Dispatch from Everywhere - What a Trip!

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Those of you who have been reading this blog since the beginning know that I tend to trip and fall at inopportune times. My first post was about me falling down the stairs at the Beverly Hills Hotel in front of the singer 50 Cent. My last post spoke about me tripping in front of a crowd on the chichi streets of St. Tropez. In others, I've referenced occasions when I unceremoniously tripped, flipped, or dipped in public. If you detect a trend, you are a smart cookie. After all, I do have a scar on my forehead from running into a "Danger" sign. But more on that later.

So in celebration of my gaffes, and for a laugh at my expense, I share with you some chestnuts of me acting inelegantly in some of the world's most elegant places.

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Picture it. Paris on a sunny, summer Sunday. I am walking up the Champs d'Elysee. Everybody is out enjoying the beautiful weekend weather: the cafes lining the sidewalks are packed. I'm sporting what I think is a jaunty look based on some impulse purchases I made at the Hugo Boss shop behind the Louvre. All I need to complete the look is a fashionable dog. 

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As I pass a particularly crowded cafe, I don't notice that a cobblestone is missing in the walk ahead of me. My foot lands perfectly in the void and I lurch forward, yelp, and come perilously close to taking out a table, two ladies, and their tarte tatin. There are some gasps from the crowd. I'm flummoxed, my traveling companion is mortified, and my dignity is nowhere to be seen. I point dramatically to the missing cobblestone and mumble in French-ese about the travesty of the sidewalk's state of repair. I say things like "Mon Dieu!" and "unaccep-TAH-ble!", which do nothing to repair my image and only prolong the train wreck. People start to avert their gaze. Oh dear.

Then there was that time in Portugal. 

I was attending a conference in Lisbon and tacked on some R&R after it. I was staying at the Lisbon Four Seasons and booked a weekend at the seaside resort town of Estoril, just outside of town. The hotel arranged a car for me - an elegant Mercedes sedan with a driver that looked like Roger Moore. I felt very fancy. Here's how it went down, literally.

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As the car approaches my hotel in Estoril, I note that there is a restaurant in front with a large outdoor seating area. I am arriving at midday and the restaurant is packed. As we pull up, people look as Roger exits the car, and comes around to open my door. 

As the door opens, I put on my shades, straighten my back, try to look indifferent, and put out my foot to exit. I am making quite an entrance. So far so good. Except that unbeknownst to me, my other foot is tangled in the strap of my computer bag. As I step out, the strap catches my ankle, and I pitch out of the car and onto the sidewalk. Yep, a full-on drop and roll. Again, gasps from the crowd (Europeans can be so dramatic). Roger quickly bends over to pick me up. My sunglasses are askew on my face, my clothes are dirty, and once again my dignity is MIA. Roger tries to dust me off. I act like it didn't happen and walk up to the hotel like I am on a catwalk. But out of the corner of my eye, I see two ladies sitting at a nearby table - they are laughing so hard, they are in tears. 

Oh, and then there was the time at that film premiere in Toronto. Well that wasn't so much a fall down as a fall up but it's a good one. 

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For many years, I attended the Toronto International Film Festival each September. Over ten days I would go to premieres each night at the beautiful Roy Thomson Hall. As a pass holder, I would file in behind the press on the red carpet. I had great views of all the celebrities as they worked the carpet and talked to the press. 

So this one year, after successive evenings of premieres, I get to know one of the ushers. She kindly hooks me up and gets me into the VIP seating for the premiere of Cate Blanchett's film, Veronica Guerin. The film is based on a true story about an Irish journalist who took on drug lords and was assassinated. 

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I am feeling very A-list where I am sitting but soon I forget that and become engrossed in the film. The acoustics at Roy Thomson Hall are fantastic and the film is being projected on a huge screen. 

During one suspenseful scene, a bad guy appears out of nowhere. The audience gasps and starts a bit, but my reaction is, how do I put it, a little more extreme. You see, I full-out scream, throw my arms up into the air, and jump up out of my seat like I am doing the wave. 

There I am smack in the middle of the orchestra of this magnificent venue, the only one standing (just in case any of the thousands around me are not certain who was responsible for the incident). I sit back down as people titter around me. I am too embarrassed to look over at Cate Blanchett but I doubt she is taking acting notes about my performance.

Then there was the time in Brussels, Belgium. Let me set the scene. 

I am attending a black-tie dinner at the Palace of Justice, a striking 19th century building set high in the city. For the gala, the steps leading up to the building are lined with fires set in urns. It is a windy night. The whole thing is very dramatic. 

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I feel fabulous. But as I bounce up the steps in my tux, I trip and fall to my hands and knees. I quickly pick myself up and keep going, brushing off and neatening my face and hair as I go, telling myself it is dark and probably no one noticed. 

When I get inside, I look down and see that my hands are dirty. I guess there was soot on the steps from the fires. I take a couple of napkins, wipe my hands and carry on. I grab a glass of champagne and enter the reception. I don't know anyone but I'm feeling good in my tux and the venue is gorgeous. I'm feeling like a double-nought spy - an international man of mystery. Then, after some time milling around and smiling at people, I catch my reflection in a mirror. I have streaks of soot across my face from when I tried to straighten up after falling. Good grief. I'm no man of mystery. I look like a chimney sweep.

Oh, and the scar on my head from running into a danger sign? Well, let's keep that one for another day. I think I've said quite enough.