly. For example, a few years ago, Chinese tourists everywhere, so many more than before, enjoying the gorgeous environs of Northern Italy. 

In Venice, Verona and of course, Milan, so many Asians it was almost startling, if only because I hadn't seen so many Asians before, in Northern Italy.

Certainly a strong indicator of an emerging middle class. You can literally see their economic ascent, some moving full time to Italy, industrious, moving their lives, as we had a few years before.  

Yesterday we arrived back from Austria. While at the Spa, in Tirol, unlike our

last visit, we saw several Russians, their families having a great time, enjoying the thermal baths, they'd jump out of the pools, lay in the ice surrounding the outside baths, maximizing the benefits of the body circulation concept. A father or son would lay in the snow for as long as possible, teasing one another, goading for as long as possible, then diving back into the thermal pools. Fun stuff as most of the guests are German, the odd English couple, some Portuguese, several French.  

Salzburgerin on Bachmann and Palin: "Ze vimen are pretty but zer ugly yah?"

I love to visit cemeteries. Here in Salzburg the oldest Catholic one is called Petersfriedhof. It's uber elegant and atmospheric, allegedly the von Trapp family hid behind their ornate, black wrought iron gates.  Allegedly.

On Christmas Eve, after visiting familiar destinations like Cafe Bazar and Cafe Tomaselli with mio marito I wandered back into the cemetery, alone, mid afternoon.

I find them particularly interesting in Paris, Northern Italy, Germany and Prague, peaceful and solemn; a refuge to contemplate life and its cycles.

The Italians adorn their headstones with pictures of family members, the French express their respect with statues and effects, the Germans and Austrians boast pristine  arrangements atop the grave with fir branches, candles and pansies (they represent thought), lovingly tended to with miniature Christmas trees this time of year.

Back @ the Aqua Dome in the Austrian Alps...

There are spas and then there's Aqua Dome. 

Time is best spent roaming outdoor thermals, from sulfur to salt to sprudel (lots of bubbles) floating in the circular pools until you can't handle admiring the Alps any more...

The other half of the spa is sauna central, no textiles allowed; a al nu, nacht, naked which takes time for this american prude to get used to, but I do, soon, gently eager to engage in every single item offered on the menu. 

How the Dutch deal with an economic crisis.

Recent conversation with Dutch friend at Chez Bay. 

Me: "So how's the economic crisis hitting Holland, I hear people are more grateful for their jobs these days, working longer than the traditional 9-5 five day work week. Historically pretty wealthy, work available for all, now, perhaps, not so much?"

He: "Well, one example, it used to be, when we were sick we would just call in and not come to work, now we go into work, they see we are sick, then send us home."

EU and UK; an arranged truce, until now.

Der Spiegel presents a calm and rationale way of looking at the Failure of a Forced Marriage". 

It was forced, of course, but if living in Europe for the past decade has taught me anything, its the lack of cultural overlap between the EU and the UK. 

Perhaps that little 'bridge' from London allows francophiles to imbibe in the Parisian lifestyle and vice versa, who doesn't love London. And Paris.

Watching Europe in crisis...

...is like watching life in slow motion. Or this song.

Compelling and amusing in an existential sort of way. In that emphatically didactic Brechtian Kurt Wheil Threepenny Opera Mack The Knife kinda way.

And. Contrary to all the conspiracy theories, the anglo press, ecetera, ecetera, ecetera, Europeans have little issue with Germany running the money, in fact, they're all bending over backwards to follow their model.  

Paris; back in the land of 'amuse bouches'...

 

Pleasure and pain...

Life is being awfully kind at present as I get to spend another week in Paris. This trip combines biz and romance; separate biz, romance very much ensemble avec mon mari.  Prior pics from our prior address in Paris; a city that inspires like no other, other than Roma....

However, one has to balance the practical with the sublime and visiting la lumiere feels more fun; banking and business is easier in Amsterdam, which brings us to the banking crisis, naturally.

Italy's taking a beating, listening to outside analysis is pointless, no one understands Italy but Italy, we shall see...but its hard to watch the markets pound them at 7.8%. Comparing Italy, which is not bankrupt, to Greece and co, which is, appears pointless. Ireland wasn't, but they were forced to sign up to their banks debt, but banks, being banks, refuse to accepts losses.

Learning to listen to Alex Jones.

I like podcastland. My progressive left memes are re-enforced by Amy Goodman and for my far right, evangelical listening pleasure there is but one Alex Jones. 

Amy Goodman & co are natural extensions of a political lifestyle while growing up along the west coast. Alex Jones, on the other hand, presents a bit of a challenge.

I found his voice while living aboard our sailboat in Venice back in 2010. It was a solitary existence in northern Italy, finite and nice because I knew it to be finite. Our teak salon and deck chairs created a calm environment; my time was spent differently, as if I had more than I had before. 

So, for three hours each day I'd listen to this guy called Alex Jones, from Austin, Texas of all places, his voice so uniquely passionate and very, very rare. 

An immesely entertaining guy, kinda like the Italians. When they try to be funny, they fail, when they're naturally engaged; nothing less than sublime. Little surprise Alex has many Italian fans.   

