I'll take (a) Manhattan...

Liberté, Égalité, Fraternité

Face up, I laid sprawled out diagonally across the sidewalk of Avenue Kleber with a twelve year old Louis Vuitton (pre-welovesprouse) tote in my left hand and a Jack Spade messenger bag twisted around my neck, and I thought about the French mottos “Liberté, Égalité, Fraternité, and It’s not possible”….

It was my last week in France, and I had many things to accomplish before leaving. I started marching up the Avenue at a pace that would be more than appropriate in New York, but slightly aggressive in Paris, particularly in the 16th. Rather than kick the woman’s poodle walking ahead of me, I stepped off the sidewalk into the street to bypass her. I misjudged the stoop stepping back up and crashed to the pavement with a grace that can only be described as American. This fraternity of Parisians universally ignored me as they elegantly stepped over me leaving me in silence. The poodle had the well-bred manners not to lick my face.

This Fraternity seemed to have an unwritten, but frequently spoken motto “It’s not possible”. Was I starting to hear this phrase more than Bonjour? Friends had taken me to a fashionable and tasty restaurant called 6 New York a few nights before, and I was so thirsty for a martini. When the waiter arrived at the table I smiled and asked for a Manhattan as I stared gleefully at the bar. “It’s not possible” and he then instantly disappeared offering me no alternatives. Granted, he was probably scared as the sound of me speaking French sounds like Chewbacca the Wookiee being electrocuted, but at least I was smiling…

Earlier that day at the local café I asked the barista if his fruit smoothies were made fresh. “Mais, oui”. Wonderful, could I have the strawberry smoothie on the menu, and could he add one of the bananas sitting on the basket in front of me? “It’s not possible”. But, why not? “Because we only have strawberry smoothies on the menu, not strawberry-banana.” But, I can pay for Banana as well. “It’s not possible”. Hmmm…this wasn’t Burger King, so I guess I didn’t have the liberté to have it my way…

During that same weekend, my friend and I went to the famous fashion haunt, Mathis Bar which is one of my favorite places in Paris. The décor feels like it was created by Kenzo who might have been inspired by a 1920’s Bordello. The music is fantastic and the scene of people is always over the top. We squeezed past recognizable fashion models fresh from rehab and headed directly to the bar with eager smiles in anticipation of a martini. We said good evening to the bartender and asked for a vodka martini and a Cosmo. We really offended this one because he screamed “It’s not possible”. Ignoring us, he shuffled to the other side of the bar to stare at some void in the left corner of the room.

Egalite? I pondered. Was everyone treated equally as badly in this Fraternity or were we not part of the Fraternity?

My companion and I began to sit down at the two vacant barstools to allow the bartender’s hormonal flash to pass, and this immediately caught his attention. “You cannot sit here!” Why I asked? “It’s not possible!”

Somehow the two bottles of wine that my friend and I shared at dinner had made me very lucid. Within milliseconds, I was summarizing one of two strategies in dealing with this assault on our fun night out. I could use diplomacy to diffuse this bitter little man wearing some sort of Danskin leotard apparently stolen from his younger sister’s closet and made into a makeshift shirt. Or, I could engage him in a New York style confrontation that would result in one of us leaving the bar in tears. What would Obama do?

I chose diplomacy. I smiled and asked “are you having a good night?” Stung, he had not anticipated this. “No, it’s not such a good night”. Well, you could make it a great night for us if you will make us two Grey Goose sodas with limes. He began to pick up the vodka bottle and as his pupils gazed into another corner of the room, the whites of his eyes gestured for us to take the stools. We had passed the test! He liked us, and we felt we were part of the fraternity!

Being in France for over a month, I did start to understand the mottos. I didn’t see any Burger Kings anywhere in the city, and I couldn’t have it my way. The architecture, the culture, the elegance of Paris works because there is a consistency. “It’s not possible” was really a collective resistance to changing too quickly and a preservation of the integrity of the collective society. This City had maintained its elegance because it did not change too quickly and was not subject to the whims of individuals. And, hadn’t I retreated to Paris from the New Economy because of this elegance and slightly slower pace?

Paris had given me the reprieve I needed…time to wander, ponder and write. I was becoming eager to return so I could launch the new website for Mr. Gatsby’s Travel Club. I also understood that I was missing New York where everything is possible!

I’ll take Manhattan…(but I still love Paris and these strong-willed, difficult French!!!)

So, I was having drinks with the housekeeper…

So, I was having drinks with the housekeeper in East Hampton the other day and I commented on her new Louis Vuitton bag from the welovesprouse.com collection. Every few months she seemed to have a new one. Real ones, not the fakes.

Was she affected by the crisis, I asked? She replied very matter-of-fact that Housecleaning in the Hamptons is like Heathcare in America; it’s a recession proof industry. Even though she has steady income, she volunteered that she had to make choices in life...she's on a budget after all. For example, she nodded to her new Escalade parked next to my 1998 Ford F-150 and lectured me that she didn't opt for the platinum package because the gold package was good enough...and she wanted to save her money for handbags.

As we finished off a bottle of Wolffer Rose, I told her I was trying to better monetize Mr. Gatsby's Chic Experiences. Could she share some of her ideas as an entrepreneur?

She told me that gouging me $25 an hour was really a loss leader for her as she lit-up a cigarette on my terrace and asked me to get her an ashtray. She made her real money through "affiliate programs" and "repackaging".

Through a very structured network, she explained that she receives distribution "royalties" from an affiliation of gardeners, pool men, handymen and caterers whom she refers to her client base. The royalties she receives from referring into the program range from ten to thirty percent in perpetuity. Additionally, she bills the client hourly for meeting service affiliates, in effect double dipping.

