Face Time - don't waste time!

I am convinced that the world is made up of two different types of people ; those with iPhones and those without.

I have recently crossed over to the other side and belong to that first group of absorbed screen strokers and wi-fi seekers. My iPhone provides me with hours of instructional fun. I am engrossed in this pocket cyber world.  I engage in “Cool App Speak” with other iPhone users.  For those of you without iPhones I will try not to sound too condescending when explaining the powers of this modern piece of equipment that is so much more than just a phone.

Firstly, if you know another iPhone 4 user, you can call them over a wi-fi network and they appear in your hand!  I recall the series of Thunderbirds that I used to watch as a child.  The Tracy family could contact their father through their portraits on the wall. Their eyes would flash and then they would come through in person, live, to talk about their adventures with their dad! I knew this would happen one day! With the iPhone, you must remember that you appear to them too in whatever state you may be which is why when my daughter wanted to introduce me to her new boyfriend in London and “Face-timed” me I had to decline the call as I was sitting in a hair salon with foil strips hanging unattractively around my face. Not a good moment for the boyfriend to “face” the new girlfriend’s mum! But how incredible to have that technology that transcends intercontinental borders and enables you to see your loved ones so far away and yet in front of you!

Then you press another button and you can take incredible photos and videos at any time and then press another few buttons and send them out to the universe via social networks like Facebook and Twitter. You are a little in danger of becoming a social pest with the array of photos you tend to find interesting and then inflict on all kinds of people at any given time but it will still provide you with immense pleasure on a purely selfish level.

So I have phone, photos and now also phonograph - My iPhone has stored 350 of my favourite songs so I can play them through my headphones, car stereo and travel speakers.

But the best part, and this is where you get separated from the crowd, is that it’s all about APPS!  These applications are a wide range of highly developed, specialized computer programs that help us to think, play and do so many interesting things on iPhones and iPads. On my iPhone, I can locate a restaurant, the moon and stars, tune my guitar, name a song, convert currency,  as well as play all kinds of games and inform myself of the best wines to buy on any occasion.  The list goes on. Whatever your hobby, your interest or your need for information, there is an App for it!


I didn’t want to sound like an advert but more a convert to this incredible, highly portable piece of technology. A highlight was that on my return to New York from London Heathrow I was given the option by my airline to either print my boarding pass on online check-in or download it on my phone.  Not hard to guess which I chose to do! Armed with my iPhone I go straight to the gates and at  security I hand it to the officer much to the bemusement of fellow passengers behind me.  Even the officer seemed surprised when his scanner read the barcode on my screen and confirmed my name and flight number. “Congratulations! This is the first time I have done this and it works!” he said to me as he handed me back my treasured accessory.  How cool is that!

A Summer Review

For those of you who do not live in the US, this statement may be revelatory - Summer here officially lasts from Memorial Day (last Monday in May) to Labor Day (first Monday in September). These three months of promised sunshine, long light days, balmy evenings, alfresco dining and quieter living usually pass by at motorway speed. As I sit here in the porch feeling the first autumnal shivers, I want to remember all those glorious sunshine moments of this past summer, and in order to help my memory bank I will do this in bullet form.

Highlights of my summer 2010:

- World Cup Soccer from South Africa (despite the early departure of the England football team which brought a deep chagrin to this devoted fan).

- Enjoying a day trip to Mystic Seaport on the 4th July with the family, and learning about the whaling and fishing community of bygone days. The tall ships and houses of the nineteenth century village was enlivened by a costumed and musical parade in all its patriotic glory. On visiting one of the old, traditional village houses and seeing a lack of toys and embellishments, Carolina, 4,  asks pityingly "Were they poor?"

- Drinking delicious Chateau Minuty rosé wine on the Cote d'Azur and in Provence accompanied by fresh fish and salads and fruits.

- Driving through the scintillatingly scenic roads of the South of France in a comfortable convertible with my husband, wind in our hair and Joe Dassin in our ears.

- Opera in Aix-en-Provence and enjoying Mozart's Don Giovanni under a starlit sky in a 18th century courtyard on 14th July, Bastille Day.

