Driving Down the Normandy Coast, With Time to Stop

Today was the kind of day you hope to get at least once or twice during a working press trip. A day where we got up late, had a leisurely breakfast, and got on the road in this beautiful part of France with time to mosey into small villages, stop to take photos, and pop into a beachside cafe to slurp up fresh oysters washed down with beer. The pace was relaxing and we hung beside the steep cement dock at Carteret until a group of fishing boats came to disgourge their fishy contents and refuel.

The men on the boats swung a hand cranked crane with plastic crates full of sole, crabs and smaller fish. They loaded their fresh catch into waiting vans, and then another smaller boat pulled up alongside the quay. The men began loading fish into the boat, and we looked at eachother...isn't the fish supposed to go in the trucks, not back on a boat? Later an African crewman explained that these were junk fish that they'd use for bait...and that his real catch was sole and the other flatfish, plus the spindly red crabs with barnicles on their backs.

We followed D902 as it wound down the coast toward Granville, our destination for the night. We stopped to shoot some photos in a field, catching just the right angle of a tractor that was pushing hay into a row. We spent some time in a busy little village and watched traffic pass as we sipped coffee and men bet on trotters in the dark bar. In Granville, we got a chance to taste bulot, one of the specialities of the La Manche region. In our country we'd call them welks, but they looked just like giant snails and had a briny, tough seafoody kind of taste.

France and Normandy once again has left me feeling like it's the exact place I want to be in this exact moment. As we watch another evening that will lag on and not get dark until about 10:30 pm, the glow of the wine and the feeling that we've captured many fine moments gives me great satisfaction.

A Gentleman Farmer Pours Us His 44

We met Alain Travert in front of his oven. Tucked away into a non-descript shed, the oven where he bakes natural bread doesn't look like much from the street. Inside, this retired bachelor farmer baker creates baguettes and country breads every day, and refuses to sell them to anyone. He'd rather give them away to friends.

He showed us his perfectly manicured gardens, a long tidy collection of every vegetable imaginable beside a well-trimmed hedge. He grows the hedges himself in little pots. We saw a few stumps of apple trees upon which he had grafted new shoots, it turned out he decided to improve a poor growing variety with a better one, attatching the new shoots to the stumps.

He grows all of this food for just himself, having retired a few years ago after a heart operation. Just about all he needs comes from this little patch and his baking shed. He asked us if we'd heard of 44, and explained that it's a drink that's made here in La Manches. You take a liter of Calvados and poke 44 holes in an orange, filling them with sugar cubes and 44 coffee beans. Three months later you have this sweet strong elixir known as 44.

Of course, primed by our lunch of sausages, salad bread and wine, we had to sample the stuff. I prepared myself for a gasoline sort of taste, asking for just half a dram. But damned if it wasn't as sweet and easy to drink as a fine liqueur. So I refilled my glass, much to Alain's delight.

Now That's a Cheese: The Market at Bricquebec

At the market in the medieval town of Bricquebec, all of the vendors ended our transactions with 'have a good holiday!' That's because the country is practically all on vacation...people's luxurious six weeks off begin about now. How civilized!

At the market we saw crates of small chickens being loaded into cardboard boxes, I hoped they were for backyard farmers but a Parisien told me that they're for dinner. Another vendor sold blue lobsters and giant crabs, driven up from Granville. The market stretched on and on, first the usual cheesy clothing dealers and then wound down into a side street with a glorious array of goat cheese, cider makers, bountiful produce, and men who made pizzas with ovens in the backs of trucks. I watched a young pizzamaker slowly cut sausage and gently put veggies on top, only to have the proprietor shoo him away, showing him to quickly dump the veggies on and wisk it into the oven. Then he opened the oven to find a burned pie, and dumped it with scowl.

Life here is simply more delicious...tasting the saucisse handed out with a smile from a stall, stopping in for a coffee next to a couple cuddling their tiny miniature doberman, the sunny skies pouring forth sun and the bountiful produce. I think heaven looks a lot like Normandy France.

Biking into Bricquebec, Crashing a Party

We made it to the tiny town of Brix, in Normandy's La Manche, a peninsula that makes up the western side of the province. Our trip from the seaside village of Barneville-Carteret took us past many tall hedgerows, behind which were rows of corn and wheat. At the end of a long downhill driveway, we saw the 13th century Chateau that Karin and Fran Tiljssen rent out to guests. We are staying in a castle! Our bedrooms are regal, the staircase is worn like an old castle's.

The couple bought the property 13 years ago, now most of their guests sleeping in the 25 beds are from Holland, the UK, or Germany. She speaks four languages, making it easy for people to find them directly and book their stay.

Traveling for a week with even the best of friends, you need a break now and again. So Paul set off in the car and I took off on a borrowed bike with two nearly flat tires. I was bound for the nearest town, Bricquebec, to find both air and sustenance.

Riding a bike is the best way to get to know a place, what with the smells, the sounds, and the closeness to the people beside the road that all add to your experience. I pedaled down a long hill and through some smaller villages until I finally made it the 7 kilometers to town. I heard music. I pedaled around the corner and saw a big band playing, with men in striped shirts in a big chorus behind them.

Table upon table was full of people feasting; there were almost 200 people there. I set down the bike and listened to the jaunty French folk songs, and a particularly sweet number featuring a woman on a picolo. I snuck over and helped myself to a giant bottle of water from a large iced tub. An old woman glanced at me, nudging her husband.

Before I could get in trouble I walked back to listen to the band--the servers were coming out with plates full of big slices of local cheese. On my way out I grabbed a slice and pedaled into the town, which has a medieval castle spared any damage during the war.

The way back was easier since I had found an airpump, and was fortified with my loaf of bread with lardons, (filled with bacon and topped with cheese). It's good to be out on a bike again, something about a 14 km ride makes you feel cleansed and tired. Tired in a good way.

Pouring a Bell in Villedieu-les-Poeles

The town of Villedieu-les-Poeles has been famous as metalworking mecca for 900 years. It began because in this part of town, the land was not owned by the king, and thus not subject to taxes. So artisans like bellmakers and copper forges thrived.

