I rolled out of bed at 1:00 pm today. Not too sure if I should blame the jetlag or those crazy apple martinis slash champagne cocktails. I’m sticking with jetlag. The day was spent going through 200 e-mails and rehydrating. It was Liza’s birthday and she invited me to a private birthday party at her best friend’s home. What a fabulous invitation! A meal in a Swedish home! And not any ol’ Swede. Her best friend is also a countess, actually related to the man who shot Gustav III at the Masked Ball (remember I just went to see that opera two weeks ago!).

The dinner party included Liza, her best friend and countess/hostess, a gorgeous Ugandan friend from Oslo, and a darling male family friend who has seven children by a few different women. What an impressive line up!

Everyone was so kind and they all tried really hard to speak basic English during the evening. I must admit, some spoke better English than others. While they did their best to keep the conversation on international topics and culture, things quickly went down hill when the wrong English word was used accidentally.

Let me set the scene….

We are all chatting lightly about our families, and the older gentleman looks over to the big, beautiful black man and says, “So, how long are you?” Now, everyone else is trying to figure out what he means… “How TALL are you? How OLD are you?” or maybe “How long have you been here?” Whatever he meant, I started laughing, while trying to explain what was so funny. Once explain, everyone started laughing and we just could not stop. For the rest of the night, we would look over to the big, beautiful black Ugandan and ask, “So, how LONG are you?”

After dinner, Liza and I explored Stockholm. First she took me to P.A. & Co. at Riddargatan, 114 35 Stockholm. It’s a chic bar that is always packed with Stockholm’s finest. If you want to see a bar full of Swedish models, theis is the place to go! We closed the bar down and then headed over to the Opera Café, which is a nightclub connected to the opera. But the only drama that’s going on in there is love gone wrong or too many Absolut vodka shots.

Once again, home at some ridiculous hour and ready to tackle my next day of fun!

Check out the hotel that I am staying at, it is pretty darn nice!
Hotel Diplomat.

I arrived into Stockholm at 9:15 pm on Thursday, September 28. One of our Tango Diva members Liza offered to show me around while in Stockholm. So, I expected that we would get together some time during my trip, but I never expected her to be waiting for me in the lobby of the Diplomat Hotel! What a treat! I walk to the counter to check in, all the while thinking I would be in bed by midnight. But moments after getting my key, I see a gorgeous blonde stand up and calls out “Teresa!” Sure enough, it was the darling Liza. She handed me a beautiful black bvlgari bag and says, “I just came from a cocktail party at Bvlgari, and I thought you would like a gift bag too.” Of course, I want a gift bag from Bvlgari! She then tells me that Thursday night is a big night on the town and that she wants to take me to a private club where a few of her friends where waiting for her. I jumped in the shower and in 10 minutes I have transformed form a jet lagged chick to a international Tango Diva.

We stroll the pristine streets of Stockholm, chatting about travel, life, and my plans for the next few weeks. In moments, we reach the club. It is a scene out of the La Dolce Vita – Scandinavian style. A few blocks later, we are in front of a stone building on a small plaza in front of the club that is bustling with VIPs. We walk in the door and magically are handed champagne! Liza introduces me to her first-class friends and I run into a guy that I met at the Monte Carlo Yacht Club last year. We talk, laugh, and share stories – all in English!  

After the private club, we head to a few hot night stops and then we settle into Bistro Jarl, a cocktail and champagne bar. Liza ordered us a special cocktail made by the famous bartender Shassen Samaletdin. This delicious cocktail was kinda like an apple martini on ice, topped with champagne. It really was out of this world! But after my second one, I knew it was time to head back to my hotel, by way of a hot dog stand.

I got to bed after 4:00 am, Stockholm time, and I knew that the next day was not going to start until after noon.