When she helps cater events, often she is given left over bottles of alcohol, wine and champagne that she repackages and sells through the affiliate network. Open bottles are deeply discounted while sealed bottles are sold at a 20% discount below retail. Clients can also request to purchase alocohol from her inventory which she charges at full retail, plus delivery fee. Had I asked her to pick up the case of wine from which we were drinking?

Fascinated by this sophisticated revenue model, I wanted to learn more, but had to end the conversation as I saw the electrician pulling up in a Range Rover to adjust a dimmer in my cottage. Was he waving to me or the housekeeper?

I found it strange that the electrician was so quick to respond to my request which I had submitted only a few days earlier. As he came into the garden, something in his stride told me he wasn't here to adjust the light. The housekeeper sensing my disorientation, explained that she hadn't expected me to linger so long at the cottage given this was the off season. I then realized this house was effectively hers until Memorial Day. She had invited members of the affiliate program to the cottage for a cocktail party. Could I stay? Of course, but somehow the tables seemed to have turned as I found myself serving drinks and emptying ash trays...



(Legal Disclaimer: Characters are fictionalized in this story....)

YSL's Lalanne, my 401k and Thoughts on Real Estate

620 was meant to be my lucky paddle number at the YSL auction. The paddle was assigned to me last Friday and would be my ticket to investing in the “New Economy”.

There was a private viewing of the Yves Saint Laurent collection at the Grand Palais this past weekend with much pomp and pageantry….a lot of pomp and a lot of pageantry if you catch my drift. In addition to putting themselves on display, many had come to pay respects to Saint Laurent and peek at the articles of his private life.

I had my eyes set on several pieces created by Claude and Francois-Xavier Lalanne after having seen the estimates in the Christie’s Catalogue. Given the mood in New York when I left, I was hoping these particular pieces would go towards the low end of the auction estimates. I thought this would be a great time to invest! When I need to retire, in forty years I can sell these pieces for thirty times what I paid giving me enough money to pay for astronomical insurance premiums and bad health care.

In addition to being my nest egg, my small collection of art and furniture is also something that gives me pleasure every day. As for other investments, my 401k now is worth the same amount of the actual cash contributions I made, and I quit investing in it almost ten years ago. When paper shredders first came out, I enjoyed shredding papers at my father’s office. But shredding those incomprehensible 401k statements doesn’t seem so fun anymore, well at least not as much fun as collecting art, furniture, and real estate.

John Thain, the former CEO of Merrill Lynch, must have thought similarly when he commissioned Michael Smith to decorate his then office for a reported $1.2 million. Knowing Michael’s work, I’m sure he selected wonderful antiques and rugs that have a tendency to appreciate in value. I saw Thain on the news apologizing for using Merrill’s money to decorate his office as the press badgered him for squandering Merrill’s money on furnishings when the company was generating multi-billion dollar losses. After all, the company had earned the right to decorate the CEO’s office by "earning" fees from 401k holders like me even if those fees didn’t’ make the company profitable….right?

If the “collection” Michael Smith assembled belonged to Merrill, Thain was actually investing well…investing much better than allocating more corporate funds to the toxic crap he and his cronies were hocking to other money mangers.

But Thain must be clever as a fox as they say. He said he would “make right” by offering to reimburse Merrill for the antiques and the rug in an attempt to atone for wrong doings. Might he have traded the value of his own Merrill stock “at the time the collection was assembled” so that he could take possession of those pieces? A shrewd investment indeed!

Thinking of Thain reminded me of a Merrill retail stockbroker who tried to hock me some stocks, mutual funds and term life insurance in my early twenties. I have a BS degree from the Hotel School at Cornell with a concentration in real estate and corporate finance. I had worked as consultant at Arthur Andersen, and even with this background, I wasn’t sophisticated enough to understand “whole life insurance”. I was hopeless at choosing stocks and always felt I was at least one day behind the market.

Instead, we bought a house in Los Angeles in the best area that we could afford (which felt quite expensive at the time). We paid the house down over the years instead of investing more money in a 401k or a Roth-IRA. When mortgage rates dropped a few years ago, I refinanced to a fifteen-year term at a 5 percent interest rate. Last year, we moved to Sag Harbor and now let (rent) the house in Los Angeles. If we were to moderate my lifestyle and spending habits just slightly, the income that the house in LA generates would be enough on which to live. The 401k plan doesn’t seem to offer quite the same flexibility as income producing real estate.

Other collectors attending the auction must also have had a similar investment perspective to mine as I lost out on bidding for the objects of my desire. Many of the YSL Lalanne pieces sold for more than ten times Christie’s high estimates. Such is a sign of investing in the New Economy. The buyers may have overpaid for the pieces, but unlike Madoff investors or Lehman bond holders, they have a story AND something to show for it…..

Good Intentions Gone Bad...

As I was driving through Provence in search of great villas to represent for the Travel Club, I passed by an empty farm stand, and I thought of my grandmother who lives in a small town outside Aiken, South Carolina (which itself is a small town). My grandmother loves to drive through the county from whence she hails and buy peaches and pecans. This is her form of “recreational shopping”.

I turned to my co-pilot and suggested that we find some locally grown lettuces or parsnips to offer our villa hosts. I think I made the declaration that driving leisurely through the country in search of fresh produce should be the new form or "recreational shopping", and that I intended to write about it on the Blog.

We continued on through the vineyards and fields somehow winding our way down to the beach. It was after one o’clock, and I thought we shouldn't “hunt” lettuces on empty stomachs so we ended up at Le Club Key West. The intention of "Recreational shopping" turned into the reality of "Recreational Drinking"...

Two bottles of wine and three hours later, I panicked. All the farm stands must be closed by now!