The Fonderie de Cloches Cornille Havard is where teenagers begin apprenticeships and end up as seasoned bellmakers. Our timing was perfect--we arrived just before they would be doing their weekly casting.

Here we watched as molten bronze and tin is poured to form bells. Behind us a throng of French tourists moaned as Shoul and I got in their way, closer to the hot action, owing to our status as visiting American journalists.

We asked our guide Geraldine Lorin how the bell business is faring these days. "There are only three bell makers left in France," she said, "and 30 across Europe. So that keeps us very busy." What is the largest bell you've ever made?

"We are working on a bell for the church at Mulhouse, it will be six tons," she said. We looked down at the 10-foot wide bell, encased in a mold of goathair, horse manure and mud. They would create another layer above this and then it would be used to hold the molten bronze, copper and tin alloy. "We don't make the clangers," Geraldine said, "Those are stainless steel and are make in a different factory."

A French Market: Where Bizarre Shellfish Can be Found

We learned when we first arrived in Granville that this coast is famous for shellfish, and that the lively city where we were staying was the de facto capital of the area, since it is the largest town on the coast. This morning we got a chance to see the spoils that are brought up from the Atlantic in the downtown market, that starts in the main square and winds its way up and around nearby streets.

I found out what the Bulot looks like--they're giant snails. We also saw white squidlike creatures about five inches around and eight inches long, with eyes the size of nickels, cuttlefish, I think. The people all over the market were friendly and eager to share samples of the delicious local andouille sausage and then I tried a cheese made from both cow and goat milk from a farmer.

The most popular stall was the one selling long sausages cooked over a charcoal grill. They pile on french fries wrapped right in with the french bread with the sausage, and slather it with mustard. I held off on the fries as I watched Shoul devour his. Enough calories to kill a horse, was how he described it.

Later we got in the car and drove through fields and past tall hedgerows to Barneville-Carteret, a sleepy beach town with not a lot going on, but the ocean front and center. Our hotel here affords us elegant views of the sea, and tomorrow morning we'll watch the tide come up a thousand yards to just in front of us. Here is a view from the top of the casino of Granville's Atlantic coast.

The Shooter Meets the Painter in Granville

"You should leave the shooting to me, and just concentrate on the writing," said my traveling buddy Paul Shoul. Well, he has a point, he has much better equipment and is willing to lug it everywhere also always willing to go the extra mile for a good shot. Here is Paul doing what he does best, meeting people, smiling, joking, and managing to eke out the best shots of the day.

This painter was by his window shirtless, a friendly man who was happy to be photographed, part of Granville's active artists community.

One thing I have learned from Shoul is that the moment you leave your camera behind a fantastic shot will come up and you'll swear you should have brought the camera. That's why he's almost never, ever without at least one Canon on his shoulder. Click to see his photo of Philippe Marlette.

Coming Back to Gritty, Salty Granville

We arrived in Granville, on a spit of land jutting out just above the famous Mt. St. Michel on France's coast. I came here when I was 16, traveling Europe in a group trip with other kids, and I stood on a corner and recognized a gauzy, hazy memory...a movie theater once stood in a building that is now a casino overlooking the vast lowtide that stretched out for a thousand yards. I told my guides and they laughed, 'you're right, it was a theater,' and I marveled at how long ago it was that I came here and retained memories of this gritty old seafarer's town of about 15,000.

Our accommodations here are first rate--a modern Ibis hotel beside a bustling marina, surrounded by a wall that shows the remarkable tides, which rise qnd fall about 20 feet. "It's dangerous, because people can get caught off guard," said our guides, "everyone plans their beach trips depending on the tides, and so do the boaters." The yachts can't get out during low tide, and the soccer player's field and the wide open expanse where people gallop horses is gone as well.

Granville is a seafarer's town with a fleet of boats and the local specialties are bulot, snails, scallops, dorade and skate. It was settled in the 1400s by English who wanted to use the city to plan an attack on the fortified Mt. St. Michel, which was still held by the French. They didn't succeed. Way off in the distance, dark patches on the beach were mussell farms. A local specialty is oysters with camenbert, which doesn't sound very appealing.

Both Normandy and Brittany fight over who actually owns Mt St. Michel, the number one tourist spot in France after Paris. A river that separates the two provinces is being diverted, to avoid the erosion and build up of sand. So soon, the river will flow equally around it, so it will be even more difficult to decide whether it's in Brittany or Normandy.

Normandy's Thriving D-Day Tourism Sites

Here in Longue-sur-Mer, a Sherman tank rests next to one of the thousands of metal barricades put up by the Nazis to stop the invasion. The business of showing tourists these D-day attractions comes in third for popularity in Normandy, after Mt. St. Michel and Honfleur.

At Arromanches, we joined a herd of bus passengers and saw the remains of the artificial harbor created by dragging hundreds of cement caissons over and sinking liberty ships. Just enough remain out in the distance to show the shape and size of that man-made harbor, where long bridges were set up to drive tanks, trucks and guns onto the shore.

We scampered inside the former pillboxes and saw four cement batteries, two with the rusted 155 mm guns still inside. All of this elaborate machinery and construction to defend what was ultimately not defendable. We learned that most of the French farmers here between 1940-44 were forced to work in labor camps, so they couldn't trim the roadside hedges, so they were overgrown. The soldiers relied on their clickers to determine whether friend or foe lay on the other side. Cows played an important role since many of the fields were mined, and the animal's natural curiosity would draw them toward a hiding sniper.

It is remarkable to me that so much of this place is still just open farmland, as far as the eye can see. Despite this influx of millions of tourists on buses, the simple agricultural economy continues, though I'm sure it pales in comparison with what is generated from tourists who pay 59 euros apiece to get a four-hour tour of these sites.

Here is a shot of Omaha Beach, where the highest number of casualties occurred, it's one of the widest and longest stretches of open sandy beach I've ever seen.

Haunting Face at Caen's Memorial Museum

This haunting image fades to black every 10 seconds, signifying the horrific number of deaths in the Nazi-run concentration camps of World War II. The museum takes you on a journey beginning in the 1918, and lays out a time-line that began with World War I's Treaty of Versailles, through the worldwide depression, and ending with the final days of the war in Europe in May, 1945. An attempt is made to show how one begat another and how people in such desperate straights as pre-war Germans would ever vote in such a monster as Hitler.

