Musing on the Mediterranean - Part 1
Week 1 - Temps Perdus?
Mon.,
May 28. Later, NYC …
Nearly
90 degrees this afternoon. Crawling on the A train to JFK. Arrive
almost 30 minutes later than my rendez-vous time with Giacomo. Checking
in at American Airlines requires a labyrinthine, multi-step process, further
complicated by some mysterious unattended baggage. This ownerless duffel
has the power to make scary looking Security cops have everyone exit the
terminal. What follows is 15 minutes of chaos as the initially small
crowd on the sidewalk outside grows into a hot, harried, time-pressed mob
shuffled from line to line by clueless and confused airline personnel.
Giacomo and I slip into the 1st class area, check in, and proceed to the
security checkpoint. Air travel used to be glamorous; now, thanks to
9/11, it has become what its Latin root implies: travail, or work.
Miraculously,
the flight takes off on time with us in it. I’m seated one row in front
of the Emergency Exit, which means that my seat does not recline. So I
spend the 8 or so hour overseas flight in an upright seated position in a
freezing cabin. Very conducive to sleeping. On the rare occasion I
do manage to close my eyes and drift off, the children up front begin
crying. A frigid, sleepless night.
Tues.,
May 29. Viva España!
Early
morning, Madrid Barajas Airport. While waiting 3 solid hours for our
connection to Barcelona, I do laps up and down the enormous, endless, airy
terminals. Brand new, roof of
slated wooden waves Real café cortado. Ah, the aroma … Thank
you, Jesus. Giacomo, our young production assistant, so nice, so young,
catches a nap on the benches. Finally we rendez-vous with the rest of the
12- person team and fly together to Barcelona. They seem nice enough, if
jet-lagged and reserved. We arrive at the lovely hotel. I'll sleep later: I shower, then
Giacomo and I hit the streets of Barcelona. A magical city. An
open-air museum, every other building an architectural jewel. The Belle
Epoque capital, before even Paris. Passaig Gracia and Catalunya, Casa
Mila, Casa Battlo, Casa Amatlier. I just want to sit and sip a coffee at
one of these cafes, watch the gorgeous people stream by … And great shopping –
why didn’t I buy those shoes???
We
meander around the old city to Catedral Gotica, its cloisters, Bishop Street
with its own bridge of sighs … love these tiny winding paths we walk en route
to Placa Reial. Spanish yet distinctively individual. A salad and a cold
glass of cava at a random café. I could live here. Why don’t I live
here?
Back
to the hotel for another shower.
No time to sleep before a dinner of taps and cava with une ancienne GO de Michel a Sonora Bay
(ne Guaymas) and her 2 kids. We reminisce about our days at Club Med, so long
ago. It’s late, and my feet ache and I’m exhausted. Too tired to sleep in
my single room in our comfortable hotel, apparently. I manage to doze off
for a few hours before the alarm clock rings.
Wed.,
May 30. Barcelona encore.
Great
breakfast at the hotel. Up early
to take a tour of Barcelona guided by Maria Teresa. First stop:
Gaudi’s Parc Güell. We arrive before the invading hoards and capture a
few clean shots of its whimsy and wit, its archways and colorful mosaic
forms. Ridiculed, shunned, then forgotten in his day (his name became an
adjective for the tasteless, overdone and ugly), we learn that a la Mozart and
Van Gogh, Gaudi died a homeless pauper at 73, wearing newspaper for shoes, when
a cablecar hit and killed him. He designed Parc Güell as a housing
development on a hill for the wealthy, but abandoned it after his model house
and grounds failed to attract any buyers. After he lost only patron, the
rich but elderly Signor Güell, Gaudi used his own money to finance the unique
Sagrada Familia Cathedral, his magnus opus, until his funds ran dry.
Begun in the1880’s, work continues on this the 2nd largest RC
cathedral in the world, after only the Vatican’s St. Peter’s. We have the
unique privilege of witnessing history in the making, seeing this monumental
work in progress as it changes from week to week, month to month, year to
year. Last time I visited in the early 90’s, it lacked an interior; now
we can not only marvel at the soaring spires of the façade, we can go inside
and see the new and exquisite vaulted ceiling, classic yet modern, and bask in
the ethereal bright light of its stained glass windows …
Afternoon
meandering around the Gotica city, the cathedral … shots and lunch at one of
the oldest tapas bar in Spain. The proud owner, whose family has run the
restaurant for generations, brings plate after plate of catalan specialties we
wash down with cava. Delicious, and I refuse to count or even consider
calories. Then off to the Ramblas, the food market (good thing we ate
first), waterfront, and up to Montjuic, to the Olympic Stadium, Palau Nacional,
Placa Espanya … A world-class city. Can I live here?
Late
afternoon, hot and sweaty, we board the newly refurbished Grandeur. A
classic Royal Caribbean ship, about 2,000 or so passengers, more manageable in
size than the enormous Oasis and Allure. The usual hassle with the
baggage. Outside cabin, nothing special, but I have it to myself.