We ended up "hunting" for a parking spot at the Geant Marche, the French equivalent of a Wal-mart/King Kullen hybrid. We walked to the back of the store under fluorescent lights passing tabloids and frozen foods to pick out four bottles of wine. As we waited in line for the clerk to scan our merchandise, I thought. "So much for finding a farm stand out in the sunny countryside…"

Case Number 19 at the Southampton Town Justice Center…

My summons was to arrive on Monday at nine o’clock in the morning at the Southampton Town Justice Center. With a budget shortfall, the police obviously had been instructed to write as many tickets as possible to generate revenue for the Town, and they were starting earlier than usual this year. I was busted at the famous Intersection of Main and Bay in Sag Harbor.

Terrified of being late for my summons and making the judge angry, I awoke before seven, shaved and ran to Starbucks arriving at the Town Hall just after eight. The Justice Center, located in the basement of the building, was not yet open, so I sat on a bench outside an adjacent office hoping for a celebrity citing. It seemed like I was always reading something about Billy Joel, Christie Brinkley and Alec Baldwin being in trouble with the law or engaged in some sort of legal scuttlebutt.

For approximately forty-five minutes, people walked by giving me the gravest of scowls. I felt guilty with those gawking eyes upon me, but secretly, the attention made me feel like a celebrity. I wanted to explain to each of them that I did stop at the stop sign, but I didn’t know I was meant to drive forward and stop again at the line. That intersection is a complete booby trap! As for those outstanding parking tickets from my college days in Ithaca, I thought even the IRS has a seven-year statute of limitations?

Nonetheless, these passing folks sure were judging me harshly for some minor driving violations. And why were they looking above my head before shooting me those evil eyes? It finally dawned on me to turn and look above at the sign above the bench: DOMESTIC ABUSE OFFICE

The Justice Center finally opened promptly at nine, and I passed through a metal detector into a waiting area where I was surrounded by attorneys wearing suits that couldn’t have cost more than $49….including the shoes. Paying such a premium, apparently they didn’t want to trim any of the extra fabric, so four inches of extra hem pooled at each of their ankles.

A second set of doors opened allowing the hoard of criminals, plaintiffs, defendants and attorneys to enter the courtroom. The judge, apparently one of the original English Puritan Settlers, entered and I recognized him from his likeness on the town seal (settled in 1640). After rising and pledging to the flag, the judge expeditiously read through ten civil cases. If the defendant and the plaintiff both announced “present”, he sent them to the waiting room to negotiate before returning with an agreement. I could overhear a plumber arguing with a homeowner’s attorney with an offer being thrown out at one thousand dollars and countered at fifteen hundred plus “the cost of a tank of gas”.

The judge then moved onto the criminal roster: No 19, please approach the bench. My knees were about to buckle under the weight of my fright and the chattering of my teeth could be heard throughout the courtroom. “Yes, Your Honor”. How do you plead? “Ignorant, Your Honor. I plead Ignorant…but I’m a good person”.

Totally dismissing me, His Honor told me to step to my left and negotiate with the assistant district attorney, a beautiful African-American woman in a caramel colored suit and good shoes. She asked me if I understood the charges against me: failing to stop at a stop sign and avoiding parking tickets from seventeen years ago. Before I had a chance to answer, she told me she was willing to negotiate the fine to $180 and waive any penalties against my driving record. No misdemeanor on my record, just a driving infraction. Had she noticed me giving an approving glance at her shoes to offer me such a sweet deal?

She handed my ‘record’ over to another court employee who announced that Number 19 had reached a plea bargain. The judge asked again how do you plead: “Guilty, I think”. The gavel slammed and he ordered me to pay the clerk my fine and to drive safely.

I was out of the building by 9:23 heading back to Starbucks thinking that I would probably be back in that court a few more times before Memorial Day as I was sure to be speeding around readying houses for what’s turning out to be a late, but busy rental season!

Sometimes, I get confused...

Returning to New York, I was eager to schedule “medical and maintenance” appointments. And, being the taskmaster that I am, I tried to schedule seven appointments in two days along with lunches, coffees and dinners with friends. A packed schedule would be a great cure for jetlag, so I thought…

In just six short weeks, I had become accustomed to the ease of socialized medicine in France. Suffering from a chronic back injury, I made appointments to see a chiropractor while I was in Paris. Scheduling was very simple. I sent a text to the doctor who would then text me back by the end of the day as to his availability. His office was in an elegant building in 15th near the Eiffle Tower. I would arrive a few minutes early before each scheduled appointment and wait in the parlor. Each session started with a half hour massage followed by an adjustment. I paid him 20 Euros, and he scheduled a follow up appointment on his Blackberry while I petted his dog sleeping at the foot of the massage table. No paperwork. No Secretary. Simple.

Scheduling and payment, unfortunately, are not so simple in New York. Other than my (mental) therapist, none of my other providers are available for scheduling via email. Knowing this, I jumped on SKYPE before I left Paris and began making appointments.

While packing, I followed up with my insurance provider, Aetna, which continued to deny reimbursement claims for sessions with my therapist who did not accept insurance. Each time I called, I was on hold for half an hour followed by another half hour of yelling at a “customer service representative” who inevitably told me the claim was denied for a new clerical reason. Granted, I wasn’t that busy in the New Economy (who was?) but wasn’t this a waste of everyone’s time?

My flight back on Air France was relatively drama free other than being seated next to a rather large woman who was a little too fragrant for my taste. As she reclined in her seat after take off, I was horrified to see corns and a chipped bright pink pinky toenail ascend to my field of view. I supposed that the calluses on her feet kept them warm, hence she didn’t need the socks provided complimentary by the airline. I made a mental note to schedule a pedicure for myself.