I came away with many thoughts after this startling collection of video, memorabilia, photographs, audio of speeches and even two young actors speaking in costume the roles of Jewish citizens.

Much is made here of the fact that France was so quick to sign a peace treaty and become one the occupied territories of the Axis; we hear a speech by General De Gaulle pleading with his countrymen not to sign, and to resist. The French today or at least the people who created this impressive huge trove of historical relics seem to feel that the government of France did a great disservice by being so easy to conquer.

Another display showed the V1 rockets that Germany used to bomb England, which in the early 1940s had already started the use of missiles to kill people. A map provided chilling details about the vast galaxy of extermination and detention camps all over Poland and Germany, and showed how officers and political prisoners were sent to different camps than Jews, gypsys and other people that Hitler wanted to extinguish from the world. Letters written by GIs gave a glimpse of what they went through, and a chart at the very beginning showed that Germany and Russia lost the most lives in the long, terrible war in Europe.

A visit to the D-Day beaches and the many memorials there brought the museum's vast collection into a sharper focus. Trees at the US-maintained American cemetary are trimmed like giant hedges, and row upon row of crosses intermingled with stars of David each show the name, rank and state where the dead serviceman came from. Many just say 'here rests a comrade in arms known but to God.'

The Beach at Etretat, Where Monet Was Inspired

A Visit to the Palace of B&B in Fecamp

We went to a palace yesterday devoted to a certain spirit. That would be B&B, Benedictine liqueur, which is actually manufactured in a 1900s gothic/romanesque palace in the oceanside town of Fecamp.

"Everything here is about the drink," our guide Danielle told us as we glided from room to room, eyeing priceless works of art, a collection of ancient keys and locks from the 14th century, and other treasures that the inventor of this drink assembled in this grand palace to get people in the door.

Even the stained glass angels are pictured holding a bottle, gazing down from heaven with regal bearing. After magnificent rooms full of treasures, we made our way to the cellar where displays show the 27 spices and aromatics that are blended to make the strong elixir. And of course, it ended with a taste, but at 11 am, I had to do no more than sniff the potent stuff. Shoul of course dove in to sip all three.

One display was a pyramid of bottles from around the world, all copyright infringements on the B&B and Benedictine name. Who knew that in Poland they made their own version of this stuff and tried to pawn it off as real B&B?

'A Good Drink' and the Norman Hole

Have you ever heard of the Norman Hole? It has to do with the cherished apple digestif Calvados, which has been made in towns here in Normandy for centuries. Our guide Jean-Paul Herbert educated us about this tradition while we ate fish at a beachside restaurant in Le Havre this afternoon. The Norman Hole is what you have between meals, a shot of the fiery apple brandy in between courses to cleanse your palette. He said that some women now prefer to have a little bowl of Calvados sorbet, or even a few drops on a sugar cube. But the burly fishermen and farmers swear by the shot. Tonight we sipped our Calvados after the meal, not in between.

Herbert also talked of having 'a good drink.' We paused at that, and he explained that he meant a drink with friends, a collegial sort of belt, a social time. That's a good drink. We walked for what felt like miles across the shore and docklands of this bustling port city, and watched two oil tankers and then two container ships make their way to the huge cranes of the port. While Marseille claims the title of shipping the most freight, Le Havre has big plans to expand, adding ten cranes and dredging their port to accommodate the biggest container ships, which dwarf today's models. The city also has plans to build a tram, like they have in Caen, to wean people off of having to bring cars into the city. We saw a model of this big plan when we went to the Hotel de Ville (city hall) to view the city from the 17th floor.

Le Havre's harbor area was nearly completely flattened by allied bombers, and the rebuilding was led the great architect Auguste Perret. His work was so lauded by people around the world that the redevelopment area has been proclaimed a UNESCO World Heritage site, rare for an urban area, but a designation that made everyone here very proud.

Up on Top of the Cliffs at Etretat, Thinking of Jumpers

Up and down the coast of Normandy there are high chalk cliffs that sometimes go as high at 200 meters. We got a chance to see these impressive natural barriers up close today as we had lunch in front of the large-pebbled beach at Fecamps.

This town of about 10,000 was once the capital of Normandy (well, in the 10th and 11th century anyway) and today it's a tourist mecca where people come to sit by the sea and munch on big bowls of mussels. The Norman preparation of these delicate little sea creatures is in a broth of cream and cider. The mussels were much smaller and more tender than the ones we have in the US. To the right and to the left as we sat at the seaside Le Reidroc restaurant, the cliffs loomed, and out at sea we watched local schoolchildren learn to sail boats in a stiff wind.

Later we drove up the coast on a lovely winding road that took us by farms and houses with million-dollar views of the sea. We stopped at the village of Yport where we saw another dramatic cliff formation but found just down the road at Etretat an even more spectacular formation. Jean the local tourism board rep told me that every year about 10 or 12 people plunge to their deaths in suicides off of these high cliffs. The shape of the cliff looks like an elephant's trunk, and behind the elephant is a tall high formation they call the needle.

It's natural drama, and everywhere we looked there was more of it. This part of the world is certainly blessed with beauty. We spent the night in Le Havre, where across the street from our hotel is a manmade jaw-dropper. It's an arts center and cinema that looks like a massive yogurt container with its top off. Kids were running up the steep sides seeing who could go up the farthest.

At Rouen's La Couronne, They've Served Since 1345

Last night for dinner we choose the oldest Inn in France. It was opened in 1345 and through the centuries the owners at La Couronne have compiled the ultimate walk of fame up and down their staircase and in the upstairs dining room.

A panoply of French stars and old Hollywood royalty shine smiling in signed photographs on the wall. Here is Ernest Hemingway, there's Salvador Dali, there is the bright and beautiful Princess Grace. We even have the Queen of England, who signed for the folks too. Oh, and the last emperor of Ethiopia, he ate here too.