- Residing "chez un ami", Elias, in his magnificent home in St Rémy filled with lavender fields, olive and fig trees, stone walls; truly a home of traditional opulence and taste - a provençal Versailles! More importantly, the hospitality within the home exuded warmth and welcome in abundance. 

- Visiting the new Musee des Lettres et Manuscrits in Paris and reading letters from Proust to his mother and his friends, seeing the original encyclopediae of Diderot and digesting the beauty and expressions of the French language

- Weekends in Westport spent by the pool, dancing and swimming to Mamma Mia music, entertaining the family with alfresco barbecue dining and beach and bookstore visits. Lots of family fun with Marcello, Flavia, Nathan and Carolina and then also Claudia and Amir with Ella and Maya.

- My first trip to Brooklyn, eating oysters in Sheepshead Bay and pancakes on Brighton Beach, courtesy of my friends, Anjali and Satish.

- Visiting our friend, Danielle's new home on the lake in Watermill in the Hamptons and taking a kayak through the water-lilly pads and reeds while listening to the silence and peace of the water. Reading Moby Dick on my new iPhone on the banks of the lake and later playing guitar to an appreciative audience.

- A birthday cocktail party (mine) held in a newly opened New York City rooftop bar with many friends I admire and cherish who all made the effort to attend. Plus a surprise visit by my nephew and wife, on their way to Casablanca and two cousins from Australia and Canada.  A Soirée to Remember!

- Meeting my daughter, Karen's new beau, Anthony, and seeing her smiling from ear to ear, happily in love. Loving the fact he is a doctor and an Emergency doctor at that! Celebrating our meeting with champagne in Kettners, London. A good summer for Karen who, after working on Nigella Lawson's new cookery program, is flush with domestic skills and tips.

- Meeting my daughter, Stephanie's cute boyfriend, Max, a fellow student who plays the guitar, golf and oozes charm and politesse.

- Revisiting the place we grew up in London with all my brothers and sisters (bar one), with many of our offspring who looked on with great amusement as we stepped back into our childhood.

- Celebrating the 60th Diamond Wedding Anniversary of my parents in Somerset with all ten brothers and sisters, twenty (out of twenty five) grandchildren and four great grandchildren. Plus seeing again many of our close relatives and friends who we adore and have grown up alongside.

All the emotions of these reunions, family events and interactions and then the tearful goodbyes brought the summer to an exhausting end. Like the sun, we felt the warm rays of every moment, person and experience. The indulgence of this summer, enjoying the fruits of labour and love, is over and as I reminisce, I know I must face the next season with equal optimism, meticulous planning and overcome my regret that summer is over.

A Party with a P

It's always fun to receive family and friends in your city and show them the highlights of living the high life. Their views of New York, from movies, books, photographs and imagination, are then synchronized with your own personal commentary and experiences. I always like to make sure that these are mostly positive.

This week, we had the arrival of family members from Israel and dear friends from Salvador, Brazil. Juggling dinners, outings, entertaining, hosting and working is always tiring but at the same time very uplifting for the soul. I love company and I love hospitality, both giving and receiving.

Giving hospitality is a very Burmese trait. One's house is always open to guests and food is always readily on hand to offer. In fact the Burmese greeting of hello, "Mingala ba", means, "have you eaten your rice?" My parents would always be entertaining people, related or not, in our home and each guest would bring their own lively personality to the family dynamic.

So tonight, I decided to host everyone for a cocktail at 7pm. Arriving home from work at 6pm, I quickly raced around the apartment picking up papers, magazines, letters, shoes and stray clothing. Glancing at the empty freezer and the inappropriately stocked fridge, I decided to dash to the local supermarket and wine store to make sure my guests would be adequately catered for.

I picked up a bottle of Pimms, Pinot Grigio, peanuts, popcorn and pastries. I laughed at the alliteration of it all : "Tonight's cocktail party is brought to you by the letter P", Sesame Street would say to children. Nostalgically I poured the Pimms  to my guests who had never before had the opportunity to taste this refreshingly fruity cocktail so elegantly served at Wimbledon and other very English seasonal events. The Pimms Tent is a feature at so many of these summer venues and it has been far too long since I myself, have indulged.