Scout and set up for tomorrow morning, an early and hectic start before the
ship is crawling with passengers. With no guests on board, we eat dinner
in the crew mess – how do the staff and crew survive on this swill for months
at a time? Back in the cabin, I
see the tv news: Deadly earthquake in northern Italy; rioting mine
workers in Madrid; banking crisis continues across the continent, including $126
billion bailout for Spain; an election in Greece to decide its future in the
EU; Queen Elizabeth’s Diamond Jubilee. How refreshing, nothing about the US
presidential election, which has dominated the 24/7 cable news cycle for
months. In fact, nothing about the
US, period. Happy but exhausted, I still having trouble falling asleep –
-Which
got me thinking about my own jubilee.
So far this new decade seems to hold nothing diamond or golden or anything
valuable and shining about it. Unlike
the last, which felt like a beginning of a brave new world and bright new age, with
me at the height of my physical, intellectual and emotional powers, able to
shake off the yoke of old limiting beliefs and expectations and reinvent myself
and my life into whatever form and shape I choose. Is it my imagination, or does this decade - my jubilee! -
seem to hold less promise and possibility? Seem to offer opportunities that are fewer and farther
between? Is it just the economy,
my boredom with Manhattan, the dearth of magical moments, my ***gasp***
age? Uninspired and unoptimistic,
my energy levels plummet, my creativity fades, my drive diminishes. I’m hoping this trip will serve as a
catalyst to change all that. Get
my mojo back. Ready, willing and
able, I implore the universe to bring something wonderful …
Thurs.,
May 31. Setting sail.
An
early morning blue (pre-dawn) shooting staterooms, staterooms and more
staterooms. Last and only chance to capture several important suite
categories before the passengers move in for the cruise. We manage to
bang out the essential ones before our 11am cut-off when boarding begins. Breakfast
in the crew mess. Awful. Julien then runs to capture the pool
and big outdoor screen while it’s still free of people. We’re off to a
very strong start.
So
let the scouting and scheduling begin! Julien and I - Team B, shooting
the 360 virtual tours - will work independently of the others - Team A,
shooting lifestyle stills and video - except where we can piggy-back on Toni’s
schedule and avoid having to ask the ship’s crew to duplicate preparation. This will be most helpful, especially
in the wee morning hours.
The
crew and cast consist of Michel, French photographer extraordinaire to the
cruise industry, the go-to guy for any new or newly-refurbished passenger ship;
his French Canadian right hand man Daniel, also a photographer and former lab
owner; Giacomo, 1st generation Sicilian-American photograher’s
assistant, young and cool in every way; family man and sports adventurer
Julien, virtual photographer from Lyon; hair and make-up artist Elaine, who can
pull whatever you may need – cold medicine, essential oils for headaches, sun
screen, emergency Starbucks Via, you name it – out of her magic silver bag; and
wardrobe by Nathalie, tall Brooklyn-hip Latina fashionista from the D. R. Toni, Royal Caribbean’s Consumer
Marketing and Media Production Manager, is coordinating production for Team A
as well as logistics for the entire shoot; I’m production managing for Team B,
as well as assisting Team A and serving as background talent. (Will I never get out of the
background?!?)
For
talent we have a 40’s couple – Mark, EMT, former Marine and Firemen Calendar
Mr. September (really), okay for a Republican, and all-American Annette from
Chicago; and 50’s+ couple – Patrice from Marseille, whose devil-may-care style
could make him Dos Exquis’ the most interesting man in the world, and the
Southern blonde and lovely Mary Liz.
We shoot a few more cabins at the evening sunset.
Another
night trouble falling asleep, even on Royal Caribbean’s famously comfortable
and welcoming white bedding. Now
my hips hurt. I fear that my window to overcome jet-lag – going to bed
early the day of arrival - has closed and I will be playing sleep catch-up for
a while. Feeling less sharp, productive, pretty and charming with this
fatigue head-ache, still not my usual self -
Fri.,
June 1, Marseille. La Cote d’Azur
Up
at 4:40am, 20 minutes before the alarm, feeling relatively refreshed after about
6 hours of sleep. On set at 5:15 in Giovanni’s and Chop’s Grill for the
morning blue, followed immediately by the Schooner and South Pacific
lounges. A productive morning overall.
Guests
restaurants now open, I have a real breakfast including eggs and smoked salmon
(I will repeat this several times during the cruise), during which the team is
meant to decide the course of the day. The original game plan – Casino
followed by the Theatre – falls through. So I squeeze in an hour at the
gym. At lunch, we determine that both A and B Teams will shoot Elaine’s
inside cabin, after which we go our separate ways. I vote to do the 360s
first, which will leave Julien and I free until the evening blue shooting the
kids’ area. We finish before 2:00pm - Marseille here I come! But
first Toni wants us to plan the next morning blue … so I scurry around, trying
to set-up for the Centrum/R Bar, the Great Gatsby Main Dining Room, Windjammer
Restaurant. Everything and everyone on board present obstacles and
caveats I am too tired and not sharp enough to fight to overcome. By the
time I abandon my efforts and get the okay to go to shore, it’s too late to
make it to town and back before we set sail. Marseille will have to wait
another 30 years. Tres disappointing.