My first day back in Manhattan, I awoke early, read the paper, and left for my first appointment with my general practitioner who needed to check some of my beauty marks for any increased ambition in size or color. I arrived fifteen minutes early and spoke to one of the four secretaries in his office as I completed three pages of medical forms. Although he did have a partner, I wondered why two doctors needed four administrative staff members, so I asked. Baretta, the receptionist, told me that she and Consuelo were in charge of scheduling appointments and cataloging medical records while the other two ladies who sat behind them were in charge of accounting and processing insurance claims. Unlike my chiropractor’s parlor in Paris, I would described this windowless, fluorescent-lit reception area as a “waiting room” which still had a faint smell of industrial carpet adhesive.

After being escorted to a tiny room that was really the size of a stall, I was handed a cotton gown and instructed to disrobe. The nurse returned immediately to take my blood pressure and temperature. The reading was “normal”, but why would changes in my beauty marks cause an increase in my blood pressure? The doctor would see me shortly.

After half an hour, His Highness arrived with his Stethoscope, but seemed to have misplaced his personality. He was, however, kind enough to chill his hands before lifting my robe and asking me to cough. As for my other beauty marks, he needed to refer me to the dermatologist.

Baretta was able to schedule me that afternoon at four o’clock with my doctor’s office mate who happened to be a dermatologist. I made an attempt at a joke about how nice my medical gown was and she said she would save the same one for me when I returned. I then hustled to my next appointment which was with my therapist.

After almost an hour of exploring my anger towards the inefficiencies of our healthcare system, I walked out the door “self-actualizing” that I had just paid two hundred-fifty dollars to complain about how frustrating it is to receive reimbursement from my insurance provider after paying my therapist two hundred-fifty dollars…

My next “appointment” was actually a lunch date at BG in Bergdorf’s with a good friend of mine who wanted to catch up on my escapades in Paris. Two and a half glasses of chardonnay later, my Blackberry alarm buzzed reminding me of an appointment in fifteen minutes. I stuck my friend with the check and bolted.

I was still stewing mad thinking of how stupid our healthcare system is as I walked into my next appointment in a daze. I checked in and was handed a robe. I took off my clothes except for my socks and knickers leaving them in my stall and slipping into the robe as someone called out my name. I never seem to figure out how to tie those robes in the back so I just walked out with the back open. To my complete horror, I realized that I was at my three o’clock which was my hair appointment at Frederic Fekkai. I was wearing a grooming smock like a hospital robe and had just walked across the fourth floor of Bendel’s Department Store on Fifth Avenue with my ass hanging out!

As my stylist handed me a glass of chardonnay, I picked up my Blackberry to email my therapist to see what opening he had available the next day…


Frederic Fekkai Fifth Avenue
712 Fifth Avenue, 4th Floor
New York, NY
(212) 753-9500

BG at Bergdorf Goodman
754 Fifth Avenue
New York, NY
(212) 872-8977

Le Costume Populaire Russe

Spring has arrived in Paris! Winter cashmere scarves are making way for linen scarves: saturated lavender, egg yolk yellow and kelly green. The scarves were out in full force last night at a private reception Pierre Berge hosted at his Fondation in conjunction with le Musee Ethnograhique de la Russie. Berge was Yves Saint Laurent’s business partner and life partner. My jet-setting Parisian host introduced me to Pierre whom we congratulated on the success of YSL-Berge auction last month, and he in turn invited us to take a look at the exhibit.

The exhibit showcased 19th and 20th Century native Russian costumes juxtaposed against YSL’s Russian collections from the mid 70s and late 90s. It was very interesting to see how the peasant colors and textures were interpreted into haute couture. More interesting was the fact that there were many American Franco-files and suspiciously few Russians at the event?

After a couple of glasses of champagne, we began to think of plans for dinner. The archivist at the foundation, a native New Yorker, made the comment to us that the 16th is such a boring place. I disagreed with her. To me the 16th feels very authentic, very Parisian. This arrondissement reminds me of the upper Eastside. Its an established neighborhood, an institution.

Ironically, we left the 16th and headed to the 8th to eat at la Maison de l’Aubrac on rue Marbeuf. The downstairs looks like some sort of Swiss Chalet on crackrock, and is primarily reserved for tourists. However, the upstairs is very hip and has a similar vibe and menu to Citta Nuova in East Hampton. We were initially told, “it’s not possible” to sit upstairs as we had no reservation. My host flashed a smile and said the American he was dining with is difficult, would it be possible to sit upstairs….It was possible.

37 rue Marbeuf
75008 Paris
www.maison-aubrac.com

Presents for Host: Nespresso & Restaurant List

A planned two-week trip to Paris has morphed into a long-term stay entering its fifth week and I’ve always depended on the kindness…of good friends.

A good friend happened to relocate to Paris last month and moved into a large, light filled two bedroom on the border of the 8th and the 16th overlooking the Embassy of Uruguay. My friend is constantly traveling and offered for me stay in his guest bedroom. So, I moved in after staying at a hotel for a few weeks and set up temporary residence.

As a token of my appreciation, I wanted to give him a small present. Given my friend’s jet-set schedule, he usually doesn’t have time to make coffee before dashing to the next PR event or product development meeting. What to get? What to get?

I decided on two things.

A Nespresso Machine. The machine makes a perfect espresso or coffee in seconds. It’s easy to clean and easy to refill. The store on the Champs-Elysees carries 12 new colors. I chose burnt orange to match the tile of my host’s kitchen (and the fire in his personality!)

www.nespresso.com

A Restaurant List. Over the past few weeks, I had the opportunity to experience some great restaurants (and some not so great). I made a list of my favorites including ones in areas that he might not otherwise have time to explore.

L’Epi Dupin Restaurant
11 Rue Dupin
75006 Paris
01 42 22 64 56
www.epidupin.com

The best prix fixe I had in Paris. Casual elegance and young crowd. Amazing service and even better food. I love the fact that this restaurant is closed on the weekends so the proprietors can spend time with their families.