It was a bit chilly in the still light night air as we sat outside and enjoyed veal, some Norman chicken, and especially savored the Normandy cheese selection that our Peruvian waiter deftly dished up using two knives. A throng of Belgian tourists walked by, identified by nametags, and young cool French cats defied the chilliness in short sleeves, puffing on their Gauloises.

It's always a pleasure to settle up after a night of fine service with a bill that's straight up. No taxes no tips, just 60 euros, split down the middle. Oh, that's the other nice thing about dining with a colleague, I don't have to pick up the check.

Rouen, Where Young Joan Went Up in Flames

I'm in my hotel room in Rouen France and the sunlight is streaming in the window. Outside the sun feels like it's about 5:30 pm, but shockingly, it's just after 8. Here we are so far north and it's just one day past the longest day of the year. I asked Isabella our tourism guide here what time it got dark and she said around 11 pm.

Rouen is a city of about 100,000 with a rich history, much of which centers around the famous girl Saint Joan of Arc. In 1979 a long tall building was built at the site of the place where she was so famously burned at the cross. There are remnants here of an ancient church that was carted away to make room for an outdoor food market. The building sweeps up and looks like the hat I've seen her wearing in paintings, inside it looks like a giant ship. Sixteenth century stained glass windows tell stories of Jesus and at night these colorful windows are lit from the inside to show off to those outside.

In the distance just a few blocks away is the famous 150 meter high spire of the main Cathedral at Rouen. It had four shorter spires around this immense one but in 1999, a tornado blew one of them down and it crashed into the nave.

The city is full of young people and many open squares, built after the bombing of WWII reduced much of the old buildings to rubble. One square is called April 19, 1944 square, a date that both the priceless cathedral and the city were bombed by the allies fighting the occupied land.

Today thousands of students hang around cafes and there are many pedestrian areas..and sometimes smooch in the cathedral! These are the kinds of open pedestrian places I've always thought Northampton MA needed!

Celebrating at Milestone at Camp Keewanee

Last night we joined a throng of more than 100 men, women and children at the Camp Keewanee in the sticks north of Greenfield to celebrate a milestone in the Valley. Joe O'Rourke turned 50, with a full stage of musicians, dozens of family members in special green tee shirts, and a rollicking celebration he planned all by himself.

I remember in November when we asked Joe what he wanted for this special day. I could see his mind whirring, thinking of how he'd want to celebrate. Then just a month ago I got the evite, which was cool because it told me just who was coming and who would not be there. As you'd expect, it involved his legions of musician friends and included renditions of songs he's written over the years.

The pavilion make the threat of rain no problem, and there was plenty of room to dance, and to catch up with many folks I hadn't seen in a long time. David and Janis Sokol were both looking radiant and I got a chance to meet friendly WRSI Morning Man Monte Bellemonte and his wife and child.

I didn't want to miss my chance to toast my old friend, who I've known since 1975, so when the musicians were in between sets I grabbed the mike. I told him the crowd that Joe's the guy you want on your team, because he plays really hard and always wants to win. And that he's not only a great friend, but he's a great radio rep. And all of these people were there because of the legacy he's built and the relationships he's nurtured over these wonderful first 50 years.

The Orange Store of Tomorrow

On the eve of my departure for France, I decided that I can't resist the lure of the iPhone. So I popped into this AT&T Store and plunked down $200 on the new 3GS phone, in white.

I am so enamored with my itouch that I know I am going to love this new phone. But I'll have to wait til I get back, and am glad that I won't be tempted to use it in France, where data rates make the phone's ubiquitous email too expensive.

The phones were all sold out, so they placed my order and when I get back, I'm plugging into 'Net everywhere and email whether I've got Wi-Fi or not.

Venus & the Cellar Bar: Making Easthampton Even Cooler

I was excited when I asked Shoul where he was going tonight, Friday, my usual going out night. He said he was going to the 'soft opening' of a new wine bar and upscale restaurant in Easthampton, called Venus & the Cellar Bar. I hopped into the truck and made it there around 7. Read my review of the food from July 11 here

If I were opening a new restaurant or bar, I'd follow Michael Vito's lead and do it in Easthampton. Rents are lower, permits are a breeze, and there's a nice buzz about the city. It feels like Easthampton is raring to take over Northampton as the coolest place to be in the Valley.

I descended the steps to the lower wine bar, a cellar that Michael said they had to dig 18"down in dirt, and there were my two friends, smiling, waiting to say hello. Michael I remember from my days at the Daily Hampshire Gazette, I was an ad salesman back then in the '80s, and Vito covered City Hall. He went on to spend eight years with Senator John Kerry, and now he lobbies for energy companies and has his hand in this new venture.

Vito loves to harken back to his days as a reporter, and his time as a staffer to a big Washington Senator. He still has his hands all over politics, judged by how many times he said what he was about to tell me was off the record. But for the record, this new place Venus, is very cool and I predict they will be tremendously successful...in fact they might even herald in a new era of Easthampton coolness. He gave me his card, and I will use it in the future to grab a table and sample the menu, which was heavy on French dishes, and skewed to the higher end.

I can't wait to try the Salade Nicoise, and the halibut, which he recommended, and I'm sure with Casey Douglas of Apollo Grill in the kitchen, it will be delicious. Good luck Mike and partners!

Email from Iran: No Photo

I asked Parin if I could publish her photo, that I took in the desert. She replied today, as I expected, and said no. This is a photo on the bus as we drove back dancing in the aisles. This is not Parin!


hi
nowadays we have a real bad condition in our country so i prefer that you just publish my idea without any picture or with some green rectangle with this : Where IS MY VOTE?!
thank you very much

I read a piece on Time Magazine's website about Mousavi. His credentials from his 20 years in government include helping form Hezbollah, which was born in Iran. The story also said that the candidate was among those in Iran who didn't want to give the hostages back to the US, a hardliner's hardliner. So to me, this election and this struggle in Iran isn't just about the president. It's about the validity of the election, and the rights of women and the government's propensity to force women to follow laws like headscarves.

It's not black and white for sure, and though Iran is polarized, they don't have our country's easily defined left and right. I bet many of the people who marched didn't vote at all, but are now caught up in a fight about an election that's about so much more. Wow, exciting...I want the best for the forces of liberation, freedom and right to be.