I
now have a free afternoon with which I can do as I please. So I set up my
computer on the pool deck and blog away, cooled by the breeze of the
Mediterranean and amused/annoyed by the bad music and passengers … Toni pages
me with a surprise: she invites us to dine at Izumi. A welcome
change. We all jump on it. A bit awkward at first, having most of the two
teams together at the same table at the same time. But we ease into the
sometimes tricky task of getting to know one another, while maintaining the
professional poise necessary on a job.
We
then our split up, Team A off to Chops Steak House and Team B to the kids’
areas and Observation Deck. Amazing sunset, also enjoyed by Team A, whose
shoot I later discover was cancelled due to a restaurant seating mistake.
Not the end of the world, but the first in a series of miscommunications
between the ship’s staff and our teams.
Julien and I capture the teen disco and children’s clubs, but can’t get
into the nursery because errant parents arrive late to pick up their
baby. Stressful shooting around children in the kids’ area, but we
manage just in the nick of time -
Afterwards,
I bump into the party crowd – Annette, Mark and Giacomo – at the pool bar en
route back to my cabin. The cliques amongst the cast/crew have already
begun to form … Elaine is sweet and helpful but a little weird and insecure;
I’m not able to connect with Nathalie; Mary Liz seems a bit prissy and
distant. I’m persuaded to stay for
one drink, despite my 5am morning wake-up. Giacomo’s lit on countless
beers and engages with anyone who will talk. Mark and Annette chat up a
quirky but proud English woman, bullish on the Queen’s Diamond Jubilee.
Wish I could move with the crowd to the next bar, but I’m still really tired
and I’ve got to go to bed or I’ll be tres, tres sorry in the morning -
Sat.,
June 2. Villefranche, Cote d’Azure. Bonjour,
tristesse.
Overcast;
forecast calls for rain. On the upper deck of the tender, a wave of nostalgia
washes over me as we approach the small port city, making me forget my fatigue
headache. The churches and buildings nestled on the hills embracing the
bay – painted terra cotta, pumpkin and sunny yellow – immediately transport me
back to the days of youth and Opio and Pascal and crazy love. Hard to
believe that over 20 years ago I lived just a few miles from here, head over
heels and full of hope.
Writer’s
note: The moment I first laid eyes on Pascal in Mallorca, I was struck
the one and only time in my life by a coup
de foudre – love at first sight. (Yes, it does exist, and it’s
wonderful. Everyone should experience
it at least once.) Fortunately he
felt the same, and we spent two+ very intense years together, and came very
close to getting married.
Though
the gray skies prevent us from getting the quintessential sun-splashed Riviera
panorama of the harbor, we still find plenty of picturesque pathways and cul de
sacs, including an underground street, to shoot with the models. We move
on to the quiet, beautiful gardens of the Citadel, a walled stone fortress
overlooking the port and town built in the 1500’s, now used as a park and
art/cultural center.
We
have a few hours before we have to board, so we spend the afternoon walking up
the stairs and down the narrow streets, and have a Salade Niçoise (of course)
and local fish lunch at a pretty little provençale restaurant in the heart of
the tiny town. Both our waitresses are so, well, French, in a very, well, French
(but good) way. Men here actually make eye contact, smile and say
hello. I nearly forgot that men had this capacity, that men appreciate
women because of, rather than in spite of, la
difference. The air is perfumed with the scents of fresh bread and
croissants baking in the boulangerie, savory meals cooking, honeysuckle and
lavender growing. We sampled a pain au
chocolat and a croissant amande –
delicieux! Since arriving in Europe, every time I drink a real
macchiato – espresso with a little hot milk – my heart aches. I miss these
views, these tastes, this life. They transport me back to the time I felt so
peace-full, so joy-full, so wonder-full.
They trigger Proustian moments of temps
perdus, memories from one of the happiest, headiest period of my
life. I seem to have stumbled upon my own madeleine moment -
Whenever I'm asked "what's the best time of your life" or "when were you the happiest?" the coach in my naturally responds, "now, of course!" Never before have I questioned my life choices, even the
big ones – not to marry the Mr. Not-Quite-Rights, not to have children, not to
return to a full-time job. Okay,
maybe turning down a 3-week cruise to Antarctica over the millennium was a
mistake – but otherwise, I’ve never looked back in anger or doubt. However, returning here, surrounded by reminders of a simplier, happier time, has me wondering why I ever left - the first time, the second
time, the third time. What is
this I am feeling here, deep down?
This odd, unfamiliar angst?
This strange sense of melancholy?
Second thoughts?
Remorse? Regret? Have the last several decades in New
York, a city I love but never liked, been a waste, temps perdus?
No wonder I can’t sleep.
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