Les Bouquinistes a Restaurant by Guy Savoy
53 Quai des Grands Augustins
75006 Paris
01 43 25 45 94
www.guysavoy.com

Baccarat Cristal Room
11 Place des Etats Unis
75116 Paris
www.baccarat.fr

I am the biggest Philippe Starck fan of all time. Yet, I do profess that knowing he designed this space a number of years ago made me a bit cautious because even as a “fan” I perceive Stark experiences as becoming very dated very fast. The experience I had the Cristal Room was exceptional! The food was a work of art and the service far exceeded my expectations.

La Gazzetta
29 Rue de Cotte
750012 Paris
01 43 47 47 05
www.lagazetta.fr

The 12th is similar to the East Village in Manhattan. Historically, parts of have been inhabited by groups of immigrants which gives the area great “flavor”. From the 8th, I took the Metro to Bastille and walked to La Gazetta. Handmade raviolis for my entrée and a Corsican style steak for my main. Wow!

Diwan Lebanese
30 Avenue de George V
75008 Paris
01 47 23 45 45

The best chicken kebab I’ve ever eaten. 16 Euros for the plate which also includes generous portions of eggplant, humus, and tabouli.

404 Restaurant Familial
69 Rue des Gravilliers
75003 Paris
01 42 74 57 81

Very hip and hopping scene featuring cuisines of North Africa

Avoid Buffets on the Champs Elysees at All Costs!!

Let’s face it, as a travelisto, one should aspire to have an open mind about new experiences and ideas. One of my goals on this sabbatical to Paris was to try to give up the need to be in control. So when a group of Parisian friends invited me to Sunday Brunch, I agreed without knowing the final destination. In my head I was associating the word “brunch” with a lingering afternoon reading the paper and talking at Estia’s Little Kitchen in Sag Harbor or Babette’s in East Hampton. I’m sure my friends must be taking me to the Parisian equivalent? Why did I need to know where we are going ahead of time? These folks were locals and why should I feel the need to Google information about the restaurant ahead of time or “corroborate” their opinions?

Signs of Danger

Sign 1
My first indication that something bad was about to happen flashed on the IM screen of my new Blackberry Bold: “Meet at the Southwest corner of the Champs-Elysees and look for Danish flag”. Okay, this message was the equivalent of telling someone to meet at 45th and Broadway and look for the Marriott Marquis…

“Open-mind…Open-mind”, I started to chant so I wouldn’t grind my back teeth.

Sign 2
Well, at least Spring was in the air. The sun was out and birds were chirping as I quickly identified the Danish Flags and passed through glass sliding doors into a foyer with ballroom carpet, flowers of questionable pedigree, and a hostess in a black polyester uniform. I felt a bit disoriented…this felt very reminiscent of stepping onto a Carnival Cruise ship in 1987. But, the space was very bright and sunny. It almost felt as if I were in an outdoor atrium or courtyard. Settling into the my surrounds a bit more, I noticed bird nests everywhere in various colors of blue and strawberry as pre-cognitive senses started to send more danger signs to my brain…

These weren’t nests! These were coifs! The room was full of geriatric women swarming around something I could not identify in the center of the room.

Sign 3
The reality of this horrible, horrible situation was finally hitting me. Though I was trying my best to keep an open-mind, in an instant I knew in my heart of hearts what was happening….I was at a Buffet!

In France, I get with the program and can eat snails. With enthusiasm, I’ve tried raw beef, and even smiled when I’ve eaten cow’s cheek or sheep’s brain. Was this a French buffet or a Danish Buffet anyway? I guess it didn’t matter the nationality of the buffet…it was still a buffet. And as I passed a pair of dentures floating in the bechamel sauce, I knew Destiny had sent me to such a place to atone for naughty things I must have done in the past.

But, in the end, I made it through that two and a half hour “experience” picking at a stale croissant trying to smile graciously at my hosts. I thought “I gave up control and made it through this challenge” as I surveyed the carnage of soiled white table clothes and red lipstick scars on countless glasses around me.

Secretly, I longed for the New York Times and a proper Sunday afternoon brunch on the East End of Long Island…

Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go....

As I was walking by the Louis Vuitton store on the Champs-Eylsees, I thought of a very good friend who is a 'top reporter' for a fashion rag. I'm always intrigued when she poses the question "what was your inspiration for this collection?". I really think she's asking "who did you copy, knock-off or exploit for this commercial venture?".

In the Georgia, my people are able to artfully deliver an insult and absolve themselves of guilt by ending a slur with the phrase "Bless his or her heart". (Hillary is intelligent, but has really fat ankles...Bless her heart). In fashion, designers absolve themselves of the guilt of exploiting other designers by "Paying Tribute".

This year, Vuitton "pays tribute" to Stephen Sprouse.

www.welovesprouse.com

Orange, Pink and Lime Neon colors with allusions to Street Graffiti. I’ve seen it all before…everyone’s seen it all before.

Hadn't MTV and Martha Quinn already brought punk to the proletariat in the early 80s? Grace made me a “Slave to the Rhythm” and Madge had me "Burning Up" as I walked around rural Georgia in my Vans, neon lime Parachute pants, cream Members-Only jacket with a boombox in one hand and black rubber bracelets dangling from my pre-pubescent wrist.

Yet, I began to obsess “are those clever Vuitton marketers looping WHAM's Make It Big Album?". Of course I couldn’t make it in to find out as there were over 100 Japanese tourists waiting in line to enter the flagship which looked more like a Disney Store than a Parisian Boutique. So I studied each window. Are those neon striped sneakers meant to be worn with dolphin shorts or with basketball shorts? Was I allowed to think of putting together my own outfit, or was I meant buy the coordinating Vuitton shirt, pants and sandals? Was the joke on me?

Did Vuitton really need to bring Punk back to the People? This campaign felt very “Bling” with an insincere Punk veneer. Bling is Boring and not very “New Economy”. Marc Jabobs, Wake me up before you go-go…..