Buried in the Fine Print: Money for Bike Commuting

I got a press release from Brian Mullis, he runs Sustainable Travel International, and he had a good point that somehow got by me. There's a new Bicycle Commuter Act.

Buried in the fine print of the massive bail out bill is a provision to reward employers who make lives easier for bicycle commuters. If they provide showers, bike racks, bike tune-ups, and other support for bike commuting they can knock $20 per month per employee off their taxable income.

I can just see radio commentator Howie Carr screaming crazy mad over this. He hates bicyclists and bike lanes, and he'll brand this a 'beautiful people' provision. But this is the kind of thing you have to do to make an entire country start to come around, and stop treating cars as their only transportation option.

A New York Times blog says that the same sort of incentive for mass transit cha chings out at $115 per person, and that there are other subsidies for people who drive cars to work. I think these types of things, small little additions to massive spending bills, are how incrementally, we'll someday change our car-obsessed society. More bikes would be a good thing!

Rahpeymayi: We Walk in Silence in Iran

Parin from Tehran again sends me an email from the thick of the Iran protests...

hi again :)
first of all thank you very much.
(rahpeymayi) i mean we walk in silence in the street during a long distance with our want in our hands..as you certainly see in news in VOA or BBC...we don't want war or roghness ,we have been walking during these days till we can took back our vote and our right. we love police and our people we just want a clear answer just it :) we keep doing this till they give us our right and act like a real civilization country , because we are so wise and strong and nobody can tell lie to us ;)
i hope you get my mean! my english is not very good i'm so sorry.
again thank u :)

I spent much of last night alternating between two fascinating things: an HBO movie special, a film about Farah, the Shah of Iran's Queen, made by a female Iranian filmmaker, and the Twitter stream called #iranelection, that provided up to the  minute news, links to video, and fantastic photo slideshows of the masses walking with the defiant V of their outstretched fingers.

The movie focused on Farah's life today as a celebrity former royal, who is still regarded with the deference befitting a queen. The filmmaker is told to leave, then comes back nine months later and becomes very close to the older woman.  We also see a scene with the son of the Shah, Reza Pahlevi, who is very well regarded in LA's huge Iranian community.   

Funny, going from history before 1979, and what is happening RIGHT NOW in Tehran. 

An Email From Iran

I sent out a letter to some of the Iranians I met on my trip there in November. I asked them to tell me about the situation there as they see it, and wished them the best from me and from all Americans. I told them that we supported them and hoped that the election situation would be resolved soon. I told them many of us here were in their corner against fraudulent elections.

A young woman I met on a daytrip to the desert outside of Tehran replied to me. Below is what she said. I feel for her and hope that getting this out will tell the world what is happening there.

hi :)
i remember u sir
actually i'm so angry because we didn't choise MR.Ahmadi nejad again and he cheated!
we wanted to take our right back but they shoot us and .... you see all the video i know, because now a days ,we are every where!!!!
but i want to say that: we LOVE our country and we don't want any revolt or roghness, we just want our vote to this election....
we wanted to save our country in peace and confederation.
so we have hiking (rahpeymayi) every day till day answer us whitout any hide side!!! we want the clear answer!
and u know today I was in hiking ,we were walking in the long distance without say anything! we rote our wants in paper and we show them and we show V with our hands , and we all use green thing as our sign! and today they didan't do any thing and they let us to walking without any problem and we say hi to our soldier and they had answerd :)
we just want peace and freedom. just it!
so i really ask u to write in your blog that, we love each other and wedon't want any revolotion and losing our pepole! we can do it i know! and I hope that God and all the world help us without any interfearing....just wish us luck and say the real news :)
thank u very much

From an Upscale Strip Club to Bring Your Own Beer

I am big reader of trends....trying to ascertain from newspaper articles which way the winds of change are blowing. A story a few days ago in the WSJ pointed to a new industry that's having trouble...the Strip Club business.

The two largest publicly-traded strip club operators are Rick's and VCG, together they have seen sales drops in their 18-20 clubs. One way that strip clubs get business is paying cabbies in Las Vegas cash to bring them customers. At one time the going rate was $30 a person, now they are offering $100 a pop....which is becoming a drag on their 'bottom lines.'

One other trends the owners of clubs are seeing is that the elusive high rollers, who would in olden days buy $750 bottles of Cristal champagne, are harder to find. Rick's has converted one upscale club into something quite different. Now the same club is an all-nude, bring your own beer venue, since it was hard to get the liquor license.

Of course there is always an upside to a downside, in some ways at least. It's easier to find 'dancers' to work in the clubs, now some of the new recruits are former bankers, real estate agents and fashion designers. A woman who was once a mortgage broker cited the pros and cons of the work: you'll make lots of money, 'but you'll sacrifice your normal life," she said.

You Must Have a Chinese Name, He Insists

Yesterday I dove back into Jeffrey Tayler's marvelous new book about his trek across the wildlands of the former USSR, called "Murderers in Mausoleums." At this point in his long journey he has reached Urumqi, China, a large city where many races mix. There are the usual Han Chinese, who dominate commerce and run most of the businesses and there are Uygur, distinctive curly hair, prominent noses and square cheekbones. The forty-five year old author decides that a club called Chu Dong, or Touch Club is where he can go and meet young people to ask them about their lives in the city.

Because he's lived in Russia for thirteen years and spent much of his younger days in Russian clubs, he is wary of a man from Kazakhstan who strides over and shakes his hand when he enters the club. Tayler speaks both Russian, some Chinese, Arabic and Turkish, so he's well equipped wherever he goes. "Come play with us!" shouts the fellow, dressed in black with gelled cropped hair. They toast eachother, and Tayler realizes that play means dance, and they do, as a giant video screen shows Fort Lauderdale's spring break bar scenes with girls performing strip teases and guzzling from pitchers of beer.

He meets another man the next night who tells him that Urumqi was his City of Dreams, ýou can make good money here and that his employer paid for his apartment. Then it's on to something that happens regularly in China: What is his name in Chinese? He tells him it's Jie Fu, but his new friend isn't happy with that. "It sounds bad, there is no such name in Chinese."

