Monday, September 17, 2007

Auto Racing Weekend (intro) at Belgian Grand Prix


On Friday morning we leave the environs of Belgium and chart a course southeast towards Spa-Francorchamps, the autosport enthusiast's shrine to Michael Schumacher, where he was given his first chance to compete and quickly launched a long career of domination in the sport. One Grand Prix event is more or less designated to one country per year, and for that country, when that event is in town, it has all the logistical and consumeristic fervor of an American Super Bowl, except without the half-time show. There are people, come from far and wide, to somehow be a witness to the projectiles which zoom by them at 200 mph. And the noise, oh the beautiful noise- not like a rock yourself to sleep at night beautiful, but a slivery drone of jurassic hornets zooming in powerful circles, a cacaphony of turbine engines propelling these four-wheeled missiles, capsule attached to extended struts connected to soft tires whose decomposition leaves balls of peeled off rubber on the track.

As long as the F-1's are racing, you can not escape the drones - but if you are lucky enough to secure a vantage point, you will understand why you didn't just stay home to watch this on tv. When you stand looking over a wall as these vehicles come full speed at 200 mph to within 10 yards of you - you are blown back, and then your auditory senses are assaulted by the sonic barrage of the engines as they rev all the efficiency of an 800 hph engine - they are essentially jets on wheels.

Tip: When you go to a formula-one event, be sure to wear earplugs.

Tuesday, September 11, 2007

Brussels Blog

9/10/07

Purpose of trip:
a) Principal photography this weekend in Spa, Belgium for next “Day in the Life” short-documentary episode, which profiles William Langhorne, a professional driver on the Porsche Super Cup circuit, a companion series to Formula One.
b) Filming walkumentaries in Brussels with Gregoire, “The Belgian Baron”

I depart IAD at 6 PM EST on United flight 950 non-stop to Brussels.

I sleep only a couple hours, spending most of my time reading “Confessions of an Economic Hitman”, by John Perkins. It was a disturbing read: the writer is basically working through his conflicted conscience on the page. It is about how he lives a lie and betrays his true self through his profession, which essentially entails producing economic reports which in turn “grease the skids” for massive infrastructure projects in developing countries that will generate contracts for U.S. engineering and oil companies, and burden the host government with loans and financial commitments to finance the contracts.

The theme of the book is the conflict between aggressively manipulative economic co-opting by the American corporate entities of the leaders of the host government, who in most cases are turning their back on the welfare of the lower classes in order to improve their own lot. The author is simultaneously fascinated by the host cultures and the people he meets, while increasingly disillusioned with his co-workers and the missions he represents.

I am met at the Brussels airport by Dorothee, an acquaintance who had been introduced to me by my friend Gregoire a couple years ago when she was in Washington, DC visiting her aunt, who at the time had been diagnosed with cancer. Dorothee returned a year later for her aunt’s funeral, and I was able to shuttle her around town and make some itinerary deadlines, so her picking me up at the airport was in a sense her returning a favor, for which I am very grateful. Our drive through town is interesting, we hit a bit of a bottleneck, which according to her, correlates with fact that police officers, and not traffic lights, are directing the flow of traffic. Dorothee advises me to try to stay up all day and get a good night’s sleep tonight in order to mitigate the jet-lag. “If you sleep during the day,” she warns “you will not sleep tonight and will make the rest of your trip very difficult.” She navigates through winding back roads, occasionally braking for a pedestrian who appears at the last moment from behind a parked car lined up with the crosswalk. She delivers me to 33 Rue de Page, the residence of the infamous “Gregoire”, of the walkumentary fame.

PM

I take a nap in the afternoon, disregarding Dorothee's advice, for 2-3 hours. I wake up disoriented and begin writing blog to ground me. A few hours pass and I have not heard from Gregoire, who is working at the gallery that he curates. William, who has flown in from Milan, links up with Gregoire at the art gallery that he manages. I finally resolve to wander out of the apartment and approach a threesome of thirty-somethings enjoying a glass of wine outside a sidewalk cafe. I ask if they speak English - "Vous ne parlais pas anglais?" And then ask if I can use their cell phone to call Gregoire. "No problem", they say, and I dial up Gregoire. He answers, telling me that he is glad I finally found someone whose cell phone I could use, almost as if it were a test of social survival skills. They come to pick me up.

We are going to dinner at a Phillipe and Frederique's, (and yes, Frederique is a woman), a couple who are friend of Greogoire's and who live in a beautiful 4-level home in the center of Brussels. Frederique, who spent her childhood in Washington, DC, but is half-Italian and half-French, prepares a wonderful meal of chicken in coconut milk.

It is a very warm way to spend one's first night in a new city, to be hosted at the home of a local and to enjoy a home-cooked meal. We discuss some of the different socialization differences between European and American cultures. They have 2 children, a 5 year-old girl and a 3 year-old boy. They tend to encourage their children to feel comfortable being who they are, making happiness and security their principal goal in their early years. We contrast that with the competitive culture in which American children are raised, where there is so much emphasis put on achievement and conformism at an early age.

We also talk about how Gregoire and a group of his kindred spirits have made an art of crashing cocktail parties throughout town, they will call each other during a function and compare notes "They are serving Veuve Cliquot at his party...the people are cool and the food is great." "What! I'm coming over right now-they don't even have food here and the people are boring."
Gregoire discusses different strategies for getting into these functions without invitations - and tells us a story about one of the few times where he is busted by the hostess and politely asked to leave. He aquiesces, but not without making a graceful exit, he returns to the table where he had been sitting and tells the other guests that something has come up and he regrets that he must leave them.

This dinner leaves me with a warm, appreciative glow for our hosts - a good start to the trip.