Talking with Betsey Johnson from Z to New York...

New Year's was over and I was returning from a friend's villa in Z.

Everyone had boarded the plane departing from the Zihuatanejo Airport, or so I thought, when “something” came spinning up the stairs just as the forward door was being closed (there are no air-bridges at this airport). This “something” hurled some sort of plastic gold suitcase which appeared to have been attacked by a Bedazzler and dipped in glitter into the cabin. As I flinched from the trajectory of sequins, glitter and rhinestones, I caught a glimpse of what appeared to be blonde locks?

In usual circumstances, I would have panicked and grabbed someone’s child to throw at the oncoming assault. But I was in Mexico, and the two glasses of tequila I drank before embarking helped to slow my usually manic thought process so that I could more easily digest my situation. I had narrowed this situation down to only two possibilities: The Tasmanian Devil had retired to Mexico and was being called back to Warner Brothers for a new Bugs Bunny feature, OR the Chupacabra was making a daytime attack on a commercial aircraft.

Neither scenario proved correct: Betsey Johnson had just boarded the plane plopping down right next to me.

Betsy and I had met before briefly in Sag Harbor. Once she had buckled in, and we each had a drink to settle our nerves, she started telling me about her homes outside of “Z” (that’s short for Zihuatanejo) after I told her that I was looking at possibly representing villa rentals in Z for Mr. Gatsby’s Travel Club.

She had built two homes and was now putting them on the market. She told me of her love affair with Mexico….the colors, the ocean, the people. So, I asked her why she is now selling both her places? She told me that as an artist, Mexico gave her inspiration, but as a grandmother she wanted to be closer to her grandchildren. She had remodeled a home in East Hampton and the two-hour car ride from New York made her Hamptons home an easy destination. She told me that East Hampton gives her a different sense of inspiration as an artist. The town and her home there give her a sense of serenity.

She also talked about the challenges of being both an entrepreneur and a designer while managing to date a much younger Italian and build homes. At 65, she still oversees her entire collection and co-manages more than eighty stores which are all corporate owned. I asked where she was currently deriving inspiration? She told me that 80s punk was back, and that she was currently taking inspiration from her own vintage pieces.

I asked her what other designers inspired her and she immediately declared “Donna Karan”. She loved what Donna had done in Sag Harbor with Urban Zen mixing home decor with amazing sweaters and accessories. She also loved what the store stood for: mixing cultures and inspiring change through fashion and design. Betsey and I also talked about Donna's daughter Gaby and what a wonderful job she had done with the restaurant Tutto Il Giorno adjacent to Urban Zen.

Though I was still cautious of her carry-on, Betsey bedazzled me. She had amazing energy, she was positive and she had designed a life that worked for her.

Yves Saint Laurent Auction, Grand Palais

There appeared to be absolutely no economic crisis in Paris last night as the private collection of Yves Saint Laurent and life partner Piere Berge became the most expensive one ever sold at auction, bringing in more than $262 million on the first night alone. There are two more auction days left!

The Grand Palais was almost at capacity filled with buyers, buyers' agents, auctioneers, dignitaries and the press. There were over 1200 seated collectors. The electricity in the room began to magnify in the room as the early lots started exceeding original estimates. There were two high points of the evening. The Duchamp, piece “Beautiful Breath, Veil Water,” sold for six times its original estimate when a bidding war broke out between two American collectors, and the Matisse from 1911,a vase of cowslips on a carpet, sold for over $40 million, double its estimate.

Also sold were several paintings by Piet Mondrian which inspired the famous YSL Mondrian Dress.

As many of the lots started to exceed estimates, I turned to Paddle 619 seated next to me and remarked "this sure doesn't feel like the New Economy." He replied "sure it does. I would rather invest my money in amazing art or irreplaceable real estate than in the stock market. At least I have something I enjoy".

Hmmm...the New Economy.

How to travel in (relative) luxury....

To me, living in luxury is living within one’s means while making smart choices about time and money. Living a life of luxury isn’t about vulgar, conspicuous consumption or displaying wealth (or illusions of wealth). Mr. Gatsby’s aspires to report about unique treats, haunts and experiences independent of price.

Traveling to Paris to work to report on the Yves Saint Laurent Auction and to preview villa rentals for Mr. Gatsby’s Travel Club, I tried to be very deliberate in my travel choices. My budget, beyond the cost of the hotel, was 100 euros per day, and I wrote every single expense in my pocket journal. I ’m not very good at “sticking” to a budget, but “tracking” to a budget gave me sense of empowerment. Many days I broke the budget, but writing each expense down made me aware of what I was spending.

A few tips:
Da Plane Da Plane….use Points! When not pursuing the life of a Travlelisto, I build and remodel homes in the Hamptons. When buying appliances, lumber, and furniture, I use my American Express which has enabled me to accumulate a fair amount of points. I booked my ticket to Paris using points and used American Express Travel which is very helpful in navigating blackout dates.

Hotel Bookings. Paying for my flight with points allowed me more of an indulgence for my hotel expense. Most “luxury” hotels aren’t eager to discount their nightly rate, but are willing to offer “packages” such as spa packages or meal plans. I reserved the basic room at the hotel and was offered my fifth night free, and when I arrived I was upgraded to a junior suite with a terrace facing the avenue. Usually, I prefer to stay on the Left Bank, but I chose to stay in the 8th to be walking distance to the Grand Palais which is where Christie’s was exhibiting the Yves Saint Laurent collection.

Don’t order hotel coffee. Unfortunately, my hotel didn’t offer a meal plan, and I refuse to pay 35 euros (plus service) for a pot of coffee. The price of coffee motivated me to leave the hotel earlier than I might otherwise have. I discovered a great café, La Grande Corona, at the foot of Avenue George V that offers omelets for 7 euros.

