The creative ones…

The man has extensive media exposure having produced and directed for music, film, television and art. He’s also a content developer, educator, script writer, blogger…and at the time I met him, a ‘Greeter’. Bearing fresh flowers, wine and a comprehensive verbal summary of the abode and it’s inviting surrounds, Roger moonlights as a guest welcomer for Haven in Paris, a company specializing in Paris apartment rentals. Roger has a lot to offer, a creative talent ripe for the picking by an innovative, progressive media forum, yet still in the job search market. Why?

Being Miss Curious, or Miss Marples depending on the subject’s reticence to share and my reluctance to leave my career consultant hat back home, queried Roger’s daytime job and, upon hearing he’d been another victim to an economic downturn somewhere in the world, just HAD to question his job search marketing strategy.

Aha! There it was…a willingness to let his production work speak for itself and pave the way. A recent mini TV piece he and a small team had developed, for which he is most passionate, and where all efforts have been focused on seeking funding and release. http://natureforecast.com/

Being a Parisian Greeter certainly beats stacking supermarket shelves or driving taxis while in transition but it’s no Plan B, at least for Roger. When asked about Plan B, a vague response indicated maybe the music industry, possibly educational visual fare, a change of subject. Which brings me to my point.

The creative ones have dreams. Jotted on post it notes, sketched in notebooks, on napkins, shared in conversations, yet they frequently lack trigger mechanisms to turn the dream into reality. For the famous, the practicalities are taken care of by agents and assistants. For the man on the street, shoe leather, a strong constitution for knock backs and bloody minded perseverance. Roger has translated his dreams to reality, has constitution and shoe leather, but needs a stimulating job to survive while peddling his production.

A strong ‘self marketing’ business plan, starting with an ‘ideal job’ description; a list of top three industry and job preferences and top three companies that fit that criterion; a sound desktop and networking research strategy. A solid resume selling strengths that will benefit a prospective employer. Advice, Information and Referral (AIR) conversations to hone in on decision makers who may be interested in employing the breadth and scope of his capabilities over and above that production piece. Roger blanched at this, no mean feat as the man is black, but rose to the occasion.

GI Jane (apparently my new moniker) coached and critiqued a pretty damn fine resume and the rest now lies in Roger’s charm, personality, connections, a healthy dose of persistence and a bucket load of that perseverance. The entertainment industry will certainly benefit from the outcome.

But why the effort? Networking. Friendships. A love for the truly creative. ‘Paying it forward’. The man knows the Paris apartment rental market and I’ll need similar guidance as I navigate through the challenges of best price long term accommodation at the end of this journey. Plus! A reciprocated Risotto and Chianti. The girl may be broke by then!

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Lonely Firenzian snapshots…

My traveling friend is winging her way home and I’m now on my own. Totally alone, a tad daunted and feeling misplaced in a sea of Italians and tourists. Determined to shed the ‘tourist’ label and become officially ‘local’ I head out with purposeful stride, a determined smile…and a list.

20130606-222451.jpgBuy train ticket for Monterosso and an Italian SIM card, a triple A battery for my Bose NC headphones (no you dirty minded persons, ‘they’ take size C!!), a ticket for The Accademia to later see Michelangelo’s Statue of David and generally wander…and what a lovely experience…

A thunderstorm without benefit of the three raincoats and two umbrellas back in the Hotel. No matter, it’s only water. Warm raindrops, hot paver steam, lightening. I’m afraid of lightening yet view it with disengaged curiosity. A 50 minute queue to buy train ticket at the Santa Maria Novella Salone Biglietti. No urgency, take your time, I’ve all the time in the world. And I do.

A young Italian couple 20130606-222239.jpgin heated hand gesturing argument. She walks away. He doesn’t follow…a relationship breakup with one witness…me. Tourists with brash American accents seeking off street leather outlets, gelato dripping down their arms. Mine’s in check.
Polizia gossiping on corners, Nigerians hawking umbrellas, women coveting jewelry on the Ponte Vecchio while their men sit patiently in nearby Ristorantes sipping beer and sweating over smoldering credit cards. Leather markets in full swing, the banter, the colours, the smell. Another couple, lips locked in passion oblivious to curious passers by. Observed break up now negated.

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20130606-222637.jpg Waiters spruiking punters to their Ristorantes only to studiously ignore them once seated. The pretty carousel in the Piazza Della Repubblica. The magnificent Duomo, marbled greens, pinks and whites freshly rain washed and sparkling to the thrill of photographers gathered around her base. My iconic compass for finding the way home.

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A classical guitarist, a comedian, a jazz trio, a singer, pavement chalkers, live statuettes all clamoring for attention, hawking their talents to win meagre coins from jaded tourists. Endless visual feasts and photo moments.

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Now officially exhausted, sipping a Chianti, fighting a persistent Pigeon for my Bruschetta while marveling at the ambient sunset bathing the city from my terrace table. Duomo bells ringing, swallows fluttering, I stroke the ladybug silver trinket on my leather wristlet, a testament to friendship and gifted by my dear traveling friend, and conclude…Florence really is a mighty fine place to commence a journey of discovery.

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Sombre at the Somme

Cross upon cross, headstone upon headstone, row upon row, so many etched with ‘Unknown20130602-184623.jpg Soldier’; monumental Memorials roll-calling the names of the thousands who can never be acknowledged with a cross or a headstone. Each site respectfully tended regardless of nationality interred, the Germans distinguished by grey crosses within a quiet field of their own. Like our own, they were just young men sent into the same bloody, senseless battles. Each one heartbreakingly young; seeing, experiencing and succumbing to horrors we can’t begin to imagine. But you probably know that anyway, a part of our ANZAC history…a raw, gut-wrenching sacrifice of human life.

Starting from Amiens we visited the 1918 battlefields at Villers-Bretonneux and an imposing Memorial commemorating nearly 11,000 Australians who died in France but have no known grave.

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From there to the village to visit the Franco-Australian Museum full of Australian photographs and memorabilia, then Pozières where so many Australians lost their lives over the summer months of 1916.

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Followed this with a visit to the Thiepval Memorial to the Missing – 72,000 British and South African men in this case. Also visited the Newfoundland Memorial Park at Beaumont-Hamel where we walked through the zigzag trenches still evident almost a century later. Oh my. We struggle to remain composed as our guide describes unimaginable scenes played out there.

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Also visited a special spot where Jenny’s Great Uncle was interred and where she planted a small 20130602-185214.jpgAustralian flag and memorial. So nice to recognise and acknowledge at least one of the so very many who sacrificed their lives on the Somme battlefields.

Initially ambivalent about the trip, rewarded with a whole new appreciation for the courage and bravery acknowledged, appreciated and respected by this little part of our world.

 

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