Unlike many international carriers, Icelandair does not a First Class. They have a Saga Class. What is great, is the real meaning for the word “saga” which I found at the University of British Columbia:

“The word saga “has been translated out of its original meaning, “She-Who-Speaks,” that is, an oracular priestess, such as were formerly associated with sacred poetry. The literal meaning of saga was “female sage” … The written sagas of Scandinavia were originally sacred histories kept by female sagas or sayers, who knew how to write them in runic script. Among northern tribes men were usually illiterate. Writing and reading the runes were female occupations. Consequently, runes were associated with witchcraft by medieval Christian authorities, who distrusted women’s lore. To them, saga became a synonym for Witch.” from: The Crone: Woman of Age, Wisdom and Ritual by Barbara Walker (1985, p. 53)

I feel like this trip is my “Saga.” And what better way to start a saga than with an up-and-coming female rock star named Dilana? She was the finalist on the fabulously successful show Rock Star Super Nova.  She’s my rock star super Diva!

We were both sitting in Saga Class, me sipping champagne, she sipping Airborne. Dilana is on her way to Iceland for a concert tour. I wish I could have stayed and watched, but Stockholm is waiting and I have my own big adventure waiting for me.

Watch my video with Dilana. 

Chicks who fly rock! And I am about to board an Icelandair plane that is being flown by a woman. She is the pilot, her husband is the co-pilot and her two kids are also on the flight.

Icelandair is a great way to fly to Europe. I am leaving from SFO, but they also fly from NY, FL, and DC. What is so great is that you first fly into Reykjavik, where you have the option of staying for a few days, and then flying onto a bevy of destinations in Europe including London, Stockholm, Copenhagen, Berlin, Madrid, and Barcelona - to name a few. For a full list click here.

There’s just one problem with flying from SFO to Europe on Icelandair – flights are only during the summer months. So, alas, I am on the final return flight from Stockholm to SFO for the season.

I love airports! They represent possibilities. You show up and there is an endless list of places you can go – that is really cool! Watch my video at SFO before my departure.

Italy, above all countries, is a place to be experienced with every sense. Here are the sensory experiences that signal to me that I am, in fact, here:

1. The smell of coffee bubbling up through a stovetop espresso machine, and the vague scent of raw flame heating metal underneath. My nose tingles just writing about it.

2. The sound of Italians speaking to each other in swiftly lilting words that may as well be set to a score. Angry words rise to crescendo in a furious aria, friendly advice comes in softly comforting notes, jokes trip along in a happy cadence- it’s no wonder that operas are written in Italian.

3. The sharp, emerald-green taste of arugula mixed with the duller tang of pecorino sardo, a Sardinian sheep’s milk cheese. This is a combination I have sought fruitlessly at home in California, but I urge you to try it if you can. It deserves a place with other famous culinary pairings: peanut butter and jelly, champagne and caviar, Ben and Jerry.

4. The sight of the carabinieri officers in dapper uniforms sitting in cars outside their respective posts, checking their hair nonstop in their rearview mirrors. Behind shiny aviator sunglasses, one eye is on the public and one eye on their own reflection, because looking sharp, la bella figura, is naturally an important part of doing their job.

5. The feel of Italy is harder to put my finger on, but anyone who has been here knows it. Anyone who has felt it -the passionate welcome, the shimmering self-awareness, the aging Renaissance beauty and the sheer love for life that permeates every Italian town- can evoke the feeling with just the scent of espresso, an overheard " arrivederci!", or any of their personal sensory catalysts. That’s the best part of Italy: even when you’re not here, you can carry it with you.

What let’s you know you’re in your favorite place?

xxxxxx

I leave for Europe tonight, and although I have vowed to spend my dollars on things that are in Euros, I had to go check out the new Bloomingdale’s. Stephanie and I were invited to a private press opening and the general manager Alan Svensen took us on a VIP tour of his 5-story shopping Mecca.

Us two Tango Divas were the first to purchase items at Bloomie’s! 

Door open to the public on Thursday, September 28th, and you can keep up to date about fashion shows, events, and promotions here.

Check out my video with Alan, the general manager here.