"Well, can't it just be Jeff?"the author pleads. "No we don't have this name." He argues as they insist that the name he's chosen isn't right. "How about Wang? or Li?" He's happy that they were distracted by girls in black bikinis, statuesque and lithe, in black stiletto boots, Touch's professional dancers. They simulated sex acts to the delight of the raucus crowd.

Iran's Voters Re-Elect the Past, Many Claim Fraud

In Iran, Mahmoud Ahmadinejad has been declared the Presidential election's winner. The city took down the internet and blocked text messages, according to an AP story and protesters have been throwing rocks and making fires in the streets, tangling with black-clad police.

When I visited Iran in November, I asked many young people what they thought about their president, and the reaction was universal: We don't pay any attention to him. This uniform desire to ignore voting and politics contrasted with how bothered some of the young women were by the cruising morality police and the restrictions on freedom of dress and expressions of love with boyfriends. I pressed my friend Orchid, asking her if she didn't agree that voting against a fool like Ahmadinejad was worth the effort. "They're all rigged, it's all a fraud," she insisted.

Today's AP story said that the real leader, Ayatollah Ali Khomenei, has closed the door to any compromise with the opposition, who maintain that this election was rigged, and even the US has refused to accept the notion of a 62-34 million landslide victory for the incumbent.

I think back to my time in Tehran where I had time to walk the streets of North Tehran and our trip out into the desert where I got to see young people bask in the freedom of not wearing headscarves, talking freely, and holding hands with their partners. I read about Iran with an eagerness to see change, and hope that the Mullahs and backward-looking leaders are voted out. But then when I think about how steadfast the apathy was in the young people I met, I realize it will take a lot longer to see real change there.

In 25 Years, He Never Saw Penske Crack a Joke

I remember a story that a cook told me when I used to work out on Nantucket. "One time Roger Penske was here on the island with the chairman of Toyota," he said. "He couldn't speak any English but he liked the lobster I made for them." My friend said Penske has a big spread on the island and that he liked to bring famous guests with him when he came out on his jet.

Penske is in the news again with his purchase of Saturn. A profile of the famous former race car driver didn't make him sound like somebody I'd ever want to meet. "Gossage has known Penske 25 years. And in all that time, he can't recall them ever sharing a laugh together. "You don't joke with him," he said, "it's all business, no small talk."

Anyone with a rep like that doesn't sound like somebody you'd want to have a beer with nor a lobster. But I am impressed with the man's Smart Car franchise, selling Daimler's tiny two-seater so well that there's a waiting list. Saturn, though, will be a lot tougher, since the brand has never made any money nor clearly defined what exactly it is. The marketing has been all about what it's not, they nearly hid GM's ownership to try and capture Toyota and Nissan customers.

But with Penske's existing network of dealerships, the 2nd largest auto retail chain by sales, maybe he can turn Saturn into a profitable brand.

At the Bar, a $12 Cover Sends Me Packing

I sat at the bar at the Lady Killigrew and watched the Sox on a flat-screen, high def TV. I was waiting for Steve, who had taken the scenic route over on his scooter, enjoying the vistas of the late afternoon sun on Blue Meadow Road. Outside people were sitting at tables beside the roaring Mill River; downstairs at the Night Kitchen, an elegant white tent was spread over the deck. I looked down and all I could see was a man's leg and sockless loafers.

Steve said he wanted to hear the music upstairs at the Book Mill. It was two women who had just been sitting next to me at the bar, one played guitar and the other a banjo. A sign said the cover was $12 to get in. Instead, I ambled back down to the bookstore and read a passage from one of my all-time favorite books, Ken Follett's The Pillars of the Earth. Ironically, the book cost the same as the cover charge, so I decided to head over to the Rendezvous. There, the cover was only $3, so I figured even if the band sucked, it was worth it.

At the bar TV game seven of the Stanley Cup Finals had Pittsburgh leading the Detroit Red Wings. I asked the chubby bartender if they wouldn't mind switching it to the Red Sox game. But beside me, a man called out, "no no, don't turn it, this is game seven!" He later apologized for his vociferous objection, but I complimented him on being a sportsman. I told him about how much fun I had visiting Pittsburgh last June, and about how it was the smallest city in the US to have its own pro football, baseball and hockey teams.

The musicians began to play: two very loud guitars and a guy banging on drums. The decibel level crept up so that the four guys next to me in baseball hats had to yell into eachother's ears to be heard. I was glad I only paid $3, and walked out into the night to go back home.

You'd Think Water Was Free...But It Isn't

Being a restaurant owner is tough. I read in today's Boston Herald about a good intentioned chef owner of a high-end Italian place in Braintree who got punished by his customers for trying to recoup some of the costs of providing glasses of water to diners.

Joe Viola figured out the cost of the lemon, the ice, washing the glass and the straw and realized that it really does cost him for each glass. But the customers wouldn't budge. One savvy waitress, who by habit tallies up her bill line by line, noticed the $2.00 charge on the bill for the water. Her husband thought they had made a mistake. There was no explaining it to her, she was mad and hasn't been back to Joe's restaurant since.

You'd think that customers would understand...but they just don't come back. We offer our customers water at the cafe, and there is no way we're gonna try to charge for it. Maybe our solution is better: lose the lemon and the straw and let them get it for themselves out of the Poland Spring cooler and use the tiny plastic cups.

Odds and Ends on a Rainy Friday Morning

It's been a weird Spring. It is almost never warm and sunny; instead we get these dregs of what feels like March, or the bluster and overcast skies of late fall. I am sure that I am joined by all of the citizens of Massachusetts in wishing that it would finally become summer and warm up.

We have been keeping our new interns very busy at GoNOMAD. Sometimes it's a juggling act; thinking of writing assignments, coming up with tasks to help our cause, and getting them rolling on writing daily blogs and sending out emails. We have three interns this summer who are all bright and eager and it feels like we're finally figuring out how to harness their intelligence and drive to good use.