So cheers! Come visit, one and all - it will be my pleasure to pour my palate-pleasing, party provisions for your particular predilections.

Flag-waving in Buenos Aires

My first trip to Buenos Aires coincided with a public holiday called National Flag day to commemorate the creation of the Argentinian flag by Manuel Belgrano in 1812. Very appropriately you could see the pale blue and white striped flags waving in their thousands throughout the city and displayed on buildings, cars and people. However, I think this had more to do with the fact that the country is united behind their soccer team in the World Cup. Whether the team's success so far contributed to the good humour and friendliness of the Portenos (residents of Buenos Aires) or whether they are always upbeat,  happy and helpful, it was still impressive.

The city is grand and ornamental. On the tree-lined Avenida de Mayo, I felt I was walking down Boulevard Haussman in Paris, complete with its art-nouveau iron works and its sumptuous literary Cafe Tortoni.  To me, Buenos Aires is "Paris but with graffiti".

Highlights included the Palermo Viejo district with its unique boutiques and quaint village feel, the Latin American art at the Malba museum, the gorgeous bookshop within a stunning theatre, El Ateneo, and the winter roses of the Rosedal Gardens.


But behind the facade of the neoclassical buildings with their bold Italian French flair, there are the scars of the economic crises that strike the country every six years or so.  The once elegant and famous pedestrian street, Florida, is now a mixture of tacky tourist shops and street vendors, luxury shopping mall and abandoned department stores such as (the once great) Harrods.


And if the Argentinians are upbeat about their soccer team they certainly are not about their arts and culture. Having proudly acquired tickets for the ballet at the newly refurbished Colon Theatre for our friend's birthday we were told it was "suspendido" due to the unions' strike. "Manon" will have to be for another day, another theatre, another city. But, meanwhile, Maradona is putting the smiles on everyone's faces and the optimism back into the country as they rise majestically to the challenge of the nations.

Surreal dreams

The Surrealist collection at the Tate Modern was inspiring! Our dreams and unconscious can bring such imagery to the canvas and here we saw them in colour, metal and objects that conjure strong imagery. I am determined now to paint my next dream visions and bring them to a Freudian or Jungian psychotherapist for interpretation. What those dreams would include would be journeys through multiple rooms, escaping obstacles and weaponry and an eventual victory over evil before arriving into a beautiful garden of peace.

I hope this is a good dream vision although my reality today was something as banal as an England World Cup match against USA that ended in a disappointing and humiliating draw. One goal each is as good as it gets for our national team. One point each on the league table and one point towards the last sixteen. I am determined now to forget the banalities of football scores and to concentrate on the meaningfulness of my dreams and to learn from their powerful imagery, like a Pollock, Burra, Picasso, Bacon and Miro.

Visions and visionaries

The New York City Ballet put on a "dramedy" in their new season of "Architecture in Dance" and I was so delighted that I got to see this just before leaving on my travels. Firstly the Lincoln Center in New York is one of the best places to visit and admire in the city and a wonderful venue for ballet, opera and the cultural arts.

Here, we were entertained by the dialogue and dance of this piece that sets out to tell the story of Las Vegas, which was the brainchild of a visionary gangster who gave all his heart and his money to both the project and to his girl. With the subtle set designs, costumes and choreography you are left marveling at the risks people took in those early days to turn a run-down town in the middle of the Nevada desert into the opulent gambling paradise that it is today.

How clever also to bring in the talents of famous architect and visionary, Santiago Calatrava, to design the sets and use his soft flowing, watercolor imagery to the stage of dance. A brave and successful collaboration.

The next morning, my bags were packed to leave on the early flight to London where my itinerary will include the Surrealist Visions at the Tate Modern as well as supporting the English team in their first World Cup match against the USA in an exclusive members club in Soho. Now why was I asked who I would be supporting this time? It's not just my citizenship but my strong English patriotism that qualifies me as an England Fan. I'm afraid my love for New York and my place of birth cannot supersede this though I do have a vision of building a piece of England in the middle of a warm, balmy island in the Mediterranean. How about the vision of England raising the Jules Rimet Cup high on July 11th? 