Meryl Streep channels Maggie Thatcher.

The Guardian: "Politicians, ugly buildings and whores," growled John Huston in Chinatown. "They all get respectable if they last long enough."

The Iron Lady makes its subject appear not merely respectable but poignant and sympathetic to boot: a woman who wanted nothing more than to change the world and make children happy (her children specifically). It leaves her shuffling plaintively from room to room, the legend at rest, or being examined by her doctor, who asks her how she feels.

"Feelings?" scoffs Thatcher. Feelings do no not interest her. Thoughts and ideas are what matter the most. "What we think is what we become. And I think I am fine." The Iron Lady, to a fault, seems to think that as well.

To be a amongst renaissance men...

A paid writing gig provides ample rationale to train it down to Paris for one long, luxurious day. To begin the process of collecting details to profile the kind of guy that could be construed as a Renaissance Man, the learned kind we once called Humanist.  

We meet in the 8th arrondissement, at the France-Amerique Club, a novel experience I'd never enjoyed while living in Paris, such lovely facilities with a long and luxurious history, befitting to this meeting.   

I feel fortunate to know a few Renaissance types but me thinks this species is diminishing, as if their extinction looms on the horizon or so it seems to me.

The pedigree arrives in various forms yet traditionally a typical renaissance sort boasts not only a comprehensive education, excelling in a variety of subjects, but athletic pursuits may play a part if only to make their broad education that much more comprehensive.

Such was the kind of Renaissance Man I met in Paris at the France Amerique club. Too bad there aren't more to go around. His grasp of history and economics is vital, a 'major player' as they say on the global stage. He's the kind of guy you can't google for discretion is key.  

He works on all continents, lives on a plane. Invited to the Jockey Club in Hong Kong one week, asked to  present a lecture on Peak Oil to the House of Commons the next. These guys don't grow on trees but I wish they did.

Prague: Kafka to Carmen, a bittersweet symphony.

Today's itinerary ran the gamut, from absurdest writer to hedonistic gypsy with a cup of chocolate fondue in between. As If I'd died and gone to heaven. 

Prague and Paris are Europe's two most visited cities, each full of fantastic distractions. Nota Bene: Prague is far more affordable than La Lumiere. 

We meandered over to the posh district where Franz Kafka's museum lives, a mecca I'd visited before.  Perhaps the existential writer would appreciate the notion Godot has arrived.

This city of old souls, torment, multiple cultures and communities shift through the city's imagination.  Not unlike Rome and its seven hills, a city in the basin cut in two by the Vlata. 

Peklo Restaurant, as atmospheric as the name implies, peklo meaning inferno or hell...I order a local wine and enjoy roasted duck and red cabbage. Again, heaven. 

Prague; The magic of leaves...

 

 

Off to Prague in search of those Bohemian ideals...

As lovely Satine in Moulin Rouge knows all too well, death arrives in the end, however, until then, there's a state of mind to occupy called Bohemia, full of truth, love, freedom and beauty.  

Alas, prior to 'occupy Prague', one must mentally prepare for the overnight train experience, this trip from Amsterdam to Bohemia.

Night trains are a trip, I've taken my share, from Rome to Paris a few times...a midnight knock on on your door, your passport taken away until the very next day, so atmospheric, full of mischief makers, colorful and funky characters...

Hey, let's go...

 

 

Lunch in Brussels at Le Bruneau

"Why spend 5 hours driving to and from Brussels for lunch?" If you have to ask, you don't live in Amsterdam.

Yes, yes the Dutch are great to engage in business, boasting a high likability quotient, wanting contracts to work, literal, diplomatic and one dimensional, this is an egalitarian society. I'm sure they've occasional flings with cooking, somewhere.

"That's friendly France for ya..."

A recent trip to Brittany reminds me of Grace Kelly's line in To Catch A Thief. Kelly's gently sparring with uber elegant Cary Grant, not quite buying the less than jazzy line he's just a friendly timber businessman from Portland Oregon. Grace suspects what we already know, he's the notorious jewel thief, John Robie, nicknamed "The Cat." 

The French. They are friendly and warm, you just need to step inside their protocol. Why just look at the local butcher, eyeing my petite mignon. I offer Colette for a sec before snatching her back...he is the local butcher after all... 

Protests, nomads, seasons and cycles...

October is a wonderful month to visually feel life's cycles. Mother nature works her magic through leaves as we witness death and decay everywhere as if to capture how change and transition feel as necessary as life itself. 

For many, death isn't just a concept, especially when seen up close. The cost of a front row seat may allow one to embrace the grief. If you don't and deny the cycle you just may miss the show. 

Who's zooming Whom in the currency wars...

Hard to know, even harder to know who's wagging what but since I was a kid I've always been curious. That's why I left The American Dream. Yes, I'd been blessed, worked my ass off, I got to experience The American Dream, but then left, I'm that curious. 

Since moving across the pond and shuffling around in some international circles, I can say with confidence, I've now got a better idea. And, more importantly, all those stereotypes regarding the Italian, English, French, Israeli and Arab, well, they've all been put to test and failed, most beautifully.