Next week I'm putting my cafe staff to the test--asking them to come in and clean the cafe as well as have pizza and attend a meeting about our standards and how we make food. It's a bit of a test, since I sent out the email saying the meeting was mandatory. I just hope that the staff will show up and that a frenzied 6 or 7 person attack will go far to make the cafe shine and get everyone on the same page food wise.

She Takes Her Rooster Into the Pool

Last night while Cindy was on the phone I grabbed the TV remote and surfed to a program about chickens. It was all about the chicken business, and about people who love these creatures dearly. One Virginia man rhapsodized about the funny noises his backyard flock emits, and how he lets them wander freely all over his large farm, free to forage for insects and consume as many little pebbles as they want. "They're incredibly smart," he said, but eating rocks to me doesn't make them smart.

Then we met a woman who has a pet rooster. She takes swims in her pool with her gussied up bird, and after the swim she washes him in a tub and blowdries his feathers to an elegant sheen. She even sets up a dainty pillow for him to recline in while he watches Pavarotti sing on the TV. She pampers the bird like a lapdog, and says he's the best pet she's ever had, so loving and so faithful.

Cut to the 250 million laying hens who provide us with so many eggs. They live six to a crate, just enough room to turn around, and they never turn out the lights on these eight layers of life in the giant chicken house. I felt sorry for the poor birds, mostly because I know that they are social creatures who love nothing more than to hunt and peck in fields for bugs and pebbles.

The Marlboro Monopoly Act or Breakthrough Law?

Smokers are getting boxed in even more tightly. A story in last night's WSJ said that Congress is poised to put the tobacco industry under the regulation of the FDA. To some people in the business, this actually is a huge win for tobacco's biggest company, Altria, because it freezes market share at today's level, leaving the Marlboro man at the top of the pack.

Detractors call the new legislation "The Marlboro Monopoly Act" because after it passes, the only magazine ad we'll see are dull gray 'tombstone' ads full of disturbing text, and half of each side of each pack will scream out a warning against smoking. No one will be able to gain market share with ads and packaging like this.

Makers won't be able to call their cigs 'mild' 'lite' or 'low tar' on the pack. This should also make creating a cigarette billboard pretty tough.

While a veto-proof Congress is celebrating and calling it a great victory 'for the children' other reps aren't so happy. Mike Enzi (R-Wyoming) calls it a "peace treaty with Philip Morris, [and] no way to win war on tobacco.

There's Nobody Quite Like That Generation

As I sat in my parent's backyard in the dappled Sunday sunlight, we talked about what we liked, and what we felt about our lives. I felt lucky to be thinking excitedly about going back to work the next day, and how great it is to love what you do so that it flows directly from your Sunday to workweek Monday, without any interruption. I thought too that I was lucky to be close to my dad, to know him and to be a part of his life.

Often Cindy and I talk about that generation of which my father belongs, the World War Two generation that looks at life through a much different lens than younger people do. It's distinct and it's passing and it will never be again a part of the American fabric...a whole swath of people who shared the war memories and serving in the various branches of the military. For both sexes that added something to your character, something that we'll all miss some day.

I thought about that when I walked up the gangplank of the battleship USS Alabama on an early morning in Mobile Alabama. I heard the swing music and saw the photos of the men working on the ship, and thought about this generation, and my dad. We told him that we thought his letters would make a fantastic book, a collection of the sweet, understanding and rich letters he sent and eulogies he presented. I hope that someday he does collect these and offers them to a publisher. people would get a great deal out of his well crafted words from over the years.

In the Chow Line, A Miraculous Coincidence

We drove up to Chris and Susan's farm to celebrate his 57th birthday, and arrived to a porch full of people sipping wine and mingling with dogs and cats. On the grounds of their 17-acre farm were a parade of baby donkeys, a freshly shorn llama and a bevy of dogs. On the porch we met a man named Jeff who was very friendly to all of us, as if we knew him. None of us did.

He told us a story that amazed us. He said he was returning to his native San Diego after 30 years on the east coast; as a youth he was raised in a succession of foster homes. He said that when he was young he hitchhiked east and has been here ever since. He joined the navy and went into boot camp. While in a chow line on one of his first days, a man behind him answered to the same last name as he did. Surprised he turned around, and the sergeant said 'well he must be your brother 'cause you both have the same last name.

It turned out that in that chow line was his long-lost brother, who he hadn't seen in 20 years! They had been put in different foster homes but were now reunited in the navy! I asked him what it would be like to go back home after so many years on the east coast. He said he was excited about it, and will miss the people like Chris and Susan who he has known so well over these past few decades.

Who Knew that the Ice Really Does Make the Drink?

I never knew that there were so many different kinds of ice, and that the ice makes a huge difference in how a drink tastes. I learned this last night as I was falling asleep and read an article by Wayne Curtis in the Atlantic. He cites a NYC bar called The Violet Hour where you can find eight different kinds of ice, depending on which cocktail you choose. Who knew?

"A Mai Tai, calls for crushed ice, for example, whereas a Scotch on the rocks demands larger, slower-melting ice. Some might consider an 'ice program' an affectation, like a 'pillow concierge' in a hotel...it sounds like the most pretentious thing on Earth."

But the article reveals deep differences in taste based on cubes made by ice machines and ones made in icetrays. The machines' cubes have too much air and don't keep the drinks nearly as cold as handmade ice. Basic bar ice is known by bartenders as 'cheater ice' and is used to cool bottles. But some drinks need more, so they offer chunk ice, chipped away from a big frozen block.

Curtis asks a bartender to make him two old fashioneds, one with cheater ice and the other with chunk ice. After five minutes the cheater ice drink is watered down and weak and the chunk ice drink actually tastes better. The point is that chunk ice doesn't melt as fast.

Looking for Retro Kitsch in Somerville NJ

On my way out of S. Deerfield, I stopped by the cafe at 8 to pick up a cup to go. Seeing only one car in the parking lot, I groaned, oh no, no, not again! But yes another call-out, so I had to rescue my lone employee facing a long line of thirsty coffee drinkers. After some calls and some time making bagels, things were in better shape so Cindy and I could get on the road to New Jersey.