Two worlds

"After nearly 50 years in the press briefing room, Helen Thomas' tenure as a White House press correspondent has come to an ignominious end: The 89-year-old resigned on Monday in the wake of her controversial comments about Israel, in which she said Israelis should "go home" to Poland, Germany, and the United States."

Is this how an aging mind interprets complex issues in our ever increasing  complex world? Can Ms Thomas even remember her history? Israel's history is not to be discussed or judged lightly. Too much is at stake and too many times, pepole can be seen to sublimate their anti-semitism for anti-zionism.

We saw a Yiddish play yesterday, written by An-Ski in the 1920s about unfulfilled love and broken promises, a powerful philosophical look at love, life and death. In its Cabbalistic way, Der Dybbuk takes you on a journey of the Real World, the Beyond, the Divine and the Holy. It explains the importance of living life in its purest, holiest form, and shows how the perpetration of harm and transgressions can manifest itself through dead souls and reincarnation. "A worm only enters the apple when it is already rotten" says the Rabbi. Is punishment really only meted out to the deserving and is there a divine judge out there?

A dybbuk is an evil spirit which possesses a living person, a phenomenon that exists in many religions. In this play it is a young man who possesses his beloved before she marries someone else. Their destiny was supposed to be joined together in life but, instead they are eventually joined in death. I saw in this tale of conflict, of these souls torn between two worlds, how their deep psychological unrest could have been solved by intelligent mediation, dialogue and agreement.

In Israel today there are people for whom the exorcism of dybbuks is something very real and a divine and intelligent mediator is needed more than ever to solve this global conflict.

From "Golden" to "Sparkling" Girls

It seems we are forgetting why the television and movie industries were created. Like attending a live football or baseball match, it brings people together to witness and share an experience that exhilarates, entertains and lifts us out of everyday banalities. From the aural shock of Chaucer's Tales to the visual theatrical plays of Shakespeare and to today's screen offerings, people have been either amused or appalled by this media throughout the ages. For sure, there is a wide variety that caters to all tastes, cultures and education.

Today, I read with sadness the passing of "Golden Girl" Blanche Devereaux, aka Rue McClanahan. This actress played a sexually liberated woman in a popular TV series who enjoyed life to the full despite her advancing years. A woman in her sixties openly flirtatious and promiscuous was quite a revelation in the '80s! It was raucous fun with well delivered dialogue. Blanche was teased by her fellow housemate when told "your life's an open blouse".

Now we have the "Sparkling Girls" of the noughties.  The four glamorous ladies from "Sex and the City" have just been attracting hordes of young ladies to their local cinemas for almost three hours of giggles and uncensored enjoyment. Most of the audience were able to identify with the lives of these New York ladies in some form or other, whether as a lover or whether as a mother - they were just staying alive! (Words reminiscent of another iconic New York movie from the seventies, Saturday Night Fever).

So it was in a crowded cinema last Friday, I joined in the collective, fun-loving psyche of a New York audience. How can you NOT enjoy a talented Liza Minelli doing a wriggling rendition of a Beyonce number or a star Karaoke performance of a liberating female song or outrageous gags that make us all reticently smile widely. Yes, call it ghastly (at least in fashion terms) and demeaning (if you really want to feel threatened by such frivolity) but please, all you critics out there, stop telling people not to go and see it! Do I detect envy at its huge popularity and success? The series and the movie has wrapped New York City in an enticing, transparent chiffon gown with bows and ribbons. It draws in the tourists much the same way as the guards at Buckingham Palace with their traditional red tunics and bearskins.

Like "Mamma Mia", this movie is pure entertainment, musically, visually and sentimentally.

Oh, and for those of us who live in this world of conspicuous consumption and western values, the moral of the story is to find a way to be content with what you have and not to keep looking for eternal "sparkle", even and especially when you have made your own dreams come true.

Tweet Time

"So much time and so little to do - strike that, reverse it."