Publicis Drugstore on the Champs-Elysee Publicis is open until 2 a.m. and sells Evian for 1.15 euro. The store feels like a hybrid of White’s Pharmacy in East Hampton and Fred Segal on Melrose. There are various kiosks in the store selling perfume, champagne, chocolates, candles, magazines, Pierre Herme macaroons and Missoni sweaters.


Tipping is a Karma…good tipping brings good karma. I factor tips into my travel budget. I tip the doorman, the maid, and the concierge the first day I arrive.

Don’t aspire to be “Euro-trash”. When I was in my late teens, my friends and I would make pilgrimages into the New York to frequent Au Bar and Nell’s. Wearing a collective bad attitude and projecting a sense of entitlement as if we were minor royalty of undetermined European origin always gained us immediate access to the clubs and frequent admission to the “VIP Area”. At thirtysomething, I don’t find acting like Euro-trash serves me well when actually traveling in Europe. A sincere “please” and “thank you” with a smile seems to be more effective these days.

Take a Lulu Lemom Tracksuit and Trainers. Running along the Seine is free and helps to shake jetlag.

J'ai deux amours...

I have two loves: Entrecote in Paris and In-N-Out Burger in LA....

Returning to Paris after a four day carb fest in Saint Tropez/Ramatuelle, I was on a hunt. A howl and a whine and I found myself walking at a pace that might even be described as a trot to le "Relais de l'Entrecote".

Fortunately, the "New Economy" has thinned usual lines of tourists waiting for a table at this Parisian establishment, and I was seated right away. Usually, I dine alone at Entrecote as most of my Parisian friends wouldn't be caught dead in such a touristy restaurant.

Like In-N-Out, Entrecot offers little choice and has few complications. There is one question to answer and two to ask: "How do you want your meat cooked" followed with "May I have a half bottle of red?" and later "May I have the Profiteroles au Chocolat?"

All three locations are always full of American tourists and smiling French Waitresses. In-N-Out usually sets me back about $6, while Entrecot sets me back about $60.


I love le "Relais de l'Entrecote", and I'm not ashamed!

15 Rue Marbeuf in the 8th

49 Rue Saint-Benoit or 101 Boulevard du Montparnasse in the 6th

www.relaisentrecote.fr

Do you know the way to Saint Tropez?

Making last minute arrangements for a quick mid-week trip to St. Tropez from Paris is very easy, and quite a treat in early spring. From Paris-Orly (West Terminal), Air France offers frequent service to Toulon which is approximately 45 kilometers from St. Tropez. Leaving my hotel on Avenue George V, the taxi ride was only about a 25 minute ride leaving in the afternoon, and the flight itself was just over an hour. Other than flying private from Paris, the Orly to Toulon commercial route relatively drama free. Also, there is much less traffic driving east from Toulon to Saint Tropez (as opposed to enduring the traffic in St. Maxim when driving from Nice).

I enjoy the serenity of Saint Tropez very much in the Spring in that its such a wonderful place to relax, write, jog and bike. And, I must admit, I enjoy the intensity and energy of the sun and the scene in Sumer. My recommendations for Summer '09....

Accomodations

Mr. Gatsby's Travel Club
Unless I'm staying on a boat, my preference is to stay outside of the Village of Saint Tropez in Ramatuelle where there a number of villas available for rent. Mr. Gatsby's Travel Club can arrange both villa rentals and yacht charters in the area. The service can also arrange moped rentals for guests which is really the best way to travel given how horrific the traffic can be in and out of Saint Tropez.

1 (310) 595 4847

La Reserve Ramatuelle
This Hotel and Spa, originally built in the 60s, is undergoing a complete renovation and scheduled to open May 2009. Fabulous Views and has a Super Wow Factor!

33 (0)4 94 79 14 28

www.lareserve-ramatuelle.com

Treats & Haunts

The Village of Ramteulle is a charming medieval collection of restaurants, hotel and shops just a few kilometers from Saint Tropez. Ramatuelle is one of my most favorite places in the world. Its very chic because its so authentic and not overrun with what competitive tourists.

ALM is a new discovery in Ramatuelle. The concept is a collection of three buildings featuring an art gallery, a furniture boutique and an atelier. Goodies include beautifully curated modern art, lighting and accessories as well as jewelry, candles and beach accessories. Shipping to the US is relatively easy, and ALM's signature died pillow cases made from antique lines easily fit into a suitcase.

The three proprietors are incredibly hospitable offering coffee, biscuits and wonderful conversation. I spent an afternoon in their garden listening to their story and admiring their passion for linens, photography and architecture.

33 (0)6 11 62 01 63

Bathing Spots and Watering Holes

Le Club 55 (in the spirit of 54!)

Featuring outdoor dining and mattress service, the "scene" is a perfect mix of Bankers, Models, Fashion Figures, Russians and Gays, and the proprietor is not impressed with a bad attitude with so many "fabulous" patrons vying for the best tables. A bit of charm and a touch of patience does seem to endear a respectable table. Patience might include taking a bottle of rose on chaises longues a la plage while waiting for a table. No one eats before 2pm. The sole is fantastic and so is the music.

I love the pageantry at 55!

Plage de Pampelonne

33 (0)4 94 55 55 55

Key West

Located just around the corner from 55, this beach club is a nice alternative to the "scence", and a more appropriate selection for those who travel with children. The food and the service are both wonderful, although the beach is a bit narrower.

Plage de Pampelonne

33 (0)4 94 79 86 58

L'Esquinade

Fans of the dining shacks along Highway 27 from the East Hampton to Montauk would love this beach side restaurant famous for its mussels. The atmosphere is the opposite of a scene with an authentic Provencal ambiance.

I ordered les moules pastis and soaked every drop of juice from my pot of mussels.