It's always a pleasure to come back to the house where I grew up. But getting here was not a pleasure; bumper-to-bumper on I-95 with trucks crowding in and a frustratingly slow pace. Our mission was to explore the town of Somerville NJ before heading to the homestead. Cindy wanted to find retro kitchen furniture and other 1960s stuff for her California ranch.

We drove down Somerville's main drag and did find an emporium of such things. There were stalls and stalls of kitsch, with vintage clothing, musical instruments and, well, junk. I spent some time reading (!) an old 1963 copy of 'Archie' which was a predecessor to Playboy, and then we poked around at various assemblages of pins, 1960s food containers, and hundreds of other knick knacks on display. Passing by a plastic Jim Beam decanter in the shape of a pick-up truck priced at $48, I had to wonder who buys this kind of thing? All over there were signs warning us not to shoplift, I guess that's a problem in this town.

Somerville has three such emporiums where people can find Mid-century artifacts and I liked how the town promoted itself with a uniform logo using brochures, maps and a listing of all that tourists can find there. They even had a billboard on 206 that matched the colors of the hand-out map. We rounded the corner and found more vintage clothing and what I'd call 'modern antiques' before heading back down the road to visit the parents.

Tomorrow we'll visit cousin Chris and his wife Susan's menagerie on their farm in Washington NJ where baby donkies, puppies, pigs and dozens of other animals live, waiting for their turn in front of the camera. Cousin Chris is known as Tucker the Animal Trainer, his animals are seen on Saturday Night Live and in dozens of movies made in the NY area.

A Cellphone Store Expedition

We had a expedition the other day when I had to try and replace my lost cellphone. Amazingly, on a 1/4 mile stretch of West Springfield road there are stores for all four major cellphone companies, so it was easy for us to shop and compare. Each has its own vibe and feeling, and distinctly unique followers. It's funny how ubiquitous phones are, now everyone has their own company they tithe each month.

We began at the Sprint Store. Sprint is the most financially strapped of the five, losing subscribers each month and nearly in bankruptcy after their disastrous merger with Nextel. The store was busy with young people recharging their pay-ahead phones, and had a main desk where you give them your name and they call you. We sat for a while, waiting, and when we read the pricing plans we decided not to stick around. Hard to explain but it felt disorganized and the menu was too complicated. Plus I didn't really like their phones.

Our next stop was T-Mobile, where we're already customers. A friendly guy with a nametag that said "Jennifer" came over and began singing the praises of his beloved Blackberry. I asked him about the vaunted "Google phone,"and he sneered that he didn't think much of it. The plans for T-mobile were the cheapest we'd find for a family plan, but I kept thinking about the iphone, so we didn't sign anything. The store was very busy with recharging customers, but the salesman was kind and gave us all of the info we wanted despite the crowd. My service here in rural Deerfield isn't great with TM, so that's one reason we're leaning to switching.

Next was the AT&T corporate store. (I point this out because there is an AT&T store here in Deerfield, but sadly, the owner told me that they can't sell the iphone, only corp stores can.) Here, a pleasant and persistent salesman came over and began showing us his line-up. I am leaning toward the iphone since I love my itouch so much; he made it very appealing and the cost would only be about $40 more each then we're paying now for internet and email anywhere. Ohh, I like that. It was nice not being crowded out by boisterous prepaid cell customers, and the guy was sincere...we wanted to make sure to give him our business if we signed up.

Our final stop was Verizon, a bigger store than all of the rest. The Big V dominates the cellphone business in the US, it's owned partly by Vodaphone, Europe's giant provider. But their phones are CDMA, versus GSM for every other company so they don't work overseas. Their plans for two lines were higher than the rest of the pack, and they of course don't offer the iphone. One thing they did have that we both fell in love with was a tiny HP laptop with internet anywhere. It uses 3G, or cellphone service, to give you internet wherever you are. Plus even though it's about 7"wide the keyboard felt great. And it's only $199!They also have the MiFi, a tiny card that creates a five-person personal wifi zone when you use it. Tempting but it would be $69 a month for two years.

After I had pretty much decided that the iphone is too hard to resist, I heard that Apple is coming out with a completely redesigned, better iphone. Dóh! So now I have to wait, so if you want me, call me at my office, I don't have a cellphone yet.

Women in Power Signals Slide for Islamists

I have been enveloped in dreams about Saudi Arabia since I began reading this compelling book about an American woman doctor who lived there. I just finished a chapter in which the dreaded Mutawaeen are tipped off to a bunch of doctors and westerners having a dinner at a local restaurant. Men and women sitting together enjoying conviviality. But these brown-robed Wahabi fanatics will have none of it, threatening and lecturing at the diners, and are only held back by a phone call placed to a high-ranking Saud prince.

Her hatred and resentment of these overbearing nosy 'morality police' seethes in her account as does the anger shown by the women in their abbayas. Again and again, someone tips off these self-appointed cops who then barge in and yell obnoxiously at their frightened captors.

I was encouraged to read tonight in the WSJ that in Kuwait a woman named Rola Dashti has won a hard-fought seat in Parliament, despite some attributes that some would see as weaknesses. She speaks Arabic with a Lebanese accent, was educated in the US, and doesn't wear a headscarf. And she remains unmarried. Kuwait recently voted to send Dashti and three other women to parliament, which is a blow to Wahabis and strict fundamentalists across the region.

Is There Time To Work Out This Morning? Is There?

Now it's crunch time. It's that moment when it can go either way...I'm at the precipice, deciding about how I will continue this morning routine. I'm in the bathrobe, on the laptop, and Cindy is busy getting dressed. We've had our coffee, I'm draining my second cup.

So do I work out or blow it off and get ready to go to the office and cafe?

Too many times I've let work get in the way of these rejuvenatiung work-outs. I could say that I worked out yesterday, so why bother. Hey, we DID get up at 6, earlier than usual, just to give us extra time.

So I guess there's no way around it. I'll put on my work out gear and pack my copy of the latest book about traveling through the former USSR, and get on the Elyptical. Yeah, I think I'm leaning toward doing 'the right thing.'

Don't let me get sidetracked, I'm going for it.....yeah, really.