So said Willy Wonker in his chocolate factory. Nowhere is this phrase more true for me than in New York. The wide choice of things to do leads to more procrastination. What to do first? When to do this or that? How to fit this in if I'm doing that, etc.... All questions that serve to reduce action and bombard brain cells with clutter. That is how I have been feeling over the past few years. Lots of talk, little action and time spent on reacting to everyday events without proactive results.

I have several book projects in my head- my family's story from Britain, Armenia, Burma and back to Britain, my travel stories of Burma and Brazil, biographies of so many other interesting and amazing people I have met. All stories to immortalize and set in black and white type on my Mac.

Today, I have decided to focus! Camera, lights, Action! Here are my plans v what I eventually accomplish:

Day 1 - May 25th

I have decided to go active on Twitter to keep abreast of social networks, news feeds, friends, businesses and professionals I admire. I do agree with Mr George Packer, one of my favourite journalists, that Twitter is

"crack for media addicts".

But there are much worse addictions out there, Mr Packer, in this day and age, and, some of us need all the help we can get.

NY Times, Mr Carr says that:

“Twitter becomes an always-on data stream from really bright people.” And: “The real value of the service is listening to a wired collective voice … the throbbing networked intelligence.” And: “On Twitter, you are your avatar and your avatar is you.” And finally: “There is always something more interesting on Twitter than whatever you happen to be working on.”

So please, Mr George Packer tweet to me!

Read more: http://www.newyorker.com/online/blogs/georgepacker/2010/01/stop-the-world.html#ixzz0ox2NDRCU

I made a call to Verizon last Friday for technical assistance on my phone line in Manhattan. A nice girl from the Philippines, Sam, told me that a technician would come today anytime from 8am to 7pm. So forgive me if my day off today is not filled with trips to The Metropolitan's Picasso or the "American Woman -Fashioning a National Identity" exhibitions (the original to-do list). I have an all-day appointment with the cable man - oh joy!

Euro woes and news

The news today was pretty grim, mostly where Europe is concerned. The Euro is tumbling and soon, it is predicted, will be on a par with the dollar.

Portugal, Italy, Ireland, Greece and Spain, now known as the "PIIGS", have proved to be the weakest links in the strong European chain. All eyes and wallets are on Germany who is leading the rescue package to salvage a difficult economic situation that risks the failure of the common currency. Now it seems that Europe needs to have more parity with regards to domestic affairs and social hand-outs. What a telling time this will be for all countries concerned. Of course, the British can feel a slight sense of relief that they did not go hand in hand with all concerned in matters of their "purse strings". The Queen still sits proudly on our notes and is holding it all together for Britannia.

However, the sparkle is still in Cannes, where the Festival boasts stars and billionaires basking in their luminous limelights. Why on earth they chose "Robin Hood" to open the Festival is a complete mystery to me. It is a 13th century D-Day mixed up with all manner of historic events and characters, loads of awful anachronisms and those terrible cliches like "the Englishman's home is his castle". Did you know Robin Hood said that? I wonder what the French thought about it all, especially as their invasion forces turned around at the sight of bows and arrows and swords on a beach in Dover.

The funniest thing I read today was a comment by New York Mayor Bloomberg to a journalist who asked "Did you meet Lady Gaga there tonight?" The answer was "Yes, and we were wearing the exact same thing. How embarrassing for her". Yes, Mr Bloomberg, those sky high headresses and shoulder pads would definitely suit your sky high lifestyle!

A memorable cup of coffee

A remarkable difference between my life in the UK and here in New York is that when people ask to meet for a casual drink it is usually for coffee in a sleek cafe with sleek prices. The ambiance is elegant and demure and very conducive to meetings, networking and civilized conversation. New York runs on caffeine. I have come to depend on at least three cups of this dark brew a day and the variety makes it interesting - cappuccino, latte, espresso, macchiato, cortado, americano, french press - I love them all. New York offers variety in everything!

In London, (my daughter lives there full time so I know it is still true), the drink would consist of some alcoholic beverage consumed in a rather noisy, sombre-coloured, over-packed, trendy pub where conversations are often held in high-pitched tones to drown the neighbouring shrieks of collegial laughter and jokes. The "drink" is the winding down process for the day. Even if it is with work colleagues the drink serves to relax and let your hair down, which is anathema in the New York workplace.