This just in: it’s okay to have a good, old fashioned lotion, cream and gel party in your carryon again. Well shut my mouth and lather me up!

Before we send you back to your regularly scheduled program, in this case sultry and surly secrets from Stephanie’s Italian voyage, let me take a minute to remind everyone that today is the first day of the rest of your shampoo and conditioners’ lives…today they are allowed to travel with you!!

Today, the FAA of the United States announced that it will ease travel restrictions on your liquids and gels. Now you get to travel with all that stuff, but not freely. Here are the arbitrary and often annoying rules:

1. All travel liquids and gels must be in containers equal to or less than 3 oz.

2. All travel-sized liquids and gels must be able to fit into a clear, quart sized or sandwich bag-sized ziplock container. If you own ziplock stock, hooray for you.

3. Water is no longer evil! You can actually drink your own on airplanes again providing that you buy it in the terminal after going through security. The powers that be feel that this ‘holy water’ does not have the power to bring on the apocalypse as your dirty, outré terminal water does.   

4. As per the last wave of restrictions, personal lubricating products are still welcomed and even encouraged aboard. 

5. For all the latest travel info, please continue to check Diva Says. That is all.  

This weekend we met the most awesome couple ever! Robert and Maryam Scoble. He is a world-famous blogger and she is a very talented marketing and technology maven. Finding out, they live a few blocks away from us, and we have a great afternoon hanging out.

They said that I should do a video blog while I’m in Europe. They showed me how to do it, and I think that I am in business! I did a short video if my riding my horse in Half Moon Bay. I will be shooting video every day during my trip through Europe. I will be jetting across Europe from September 27 - October 15.

Check out my video shot in Half Moon Bay!

Just saw the film The U.S. versus John Lennon - it’s powerful and timely. I was fairly young and definately not aware of all that was going on in the early 70’s. But I do know where I was when John Lennon’s death was announced. I was dreading the end of the movie and reliving it.

Really gets you thinking. Where are we now? Who is leading us? Who is being forced out? What a wonderful glimpse into John’s humour, love, art, wisdom, passion. His songs are lifted right out of his daily journal.

What did not happen becasue John died? This movie weaves the past and the present into one compelling message. A message that is relevant now, 30 years later.

Go see the film. You will be moved. Informed. Possibly inflamed.

Today’s task was going to be a tedious one. As a US citizen, I am required to file a permesso di soggiorno, or a residency permit, with the local Bologna police station. I had already gone through the elaborate document scavenger hunt to produce a stack of different-sized, colored and stamped pages to prove I was financially solvent, doubly health-insured and photographed poorly in passport offices. This packet was delivered to the police station, and I awaited the call to complete the process by having my fingerprints taken. I dreaded the necessary interaction with the infamous web of Italian red tape, but looked forward to walking around afterwards with inked fingers, causing people to wonder what I had been booked for.  I like to keep people guessing.

Told to arrive promptly at 8am, I was finally admitted to the imposing questura after an hour and a half of waiting. Two men, neither in much of a uniform, peered smugly over my carefully collected documents and asked me questions about where I was from and what I was studying. I stumbled over my Italian, nervously feeling like I was being interviewed for a dating reality show rather than submitting my papers for a residency permit. One of the police officers grabbed my hand and rolled it around on a scanner- technology robbing me of my opportunity to look like a criminal. My inkless prints appeared on a computer screen, and the officer asked me on a date in between questions about my citizenship. This felt wildly inappropriate for someone holding a page with my social security number, civil status and financial information. I guess my passport photo wasn’t as bad as I thought.

Later, as I walked out to get a much needed espresso, I had to smile while I ticked off all the Italian stereotypes that had been reinforced in only a few hours time. Inefficient bureaucracy, an exuberance for stamped documents, a love of high tech gadgets, and underlying it all, the unabashed amorous nature that has a place even in the fingerprinting room at the police station. Though it can be jarring, and sometimes frustrating, these passions are what turn a tedious errand into a study in the national character. I wouldn’t have it any other way.