Plage de Pampelonne
33 (0)4 94 79 83 42

La Plage des Salins
Casual-chic dining with tables sitting on the sand. This beach club is popular with locals. Father Manu and daughter Celia run the show at Salins, and both are incredibly hospitable.

Route des Salins
33 (0)4 94 97 15 66

Accessories a la plage…

The Beach Bag
ALM-Boutique in Ramatuelle sells great bags made of burlap and canvas that are fantastic for carrying beach bags and buying groceries at the farmer’s market.

Towels and Bathing Suits
The Shop at Club 55 is the best place for towels and bathing suits. The shop produces a “fashion show” during lunch complete with models in bikinis (but the real show is watching the actual patrons primp and strut!)

Both Kiwi and Vilebrequin have boutiques along Rue Gambetta in Saint Tropez. Personally, I'm a bit bored with both lines. I like the Parker and Ronan suits (available at Saks in New York).

The boutiques Erthee tucked away in the passage near rue Clemenceau and Bla-Bla located on Place de la Garrone are not to be missed by the ladies looking for a great selection of Choos, Missonni beach ware and Lanvin evening ware.

The Jewelry
Frojo Joaillerie at Place de la Garrone (ask for Swedish Suzanne).
33 (0)4 94 97 58 13

Francesca Dona Jewelry at Rue de la Ponche.
33 (0)4 94 49 00 29

The Sandals
Rondini located on Rue Clemenceau is known for the Tropeziennes sandals.

What hostess present to bring to a Parisian dinner party?

Last week, I escaped the "New Economy" in New York and fled to Paris for a few weeks. I arrived at my hotel at noon to find that I was invited to a dinner party at the home of a couple I barely knew. My hosts were receiving at 8 that evening, and I had no idea how many guests would be attending. What to take as my hostess gift? Wine is too expected, and in France, can be really tricky. And, I thought I remembered that the hostess didn't drink alcohol.

And then it hit me walking down the Champs Elysee! Macaroons from Laduree! I chose 32 multi-colored macaroons from the store's flagship location (flavors including mango, pistachio, dark chocolate, orange blossom, lemon and mocha) Each cost approximately 1 Euro. The packaging for the macaroons was a treat in of itself....a peppermint green box with a pink ribbon.

www.laduree.com

Ladurée Champs Elysées
75, avenue des Champs Elysées - 75008 Paris
Tel : 01.40.75.08.75

Sixteen people came to dinner that night. The treats were a huge success served with coffee after dinner!

Paris Treats

Its unreasonable to think one can come to Paris and not shop...even in the new economy.

Hediard
Chocolate Truffles and Tea!!! Yum!! These were Treats for me.
www.hediard.com.sg

Avenue George V next to the Four Seasons Hotel

Longchamp
On past trips to Paris, I usually run, literally run, to Hermes. This trip actually was no exception, but the store was empty, and I felt guilty for spending money there. So, instead, I ventured to Longchamp to pick up an accessory or two. My great find was a linen scarf for 65 Euros. Very chic. Very reasonable.

404 Rue St Honore (somewhat Hermes adjacent)

Serge Lutens
Perfume and Cologne. 70 Euros. Great packaging for gifts.

Les Salons du Palais Royal

Dolly Lenz: “Keeping it Real (Estate) at Cipriani’s at the Sherry-Netherland”

The sea of patrons paused at Cipriani’s as the Queen of Manhattan Real Estate entered the restaurant while an eager staff swarmed around her as if she were truly holding court. A tiger with a tough reputation? A title that connotes the evil imagery of the late Leona Helmsley? On the contrary, Dolly Lenz is one of the nicest people I know.

Dolly and I were having lunch with interior designer Moises Esquenazi to discuss "design driven" real estate projects in Manhattan and the Hamptons that might be appropriate for Mr. Gatsby’s Travel Club. Being the highest producing real estate broker in the City, Dolly would help identify properties with renovation potential, and Esquenazi would take the creative lead on the projects. These properties would then be represented by Mr. Gatsby's for short term and vacation rentals. We tossed around various ideas and analyzed timing in the market.

The meeting was interrupted frequently by friends, fans and clients stopping by the table to say hello and to ask Dolly for sound bites of information on the market similar to the ones she gives as a guest on CNBC.

As she ate liver, Dolly offered her opinions on the market from both an intuitive and analytical vantage. She’s a true believer in the value of Manhattan Real Estate as a “blue-chip” value. Although the market is currently overbuilt with many new projects still being completed, the bottom line is that there is a very limited supply of land on the island.

Dolly discussed the 'data’ in relation to pricing and absorbing the current inventory. This included current employment and compensation trends in the City, Buyer Confidence, as well as the lack of liquidity and credit available in the high-end market. Most of her “cash’ buyers actually borrowed against personal lines of credit secured by “liquid” assets in investment vehicles such as hedge funds. These liquid vehicles proved not to be so liquid after all, and as the values of the funds plummeted, her high-end buyers were squeezed as their lines of credit were reduced or called altogether.

She thought that we had not reached in the bottom of the market; Buyers are still suffering from a crisis in confidence.

It was a shame Dolly couldn’t distribute some of her personal confidence into the market. She was very impassioned in describing New York as if the City is an animated character welcoming ambition. She emphasized that the brightest minds and the most talented people tend to gravitate to the City, and this is always a catalyst in moving the ‘data’. She had grown up to parents of Portuguese heritage of modest means, and she created herself as the Queen of Manhattan Real Estate at a relatively young age. Spending a couple of hours with Dolly, I was quite confident she would maintain her title for quite some time.

As we were leaving court at almost four o’clock in the afternoon, Penelope Cruz and Javier Bardem arrived for lunch wearing matching baseball caps. The Queen flashed a smile of hello to them and proceeded to the kitchen to congratulate the chef on the liver.

Such is “Keeping it Real” on a Friday afternoon at Cipriani’s….