Sharing a drink satisfies many of our social needs; for company, enjoyment and satisfaction. With this in mind, I was particularly drawn to one scene in the much vaulted and praise-deserving series on TV, The Pacific. In full cinematographic glory, Spielberg and Hanks bring to our television screens the grim brutality of the war fought between the US Marines and the Japanese. It is compelling, but in this one particular scene, a Guadalcanal war hero is offered a cup of coffee by the object of his affections, a pretty young mess sargeant. He remembers how good a cup of coffee tasted to him after his first major battle and near escape from death. This simple pleasure for him takes on a surreal dimension given the context it is set in. She, in turn, remembers that her best cup of coffee was offered to her in a cafe by her estranged father who by, adding just the right amount of sugar and milk for her, showed he was ready for reconciliation.

I, too, have an excellent recollection of my best cup of coffee and it is equally as "cheesy" as the Hollywood scene above. I was sitting at the terrace of my favourite cafe in Paris, Le Cafe de Flore, on a Spring morning in April ten years ago. I take solace in my solitude by basking in the sunshine and sipping my usual "grand creme" (French cappuccino). With this aura of contentment and pleasure I strike up a conversation with a lively group of people sitting on adjoining tables. Our serendipitous meeting is prolonged with a trip to the cinema and a farewell drink in a hotel lobby. Having spent the best part of this beautiful spring day in Paris chatting with one particular engaging gentleman in the group it is with no surprise that I hear from him again by phone and by emails from New York where he lives and works. Three years and countless transatlantic trips later, this gentleman becomes my husband and ten years later here we are sitting together enjoying a cup of coffee from our new espresso machine in our New York home, celebrating cafe culture.

Happiness is a cup of coffee.

A nice cup of tea?

Being of mixed descent with a name and birthplace that was unpronounceable and strange to most of my friends, I do remember always feeling part of a bigger picture - that of the old British Empire and its colonies. In fact, most of my life was large and empirical. Take my family of ten brothers and sisters and countless aunts, aunties and cousins. I soon came to realise that not every family had twelve people living together in a semi-detached house, or with five girls and five boys to one bedroom. My sisters and I would need to chop six onions and wash three pounds of rice for our family meals, and my brothers would take up five machines at the local launderette for our weekly wash. Luckily though, there were enough of us to make up two fairly good teams so we could indulge in all our favourite sports without leaving our back yard. Football, cricket and rounders teams would be formed in fair and challenging dimensions, enough to warrant many broken windows, lost balls in neighbour's gardens but lots of fun, laughter and of course, competitiveness.

Mixed descent means also mixed cuisines and so I remember fondly not only savouring the delights of Burmese curries and Armenian dolmas but also the very British High Tea and fish and chips, although not all on the same night. High Tea would be waiting for us on our return from school with dainty sandwiches filled with cucumber, salmon or jam, and of course, scones with lashings of cream and even more strawberry jam. All rinsed down with a nice cup of tea.

There is no doubt that the bonds of food-sharing are the ones that remain unbreakable as each meal nourishes the family, the friendship and the deep seated complicity of tastes.

High Tea would be very much a part of my parents' culture back in Burma. My mother's grandfather had begun his life in Rangoon, Burma after leaving Bristol in 1906. He and his offspring remained true to most things British, including the British style of education and the tradition of afternoon tea. Burma was cultured and civilized like most other colonial countries of the Empire. (Cultured, civilized, colonial countries - is that too much alliteration?)

Now to bring this story up to date and back to New York! This afternoon, I ask my husband if he wanted a "nice cup of tea" on his return from work. "I was told you have to warm the cup before you pour the tea" he quips, proud of his newfound knowledge from an undisclosed source. I smile as I remember the quintessential points of tea-making a l'anglais, showing how the teapot is warmed by the hot water before the tea leaves touch the surfaces, the drop of milk that is splashed into the cup before the tea , the wait of at least five minutes for the tea to brew before pouring into fine bone china cups. Then it is taste, the memories, the complicity of many high teas that rushed back into my mind back in the days before I left Great Britain.